#the use of vine booms in horror

[jealizmuch]

MY OTP!! (guy x eldritch horror who stole his eyes)

[todayisafridaynight]

Hey so Snap this is going to be so fucking weird, but honestly don’t care. So I was watching a clip of Drag Race Philippines and it was the make over episode and I think they were making over family members and this father was all about getting into drag. So, I just wanted to tell you never forget how much of a lovely loving kind and caring father you have, who loves you and protects you and makes you feel heard. That’s all.

i'd have to die before i forget how great my dad is thank you for the opportunity to brag about him again anon

[fawn-wings]

.

[jezebelblues]

talk to me | h.s

summary: holland tunnel for a nose, it’s always backed up! or, harry struggles with sobriety after y/n leaves

cw: cocaine usage/addiction, angst!!! ex!harry, fem!reader, unedited. ladies imagine the vine boom sound as i dare to say.. toxic!harry 🤨

word count: approx 6.1k

| pls don’t read if you’re sensitive to substance abuse. this is pure angst. i literally wrote this on a whim after seeing the car photo on my tl.

masterlist

harry was stubborn. but then again, so was YN.

he didn’t mean for things to end the way they did, he was stuck in a lull since love on tour ended. it was always the inbetween—purgatory, he would call it. a euphoria cut short, leaving him marooned in a space before the settle.

touring ignited his soul, an always occurring rebirth every time he steps upon the stage. but now it’s march, and he’s standing alone in the heathrow airport after his self-imposed exile in italy.

the air was crisp, biting, and tangled with the faintest trace of her perfume—vanilla, the one he'd bought her, the one she wore on the nights they'd venture out together. if he closed his eyes, he could picture her bathed in neon, colors playing on her skin like she was something holy.

if he thought hard enough, he could feel the phantom burn in his nose as it did in october. he could feel the warm trickle of blood drip down his cupid’s-bow if he overdid it. he could taste the metallic crimson that would slip past his lips and stain his teeth. he could remember the look of horror on her face as he shot her a bloody smile, eyes too dilated to come into his senses—too far gone.

but if he fished through his wallet, he wouldn’t find his old debit card—the one he had closed out in 2011 when his fame started to rise. it’s what he always used to form his lines, and remnants of the white powder were a staple on that card. a relic from a life he was beginning to lose control over.

after that night in october, when they got home, YN had snatched it from his wallet and cut it to pieces in front of him, her face twisted in anguish, not anger. she loved him, and that was the worst part.

a superstar like him could indulge, sure. a line here, a hit there—california sober, he used to joke. but as the tour ended, that fleeting thrill had turned into something darker, something that clawed at his insides when the spotlight faded. something he’d turn to for the semblance of exhilaration he had on the road.

so, now he was out of his lucky, unusable debit card. and, sometimes at night, he would think of the way the pieces are drifting around a landfill, scattered and forgotten.

but then he would think of YN. and no, that couldn’t compare, it wouldn’t.

he didn’t have to squint or fish through his contacts, she was just gone. and he knew it.

that night she had threatened to leave if he didn’t get sober, and harry fell to his knees, wrapping his arms around her bare thighs and begged her to stay. he could feel the lotion lift from her skin because of his tears, the way it burned his eyes. she had fell down to the floor with him that night, combing through his curls and whispering promises that she wouldn’t leave if he just tried. that’s all he had to do. they fell asleep on the couch that night.

harry thought he had gotten rid of everything. he had one slip up, and he remembered how YN’s eyes glossed over when she told him he had one more chance.

it was the day before halloween when she found a dime bag of the familiar white powder stashed away in one of his drawers—an afterthought. a remnant, a leftover.

harry tried to explain it wasn’t new, something that remained forgotten. he desperately followed her out to her car in the rain, holding the drivers door open as he pleaded. but she started the engine. she was leaving, and he knew it.

he remembers the way his frustration boiled over. maybe it was projection, withdrawal, or the pain of watching the love of his life walk away. but he had slammed the drivers door shut, slapping his palm against the window with a shaky sob as she drove off.

he hadn’t seen her since. he disappeared into italy afterward, hiding in his villa. he would have virtual therapy sessions every thursday, lots of which ended in his tears.

he knew he was blocked, he could tell by the way his blue messages no longer had the word delivered underneath them. because they weren’t. just conversations with a ghost. a stonewalled grave.

he had only started to come to terms with the end of their relationship in february, after his thirtieth birthday. there was no message, no phone call, no knock upon his door. he was just alone in italy.

harry thought about relapsing that day. he thought about calling a friend of a friend and falling into the vibrant world only the blow could offer.

but he didn’t, he called his mum. he called his therapist. he drank some wine, sang himself a somber happy birthday over a strawberry cupcake, and then slept for thirteen hours.

now he was at the airport in the heart of london. he only had his carry on, roses from the gift shop, and so many words left unsaid. the airport was unusually quiet that afternoon, the fluorescent lights casting a sterile glow over harry as he stood there, unmoving. london was a different reality, pulling him back into the damp chill of march and the weight of everything he'd left unresolved. he tasted a tinge of salt in the air, his nerves raw as he thought of her—the girl he'd lost, the girl he couldn't let go of.

he didn’t even know if she still lived in the same brick townhouse, but it was worth a shot. he didn’t really even think this through, he had enough clothing for about three days, and his car was about thirty minutes away from her place at his own house.

but he ubered there anyway, grateful it was only an older fellow who had no clue who he was. he would shove his nose into the flowers occasionally, smelling them with a gentle inhale. he shifted in his seat, turned his phone on and off with every passing minute to watch the time pass. he was restless, he was nervous.

her flat looked the same as it always did when he was dropped off, but there was a festive little reef still hanging on her door from christmas. a whisper of a smile tugged at his lips from that.

his own body felt heavier on his feet as he stood before her door, it felt like he could topple over and perish in that moment. harry thought it wouldn’t be the worst thing if he did, perhaps she would even miss him—no, he thought, tempting as it was—really messed up.

right?

he shook his head at his own thoughts, raising his fist to knock on her door. it was light, he wasn’t even sure if it’s something she’d hear. the brunette debated knocking again, harder this time, but he heard her voice behind the barrier.

“coming!”

he felt weak in the knees. it was her voice, no mistaking it. she was real, still here, just behind the door. YN’s voice felt like a fresh sherpa blanket, still soft and unused. it sounded like honey stirred into tea. harry really thought he could topple over at that point.

the door swung open and there she was, only a foot away after being hundreds of miles apart for so long. her hair was different, and she had a pair of glasses he hadn’t seen before resting on the bridge of her nose. her lips were parted, face drained of all color as she stared at him.

the words caught in harry’s throat, and he stood speechless. he only raised the roses toward her with a shaky hand, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

she looked down at the deep red flowers, then back into his green eyes. the eyes that were so familiar, eyes that took in every part of her being and imprinted into his brain. but the petals resembled the blood pooled between his teeth only a few months ago, the way it dripped onto her new dress as she eased him out of the club that night.

her throat ran dry as she swallowed hard, her stomach lurching and threatening to spill all over her porch and harry’s beat up sambas. “what–what’re you doing here?” her voice barely a whisper, both broken and brimming with something he couldn't place. she had missed him—he could feel it—but the anger lingered, a smoldering ember just beneath the surface.

the bouquet continued to tremble in his hands. “i had to see you.” he murmured, voice shaking underneath his nerves. he couldn’t hold eye contact with her, something he had never struggled with before. “i couldn’t—i miss you, YN.”

she pressed her lips together, the sight of him here in front of her resembling that of whiplash. it’s been five months, how do you even respond to that? he dropped off the face of the earth after she left, and she understood that to an extent. she’s the one who left, she’s the one who blocked him after he would constantly reach out.

she called his mum on his birthday, needing to reach out in some form, needing to know how he was. she begged her not to tell him that she phoned, something anne kept away from her son with an ache in her heart. “why now?” she mustered out, the pressure behind her eyes almost to much to bear.

he blinked, surprised by the softness in her tone.

he had expected a door slammed in his face, anger, roses thrown onto the snowy pavement. but this—a fragile, weary version of her—felt like a wound laid bare. the question hovered in the air, unanswered. he wasn't sure if he had the words to explain.

"i know i hurt you.” his voice cracked, breaking under the weight of his guilt. he hated himself for it—for leaving her, for drowning in his own mess, for not being stronger. "i thought maybe if i went away, if i fixed myself, i could come back."

"come back?” her laugh was bitter, sharp. "you think this is something you can just come back to, like nothing happened?" she shook her head, taking a step back, as if his presence was suffocating her. "you don't get it, do you? i spent my days worrying if you were okay, if i were going to find you dead on the floor next to a bag of coke. and now you just show up?"

harry flinched at her words, at the coldness in her tone, though he couldn't blame her. he had done this. he had broken this.

“i messed up," he said, his voice thick with desperation. "i know i should've done more. i should've been better f’you, but i wasn't. i’m trying now. i’ve been trying every day, YN."

she stared at him, her eyes glossed with unshed tears, but her expression was hard, unreadable.

she wasn't going to make this easy for him, and he knew it. she shouldn't. "trying?" she repeated, her voice dangerously quiet. "you’re trying now? after everything? after the lies, the broken promises? after you begged me to stay, told me you'd quit, and then i found that–” her voice broke, "–that bag? that was it for me, harry. that was it.”

harry opened his mouth to speak, but YN’s soft, wavering sniffle filled the space between them. her pretty eyes fell shut, and she muttered, “you should go.” the words barely made it past her lips before she closed the door, shutting him out in one quiet, final motion. no glance back.

for a moment, he just stood there, arm hanging loosely at his side, the roses brushing against his knee. his shoulders sagged as the reality settled—he had expected this, even told himself it was inevitable. but still, some desperate part of him had clung to hope.

with a sigh that cut deep, he turned, trudging down the narrow stairwell outside her flat. his heart felt like dead weight in his chest, and each step echoed softly, swallowed by the damp, early evening air. at the last step, he sat, letting his jeans absorb the chill from the wet concrete. he laid the flowers beside him, petals dark against the fading light, and clasped his hands in front of him, jaw tight as he fought the burning in his eyes.

harry couldn’t bring himself to go back to his house. he knew what waited for him there: bits and pieces of her, scattered reminders he couldn’t bear to see right now. a sweater still draped over his armchair. little notes she’d left him during the tour, folded scraps of her handwriting. even the faint smell of her perfume clinging to the blankets. no, he couldn’t face that.

he tilted his head back, gazing into the overcast sky. gray clouds swirled above, blurring the line between evening and night. he sniffled, noticing a modest inn just down the street, its sign hanging askew, light dimly flickering. it wasn’t much—a little rundown, with the look of a place that had seen better days. perfectly unremarkable. and right now, all he needed was a bed.

inside the hotel room, he dropped his backpack onto the chair and stood there, staring at the neatly made bed, the cheap, plush white blankets tucked in tight. the silence pressed in on him, too thick and heavy. without much thought, he shrugged off his jacket, toed off his shoes, and sank into the mattress, the springs squeaking under his weight. sleep embraced him like a reluctant lover, drifting in after nearly an hour of restless thoughts. but it didn’t stay. he awoke after just four hours, staring up at the ceiling as moonlight spilled in through the thin curtains, casting faint shadows across the room.

he groaned, reaching under his pillow for his phone, squinting as the screen lit up his face. only the usual notifications—nothing out of the ordinary, but still, he’d hoped. he didn’t know why. YN had been clear. she’d left no room for misinterpretation.

his fingers hesitated, then he opened her contact anyway. the photo still there—the one he’d taken on the tour bus last summer. a blurred shot from above, a silly close-up she’d protested, but they’d both laughed at it, something shared just between the two of them.

he typed the words, fingers slow, deliberate.

i love you.

his heart twisted as he pressed send, watching the message linger for a second before the familiar rejection—not delivered.

still blocked. still gone.

harry let his phone fall onto the mattress, dragging a hand over his face, groaning into the empty room. his chest tightened with frustration, desperation edging close to something frantic. he didn’t want to seem like he was clinging, but this couldn’t be the end, could it?

would it be futile to try again? sure. definitely in vain. he just wanted to give it one more try.

he sat up, slipping his sambas back on, the leather scuffed and worn from tour, loose enough he didn’t bother with the laces. he left the jacket where it lay, grabbed his wallet, and in a few determined strides, pushed himself through the door into the night, unwilling to let go just yet.

the cold bit at harry’s skin the moment he stepped outside, the wind cutting through his thin sweater as he walked down the dimly lit street. he barely noticed the sting. his breath puffed in front of him in small clouds, quickly dissolving into the frosty air. snow had begun to fall again, light flakes swirling under the streetlamps, but he didn’t slow down. each step was deliberate, his sneakers scuffing against the half-melted snow on the pavement, but his mind raced with a dozen unfinished thoughts. he hadn’t even grabbed his coat. he hadn’t thought it through.

he just needed to be close to her again.

the city was quiet, the usual rush dulled by the late hour and the snowfall blanketing everything in a soft silence. as he turned the corner toward her flat, his heart picked up speed, thudding painfully in his chest. her building was just down the road, its familiar outline coming into view. every step toward it felt heavier, each one laced with the weight of the unsaid things between them.

