small-round-and-angry

[small-round-and-angry]

Go Fish

Best Friend!Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: A shocking turn of events leaves Eddie bereft and furious. Luckily you’re waiting for him back at his trailer with soft hands and comforting words. Based on I Saw Red by Warrant. 

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: cheating (not on reader and not by Eddie), Chrissy is a little bit demonized but for good reason, crying, destroying property (his own), hurt/comfort, Eddie has an ongoing mental breakdown, allusions to sex, angst with a very happy ending, best friends to lovers, flufffff, a kiss without explicit consent, more consensual kissing, Eddie is going through it but reader helps him

A/N: Draft fic that was done like two months ago. I was gonna name this ‘I Saw Red’ after the song, but then I decided I like the reference to the fish better (read and you'll get it).

Masterlist 

Tires screech as his lead foot lands on the brake pedal. Opening the creaky door, Eddie flies out of his old van, marching up the driveway to his girlfriend’s house. His eyebrows pull together as he recognizes the car haphazardly parked diagonally across the drive. Chrissy doesn’t own a pickup truck…

Blood starts rushing in his ears like water in the Grand Rapids. Surely not. She wouldn’t.

Knocking on the heavy door, he waits impatiently to be proven right or wrong—he’s not sure which would feel worse. If he’s right—well, god forbid. And if he’s wrong, that still begs the question: why is Jason Carver’s car in Eddie’s girlfriend’s driveway? The chain attaching his wallet to his pants jingles as he taps his foot, trying to find a place for the nervous energy to go.

The sound of the lock clicking brings a smile to his face—force of habit—but the sight before him has the smile plummeting straight to a confused frown. Wide, worried, blue eyes meet his, but what really brings the frown is the reddish-purple mark on delicate skin. There on his girlfriend’s neck is a hickey—clear as day. 

Now, Eddie’s never been known to be a particularly gentle lover—often getting too excited and sometimes teeth and suction comes with the territory. But Chrissy used to reprimand him any time he’d try to give the girl a hickey. ‘Eddieeee, stop. I have a game tonight, the makeup will sweat off and everybody will see,’ she’d whine. The good and respectful boyfriend that he is—he abided by her instructions, appreciating the boundaries she set. 

However, it seems those boundaries are nonexistent for her ex. 

No need to see any more proof, no desire to hear apologies and excuses—Eddie throws a look of disgust at his girlfriend. “Fuck this.” Shaking his head at the nerve of the girl, her blue eyes fill with tears—pretending like she gives a shit now. Promptly whipping around, he takes long, angry strides back to his van, ignoring the soft calls of his name. Fuck this.

The world is dangerously blurry as he drives back to his trailer, hot tears spill down his cheeks as he replays every moment he spent with her in his mind. Surely there is something he missed. One doesn’t just go cheat on a good thing. He must’ve done something. Was he not good enough? He satisfied her, he knew that. But was he not a good partner? He’d buy her things, take her places, listen to her complain about class, her friends, practice. He did so much for her. 

Tires skid on gravel as he slams the brakes. He’s thanking every lucky star in the sky that Wayne is working tonight. Eddie would very much like to break down in peace. Muttering curses, he throws the car door shut, harder than he ever has before. Of course, the piece of shit that it is, the door clicks shut and then unclicks with the force he used on it, swinging open again—only pissing him off more. “FUCK,” he roars, shoving all his force and body weight behind his palm, the door finally bangs shut. 

If he had half a logical mind, he would have noticed the lamp in his bedroom was on. Normally, he’s meticulous about turning off all the lights when he leaves. That one summer Wayne made him pay the electricity bill to teach him a lesson for constantly leaving them on around the trailer really scarred him. But Eddie isn’t thinking logically right now. All he feels is rage, and all he can think about is punching a hole in the universe—everyone should feel lucky he doesn’t have superpowers. He’s pretty sure this would be his villain origin story.

The girl he loves doesn’t love him back, then the girl he gets with to get over her cheats on him. Life is going perfectly for him. 

Fumbling with the keys to the front door, he kicks the wall of the mobile home when they fall from his shaky grip. He crouches down to pick them up, but instead of standing back up and trying again, he just stays down, hunched over with his wet face in his hands. Trying to stop the hyperventilating breaths, he forces himself to hold air in for ten seconds before blowing it out. After about thirty seconds on the ground, he vigorously scrubs the tears from his face, swiping the keys off the ground and successfully unlocking the door. 

As if the crying on the drive over wasn’t enough, even more tears fall once he’s safely inside his home. Looking around at the clutter, he starts throwing shit around. Everything is a mess, everything is bullshit. His D&D character sheets are bullshit, the empty beer cans on the edge of the counter bound for the recycling are bullshit. The heap of homemade Hellfire shirts on the couch are extra bullshit. Picking up the pile of useless t-shirts, he sniffles as he marches into his room, heading straight for his closet and throwing them messily down on the floor in there before slamming the door shut. 

“Are you cleaning up for your date tonight?” 

Eddie’s back goes rigid at the sound of your voice. He had no idea he wasn’t alone. If he knew he had company, he would’ve delayed his breakdown at least long enough to tell you to get lost. But he wouldn’t do that. Not really. Because unfortunately, you’re exactly what he needs right now and he can’t tell you that. 

A fresh wave of tears stream down his wet cheeks, already feeling light headed from all the dehydration. It’s your genuinely excited voice that sends him into another spiral. You knew he was supposed to celebrate eight months with Chrissy tonight, but it appears you had no idea the time he was going to go over there. The insinuation that he’d bring the cheerleader back here makes him bristle, the way you’re so blasé with the comment—you really couldn’t give less of a shit that he’s with another girl, huh? 

“You must be excited,” you try again.

Slowly turning around, he gives you a deadpan look. No need to dismiss your comment—his appearance will do it just fine. Weirdly, he feels vindicated when the light in your eyes dims and your smile falls as you take in his swollen, red eyes and runny nose. 

“In that really awful suicidal way,” you finish slowly, standing up from your place on his unmade bed. “I’m sorry, I just let myself in. I figured you’d be back eventually.”

He watches with a sniffle as you jerk your thumb to the window he keeps cracked specifically for you. You’ve come knocking at his window late at night enough times for him to just permanently leave it open for you—like a cat that comes and goes as she pleases.

At his heavy silence, you continue, nervously fiddling with your fingers, “I didn’t know if you’d already gone over or–” It’s pretty clear now where he was, he can see it in your face. You’re sad for him and you don’t even know any details yet. You’ve always been like this, though. You feel what he feels. Sharing in his joy, his sadness, his fear, his pain. How could he not love someone who loves him so completely—but not the way he needs it, that’s the caveat. 

“Did something happen–” Okay, that was a stupid question, you’ll admit. But how else do you broach the radioactive emotions of your best friend when you don’t even know what went down? 

A humorless, wet chuckle leaves his throat as he shakes his head at the question. Did something happen? No, not really. Just the past eight months of his life blew up in his face tonight. What’s new in Eddie’s world? Nothing much, what’s new with you? 

Deciding he needs something to do, he starts fluttering around his bedroom, throwing any garbage he finds onto the floor. The mixtapes of pop songs Chrissy swore were good—floor. Food wrappers from late night ventures into the kitchen while staying up on the phone with her—floor. The goblin PEZ dispenser she got him for their five month anniversary—floor. 

Wide eyes watch him with shock and worry as he doesn’t show signs of stopping his rampage, you don’t know how to help him if he doesn’t tell you what happened. “Eds, what’s going on? Is she not well?” You’re shooting in the dark here—it could be anything for all you know. 

Another humorless chuckle escapes him as he swipes a stack of D&D papers off his dresser. He watches as the papers drift peacefully to the ground—a stark contrast to the raging tornado of emotions inside him—shaking his head at the idea that Chrissy Cunningham could be unwell. She had two boyfriends, after all!

“Oh no, she’s well, alright. She’s fucking fantastic. Got her boyfriend back and everything.” 