when he reached her street, he stopped for a moment, breath clouding the air in front of him as he tried to steady himself. his eyes scanned the row of cars parked along the curb, and there it was—her car, parked in the same spot it always was, snow gathering over the windshield, the roof, coating it like a layer of frost. the sight of it hit him harder than he expected. It was the last tether to her, something still close, something that made her feel real, just beyond that door.

but he didn’t go to her flat. he didn’t knock on her door. his feet carried him to her car instead, the snow crunching softly under his shoes as he approached. harry paused, standing before the vehicle, his breath hitching in his throat. his fingers hovered at his sides, the air biting into the exposed skin, but he didn’t care. the snow covering the windshield was smooth, untouched, and he stalled for a moment, the night wrapping around him like a blanket of quiet.

this was weird. he knew it was. but he couldn’t stop himself.

slowly, almost hesitantly, harry reached out, his fingertips brushing against the icy layer of snow on the glass. it was cold, stinging his skin as he dragged his fingers across the surface, but he kept going, his touch leaving a thin, delicate trail through the frost. he could feel the slight resistance as he wrote, each stroke of his finger deliberate, like the weight of his feelings pressed into every curve of the letters.

we should talk

the words were simple, almost too simple for everything he wanted to say, but they were enough. enough for a desperate message left on a windshield, at least—all he could offer now, standing out against the stark whiteness of the snow like a whisper in the dark. his hand lingered for a moment, fingers resting against the cold glass as if he could reach through the car, through the frost, and touch her somehow.

he stepped back, breath shaky, eyes fixed on the message he had left behind. the snow continued to fall, light and steady, the flakes already beginning to gather in the grooves of his writing, slowly erasing it even as he stood there. his hands dropped to his sides, curling into fists, and he closed his eyes for a long moment, the cold finally seeping into his bones. he felt exposed out here, vulnerable, like every part of him was on display in the silence of the night.

he also felt like he was doing something illegal.

but still, he couldn’t bring himself to leave. he looked up at her flat, the windows dark and still, like nothing inside had changed. for all he knew, she was asleep, completely unaware that he was standing here, just feet away. or maybe she wasn’t. maybe she was lying awake, thinking about him too, wondering what could possibly come next after everything they had been through.

the snowflakes clung to his hair, his clothes, but he didn’t move. he stood there, staring at the message on her windshield, his heart caught between hope and fear.

the words seemed to echo in the quiet, fragile and fleeting, like the snow itself. he didn’t know if she’d see them, or if the snow would bury them by morning, but for now, it was all he had left to say. he turned to walk away, his heart heavy but his resolve set. it was up to her now.

inside her flat, YN lay in bed, the dim glow of her phone the only light cutting through the darkness. she had been tossing and turning for what felt like hours, trying to force herself to sleep, but her mind kept circling back to him—harry. the knock at her door earlier had left her rattled, emotions stirring like a storm inside her. she’d shut him out, forced the door between them because it was the only way she knew how to protect herself. but it hadn’t stopped the ache in her chest.

the soft chime of her phone interrupted the silence, a faint buzz. she frowned, lifting it off the pillow beside her. the notification made her heart stutter.

ring doorbell: movement detected.

her stomach dropped. for a moment, she just stared at the screen, unsure of whether to open the app, her fingers hesitating. maybe it was just a stray cat, or the wind shaking the snow loose from the trees. but deep down, she knew. she knew who it would be.

with trembling hands, she tapped the screen, and there he was—harry. standing in the cold by her car, his figure a shadowy outline under the soft glow of the streetlamp. his hands were stuffed into his pockets, his head bowed slightly, his breath visible in the cold air. she watched, her heart pounding in her chest as he lifted a finger to the snow-covered windshield, slowly writing something in the frost. the words began to take shape, and she felt her throat tighten, her pulse quickening.

we should talk.

her heart constricted, emotions warring inside her. he hadn’t disappeared. even after she’d shut the door in his face, he was still here. the sight of him standing there, exposed to the biting cold without even a coat, tugged at something deep inside her—something she had tried to bury the night she walked away.

she swallowed hard, sitting up in bed, her fingers hovering over the phone for a moment longer. she could ignore it, let the snow cover the words he’d written and pretend none of this was happening—a biased fate. but she couldn’t shake the image of him standing there, shoulders slumped, his vulnerability written in the frost as clearly as the message itself.

with a sigh, she swung her legs out of bed and pulled on a hoodie, her mind racing. what was she even going to say to him? she was angry, she was hurt, but she also couldn’t deny the pull he still had on her. the years of love and heartache had tangled them together in a way that was impossible to untangle in one night. and now, he was standing outside her flat, waiting in the cold.

YN slipped on her shoes and grabbed her phone, her heart pounding harder with each step as she made her way to the front door. her fingers shook as she unlocked it, pulling the door open just enough to peek outside, the cold air rushing in.

there he was, standing by her car, his back to her, staring down at the message he had written, threatening to step away. his breath puffed in front of him, his head hung low as if he wasn’t sure what to do next. the sight of him, so lost and alone, tugged at her heartstrings in a way that made her chest ache.

“harry,” she called softly, her voice carrying through the quiet night.

he turned slowly, his face pale in the moonlight, eyes wide with surprise. for a second, he just stared at her, as if unsure if she was real or some apparition conjured up by his restless mind.

maybe he got frostbite and this is the last thing he’d see before decaying into the snow, he thought.

but then his expression softened, his shoulders relaxing just slightly, though the tension in his eyes remained.

she stepped out onto the snowy path, the cold biting at her skin as she approached him. “what are you doing here?” her voice was steadier than she felt, but the cracks in her resolve showed through.

“i–” he faltered, glancing down at the words on the windshield, then back up at her. “i’m sorry. i’m not stalker. i just–” he paused, sighing exasperatedly. “m’blocked and had to try.”

her breath caught in her throat, the rawness in his voice unraveling her. she looked down at the words he’d written in the snow, her heart twisting painfully at the sight of them. he was trying, she knew that. but it didn’t make it any easier. her chest tightened, memories of him crashing over her in waves—good ones, bad ones, all tangled together in a mess of emotions she hadn’t quite sorted through. she opened her mouth to speak, but the words jumbled in her mouth, only letting out a delicate, fleeting stutter. she wanted to stay strong, to protect herself, but looking at him now, standing in the freezing night without so much as a coat, the walls she’d built began to crack. “you don’t even have a coat,” she whispered, her voice softer now, laced with concern.

he looked down at himself, almost sheepish, his lips curling into the faintest of smiles. “i didn’t really think.”

her heart ached at the sight of him, so lost, so vulnerable. for all the hurt, for all the walls she’d tried to put up, a part of her still missed him—missed this. missed the sound of his voice, the way he always found his way back to her, even when things seemed broken beyond repair.

before she could stop herself, the words slipped out. “come inside.”

harry blinked, surprised, and for a moment he didn’t move, as if he couldn’t believe what he’d heard. YN stepped aside, opening the door wider, the warmth from inside spilling out into the cold. “you’re freezing, and we need to talk,” she said, more firmly this time, gesturing to her snowy windshield he wrote upon.

he hesitated for a beat, then nodded, shuffling forward. she watched as he walked past her, his footsteps slow and unsure, like he was afraid the invitation might disappear if he moved too quickly. once he was inside, she closed the door behind them, the soft click of the lock somehow louder in the quiet that followed.

the contrast between the freezing air outside and the muted heat inside hit him all at once, his body tensing, unsure if he should relax. the space felt familiar, yet foreign—like stepping into a memory that had shifted in his absence. the soft hum of the radiator, the faint scent of her lavender diffuser, the quiet—all of it made his chest tighten.

he stood by the door, unsure of what to do with himself. his hands hovered at his sides before he stuffed them into his pockets, glancing around.

the apartment was exactly as he remembered, yet somehow smaller, more intimate. her big winter coat was draped over a chair, a half-finished cup of tea sat on the coffee table, and a pile of books lay stacked by the corner of the couch. there were still traces of their life together—small things, like the framed picture on the shelf they made together on a whim—glued seashells and colorful iridescent beads. the frame was still there, but the photo had been replaced, its new image hidden behind a layer of dust. he didn’t know what it was, all he knew is that he didn’t see the familiar photo of them at his mum’s house during christmas.

he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was erased, like a ghost she had swept away in her effort to move forward.

his throat tightened as he took in the subtle changes, the pieces of her life that had moved on without him.

she hadn't moved far from the door, standing with her arms wrapped around herself, her eyes flicking between him and the room, as if she, too, was seeing the space differently now that he was in it again. her silence isn't cold, but it wasn't inviting either. It was careful.

“you can sit." she murmured, nodding toward the couch, her voice steady but distant. "if you want."

harry hesitated, then nodded, slowly making his way to the couch. he moved carefully, as though the wrong movement might shatter the fragile understanding between them. he sat down, feeling the familiar creak of the old cushions beneath him. the last time he'd been here, he hadn't thought twice about dropping onto this couch, sprawled out with her beside him, both of them laughing at something ridiculous. now, every inch of space between them felt heavy.

she moved to the armchair across from him, settling into it with her legs tucked underneath her, but still keeping a distance. she watched him, her gaze cautious, as though waiting for him to explain himself. to fill the silence.

harry opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came at first. his mind was a blur, his heart pounding louder than the words he wanted to say.

he looked at her, really looked at her for the first time since he walked in. she seemed different, but not in a way he could pinpoint. her hair seemed softer, her glasses discarded, left upstairs on the nightstand. she had a new freckle he didn’t notice till now, and it immediately fell into the category of his favorite parts about her. “i don't even know where to start," he finally admitted, his voice low, breaking the stillness.

she didn't respond right away, just looked at him, her expression unreadable. "then why are you here?" she asked softly, her tone not accusing, but raw, like she was trying to understand. "you disappeared and now you’re back with no words.”

his breath caught, and he shook his head quickly, trying to explain. "no, i didn’t–” he paused, sighing, running a hand through his hair. "i didn't just leave like that. you left me, YN. that night, you walked out and–”

"–of course I did," she cut him off, her voice rising slightly. "you didn't give me a choice. i couldn’t recognize you. you relied on blow, harry. it wasn’t just for fun.”

harry flinched at the words, guilt settling like a heavy stone in his chest. he’d seen it happening, but at the time, he couldn't pull himself out of the spiral. "i know i fucked up. but leaving me? blocking me?—" his voice caught, raw emotion surfacing as he gestured helplessly. "y’just just cut me off. i had my slip ups, and i regret it immensely, y’didn’t deserve that. y’promised one more chance, and that i did. you found an old bag and didn’t even give me the benefit of the doubt.”

her face hardened, her arms tightening around herself as she shook her head. "i couldn't watch you destroy yourself anymore. that bag wasn't just an accident, h. it was a reminder of everything i’d been fighting to save you from. and you–you didn't see it. all you saw was me leaving, that’s it.”

his heart ached at the truth in her words, the weight of his failures crashing down on him. he ran a hand down his face, pinching his bottom lip, frustration and pain coursing through him. "i cared. god, i cared. but i didn't know how to pull myself out of it. i didn't know how t’fix what i was breaking. ‘nd then you were gone, and i didn't know how to–how t’do it without you."

the silence that followed was heavy, both of them sitting there, lost in the mess of emotions that had been left behind. YN looked away, her jaw clenched, her eyes misting over as she stared at the floor. the tension in the room was suffocating, the distance between them widening, and harry felt himself slipping, like everything he had come here to say was unraveling before he even had the chance.

"i didn't want to hurt you," he said softly, his voice barely a whisper. "i never wanted to be that person. i’m trying to be better, YN. i’m getting help. i’ve been sober since halloween. m’not perfect, but i’m getting better.”

her gaze flicked back to him, her expression softening just slightly, the anger fading into something quieter, something sadder. "you should have told me," she whispered. "i was supposed to be your person, harry. you shut me out, and I had to pick up your pieces on my own."

he swallowed hard, the knot in his throat tightening. "i know. and i’m so sorry. for everything. i’m here now because i don't want to lose you. not again."

she didn't respond right away, her eyes searching his face, as if looking for the man she had once loved—the man she wasn't sure still existed. but something in the way she looked at him, the way her guard wavered, told him that part of her still wanted to believe him. still wanted to believe in them. "you’re asking me to trust you again," she said finally, her voice small, barely above a whisper. “i don't know if i can."

“m’not asking for your trust.” his lip quivered, shaking his head as he slipped from the couch onto the carpet. he crawled over to her, sitting on his heels as he hesitantly raised his large, cold hands to her knees.

it felt like a shock, his touch in general and the temperature of his hands. his eyes burrowed into hers, as if silently gauging on whether he was crossing a line.

“i love you. even if y’never want to be my love again. i just want back in. i want to know you’re okay. i want to be able to send you a good morning text, or if you’d like to come to the studio like y’use to.” his voice almost sounded like that of a whimper, a stray tear falling from bloodshot eyes. “i can’t live without even a semblance of you in my life.”

she let out a choked sob, quickly wiping her fallen tears with the back of her hand. “don’t say that, harry.”

he ducked his head, leaning in to catch her averted gaze again. he rubbed small circles into her kneecap with his thumb, his voice cracking. “i don’t mean it a horrible way. yes, i can live.” he sadly chuckled, trying to backtrack how pathetic he must’ve sounded. “it just won’t feel like a life without you in it.”

her hand was hesitant, painfully hesitant as she stretched it out toward harry’s, softly lying it over his. she stared down at his hands, his skin warming just being against her, though his medal rings were still cool to the touch. she traced the veins with a shaky breath, shifting her eyes up his arm, past his shoulder, and finally onto his face. his cheeks were red, glistening in the warm glow of the lamp from his tears. his lips were swollen, hair disheveled and a bit damp from the melted snowflakes. “i want you in my life, too.”

his gaze was unwavering, all he could do was squeeze her knee gently, urging her to continue.

“slowly. friends, just friends. and we can see what happens from there.”

it felt like a weight lifted off his shoulders, a weight that only got heavier after five months.

he wanted to kiss her, tell her how in love with her he was. he wanted to hold her until the sun rose, he wanted to put their stupid christmas photo back into their diy picture frame. he wanted to kiss the ground she walked on and follow her around like a lost puppy. he wanted her to be his again.

but friends? it’s a start. it’s something he could live with. even if all she remained was his friend, he would still thank his lucky starts for her decision to come back.

he couldn’t control his tears at that point, moving his hands from her knees to loop his arms around in a makeshift hug around her legs.

it reminded him of the time he had begged her to stay.

but this time he wasn’t begging, he was thankful.

he nestled his head between her thighs as his shoulders shook from his sobs. she combed her fingers through his hair, softly shushing him and reminding him it’ll be okay.

her pink silk pajama bottoms dampened from his sorrow, a messy mixture of his tears, snot and saliva staining the fabric as he let out his loud whimpers, but she didn’t mind. her fingers fell from his curls onto his back, tracing soft circles into the trembling muscles.

his raw, unguarded grief tore her heart in two, each shuddering sob a reminder of the man she loved, a man who was struggling to rise from the ruin he’d left in his wake. and in the quiet of the room, as his sobs filled the space, she realized his tears, painful as they were—were stitching back together the shredded pieces of her heart.

he’s healing. he’s sober. he’s alive.

and that was enough.

[ipostwhatiwant1202]

Headcanons for all 4 TMNT:

• they all love kids but they collectively agree that babies aged 0-2 are the best

• can any of them handle spice? absolutely not. does it stop them? no.

• the only thing can all collectively agree on without much arguing is music

• all are surprisingly pretty good dancers

• they have all said "suck my dick" at some point (raph uses it the most)

• they all manspread

• nothing triggers any of them more than a spider

-raph won't go anywhere near the spider and refuses to be in the same room with it

-mikey's okay with the spider but doesn't want it touching him

-donnie will move the spider without killing it but won't touch the web

-leo will touch the spider to take it outside but the feeling freaks him out

• don't say the words "i bet you won't" cause boom there they all go

• at some point they have all referred to april as mom just to piss her off

• they all agree smores poptarts are superior

• they play with april's hair if she's sitting in front of them on the ground

• shark week is a whole thing

• thanksgiving and christmas are the turtle's favorite times of year

• they will all devour the deviled eggs and cranberry sauce

• mikey and raph will shamelessly walk in the bathroom when their brothers are showering

• leo and donnie are very guilty of leaving cupboards open in the middle of the night

• raph and leo have similar facial expressions when shit hits the fan

• mikey and donnie freak out if wet food touches them when they do the dishes

• leo and mikey both really like dr phil

• donnie and raph can't stand the taste of bananas

• do any of them truly enjoy horror? no. do they suffer through the movie anyway? yes.

• april has sat on their laps when there's been no seats

-leo is the most calm and just settles his hands where she directs

-raph is a bit more timid and keeps one hand on her waist

-donnie tries to keep his hands off her because he's awkward

-mikey just wraps his arms around her like it's a normal thing

• splinter still tells the boys stories when they can't sleep after a tough patrol

• splinter also checks on the boys every night when they go to bed

• the guys can all shotgun like it's no ones business

• they're all very protective of april and casey's child(ren)

-one time one of the kids came home crying saying another kid pushed them down and all 4 of them were fully prepared to go to war

-if the kid is taking a guy to homecoming or prom, the dude gets threatening texts and blocked phone calls

• when april and casey's child(ren) was born, all the guys cried

-leo very reluctantly let someone else have a turn holding the child(ren)

-raph has made the child(ren) a blanket as a gift when they're born

-donnie handles all the medical care for the child(ren) and april during and after birth

-mikey decorated the child(ren)'s nursery and baby shower(s)

• april gets random texts to settle dumb arguments between the brothers

• they all love adele

• they all sing in the shower

• don't bring nerf guns into the lair for the sake of splinter's sanity

• vine references are frequently thrown around the lair

• they've all watched 90 day fiancé and they all hate ed

• mikey is the only one who can get any of his brothers to cry from laughing

• leo may suck at comforting his brothers but they all seek him out for comfort anyway

• donnie's sleep schedule is the worst so when he falls asleep in his lab his brothers have each carried him to bed

• raph can't sleep properly unless he knows that his brothers are close by and he's seen them go to bed

• splinter will still sometimes tuck the boys into bed if he knows they've had a rough time

• all of them have cussed out casey and vern for saying the wrong thing about a brother

• they all hardly swear around april

• splinter has banned legos in the lair because the boys were using them as revenge against each other

[amywritesthings]

boston holiday. / a joel holiday ficlet

pairing: joel miller x f!reader ( the last of us ) word count: 1.5k summary: You're decorating for the holidays in your Boston Quarantine Zone apartment. A begrudging Joel Miller gets involved. tags: domestic fluff, pre-tlou, explicit language, holiday decorating in the apocalypse, set 6 months after 'seeing you / seeing me' credit: dividers by @saradika

welcome to the third day of the twelve days of amymas 2023 !!!

“The hell’re you doing, girl?”

Only two people have the key to your place.

One of them is Tess Servopoulos.

Giving Tess a spare key was necessary — or so she's claimed, since according to her, she can't trust you to stay out of trouble for longer than twenty minutes.

(She isn't wrong.)

However, you’d love to argue that somehow you have become the saint in this duo.

Ever since that week at Miller's place, every deal has gone smoother than running water. For the last couple of months, you've been clean. Unseen. Invisible.

Tess, on the other hand, has always been a bad influence.

The older woman opens her mouth, starts a Boston-wide battle, and boom — sleepover for two at your place.

(After saving your ass, you'll hide her away from wandering eyes without question. Curfew punishments be damned.)

The other person that has the key to your place, well —

The other is the salt-and-pepper man watching you in mild horror as you teeter on the arm of your dilapidated couch.

(You just haven't seen him yet.)

Joel Miller has been known for his subtlety, his silence, but not around you.

Not when he holds the key to your place; a recent development.

He tends to simply show up when he wants.

You don't mind that — usually.

But his bark scares the shit out of you in the middle of stretching high, your bare toes barely touching the arm of your couch.

The hell're you doing, girl?

Hoping to tack this starting string of garland to the ceiling suddenly becomes you fighting for your life.

"Ah—!"

The surprise intrusion causes you to falter, ankle losing its balance.

You wobble once, violently twice, before falling backwards.

Joel wastes no time — he slams the front door shut, not bothering to lock it behind him, and rushes to the couch.

Like some fucked up apocalyptic fairy tale, he catches you well before you hit the ground.

Joel Miller, the reluctant hero.

For a moment you stay suspended here: feet barely touching the ground, the older man’s arms wrapped around your torso.

Joel's weather-worn face twists in a concerned scowl.

All you can do is cheekily smile.

“Hey, Miller.”

“Don’t fucking hey me,” he snaps. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“To be fair, I thought I could reach it.” He stares, so you supply: "The ceiling. I thought I could reach the ceiling."

“You’ve got the tallest goddamn ceilings in the Boston Q-Z,” Joel argues in return, setting you down to properly stand. You hold onto the sleeves of his flannel shirt until you get your footing. “Ain’t no way in hell you were reaching anything.”

He lets go of you to stare at the ceiling like he's ready to pick a fight with it, before dropping his chin.

The man stops moving when he picks up the fallen string of fake green vines strewn across your scratched hardwood floor.

The question is silent: what the hell is this?

You cross your arms over your chest, wishing you had a better excuse.

A funny one that doesn't make you look so childish, especially in front of Joel Miller.

Still, you're a bad liar around him, so you choose to stare at the garland instead of him when you confess.

“I was trying to get the holiday spirit going.”

When you blink up to Joel, your suspicions of confusion are correct: he stares back like you’ve sprouted a second head and become a clicker in the flesh.

A beat passes.

Then another.

“The what now?”

You playfully roll your eyes and walk away towards your radio. Hovering over it, your fingertips reach to toy with the dials until white static takes over the apartment silence.

That radio is the only reliable device in your endless collection of junk, though it's had to go through some repairs this year.

Thanks to Joel it still works, though he won't let you thank him.

(Not verbally, anyway. There are always loopholes in the middle of the night.)

“Every year I do this,” you explain, turning each dial with care until the local radio station comes over the airwaves.

"You... decorate."

Clearly he's unimpressed.

"Yeah," you reply. "Between leaving the Q-Z and scavenging the nearby neighborhoods, I find junk all the time. Snowman trinkets and elf knick-knacks and other stupid shit no one ever touches because it's all useless. I keep all of them in a box until the holidays. My collection's actually grown exponentially over the years.”

Two boxes full, actually.

Forgotten treasures of other families, now kept sacred on your mantle.

“Sounds like a waste of time,” Joel scoffs.

“It is,” you agree once you find the right channel before standing at full height with a tiny smile, "but that time makes me happy, so I’m happy to waste it. What else am I supposed to do between jobs?”

He considers those words, if just for a moment.

Joel scrunches his nose and eyes in a way that says he's debating on being mean.

You don't expect him to get it.

He's been through shit, but so has everyone in this quarantine zone.

(So have you.)

The Eagles croon in the background — not exactly holiday cheer, but any vinyl or CDs of the greats like Bing Crosby and Frank Sinatra singing holiday songs are probably nonexistent from the decay of time.

Besides, you can’t imagine many others are trying to keep the holidays afloat in the quarantine zone. Some families, sure, but not many.

Too much heartbreak. Too much loss.

But you've had enough sadness, so you try to bring a little light to your humble abode.

"Don't worry about it, Joel," you add after an uncomfortable amount of silence passes. "I know it's stupid. There's a fresh bottle of stored whiskey in the—"

All words die on your tongue when some kind of winter miracle happens:

Rather than tossing the garland string to the side, Joel turns on the heel of his boot and away from you.

"Joel?"

He carefully slips off his shoes, revealing worn-white socks, and steps on your couch cushion.

With care, he reaches for the ceiling.

A strip of his bare lower back reveals itself in his stretch.

“What are you... doing?” you inquire, stepping around your couch to face him.

He doesn't look down, determined to stare at the white canvas of your ceiling.

Searching.

Your line of sight is in direct contact with the dark happy trail poking from his shirt, causing your face to burn.

“What’s it look like I’m doing?” he retorts.

“You said it was a waste of time.”

“You dying because you wanna try and stick some stupid tree shit up on your ceiling is more of a waste of time. You got tape or something?”

“Seriously?”

He peers down at you. 

“Do I look like I’m kidding?" he retorts. "Get the damn tape.”

You have to try not to smile too wide when you step away, rummaging through your box of supplies.

Truthfully nothing in this box is worth keeping — none of it will save your life in the apocalypse — but your mental sanity thanks you for it every year.

After finding a roll that’s still sticky, you return to the couch and hold it up for him.

Joel grunts in gratitude, focusing his efforts solely on the line of green above him.

He manages to press the start of the decoration in place, holding the bottom of it to you.

“You want big loops or little?”

“What’ll stick better, Miller?”

He gives you a warning look. “Joel.”

A smile spreads like wildfire against your lips.

“...what’ll stick better, Joel?”

That seems to satisfy him.

“Hell if I know,” he grumbles, “just tell me what you prefer and I’ll do it.”

Something stirs in your lower belly as he speaks.

Joel didn’t have to do this.

He didn’t have to do any of it.

You were perfectly fine with keeping your need for holiday cheer to yourself, but he’s stepped in without so much as a fuss.

He’s had a hard life. Tess has alluded to the fact that he was once a father before.

You can only imagine how much he hates this, but he’s still trying.

For you.

It’s not a favor you will easily forget.

Your fading candles burn out in the background as the two of you go through every part of your assorted holiday decorations, popping open a bottle of smuggled whiskey to keep yourselves dehydrated. 

You direct. Joel places.

After some time you both get too tipsy to put the finishing touches.

(Too busy slow dancing in the middle of your living room to the ballads of Patsy Cline.)

Making jokes.

Enjoying warmth.

Choosing life.

It’s the first night Joel Miller ever sleeps at your place.

You both stay in bed long after the sun rises.

.