Missing the indignation in his form, you frown as you pick up the papers he threw. You know he’s on a whole other level right now because he’d never treat his precious D&D stuff like this. That’s the one place in his life he’s the most organized. Compiling the looseleaf notes, press them into a neat stack again. “I didn’t know you guys were having problems.”

“Her old boyfriend,” he specifies, sending another trinket she bought him flying to his carpet. 

You stand up, placing the papers back on his dresser now that he’s moved on to the pictures on the mirror. A look of shock and horror crosses your face at his revelation. All you manage to string together in response is a somber, “Oh, shit.”

Choosing once more not to look at you, he rips up a photo of himself and Chrissy from the day they went to Indianapolis together. “Yeah, my sentiments exactly.” 

Unsure of what to do with yourself, you cross your arms, squeezing the skin on your biceps anxiously. “Well, it’s okay,” you try, taking on a soft, consoling tone. “There’s plenty of fish in the sea.” 

It’s a classic for a reason—there’s so many more people out there and it’s not over because Chrissy Cunningham cheated on him. You never really understood their whole thing anyway. It was weird to see him crossing the social stratification, especially in a town like Hawkins—that was practically unheard of. 

Making sure there are no pictures of Chrissy left on his mirror, he pauses at the one of you and him. It’s from last summer, when you dragged him to the Hawkins pool, even convincing Wayne to come along since it was his day off. He grumbled the whole time and refused to dip more than a toe into the water, but it gave the old man the perfect opportunity to capture the moment.

The picture shows Eddie holding you bridal style in the water, while you’re very clearly pushing his head away, trying to get him to put you down because he wouldn’t stop dunking you. Both of you are mid-laugh, with wet hair and squinting eyes. 

The sunny memory drives an icicle into his heart—followed by fifty more—only making him feel worse. He can’t have you, but he can have you just enough to hold you in a joking manner. He can’t feel you, but he can feel you just enough to know the heat of your skin from a thousand half-hugs. You’re not his, but you’re his just enough to take up precious space in his small room.

Snorting at your pitiful attempt to help him, he smooths his thumb over the image of your smiling face. “There’s only one fish I want and she’s not interested.”

Your scoff draws his attention, placing the photo back onto the mirror, he turns to gauge your reaction. “Well, that fish is stupid!” 

His eyebrows raise, unimpressed by your defense of your own argument. Also, you clearly don’t understand what he’s talking about—you must think he means Chrissy, judging by the way your reaction shows unbridled anger.

“Eddie, seriously, fuck her. She didn’t know what she had when she had it, dude. You deserve so much better! Any girl would be so lucky to call you hers,” you declare, pissed at your own sex for neglecting such a gem of a man. You’ll never admit it, but a small, selfish part of you is secretly glad he doesn’t exactly have girls knocking down his door for a date. However gnawing that feeling is, you won’t rejoice in his sorrow.

Bristling at your constant friend-zoning, he huffs out. You never fail to slip a ‘dude’ into your sentences when you speak to him, it makes him even more upset. He’d die just to hear you use at least one endearment. If Hades himself came to drag him down to the Underworld, he’d barter for one ‘baby’ in that sweet tone you only use when he’s upset or you’re talking to animals. 

You mistake his huff of annoyance for rejection of your assertion and march over to him, doubling down. “I’m not just saying that! You’re kind, you’re handsome, you have interesting hobbies, you’re fucking funny,” you list out each description on your fingers, looking at him wildly, imploring him to believe you. “Seriously, I’m jealous of any girl who gets to be with you because I know she’s got the best man in Hawkins—no, the universe! Just because Chrissy fucking Cunningham was too much of an airhead to see it doesn’t make it any less true.” 

Slowly, his frown melts into a look of quiet shock. Did you just say you’re jealous? Not to mention, this is the first time he’s hearing you say something bad about the girl he’s been dating for the past eight months. You always seemed so supportive, but were you covering up your disdain? 

You assured him you’re not just saying that because of everything that went down tonight, so he’s inclined to believe you. Did he miss something in his friendship with you? He certainly missed some change in his relationship with Chrissy, so he doesn’t think he’s been on his game. Maybe you feel differently for him than he originally thought.