[forbidding-souda]

hii could i request gundham, hajime, celestia (can be only gundham if u want) with a tradgoth!reader (can be both platonic or romantic whatever you prefer). also i just wanted to say that i love ur work <3

Gundham Tanaka, Hajime Hinata, and Celestia Ludenberg with a tradgoth S/O

vine boom, if this is ass then mind your business.

my own goth playlist

-Mod Souda

Gundham Tanaka

It's close to five in the afternoon. With the ebb of patience, you bite your lips, patting your eyeshadow with vigor. Precise and delicate, you try to keep your grip on the brush loose, and you keep pulling back to see if it's finally even with your other eye. From the bedroom attached to the bathroom, Gundham is tying his boots. If you don't hurry up soon, you both will be late for dinner. On this charming anniversary, Gundham surprised you with a day that he scheduled himself. At this hour, the finale is dinner, and you have spent long enough hair spraying your hair up to be able to do a full face. But you started the look anyway and are now stuck in the process.

Where you assumed he was feeling irritated, he was, in reality, getting somewhat worried. Did he not plan the time according to the time it takes you to prepare? He should know your timing by now. What did he mess up? 

He was born with relationship anxiety. There is no reason to decide whether the fear is genetic or self-conjured, understanding it won’t make it go away.

But when you turn and smile at him, a nonverbal signal that you’re ready, your gorgeous face calms him down immediately. The blissful emotions you conjure don’t always come from traditional romantic things. There is a natural draw to your dark aesthetic and your thirst for horror, it’s a looming veneration. It’s mundane for him now.

Walking outside and getting eyes from locals is as traditional to you two as a businessman in a suit. A few kind locals love taking pictures with you two, something Gundham doesn’t appreciate. Whether it’s through morbid curiosity (something he’s familiar with) or genuine respect is your job to distinguish. You’re quite used to differentiating the two. 

ᓚᘏᗢ

He gives the host his ID at the counter, anxiously avoiding their touch. You both enter with you having his trench coat draped over your shoulders from the cold while he sports his rare long sleeves. The words to the host are short, an avoidance of true conversation, and you two quietly follow them to your seats. 

“I can’t believe how hot it is in here,” your first action is to sprawl the coat on the back of the chair.

“Certainly akin to the depths of hell.” He grumbles. You planned for this situation as your bag holds extra setting powder, and even a small fan. 

“Wine for today?” You ask. “Or not.”

“It’s the occasion, but we must be on watch for the upcoming vulnerability to such of Aristaeus and his mighty grip.”  

You lean forward. “You’re perfectly able to protect us, my lord. I have no fear for such entities.” And with a light tone, “I trust you.”

His cheeks dust with pink. The two of you lock eyes for only a second before he looks away. He wants to add on to the warning, but he’s scared he’d start stuttering. My lord. What an impressive addition to the pet names you use. 

You place a hand under your chin, chipped nail polish on display, a casual sign of a settled relationship. “Ever easy to fluster.”

“Not many pleasant leaders in this mesh of corrupted souls,” he says. “A lover is rare, a gift from up above, something unnatural to ones such as myself.”

He’s explained this countless times and it never gets old. It’s his version of affirmation. He’s scared of physical affection, something as similar to him as touching a winged cockroach, but with a goddess as yourself he often gives you mercy by holding your hand or helping you with your hair. It’s the little things.

Rather rich and golden girls surround you guys, making you an eyesore. The various (what you consider) idiosyncrasies and quirks of people from old money can happen to resonate, but it will never be emulated. Once upon a time, you idolized being similar to that symbol of wealth. But when it comes to your subculture, you opt for DIY rather than name brands. Anastasia Beverly Hills doesn’t have an eyeshadow black enough to cover your lids evenly. 

It’s not the mayhem your dark appearance can be associated with that drives these types of people away, it’s the confidence you emit. Something Gundham loves you for, and you spark that energy in himself. Compared to before, there is now no off-switch to his consistent style and the joy it brings him, especially when he’s seen by your side. You welcome him to your subculture, an idea he can consider home. His natural aesthetic is now accepted by someone he considers endgame, and nothing in the world can make him happier than that.

You give him a mischievous smile that quickly dissipates into something charming. “I can say the same. A lover such as yourself is rare. You amaze me, you… I cherish you, Gundham.”

“And I you.” His lips twitch as he smiles. He once again locks eyes with you, analyzing the kindness in them when you opened your heart to him. The sensitivity still makes him uneasy, even after the long time you two have been together. But he welcomes it nonetheless, ignoring his instincts, guarded your trust like it’s his last hope.

Nekomaru told him, “If you get a good one, you better hold on.” and he’s kept that in his mind. He needs to not push you away, he needs to hold on.

Imagine you sitting on the bed while he laces up your boots raaaa.

The wedding's aesthetic will scare the rest of the classmates ngl.

Covers his face with his scarf at any sudden affection from you, permanently flustered at the idea of being loves.

Sometimes he'll even turn away so you can't see the weakened look on his face and his aloof smile.

My baby my baby.

ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ

Hajime Hinata

He swears the sun is so hot that he can fry an egg on the concrete. His car, a passed down one, was shabby and tired, but he drove it happily anyway. You sit in the passenger seat, phone on aux, looking out the window at the trees that surround you. 

The sun beams like a laser through the windshield and his control on the wheel starts to feel untrustworthy with the gravel of the road. He raises his hand, hiding the sun from his face before you reach over and put down the mirror. 

He looks at you, you smile at him, eyes bright despite your dark aesthetic. His outfit matches yours but just in color palette. His black button up is unbuttoned enough at the collar to reveal his sternum, courtesy of the hot breeze. His fingers are decorated in gothic rings that you had gotten him for an anniversary. 

As the car jerks once more, he furrows his brows. “You’re lucky.”

“What?” You ask while twisting the ac knob.

“You’re lucky I love you.”

Despite keeping his eyes on the road, he has the sense you’re giving him a soft smile.

“We’re almost there. Thank you for driving.”

He exhales a laugh through his nose, a vague scoff. Trusting you to drive his car on this road? No way. What’s even a question who the driver was.

“Ever think of finding one closer?”

You shrug. “This ones more beautiful than the ones attached to the city. You’ll see, you’ll get it.”

It wasn’t mandatory for him to go with you, but he understood the importance of sharing your subculture, especially since he is planning on being with you for the long-run. Having heard and seen the way your love blossomed for him triggered him into devoting his life to giving you the world.

In contrast to the former, you would have understood if he denied your request. He didn’t have to share your interest in the style and aesthetic, but you appreciate his piqued curiosity nonetheless.

When the metallic gates of the cemetery come into view, your spine straightens. “Stop here, I have to open it.”

“Are we breaking and entering?”

“No, I have the key. Stop here,” you repeat.

You open the car door and step out with an eagerness he’s hardly seen you have before. His state of mind while in your presence derived from attraction and interest. From your behaviors to the heels of your boots, his heart starts to beat when you shoot him a comforting look while walking away from the car. 

You dig through your bag, your back shielding whether you truly have a key or are just picking the lock. Either way, you push the gate open, your deltoids working as you do so, and you give a final push to give a fit entrance for the car.

When he expects you to re-enter the car, you don’t, shaking your head at him. You take out your phone and take a picture of the cemetery ahead of you before he has the chance to ruin the glamor shot with his driving.

Without you in the passenger seat, he looks around in confusion. Where is he even supposed to park?

You don’t care to explain, rather just walking ahead.

Without the sound of your music, the environment is suddenly quiet except for the sound of his wheels crossing over rocks. Giving up, he pulls to the side, putting his car in park, eyes still on you. You’re taking selfies, a bunch of them in the same angle, often raising the camera to get a view of your outfit.He closes the car down, unbuttoning another button, trying to ignore the sweat on his chest, and steps closer. That’s when you whip around, taking a selfie with him candidly walking in the background. You put your phone down and look at the photo. With the last button down, he looks so tasty you can almost swallow him whole. You smile, this photo is for me.

You do get to use pencil eyeliner for his waterline but don't even try putting it on his lids.

He'll get black roses for any romantic event, no matter how cliche, he still thinks the sight of you holding them is beautiful.

I imagine Souda had a crush on you first.

ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ

Celestia Ludenberg

cw I completely character analysized (made up word) Celestia's freetime events.

She has no one to blame for her constant isolation but her famished demons. Companionship has always been menacing, there has never been one so similar to her. She has chosen her cat over any potential love interests. Though here, gazing at your smile, a small hint of black lipstick stained on your teeth, she smiles to herself. The (rather inconsistent to the simple bather) lamps in your restroom offer a light bright enough to make it noticeable. 

She gently holds out one of her handkerchiefs. 

“Watch for your teeth, my love.”

Her bluntness towards your small mistakes (a mishap with clunkiness in your contour or something as simple as uncoordinated shades of black) often has you bickering like a married couple, but today you take the handkerchief and running it across the front of your mouth, blotting off the extra lipstick along the way.

“Thank you,” you say. Her eyelids drop to the kind words. She’s not used to being thanked so genuinely. 

After she deems you two ready, she enters her bedroom, a room that has the full ability to weigh down the average person's soul. She doesn’t care about keeping her bedroom family-friendly with the amount of gruesome-looking antiques and animal skulls, as well as the new, tan-colored cat tree that doesn’t match the environment at all. But she couldn’t find a black one and instead had to settle. Things like that make her more ‘human’ than she can commonly be interpreted.

She doesn't consider herself a model, but the gambling competitions that aren’t underground often require a photo to be shown. While others settle on a mugshot ass photo, she likes a professionally taken photo that captures her quality. Her beauty feels hallucinogenic, especially when accompanied with a stylistic background that she purposely poses to not blend into. 

Her newly favorite poses require your body draped over her, and a neutral facial expression with lips slightly parted. Those photos are framed along the hallways of her house. She looks at them often, tilting her head, trying to hide her love-stuck eyes when she stares at you. 

She shows you the world through her eyes, revealing you to dirty riches and a river of corruption. She uses her riches to give you a satisfied life, putting faith into you developing shared interest in hers. But one of the things that drew you two together was the similarities. She has never believed in ‘soulmates’, but the early interactions you two had gave her hope to a happy future.

Will bluntly point out when your eyeliner is uneven.

^ "Sisters not twins, Celestia."

Imagine how pretty her wedding dress would be.

Blood in vial necklace? She asked once until she learned how rotted the ooze can get after time.

She still has to get accustomed to not being selfish, and you're fully aware of her struggle with this new 'habit' of equal relationships.

[mdhwrites]

My Biggest Problem With TOH Fight Scenes

So first I just want to say that for as much as people laud TOH's animations... Its fights aren't good. I'm not saying they're poorly animated but as fights, they're not interesting. There's rarely much in the way of back and forth, the choreography is just okay, it usually is really floaty and slow, in part due to how TOH does its bigger budget animation. Some of the ones counted as fight scenes really shouldn't as Grom would be the best fight scene of the series... But it's not. It's really just a small dance routine without the opponent involved and then a super move and that's not a fight. It's much closer to a curbstomp if anything, especially with how powerless the leads are before then.

But all of those explain why TOH's fights are kind of lackluster and how that fuels a general feeling that TOH just isn't a very good adventure series which is kind of rough for an adventure/comedy series. No, my biggest issue, and part of why Covention is easily the best fight in the series to me (Eclipse Lake is second and the rest are... There at best) is a lack of personality to these fights. A lack of a personal touch that should make them more memorable. Feel like who is fighting matters beyond skill set, especially in a show with magic.

But what do I mean by personality? After all, in a fight your goal is to beat the opponent. Where is the room for personality? If you're asking that then WOW where have you been to have missed the Superhero boom of the last decade? Then again, plenty of those movies fuck this up too. It's effectively how you make sure Spider-Man punching someone feels different from Captain America punching someone. Through body language, how they treat the fight, the creative ways they get the opening to land their blow, etc. like that. More straightforward thinking people will use more brute force while smarter characters will use their environment to their advantage and silly characters may use jokes and the like both for amusement and distraction. How brutal are they in taking down their opponent, do they hold back, etc. etc.

In TOH though... Everyone just brute forces everything with maximum power all the time. My go to example of this is how smart, studious Amity's go to weapon in S2, all of S2, was an abomination fist. Despite having the second most versatile and expressive type of magic in the show, Amity decides to always go for just punching a bitch or literally throwing a fist (or she's not actually really a part of the fight). Why? What part of her character, besides the asinine element of her once being a Grudgby Captain, would make you expect her to be some sort of brawler? To want to get up close and personal with her very own fists? She should be summoning minions, setting traps, ensnaring and debilitating her opponents... And instead she keeps punching people or using the gauntlet as a projectile which isn't even used as a joke for "I cast Fist" which would at least lightly play into her being a nerd even if that's much more a line that should come from Luz.

But even worse is Gus actually. He's not a part of a lot of fights but when he is, how does he use illusions? Literally the most expressive magic there is in almost any setting? The coven that does magic with pizzazz as he puts it? With basic ass clones that aren't even in silly poses or costumes, darkness and mind jacking. The one time he actually makes an illusion to use as an illusion in a fight is very tenuously Looking Glass Ruins. Even then, it's not as a distraction or the like or even coded to who Gus is as a character for the most part. It's more of a trap/set piece than any sort of fight and the level of horror it goes to feels honestly out of character for the most light hearted comedy character in the show. Otherwise though... Where's the pizzazz?

It makes most of the fights in TOH just blend together. It makes the magic feel like everyone is just using energy blasts and vines. I mean even Willow always goes for the most aggressive, brutal approach she can to put down a threat with as many vines as possible. Why? Why does she behave, even when calm, much closer to how you might expect Hunter to since he's actually trained to kill and fight?

None of this is helped either by the fact that I think the first monster Belos fight is really the only one that actually has talking during the fight. Every other fight, the characters entirely shut up until there's a pause in the action. That may be more realistic but it still implies that none of these characters are afraid or panicking or coordinating or anything like that. Even during the ones I can genuinely recall, it's always the villain who speaks. The heroes are too busy just trying to destroy the threat to say anything. It makes how short the fights are a weird sort of blessing because hey! Now the actual story and characterization can continue instead of having a pointless, fluff piece of a fight going on.

So now they don't just feel floaty, they don't have narrative weight either. None of them are a clash of ideas because that only happens once there's a victor. That's less interesting than letting what's being said also follow the eb and flow of the combat itself. It's probably part of why TOH's longest fight is like a minute long.

Then again, if I want good fights then I could just go watch Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles because they have throwaway fights that are better animated, better choreographed and have better personality than either TOH's or Amphibia's best fights. Like seriously: If you've seen clips of that show's big ticket fights, I promise you that it's not a once a season occurrence that they have a great fight. That show is incredible with how silly and fun and GORGEOUS its animation is and I still want to know how the fuck they did that on a tv show budget.

But TOH's fights? I can absolutely see how they were done with a tv show's budget and they don't lean into character or creativity enough to make up for that.

======+++++======

I have a public Discord for any and all who want to join!

I also have an Amazon page for all of my original works in various forms of character focused romances from cute, teenage romance to erotica series of my past. I have an Ao3 for my fanfiction projects as well if that catches your fancy instead. If you want to hang out with me, I stream from time to time and love to chat with chat.

A Twitter you can follow too

And a Kofi if you like what I do and want to help out with the fact that disability doesn’t pay much.

[anachronistic-falsehood]

imagine being me today like “ok my friend mac ghostiezone said to watch folding paper befor greyscale man i’m so excited for a fun little lore dump!!!! ok here we go!!” mallard conway cuts emily in half VINE BOOM “ok haha i’m normal time to watch greyscale!!!” david bell is doing surgery on alan VINE BOOM william stabs tide with an amnesia needle VINE BOOM william starts chasing xavier like a horror movie villain VINE BOOM william uses his smoke illusions in really fucked up ways VINE BOOM william mentally tortures xavier with visions of all the people he’s killed VINE BOOM the amnesia serum can cause heart attacks VINE BOOM cantrip is dead VINE BOOM william curses his brother for eternity with guilt and shame surrounding all of the people he’s ever had killed VINE BOOM

[muppetable]

incorrect quotes day featuring more stupid shit my friends and i have said!!

roman, using a glue gun: scissors beats paper, but will scissors beat gun?

virgil, using scissors: let's find out

*war ensues*

remus: yeah his name is bob hes really annoying. he doesn't work. i want to pay 400$ to get rid of him but jan won't let me.

patton, not knowing bob is a roomba: *stares in horror*

patton: it's almost like you've never seen the vine boom sound

logan about to snap: oh no i've dropped this apple. very hard. in your direction. at your face.

remus and virgil: *playing with christmas ornaments*

remus's ornaments: *break*

remus: OH NO MY BALLS

virgil: im gonna film as you clean that up

roman: *throws inflatable ring at logan* TRENCH WARFARE

*playing trivia*

virgil: your turn, tap in *slightly pushes logan to his chair*

logan: *trips*

virgil: OH SHIT YOU GOOD

logan: SIR

[lamamasjamas]

NEXUS

Nexus /ˈneksəs/ n 1 a connection or series of connections linking two or more things. 2 a connected group or series. 3 the central and most important point or place.

Chapter 3 Summary: Waking up and going back to sleep.

Part 1 here! Part 2 here!

A/n: OOOGA BOOOGA BOOOGA. There's falshbacks now.

Warnings for the series: Dead Dove Do Not Eat!!!, getting lost in the unknown regions, Death, Gore, cosmic horror, very heavy topics, smut, angst, fluff, dark themes. This is a dark fic; you have been warned!

You woke up alone, and startled. The bunk was dark and the door was closed. You were alive, you thought. You were alive and all of your limbs were intact but the cot was a mess, you were laying on the wires, the cushion, sheets and pillows nowhere to be seen. 

The second theory must be true, pieces of the panels in the small bunk were missing, trinkets were scattered, some even halfway through the wall. Your fingers poke at it, it doesn’t move, now one with the oxidizing panel. The small doll you had collected, kept for Grogu, was stiff, half of its body cut in half diagonally, only an arm and leg flopping back against the metallic walls with a dull thud when you held it between your fingertips and let go. 

You shivered, mind finally clearing. Din wasn’t with you.  

The sounds of muffled screaming made you panic. They were in such agony. Your mind immediately tells you its Din. Your hand was against the control panel, hesitating as the screaming continued. You didn’t want to see what cruel amalgamation he must have become. You didn't want to see what he had turned into. With a sob nearly escaping your throat you open the sliding doors and you couldn’t believe what you were seeing.  

The walls were covered in vines, the hull panels were either rotting off or missing completely.  

Din wasn’t the one screaming. 

You approach slowly, the piercing screams of the Trandoshan bounty heard vibrating through the cargo hold. Half of the carbon slab was cracked open, leading to a path of blood across and towards the other side of the hull. The bounty turns as you near. You failed to notice that the other half of his body was still inside of the broken slab. You gasp as he starts crawling towards you. His eyes were wild, and with each push forward his screams exemplified his pain. 

Insurmountable fear builds in your body, each slap of his hands on the metal floor booming, each drag making him yell so hard it sounded as if his vocal cords were going to tear. 

He falls, face first onto the ground but he continues on helplessly, using his forearms to shuffle on. 

You back away quickly, the wall forcing you to stop, you were on the verge of spilling the contents of your stomach. He was able to reach your leg and you were finally able to get a closer look at the torn flesh of his lower torso and the spinal cord poking out from it, gushing thick green. 

You gag, your eyes watering at the sharp smell of musk, something akin to rotten flesh. 

You don’t want to think of how he even survived this long, or how long he must have been in that state. Blood was rushing through your ears and you couldn’t quite comprehend him.

In between grunts and moans of pain you hear pleads. Pleads for you to bring him to his death. You shakily reach for your blaster, almost dropping it to the floor. He’s gripping your legs like a lifeline, claws digging deep into your skin and muscle. You couldn’t look down at his face as you pointed between his eyes. 

Deep down you hope you aimed correctly. 

“I’m sorry,” you gasp, your hand against your mouth. You press against the trigger.  

…

The makeshift ditch you dug up was small. You were sure he didn’t even deserve a proper burial, Din only picked up those who truly deserved to be hunted. Still, what had happened to him. It made you have some sort of pity.  

He might have been in that state for days, weeks, you didn’t care to check how his healing was going, you tried your best to shove the slab with the bounty’s lower half down in the hole of dirt quickly. 

You didn’t even know where you were, it was barren but lush with so much plant life that you wondered if there was anyone or thing that could help you. Everything was foreign to you, the land and air so similar to what you have experienced but just a hint too different so that you couldn’t be comfortable. 

The sky looked too blue and the grass swayed slowly with the breeze. It was too nice. But, what you really found odd was the lack of sound.  

You felt the wind, you could see it blowing through the leaves, making bushes shake and the grass beneath your boot tickle at the leather seams. But everything was silent. It was as if your ears were stuffed with cotton. Out of instinct you clawed at them, stopping when you realized you didn’t suddenly go deaf. You often had to calm yourself down whenever the heavy atmosphere pressed down on you. 

Your lungs felt as if they could give out any second from the mutedness as you searched around the ship. 

It was starting to eat at you, sound was only coming from your own voice, your own movements. It felt as if you were in a bubble, pressure threatening to pop. You think that this was most likely how claustrophobia felt like. 

You search around the ship, looking for him. You look through every nook as if you could have possibly not seen his form, as if he were playing a sick game of hide and seek and he was going to pop up beneath a blanket just how Grogu did whenever you all played together.

The quiet was screaming at you. They're not here, they are not here.

There was nothing around that indicated that he was even remotely alive. If anything the ship looked as if it had been there for years.  

You’ve checked the cockpit and there wasn't any power left, no fuel either. The rations were gone and the whole ship was covered in thick vines. Some crates were stuck, sunken into the floor of the ship, tipped tauntingly at you; a response to the way you had tried to open them and ultimately failed hours before. 

The crest was abandoned and ransacked. You screamed out in frustration and kicked the console when you climbed up to the cockpit, finding nothing but random tools and dirty and oily rags Din always forgets to clean when he shines his armor. The whole pit rattles and shakes, laughing at your childish behavior. 

You’ve never felt so hopeless. You looked towards the blaster at your hip and flinched, swallowing thickly when you couldn’t look away. You were stranded, alone, with no food to eat, and with no hope to ever leave this place.  

There is always a misconception of human beings somehow being able to persevere, to have the innate need to survive in whatever situation they were in, no matter how dire. What if you didn’t want to?  

You tilt your head up as the sun sets in the horizon. You think of the uncanny beauty of it as you raise the barrel to the side of your head. If you placed it correctly, it would be as painful as it was to go to sleep. 

Even if somehow your aim fails you, you’re sure you would only feel so much pain after a couple of seconds, then you’d become numb. You’ve seen it before, a fallen and half molten face from a blaster shot, skin sagging and singed as their body continues to walk on, hands reaching for the face that wasn’t there anymore. 

You’ve had to soothe them, help them lay down as they cried, or attempted to considering their eyes were only caverns of bone. They pass out after a while, then they’d stop breathing. It was a temporary pain you were willing to go through. For the chance of seeing Din again. 

Just as you were about to close your eyes an orange and gray glow lit up. It wasn’t that far from where you sat in the pilot seat of the cockpit, Din’s seat. You squint as smoke rises a few miles off. 

You turn on the safety with a click and stand.  

…

“You can tell they’ve been camping out here for a while.'' He shuffles you in front of him and points ahead. His helmet was right beside your face, so close you can feel the coolness of it caress the skin of your cheek. You hum in agreement. The bounties managed to stay hidden in the forest, you've been looking for them for a while.  

Currently crouched and hidden behind a fallen tree you watch as they could barely get a fire started. “Not smart,” he comments. You hum again as you watch them carefully through the binoculars. 

“Moving constantly would have given them an advantage. If anything they should have at least started the fire until it was dark, that way we couldn’t have detected the smoke as easily”  

He’s talking strategy and you can’t help but swoon. You shift slightly, trying to get closer to his side, maybe even slide your hand in his and feel his chest rise and fall against your back. You almost slip from the mud before his arm winds around your waist and hoists you against his body. You curse under your breath as the heads of the bounties perk up at the sound of your awkward shuffling.  

You were spotted and in a span of a second blaster fire was directed towards you both. You groan in irritation as he pushes you behind him to take the brunt of the hits. Always the savior to his little medic. 

…

The moon shone brightly. It was almost shaped and shaded exactly like the moon in Tatooine, Chenini. Uncanny in its similarities. It had the same face with similar blemishes and craters. It brought you some comfort.  

The dry bitter scent of smoke was getting stronger and a hint of meat makes your nose burn.  Your stomach growled loudly, it shocked you how shaken you were by the sudden noise. You were getting so used to the muted atmosphere that even such a muffled sound startled you.  

You heard his mumbled conversation before you saw him. “No!” His mumbles and repetitions of the word sounded as if he were begging, “ You can’t,” he hisses in finality.  

You wait for a response. The only sound being that of the crackling fire. 

“You don’t understand. It's too dangerous!”  

You crouch and drag your feet firmly against the ground, just how he taught you. You move closer to the small camp and hide behind a tree, your back against the bark and digging into the sharp edges.  

“It’s all my fault. I should have listened to you…” For a moment you pray it isn’t who you think it is.

The man’s cries and whimpers echo through the forest.  

…

He’s been gone for 10 months. He didn’t tell you what for. He doesn't respond to your messages, your calls, anything, and it’s starting to worry you. You know it's been rough, with Grogu being gone, this new responsibility being placed on him from the darksaber, and his identity crises. You assumed you would get through it together. 

For now, you were traveling across the galaxy, helping people. It’s been nice, quiet, how your life used to be.  

But, It was boring. And you missed him. You always have the com in the back of your pocket, you always check on it, right before going to bed each night. You were starting to think it was just a constant reminder of how he abandoned you, how you were nothing more than a companion to his now fulfilled quest.  

…

It was the end of a shift and everyone was tired from the day. Ever since the Empire had been eradicated, more and more planets requested help. To this day, years after the Battle of Endor, there were still traces of imps around the galaxy. The damage they continue to do everyday goes deeper than trying to salvage what's left of their order, they gained an anger which left flames in their stead. They don’t really care for civilian safety when terrorizing towns and villages.     

You always sigh in relief knowing that you didn’t really graduate from the academy. You left right after Alderaan. The constant propaganda they supplied couldn’t justify what they did then, so many others joined in your sentiment, many of them dying in the process of leaving when they had defected too loudly.   