You called him handsome to his face just now. And you said you were jealous of any girl who gets to have him. You also said it like you don’t know he’d drop any date in a heartbeat if you’d even look his way. Maybe he hasn’t been clear enough. He can be clear. 

Observing the change in his expression, you’re pretty sure he just looked down at your lips. You don’t think you imagined that—or maybe you did. It wouldn’t be the first time, unfortunately. The world feels like it’s moving in both slow motion and hyper-speed when he leans down, large, ringed hands holding your face ever so gently as he brings your lips to his. 

The kiss makes you feel like the laws of physics no longer apply and you’re floating up to the ceiling, his warm hands are the only things tethering you to this plain. The way his lips move on your stunned mouth feels like a wave of butterflies will erupt from your throat, traveling up from your stomach the second he parts from you. 

But that’s not what happens. 

When your frozen lips still refuse to meet his languid movements, he jumps back like he’s been burned. Your mouth is parted in surprise and your eyes make him think he’s never going to see you again once you leave this trailer. “Oh fuck. Oh shit, I’m so–I’m so fucking sorry,” his hand covers his mouth, mumbling his words. It probably looks like the general reaction of shock, but the hand is there more to stop him from trying again. 

He’s mortified and on the verge of angry tears—at his awful actions, not your lack of response—but he’s also vibrating with the need to feel you that close again. It’s like you’re a neodymium magnet and he’s scrap metal trying to fight the pull. 

His head won’t stop shaking side-to-side in awe of his stupid actions and because it’s the only movement that feels like the word ‘sorry’ without saying it. Eddie watches in horror as you stay silent, only bringing soft fingers to your lips, like you could feel his kiss still lingering. “God, that was so shitty, I’m so fucking sorry, sweetheart. Please, please forgive me, that was–I shouldn’t have done that.” 

Your prolonged silence and distant stare have him mentally flogging himself for forcing this on you—his best fucking friend, who was only trying to make him feel better. He’s never felt more like a piece of shit, and he’s had the town on his ass since he was eleven. Hurting you is the most deplorable thing he’s ever done, and he’s two seconds away from dropping to his knees to beg for your forgiveness.

“Jesus H. Christ, I’m such an asshole,” he shouts with a humorless huff, restless hands grasping the roots of his curls. He fucked up with you, then he fucked up with Chrissy, then he fucked up with you, again. It’s the definition of insanity at this point. Despite your lack of interest in him for all twelve years that he’s known you, his stupid ass thought maybe eight months made a difference. Clearly it hasn’t. 

“I ruin fucking everything, no wonder she went back to Jason! Am I just like–a plague of a person? What the fuck is wrong with me? Everything I do–”

His rhetorical, self-deprecating meltdown is halted when you shut him up with your perfectly soft lips. A grunt of surprise turns into a moan he’d feel humiliated over if it wasn't for the fact that you’re kissing him. Of your own volition. And you’re not stopping when he hesitates. No, you’re taking the reins with no qualms, trusting his brain will catch up eventually. 

Once the Big Bang happens behind his eyelids, his hands move on their own accord, desperately grabbing your cheeks, pulling you in closer. The tiny mewl you let out nearly has his knees buckling. 

You pull away first, your delicate hands gently pushing against his chest. He gives you space, but he’s needy for your touch already, refusing to drop his grasp on your cheeks. His mouth is parted and he’s panting like he just ran a marathon. Before you speak, you make sure his eyes are on yours—but what you don’t know is that he’s never not looking at you.

“Shut up.” It’s a firm order to someone who hasn’t spoken a word since your lips graced him a second time. “You’re not a plague, you’re the best person I’ve ever met and when I said any girl would be so lucky, that included me.” 

Afraid to speak too loudly and break the spell he seems to have cast on you to finally capture your attention, he whispers hesitantly, “You like me?”

Your palms glide down his abdomen. Your fiery touch has him fighting everything inside him to keep the groan in the back of his throat from escaping. He’s not religious by any means, but he used to pray for moments like this—falling asleep dreaming about the way you touched his arm that day or pretending the soft pillow was your body, finally allowing him to hold you. You play with the hem of his shirt as you give him a chiding look. “Do I even have to dignify that with a response?” 

He sure would like you to. “But if you–then why didn’t we–” Unable to form coherent thoughts, his mind replays every interaction he’s ever had with you in a split second—this time with a better outcome to hold onto than the one he found in his reflection on his relationship with Chrissy.

You give him a wry smile, shrugging half-heartedly. “You never asked. I didn’t know you felt the same. Thought I was doomed to watch you marry Chrissy Cunningham and live in a big house with a picket fence.” 

Coming back to his body, he frowns at that, “Where would I get the money for a big house? Marrying Chrissy wouldn’t make me rich.”

Scoffing, you click your tongue at him, “I don’t know, Edward. I was too busy breaking my own heart to figure out the logistics.” 

Your biting tone brings a smile to his face, his cheeks feeling like unstretched leather, stiff from the dryness left by his tears, but his grin still puts every shining star to shame. “Aw, baby,” he coos, leaning in to give you a sweet peck. “Don’t break your heart for me. I like you too.” Purposely holding back, he doesn’t think you’re quite ready for the other ‘L’ word—but lord knows he is.

You can’t fight the relieved smile that overtakes your face at his adoring words and gentle affection. He kisses you so easily, like you’ve been doing this forever. The thought makes you both happy and sad—you could have been doing this forever. But at least you know you will be doing this forevermore. 

“But what about Chrissy? Why’d you–” You struggle to question his choices—not for lack of confusion, but because you hate to bring up his very recent ex when he’s trying to tell you how much you mean to him.

His brown curls sway as he shakes his head, but his grip on your cheeks never falters. “I’ve been trying to be a good friend for the past five years,” he whispers, thinking back to when you went from his best friend to the girl he dreams about at night. “And, of course, being the asshole that you are, you just kept getting prettier and prettier every year,” he quips, “It got harder and harder to be around you.”

Your face warms at the compliment. You try to look away from his piercing gaze, but he doesn’t let you. With heavy eyelids, your best friend leans in again, halting your attempt to retreat with another world-altering kiss. His lips on yours makes you feel like those cartoon characters entranced, floating toward a delicious-smelling pie. You can’t help but get trapped in his orbital pull, his tongue draws you in for more. He shines so bright, it’s blinding, and you’d gladly feel your way around forever.

When he frees you once again, your body is swaying from the hum of electricity he shot straight into your bloodstream with that kiss. “Chrissy asked me out as a rebound and I thought it was the perfect chance to try and get over you. But now I don’t wanna be over you,” he rushes out, desperate for you to understand just how ‘yours’ he’s always been. 

No, he doesn’t want to be over you—maybe under you, but that’s a ways down the road. He’s going to treat you right—not rush into things, get you to stop calling him ‘dude’—because he doesn’t want to be alone again. He’s tasted your lips, felt your hot touch, and he’s pretty sure if you take this drug from him, he’ll go insane. He just got you, and he knows there’s no reality where he’d rather be without you. No reality where he could stand to be without you.

Realization dawns on your face, you let out a gasp as you look into his eyes, “Am I the fish?”

An elated chuckle leaves his lips as he watches you with crinkling eyes and a toothy grin, “You’re the fish, sweetheart.”

A/N: like, reblog, and comment if you enjoyed it! I wanna know what y'all think!!!

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[small-round-and-angry]

Dear Teddy

Chapter 5

Rockstar Eddie Munson x Best Friend Reader

A/N: thank you for bearing with me as always between updates, I know I’m rather slow! Also please remember there’s no taglist for this series, so if you want to know when the updates are coming either turn on notifications or just check back periodically 🖤

Chapter 5 warnings: no major warnings for this one, there’s some drug and alcohol use, angst, and Eddie’s being mean again 3.6k (just a short one, longer chapters are coming!)

Series masterlist

————————————💌———————————

Eddie feels his heart sink like a lead weight, dropping to the pit of his stomach.

He was already in a bad mood. It seemed to be his natural state these days.