You said your goodbyes with a lazy wave, the other volunteers and nurses nodding back tiredly. As you step outside the old trade building made to be a medical center you lean against a wall and stare up at the sky. You walk to the apartment you were temporarily staying in after you name every constellation you know.  

Yearning to get back to the skies and out to explore.

You wouldn’t call the walk back ‘home’ out of the ordinary. You greeted the same people, you saw the same trees and stones, you sigh from how normal it all seemed. It wasn’t until you saw footprints bigger than your own imprinted on the dirt path to your apartment that your heart rate picked up. You carefully pried the door open, ensuring that you didn’t make noise as you entered. Your hand tightens around the handle of the knife you bent down to retrieve from your boot. 

The door creeks and you wince. It was a miracle you haven’t been killed yet with your recklessness. He didn’t move, he wasn’t even surprised at hearing your sharp intake of breath. 

You were shocked to see him in your temporary apartment. He was looking through all of the memories and gifts you’ve gathered from every planet you’ve visited so far. Most of them are children’s toys. You had a soft spot for the kids that come through medical and they tend to repay you the only way they know how.  They reminded you of the kid. 

You close the door quietly.  

He gently caresses a wooden figure. The floors creak as he shifts his weight closer to the shelves. You step closer and suddenly he feels so nervous, the anxiety  had been building inside him the moment he decided to get in his ship and grip the steer. His hand falls to his side and he turns. You put your knife back in its sheath against your ankle slowly. 

“How’d you find me?” you ask, steadying your voice to not show how unprepared you were.

“I tracked you,” he said, pointing at your neck which displayed a necklace he had ‘found in a pile of junk’ and that he thought ‘would look nice on you’. Curse your sentimentality for even keeping it on. 

You scoff and narrow your eyes. He watched you intently as your arms crossed over your chest.

“I would have been able to track you without it. Either way, I’ll always find you.” 

Your eye twitched, your frown faltered and your nose started to feel prickly. That did it for you. His words reassured something inside of you that you thought was just a fantasy. 

He steps toward, hands clasping your shoulders in worry, your silence, the tears gathering in your eyes, the way your lips tremble, it makes his chest ache. 

He cared for you even though his actions made it seem as if he felt the exact opposite. You felt like a child. Helpless and stuck, your only hope of a good and fulfilling life now being him. 

Your hands cover your face as tears flow from your eyes. He panics. The only thing he could think of was to wrap his arms around you. It was awkward and he’s pretty sure his posture was too stiff for you to feel any comfort but once you wrapped your arms around his torso he melted.

His knees start to give, your room reminds him so much of Grogu, just the sight of the trinkets in your room, the smell of the linen of your sheets. You were supposed to be a unit, something unbreakable, and he knew deep down he shouldn’t have gotten so attached. He did, even when his mind was blaring warnings at him whenever he found himself in your comfort, in the idea of traveling throughout the galaxy as a clan. 

His hands curled around the bottom of your shirt and he fisted it in his hands. His weight leaned on you and he trembled. Your tears stopped and his began. For a moment you froze but the second he tore his helmet off with ferocity you made him sit on your bed.  

Your look of concern, especially since he thinks he should be begging on his knees for your forgiveness, makes him rethink every decision he’s made after leaving you. 

He pulled you down and cradled you against his chest.  His whispered apologies were said against your hair. He breathes in deeply and slumps against the pillows of your cot in fatigue. 

The night was filled with gentle words, admissions you wouldn’t think were reciprocated and eventually a quiet sleep. 

[waywardrose]

THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY 25

stranger things

eddie munson x reader

rated e

5.3k

spotify playlist

for @punk-in-docs​​​

fem/witch/goth!reader, sweetheart!eddie, magic, slow burn (for me), friends to lovers, angst with a happy ending, no y/n only pet names, series-typical horror, period-typical sexism and homophobia, historical inaccuracies and anachronisms, drug dealing and use, smoking, alcohol use, masturbation, mutual masturbation, fantasizing, one-bed trope, making out, fingering, dirty talk, chasing, oral sex, handjobs, condoms, piv sex, reader’s father is a dirtbag, mild spanking, magical violation, mental torture, body horror, blood, aftercare, nightmares, strict parenting, panic attack, past child abuse and abandonment, semi-public sex, break-ups, running away, guns, fist fighting, everyone survives, tags will be updated as needed

Eddie would have to wait until his lunch break to see this new, hot, weird chick. He wondered which flavor of weird she was. Art weird? Theater weird? Band weird? Weird weird? He shrugged. He liked weird. In other words, you’re the new girl in town, and Eddie is intrigued.

note: We're in the endgame now! There'll probably be one or two more chapters and an epilogue after this. 🖤 I'll compile and post a masterlist for this fic soon, too!

25

Your heels pounded on the pavement. The pressure patch bounced against your chest. Bitter wind dried your eyes. Ash swirled in the air, creating incomprehensible patterns. It contrasted the dark wall of smoke curtaining the street ahead. You skidded to a stop.

Why were you running towards a fissure? What the hell were you thinking?

You looked over your shoulder. Eddie stepped onto the street, shirt streaked with blood. You couldn’t run in his direction. He was too fast. He’d catch you, take you to Vecna.

Shit, you’d nearly done that yourself.

A roar like a tornado boomed in front of you.

You turned to the fissure. A massive arachnoid shape moved inside the smoke. You stepped back. The blacktop surrounding the fissure cracked further, making you retreat. Vines you’d only seen through the tumbler or in visions snaked into the air.

You couldn’t fight a thing made of smoke. You couldn’t beat back the vines.

Chittering and howls echoed from the fissure, reminding you of a wolf pack. Demodogs, according to Dustin. You’d heard them months ago. The primitive part of your brain had known then they were predators.

There was nowhere to hide. Eddie had already seen you, anyway. However, you couldn’t give up.

With a scan of the street, the only practical option was an alley on your left. You raced into it. Dumpsters, blocky AC units, and dented trashcans blurred as you ran.

A wood pallet soared on your right. It hit the brick wall and exploded into shrapnel.

You shielded your face in your elbow. A board smacked your side. Pain bloomed, muscles cramped. You twisted and gasped, stumbling over shattered pieces of wood.

Eddie stood yards away. From the street, the chittering increased in volume. Your shoulder knocked into a parked box-truck. He stepped forward, relentless and silent. You cursed as you bounced into the wall.

You had to keep moving, had to keep him away from Max.

You jogged into the narrow gap between truck and wall. It was a clear shot to the next street. Unfortunately, the fissure crossed the alley on the other side. Vines slithered up the broken buildings.

To your left, police barricades spanned the street. You couldn’t go right because that would lead you to the nexus. You ran left and realized you were drawing closer to the hospital. At the next intersection, you went left again.

Humvees, camo-painted trucks, and police cruisers rolled away. Plumes of ash spun in their wake. You ran onto the street and yelled for them to stop, but an attack helicopter whooshed overhead. It charged towards the nexus. You had to get out of here. The helicopter launched one of its missiles. A great, monstrous shriek answered. You covered your ears at the cacophony. The ground shook, and you bent your knees to keep your balance. A second later, the report from a blast rattled windows.

You looked back. Eddie steadied himself on the side of a parked car less than twenty feet away. With eyes on you, he pushed off.

You murmured, “Come and get me, baby,” before sprinting down the street.

You passed the police and fire stations, squinting against the falling ash. While you could seek shelter in either place, you didn’t know what Eddie would do to those who got in his way. And you didn’t want to think of what they’d do to Eddie if they saw him.

You needed him to pursue you — and only you.

The nearest fissure cutting through the street stopped you short. Vines zigzagged over the ground. Another monstrous shriek bellowed, and it reverberated in your heaving chest. A neighborhood of older homes sat across the way. You ran between two houses, certain no one was inside — not with how close the houses stood to the fissure.

You hid behind a large oak in the backyard and leaned on the trunk. In the distance, demodogs chittered and gunfire resounded. The hit to your side made itself known as you panted for air. You pressed your palm over it. Muscles spasmed. With a grimace, you repeated the healing spell under your breath. Heat sparked under your skin. Sweat prickled above your lip and at your hairline.

It took a small eternity for the heat to dissipate. You lifted your shoulder to stretch it out. The muscles complained, but it wasn’t a stitch in your side. That was good enough.

Glancing around, it was difficult to find your bearings. You weren’t sure it mattered where you were. Your primary concern was keeping Eddie occupied until you figured out what to do.

A twig snapped.

You whipped to the side to peek around the trunk. Nothing was out of place. No sign of Eddie, either.

Shit.

Had he given up?

No, making the hunted think they were safe was a horror-movie cliché.

You weren’t safe.

You turned to face the other backyards. Still no sign of Eddie. He was hiding and watching. You felt it. He would lose patience soon enough, though.

Instead of running, like your hind brain wanted you to, you walked away from the oak. He wasn’t going to kill you. Vecna didn’t want you dead yet. You marched farther into the neighborhood, navigating fences and darting between houses.

A wooded area bordered the neighborhood. That was a prime place to play hide-and-seek with your undead, psycho-controlled puppet of a boyfriend. Jesus Christ, what was your life? You paused on the curb at the end of a cul-de-sac. The woods lay beyond the arc of houses.

A fence gate clanged before Eddie walked around the corner of a house and stopped in the front yard. He’d smeared the blood from his chin up his sharp jaw. The blood on his scrubs had oxidized to a rust brown. From this distance and through the ash-fall, his cursed eyes could be mistaken for pale ones. It didn’t suit his face. He looked best with brown sparkling eyes and flushed cheeks. He looked best smiling. He looked best when he’d been yours.

But he wasn’t yours anymore — and you didn’t know if he’d ever be again.

The edges of your vision blurred. You took a stuttering breath. There had to be a way to get him back. If Vecna could animate him, you could restore him.

You stepped onto the grass, heading for the woods. Eddie matched your pace stride for stride. At the edge of the yard where manicured turned wild, he quickened his steps.

He wasn’t toying with you any longer.

You ran, graceless and bumbling, into the woods. The real fight started now. Under the canopy of ash-covered foliage, shadows deepened. Your heart pounded rabbit-fast. Branches and twigs snagged your sleeves and hair, scratched your exposed skin. You couldn’t hear anything beyond the sound of your panting breath.

After jumping the third log, your thighs almost gave out. You staggered to a thick tree and lay against it. Your temples throbbed with your forceful heartbeat. Sweat beaded down your face.

Sudden weight pressed you against the tree. The musty scent of dried blood filled your nose. Hands grabbed your hips.

“Got you.”

You gasped and tripped sideways. Eddie held the back of your jeans until you pushed him away. He caught your forearm until you wheeled it out of his grasp. You spun and bolted deeper into the woods.

He clawed at your shirt with every step, fingers scraping down your back. You lunged to the side. Arms hooked around you before lifting you off the ground. You kicked out and writhed. He swayed with you to expel your momentum. He then brought your upper body close and dragged his sharp teeth over the side of your neck.

You stiffened, thinking of the MP he’d killed.

This couldn’t be it. Eddie wouldn’t kill you. This couldn’t be what Vecna had planned. It made no sense. You had magic, for fuck’s sake.

“No, let me go!”

“Or what?”

He didn’t even sound out of breath.

You pushed against his arms.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’d like to see you try, witch.”

You arched your back, freeing your arms, and slapped your palms on his cold forearm. You concentrated all your energy into them. The air cooled. The temperature dropped so fast, you expected to see your breath fog. You shivered as goosebumps rose along your skin. You pushed the energy as heat into him.

He howled and released you.

You landed hard and fumbled forward. The energy vanished from your hands like it’d never been there. The air heated. Your forehead ached from the quick temperature change. However, you couldn’t let that stop you. Eddie was right behind you.

After lumbering into a tree, you found your balance and pushed off. You ran with the hope it was away from the houses and fissure.

You glanced back. Eddie was nowhere to be seen. You couldn’t slow to catch sight of him. Like before, you knew he followed you.

He darted out between two trees and tackled you into another. Your back struck the unyielding trunk. It knocked the breath from your lungs. He pressed his burnt forearm across your upper chest, pinning you to the tree.

You heaved for air and pushed at his elbow and wrist. His other hand went to your hip.

“You will see this through,” he said, leaning his weight on you. “It’s your responsibility.”

You shook your head. At one time, having him against you would’ve been a comfort. You would’ve wrapped your arms around him and buried your face in his neck.

He said, “We should thank you, you know. None of this would’ve happened if you hadn’t cleared the way.”

You hung your head and held onto his arm. He was right. You’d opened the proverbial door for Vecna.

“I know,” you said. “I thought I understood. I thought… I thought I could heal this place.”

He huffed.

“So arrogant.”

The corner of your mouth quirked.

“Yeah, so fucking arrogant. Just like Vecna.”

“But Source can do what you can’t.”

“Oh?” You met his colorless gaze. “Like make the world worse?” Searching his blank face, you said, “He’s going to kill everything.”

“Sometimes destruction is a means of restoration.”

“That’s not what you believe.”

“What do you know of what I believe?”

“I know you want to create.”

“I am creating — with Source.”

“I thought you wanted to create with me. You wanted to leave this town with me.”

“No, I—”

“Yes. Don’t you remember what you said on New Year’s? You said I inspire you. You want to write songs for me! You said you think about me every day!” You touched his cold cheeks. “You said you’d give me everything.” You inhaled and put weight into your words. “So, give. me. everything.”

The weight of magic overloaded your limbs. You fisted his shirt to stay upright. However, he was no stronger.

Together, you fell to the ground.

Through gritted teeth, he said, “No, I’m doing what needs to be done.”

“For who, huh? You? Me?” You bent closer, taking the risk he wouldn’t choke or bite you. “Don’t you care — about me — at all?”

You wanted to ask if he loved you anymore, but… That was too far, too much. You imagined all the venom Vecna would make him spit.

“I do this because I—” He blinked. “It has to be done.”

“Are you listening to yourself right now?”

“What?”

“He killed me. Vecna killed me. He took Max.” You motioned to your head and said, “He killed me,” before motioning to your heart.

“Then you should’ve stayed dead.”

“Well, here I am.” You threw your hands wide. “Just like you.”

“You’re pointless.” He moved in to drive his words home. “You’re a little rich girl slumming it. You have all this power, but you never make anyone’s life easier. You have it easy. You’re spoiled and entitled, and we’re glad we killed you.”

“Fuck you! He killed you, too!”

What he said couldn’t be true. That’s not what Eddie thought. Right? You weren’t… You couldn’t be… It must’ve been a ploy by Vecna to hit where it hurt. He’d pulled some doubt or negativity from your mind months ago.

“It had to be done,” Eddie said.

“And what’s he going to do when he gets what he wants, huh?”

“I…”

“Answer me! What’s he going to do to us?”

“He’ll…”

“He’ll kill us again, Eddie.”

“No, he—” He frowned, looking away. His mouth opened and closed. “No…”

“Yes!”

You grabbed his face and forced him to meet your gaze. You wouldn’t play into Vecna’s hands by abandoning Eddie. Too many people had done that already, and you refused to be another.

“Come back to me.”

He wrenched his head from your hold to hide his face.

“I can’t come back. No, I— I’m where I need to be. I’m whole here. I’m bigger than… Bigger than—”

“Come back, honey.”

He looked to the side, the corners of his mouth turned down.

“You know, I never told you how you feel to me,” you said. “What you feel like. I figured it out in Chicago. At the concert.” You followed the slope of his blood-covered jaw with your eyes. “With all those people around us, you still stood out to me. I couldn’t help but feel you… feel your warmth.” You rested your forehead on his temple and softly said, “You’ve always been a flame in the dark.”

He propped his hands on his knees, sagging.

You softly added, “He can’t make it out of the Upside Down without us. It’s you and me. It’s always been you and me.”

He pulled away to look at you.

“You and me?”

You nodded.

“However long we got.”

His face became a rictus of pain, eyes going full black. Gray veins wormed under his sallow skin. He shook and wailed. You held his shoulders to keep him upright. He coughed black liquid as his eyes flashed brown. The liquid trickled down his chin to mix with the dry blood. His eyes clouded white.

He listed right. You couldn’t steady him as his weight dropped. You cushioned his head as he fell, your mind racing. Could you use the Eradix spell now? Would it kill Eddie, too? Did you want to gamble with his life? Was the nexus open enough for any spell to get through or not? Would he hate you if you couldn’t do anything?

The whites of his eyes went red — like blood, like lightning. He flailed. The black liquid from his chin smeared your inner forearm. Blistering heat sizzled up your nerves. You pulled away with a curse and a quick draw of breath. Your skin puckered. You needed to get it off you.

The few fallen leaves crumbled in your grasp. You picked at your shirt. If the liquid burned your skin, it would probably burn through clothing. Then you’d be in the same predicament, but this time on your stomach. The only solution was scraping it off.

Leaning over, you bit your lip and dragged your throbbing forearm across the bark of the tree. It abraded the wound like sandpaper. A whine escaped your throat.

Eddie’s yowl eclipsed it. He thrashed to the side. The gray veins darkened. He retched more black liquid. It sprayed over rotting moss.

The entire forest was rotting. The leaden sky became visible as leaves drooped, black and brown and covered in ash. Even the evergreens umbered.

“Eddie,” you said, touching his sallow cheek. “Eddie, don’t leave me.”

He rolled onto his back, coughing a mix of black and red. It splattered his reviving face. The eyes that stared at you were the Bambi brown you adored. Red bloomed across his clothes in blurry slashes and discs.

“No no no no no…”

A pained, distant roar rang through the woods.

You clambered for the side-seam of your shirt. You could use the fabric to wipe the caustic liquid from his skin. Then you had to stop the bleeding. He couldn’t— Not like this. You wouldn’t let him— Not when you could make it right.

His shaking hand made its way to your face, fingers warm on your cheek.

His voice was thick when he said, “Sweetheart…”

You knew what he was going to say, the jerk.

Tearing an uneven strip from your shirt, you said, “Shut up, no.”

His eyelids fluttered and hand dropped to the ground.

“You gotta take ‘im out then.”

“You’re more important.”

He grinned, eyes half-closed and teeth red with blood.

“You flatter me.”

“Quit distracting me.”

You wiped at his chin first, then his cheeks and neck. There had to be a way to get Vecna and heal Eddie at the same time. His bloodstains grew. Time was running out.

“Far be it from…” He panted. “From me…”

“Oh my God, will you be quiet?!”

“Impossible.”

You laughed despite yourself. A sob bubbled out between breaths. Your tears landed on his top. Ignoring them, you threw the soiled fabric and pressed your palms to the biggest bloodstain on his torso. Thick, fresh blood oozed between your fingers. He winced and tensed. You told him to relax.

He breathed, “Fuckin’ bats…”

That was right, the demobats had done this. The bats that had been yours, but taken over by Vecna. They’d become part of the hivemind — and maybe you had, too, until your death. Vecna had sent them. Even if they were dead, they remained a part of him. The hivemind was a loop—

Which meant you could send back what they’d done.

Like a karma spell. What went around came around. You couldn’t recall a full spell, but you remembered enough to focus your intention.

“Stay still,” you said, settling on your calves. “Thought of something.”

He gestured he wouldn’t go anywhere.

You closed your eyes to visualize the vague, shadowy form of Vecna superimposed on Eddie.

“Three times three; Here’s what you’ve bid.” You imagined every bite and every tear pulling out of Eddie’s body. “Own what you did.” You pushed the wounds into Vecna. “Reap what you sowed; A torment you’re owed.”

Eddie twitched under your hands. He choked around broken syllables. One of his hands wrapped around your wrist.

That same pained, distant roar came again.

You met Eddie’s distressed eyes.

“It’s okay,” he croaked. “Keep—”

You nodded, shutting your eyes, and repeated the chant, putting more force behind it. He wheezed as his hold loosened. You bent over him as if to shelter him, but it was too late for that.

You said the spell again. Your fingertips dug into his flesh.

“C’mon, you fucking shit.” You repeated the spell at double speed. “Get out!”

A terrible roar vibrated the very air, resounding from every direction. The ground shuddered. Ash showered from the tree canopy. Eddie’s hand fell from your wrist.

You shoved his shirt up. Your bloody fingerprints joined the blood-rimed scars littering his stomach. Despite the healing, his chest stayed unnaturally still.

If he was healed, why didn’t his chest move?

“Eddie?” You tapped his cheek and put a finger under his nose to check for breath. “Eddie?”

When he didn’t respond, and you couldn’t feel him exhale, you rose onto your knees. You hadn’t cast spell after spell, cried pitchers of tears, and literally died to lose him like this.

Those CPR lessons from middle school had better pay off, you thought as you got into position.

You layered your hands at the center of his chest, hoping you weren’t making a mistake. You used your weight to compress his chest in a fast rhythm. After a few seconds, you tilted his chin back, sealed your lips over his, and breathed air into his lungs.

Cycling through compressions and breathing, you began silently bargaining. If he lived, you’d give up anything — Djarums, wearing black, spellwork. If he lived, you’d do anything — tell your parents about you being a witch, volunteer at an old-folks home, bless every person you interacted with. Anything. Anything to get him back. Whatever higher power out there told you to do, you’d do it.

You puffed into his lungs once, twice. You begged him to breathe. He convulsed, feet kicking the dead leaves. You cried out in relief before resting your forehead on his shoulder. His head flopped to the side as he coughed and sputtered.

His voice was thready as he said, “Ow.”

You straightened and held his cheek. He didn’t pull away from your touch or stiffen, but something in his body language shifted. Like you made him uncomfortable, and he didn’t want you to know you made him uncomfortable.

“Can you breathe okay?” you asked, withdrawing your hand from his cheek. “Any sharp pain?”

“No, just… just sore.”

You nodded, gnawing on your lip, and rubbed your dirty palms on your thighs.

He asked, “Vecna’s alive, isn’t he?”

You nodded again.

With your left eye still cursed, you had to assume so. You’d failed. Sure, you’d injured him. Maybe that would work in El’s favor. Maybe that would be enough.

You glanced at Eddie. He lay in the dead leaves, scrubs bloody and morgue tag around his toe.

Injuring Vecna wasn’t enough. Leaving it to El wasn’t enough.

“I think I can kill him.”

Eddie strained onto an elbow. You reached for him, then stopped short. You didn’t want to make him uneasy. He closed his eyes as he breathed through obvious discomfort.

He asked, “What do you need?” before opening his eyes.

“Nothing.” You swallowed. “I just need to concentrate.”

In the meantime, ash had ceased falling through the withering trees. Chittering from the demodogs had quieted as well. You took that for a good sign. It was time to hit Vecna while he was down.

However, if using magic made Eddie uncomfortable, you wouldn’t do it in front of him.

“Rest here,” you said and scooted back on your knees.

Your gut twisted and muscles quivered. The back of your neck twinged.

“Where—”

“I’ll be over there.” At random, you pointed to your right. “It won’t take long.”

You stood on flimsy legs. The woods spun and became fuzzy. The ground tilted. You caught yourself on aching, tired arms as you collapsed to the side.

Eddie said, “Don’t—”

“No,” you said. “I can do this.”

You shook yourself alert before attempting to stand again. This time, you rose by degrees. Your knees still wobbled, and your fatigued thighs complained, but you stood. You couldn’t give up. Vecna still lived.

Eddie said your name like a question.

You assured him it would be alright. Then, taking deliberate, deep breaths, you heel-toed it to a tree a few yards away. After rounding the trunk, you slumped. The bark caught on your shirtsleeve and flecked away in brittle pieces.

You sank to your knees, skeptical of your ability to stand again. That doubt hardly deterred you. If Vecna died after this spell, you’d sleep off the exhaustion here.

You leaned your shoulder on the trunk and closed your eyes. Even though you had no idea what Vecna looked like, you knew his energy. You threw a silent prayer out to guide the Eradix spell. No one else should be harmed.

Enough people had suffered because of Vecna.

You bowed your head and fisted your hands. “Radicitus scindo, vlaen forma,” flowed from your lips without thought. Thunder boomed nearby. You repeated the incantation, thinking of an arrow nocked. Again, you repeated it. You loosed the arrow. It blazed through the air, its tip glinting sharp and true.

You wet your lips, tasting steel. Each word of the incantation rocked you forward. Your arrow glided through smoke and lightning, a cage of lies, a temple to misery. Dark secrets yielded like the earth to a shovel.

Clouded eyes widened when the arrow struck.

Vines like veins burst to hemorrhage inky bile. It flooded the blood-soaked land in a torrent of black. The red sky turned gray. Screams, mighty and meek, crashed across realities. Pillars housing relics of despair crumbled.

Countless hands rose from the inhospitable depths to flay burnt, corrupted flesh. They whispered his name; your incantation beneath. He attempted to drive them away, but the dead were relentless. They didn’t know pain or exhaustion. There was no torment he could show them to make them cower.

They pulled at his neck, his scalp, his open mouth. He gurgled and choked on decades of his own creation. Pieces of him disintegrated, leaving swirls of gray in the ichor’s black mirror.

The dead dragged him under at last. Then there was silence, like the brief hush after a long exhale.

His inner world fragmented with a bellow of thunder. The last beat of his desiccated heart. Fragments became slices became scraps became splinters became particles — until there was nothing.

Not even your arrow remained.

Cool droplets landed in your hair, slunk down your forehead. You opened your eyes to a murky woodland. Raindrops trickled over trembling leaves. You blinked before bringing your fingers in front of your left eye. You could see them.

The curse had been lifted. Vecna was dead. Was Max awake? There was no reason to think she wasn’t.

With a grin, you called, “Eddie?” and spread your hands on the damp soil.

Only the peaceful tip-tap of drizzle answered.

“Eddie, are you there?”

Using the trunk for balance, you stood. Your rubbery legs held your weight, but you wouldn’t trust them to run a marathon any time soon. You held onto the trunk and inched around it.

Eddie was gone. The used strip of your shirt lay amongst the leaves as evidence he’d been there.

You left the safety of the tree, heading to where you’d left him. You examined the ground to determine where he’d gone, because you couldn’t linger while a storm gathered. Trampled leaves offered some direction. You followed the trail, yet the surrounding woods remained unfamiliar. Of course, you reasoned, you hadn’t exactly been surveying the land as you ran from him.

Step by aching step, minute after barren minute, your heartbeat sped. Your chest constricted. He wouldn’t abandon you. Your shirt dampened with chilly rain and new sweat. He wasn’t callous. The trees all looked alike. You assured yourself you weren’t walking in circles.

Ahead, leaves crunched in uneven strikes. Like tottering footsteps. You opened your mouth to call for Eddie, but you stopped short. That could be anyone. You huddled behind the nearest tree. They could be a soldier or a lone vigilante or an injured demo-creature.

Lord, you hoped it wasn’t a demo-creature.

You put a hand over your mouth and nose to muffle your breathing. Footsteps shuffled past. You stole a quick look, recognizing the dark hair and green scrubs. You slumped and caught yourself before you fell.

“Eddie?”

He spun to face you and winced.

“Hey, I—” He bounced on one foot. “Goddammit…”

He bent and did something at ground-level the leaves obscured. You stood and eased from your hiding spot. He staggered before crowing. He sounded like his old self, which made you smile.

He straightened, holding the morgue tag aloft.

“Fucking thing’s annoying.”

“I bet.” You wiped water from your forehead with the back of your hand. “Where’d you go?”

“Found us a ride.”

“My car’s parked at the hospital.”

“We’ll get it later.” He approached you, tucking the tag in the shirt’s breast-pocket, and held out his hand. “C’mon, our chariot awaits.”

You dried your palms on the sides of your jeans.

“Are you sure?”

He frowned, his hand dropping to the side.

“Sure about what?”

“That you want me touching you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Before… After I…” You sighed and shook your head, too tired to explain. “Nevermind.”

“Hey,” he said, drawing near to cup your cheek with a trembling hand. “We’re—uh… We’re good, alright? I’m… good.”

You put your hand over his and leaned into his touch.

“Me too.” You gave him a wry look. “Under the circumstances.”

He grinned.

“Yeah, your eyes are the same color now.”

You returned the grin.

“Yeah, you’re breathing.”

His grin widened.

“What a pair we make.”

He extracted his hand and offered it for you to take. You curled your hand around his palm. His fingers tightened. That certain touch was enough to keep you going, though neither of you could walk at a brisk pace.

“Sorry if I freaked you out by disappearing back there,” he said as he picked his way through the underbrush. “I wasn’t leaving-leaving, but I knew it was safe. I… I knew you were safe.”

You squeezed his hand in affection before offering your socks to protect his feet. He refused, albeit kindly, explaining he didn’t want to stick around long enough to put them on.

“Are there demo-whatevers out there?” you asked.

“Dead ones.”

“Holy shit.”

“It’s a goddamn mess, but the truck can handle it.”

“Truck?”

“Unlocked. Looked like the owner left in a hurry.”

You didn’t blame them.

He asked, “Where do you want to go?”

With a sigh, you mentally deliberated. Your house was across town. Or at least, you thought it was. His might be closer, but there’d been a gate in its ceiling. No doubt that had turned into the start of a fissure. So that was out. Getting your car from the hospital meant driving close to the nexus — and the heart of the battle.

The underbrush yielded to a carpet of mown grass. Eddie rubbed his feet on it, muttered how much nicer it’d been when he hadn’t felt pain.

The cloudy sky was just a cloudy sky that promised steady rain. The tower of smoke from the nexus had vanished. You’d never experience this level of stillness and quiet. No whoosh of cars, no conversations, no television or radio, no pet noises, no chirping birds. It was like you and Eddie were the last people in Hawkins.

Even so, Eddie hadn’t joked when he said the street was a mess. Demo-creature bodies littered the pavement and yards. Some shaped like canines, others like spindly humanoids, but all their petaled mouths and clawed hands lay limp and bloody.

You whispered, “Holy shit.”

This was what the predators you’d heard months ago looked like. The lamprey-like tooth on your necklace came from them.

The rain started coming faster.

Eddie gave your hand a gentle tug.

“C’mon, let’s go.”

You nodded, letting him lead you across yards, through rusting gates, and around painted sheds. He guided you to the passenger side of a maroon-and-white pickup truck parked in front of a detached garage. The worn interior smelled dusty, but you cracked the window as Eddie slid behind the steering wheel.

He unclipped the steering column and pulled a socket of wires loose. From the bundle, he chose two wires and yanked them from the socket. Using his shirt hem as insulation, he twisted the wires together. The dash lights and radio lit. Static gushed from the speakers. You turned the volume knob until the radio clicked off. He nodded in thanks and pulled another wire loose to graze it with the twisted wires.

Sparks blinked across the exposed metal.

The engine rumbled to life. You hooted in delight and drummed on the dashboard. Eddie beamed at you, revving the engine.

He gave the locked steering wheel a good heave. Metal pinged from inside the steering column. He turned on the windshield wipers and shifted the truck into Reverse.

“Where to, my lady?”

“Well, I’ve been staying at Steve’s, so…”

With a sly look, he asked, “Is there something you wish to tell me?” His eyes widened. “Have I been replaced?”

You chortled.

“It’s not like that.” You poked his upper arm. “I’ll explain on the way there.”

-

Radicitus scindo, vlaen forma = (butchered latin and dutch) By the roots I tear, to flay the body

[leffee]

Vinnil headcannons?

I-I take it you liked the last ones? Or maybe you didn't and hoping that by requesting more I will say something you like 😂 I mean, I'll try :p

that reeeeally depends on my mood but often, I don't want them to have a happy ending. Or rather, I want Vinnie to fall and fall hard, and then be rejected, nicely of course, and then Sunil gets with someone else, anyone, be it Delilah, Russell, Pepper, whoever. And then Vinnie is miserable,

not much would change between them once they become lovers, because of course they were best friends before, so the main thing that changes it just the status quo, though they still by mistake call each other best friends sometimes. Like if let's say Sunil is introducing them he'd be like "I'm Sunil and this is my best friend, V- I mean boyfriend, Vinnie." They're just used to it, it won't immediately settle in their minds overnight no matter how happt they are, you know?

Vinnie is shameless, or rather he looks like he is. But anyway, now Sunil has to deal with that more than ever. Because if Vinnie wants to he will climb on top of a table in public, or start screaming loudly in a mall, or eat super sloppily in a resturant. Stuff like that,

Listen, liSteN, Sunil is the more teasy one, or at least once he gets really comfortable in their relationship. Because Vinnie has a more "cherishing" style of romantic love with Sunil, but once Sunil's comfortable he gets more playful,

of course they still watch horror movies, it's something they have been doing for a long time, but that's also why it's so important. Because they do it still, but differences appear with how close they are, what kinda of cuddling positions they are in, the kisses that appear that of course didn't before. It's important to them,

and although I like Vinnie to be the more protective one (he's normal guuuys, he's just a lil obsessed), Sunil can be too. And when he is, especially if Vinnie is talking with someone who Sunil basically feels bad vibes from, he will simply stand behind him and wrap his arms around his waist, and just stand there. He wouldn't even be passive-agressive or anything, but he would be wary

Aaand I think that's all. Well, those aren't all the headcanons I have for Vinnil techincally, but I'm way too ashamed to share others I have. Because while they are techincally Vinnil headcanons they are heavily Vinnie-centric bc he's my little guy. And literally all of them I think work under the "Vinnie is literally no joke obsessed with Sunil, yes, to the very unhealthy amount" which I know sounds like I want to make him a yandere. Well, you're right, I do vine boom sound. I love making my favourite characters like that and he's no different. But it's also a little bit of cringe for me

[searchingforserendipity25]

Curufin!

Character Ask Game 💚🤍🖤

Thank you @welcomingdisaster! :)

Give me a character and I will give you my thoughts on

Curufin

one aspect about them i love 

Favourite Daughter Syndrome, and committed to it. 

one aspect i wish more people understood about them

As much Aredhel’s friend as Celegorm or Caranthir. Well-spoken and very compelling; very strongly attuned to everyone's position and presentation in any conversation, and when he talks/acts it's very deliberately a give-take-overcome situation, both in Nargothrond and confronting Beren and Lúthien.

Very reactive, aware of other people's possible reactions. Shows a remarkable talent in slipping in and saying the correct thing at the correct time with fantastic oration skills. These are good qualities and not evil in themselves! It's what he uses them for that's the problem.

one (or more) headcanon(s) i have about this character

Genuinely liked Telchar more than most elves, including his brothers. A true friendship of like minds, soul sisters of the craft, bffs of the forge. Celebrimbor wants what they have (and he gets it with Narvi, but not after pining after a number of cool dwarrows and having his hopes for a partnership dashed.) 

as well as

one character i love seeing them interact with

Finrod. Everything about the bonds of betrayal and gratitude and betrayal again, mutual attraction and mutual (dis)illusionment, a far clearer mutual understanding than either of them wants to admit, both regarding the best and the worst parts of their characters…

one character i wish they would interact with/interact with more

Aredhel! Again, I find their friendship fascinating.

one (or more) headcanon(s) i have that involve them and one other character

Felt pretty bad - as in, mind-breaking guilt very badly managed - about telling Eöl where Aredhel and Maeglin were going, in hindsight; but genuinely thought this was a political move on Aredhel’s part at the time.

Marry a Sindarin lord, start thawing Turgon’s anger about her disappearance by presenting her cute kid, and then her husband shows up and boom! diplomacy happens. There’s a half-Noldo with a feet in Nan Elmoth. Not a bad choice, as far as he's concerned; Finrod and his siblings have Thingol’s favour, the Feanorians are all out, where does that leave Fingolfin and his children in terms of footing?  Eöl’s chase seems consistent to what he knows of Aredhel - hardly the first time she got an idea in her head and left others behind in the assumption they’d do what she planned them to do.

He didn’t at all think she did it on purpose for mere political convenience - Aredhel only does her own convenience, mostly, and power plays of the polis kind aren't her thing. But he knows how she chafes at restriction and longs for vastness, control, agency and liberty, and if she fell in love with a treacherous sentient forest, well, it’s not that surprising. 

Curufin’s failure is always in underestimating everyone else. The forest gripped Aredhel not the other way around. 

Quite envious that Turgon got to kill Eöl - but also very glad that he wasn’t the one to do it and deal with the consequences to his network in Himlad and in the dwarrow kingdoms.

Knowing Eöl, he suspected the consequences would be quite terrible; would not have been surprised at the Doom he cast over Gondolin, and indeed counted on it and mentally scrapped Gondolin as any kind of use afterwards (went so far as to be glad that they weren't joining the Union, and lowkey blamed them for the defeat and how it changed their plans/added another Doom).

If Aredhel and Maeglin had stayed in Himlad, Curufin would have done so much for them (derrogatory but mostly well intended). The coup of Nan Elmoth by Maeglin’s regents would be truly a tale for the ages (a horror tale). Strangling vines, poisonous ponds, anti-colonialist spiders, Aredhel vs Mablung in a fight for survival in the wilds when Thingol sends someone to figure out what’s going on, Maeglin running around with a cursed blade - we could have had it all! 

[godsoopsiewoopsie]

i need a horror movie to, just once, unironically use the vine boom sound effect. please that would genuinely be the funniest fucking thing

[arilikesocs]

i have just had the best idea but it will change my whole lore (i’m okay w it)

so for the longest time i’ve been trying to figure out how to make kade having this “parasite” in him coherent with the mythology i’ve been inspired by

the things i’ve wanted to achieve with this “parasite” is: horror, eye imagery and the loss of one’s self / confusion with identity

but none of this made sense with what i was going with

at first the parasite was the “forest itself” but like, why would it be evil ?? (which is what i was planning)

but i have finally got it !!

i’m scrapping the idea entirely and replacing it with a different idea

what if kade was a changeling (vine boom effect)

i was thinking abt this plot twist being cringe but i think it adds more to his character (imo) and the way he wishes to connect with people

IT ALSO MAKES WAYY MORE SENSE LORE WISE AND IM SOO HAPPY I’VE FOUND A SOLUTION TO THIS MISERABLE PROBLEM I’VE BEEN HAVING W THIS STORY FOR THE LONGEST TIME

this makes sense because changelings actually exist in cornish and irish mythology.

essentially they are fairies who steal babies and replace them for the lols WHICH IS HORRIBLE.

i’m not using the exact myth because i don’t want kade to be kidnapped as a baby BUT i still like the idea (like in dnd) that they replace people who already exist.

this is also brilliant because it fits all my criteria !!

i think in the story og kade is already dead. like, you never get to meet og kade, what he was going through, who he was but you meet changeling kade who has all of og kade’s memories and mannerisms and everything.

like… is kade still alive if someone who has the same memories and face replaces him ?? a carbon copy of him replaces him. does that still count AS him ??

philosophy questions aside, i also think it would be so uncanny if things abt him were off. like not his looks but kade having no pictures of people in his life in his house. not his parents, his friends (because ofc changeling kade would not have them). or if he doesn’t have to brush his teeth or brush his hair because he can just instantly change himself !! kade doesn’t have to deal with bed hair !! those r just a few examples

BUT YEAH that’s basically the gist (mb it’s so long)