His first night sleeping in Wayne’s house was uneasy. Eddie usually had no problem with sleeping somewhere new, he was used to it by now - grabbing hours of rest wherever he could. Be it in cramped bus bunks, or on velvet couches in venue green rooms. Sprawling hotel beds with expensive linens, or in the rooms of strangers he’d stumbled home with for the night. These days he slept pretty much anywhere but the king size bed in his own home.

But he’d tossed and turned most of last night. The pills knocked him out cold for a while, had him entering that deep, dreamless space that was quiet and black. But the effects didn’t seem to last so long anymore.

It was the early hours when he woke, drenched in sweat, Ludo’s body like a furnace pressed to his. Eddie kicked off the sheets, mumbling an apology to the pup that huffed at being woken. He’d fallen asleep in his jeans, so he shucked them off his legs, peeling his tattered tshirt off of his chest and tossing it aside. Eddie debated reaching into the nightstand. If he swallowed a couple more pills he could be out until a decent time. But he knew he had a dwindling supply. It might be a while before he could get hold of Rick, if the guy was even still running things around here. He was just another on a long list of people that Eddie had left behind, letting them fade to a distant memory.

So he suffered through it, only falling asleep for what felt like a few short minutes at a time, his brain too noisy to shut off, even in unconsciousness.

When the sun finally began to rise, a golden glow seeping in beneath the curtains, Eddie was greeted with a cold nose pressed to his cheek. Peeking his eyes open, he found Ludo standing over him on the bed, hot breath panting in his face.

Realising he was awake, the dog jumped off and ran to the door, scratching at the wood and letting out quiet whines.

“Alright, alright.” Eddie grumbled. His head throbbed, and his mouth was as dry as cotton. He pulled his jeans back on, fumbled for the pack of smokes and lighter he’d left in his jacket pocket, and headed out to face his first full day back in Hawkins.

————————————💌———————————

Wayne was off for the day. He didn’t need to work at all, not really. Eddie’s contact might have been infrequent, but his assistant at least remembered to send a monthly cheque to his Uncle, far larger than his wages at the plant would have been if he’d worked overtime seven days a week. Despite that, Wayne still chose to work a few hours a week.

“To keep me out of trouble.” He chuckled, sliding a plate of scrambled eggs Eddie’s way.

Eddie pushed them around the plate, only a few small forkfuls making their way into his mouth. He never had much of an appetite these days.

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. Truth be told, Eddie was bored shitless. His time was usually filled, a jam packed schedule that his poor assistant fought thanklessly to keep him to. Interviews and appearances, signings and shows. Without them, the hours seemed to drag, time moving slow as treacle.

At least Wayne seemed to have given up on the idea of forcing Eddie to talk, even if he knew it was only a temporary truce. While his Uncle pottered around the house and the garden, Eddie wasted away on the couch, the TV just background noise as he stared at the ceiling.

That’s what he’d been doing when he heard the front door open, Ludo barking like he stood any chance of warning off an intruder. Eddie heard two sets of voices, his uncle and a woman. He’d pushed himself to his feet, expecting that he’d finally be meeting the woman who was more than just a friend to his uncle.

Instead he sees you.

You, crouching in Wayne’s hallway, one hand stroking Ludo’s ears, the other clutching at a bulging grocery bag.

It’s been years. Yet you’re still unchanged. Hair the same length and colour as before, your face as familiar as the day Eddie last saw you. Those eyes with long lashes that used to flutter at him when you’d beg him for a ride in his shitty van, or narrow at him when he was acting like a dick. They now stare at him, unblinking, your face frozen in surprise.

Deep down Eddie knew that there was a chance he’d bump into you. He knew you’d moved back to Hawkins, Steve had mentioned it on one of their infrequent phone calls, before Eddie swiftly changed the subject. But he honestly thought the chances were slim. That despite it being a small town, Hawkins was big enough that he’d be able to avoid you. It wasn’t like he had many plans to go out and socialise.

Yet here you were, walking into his uncle’s home like you owned the place.

This must have been planned. There’s no other explanation. Wayne probably called you, told you that Eddie was back with his tail between his legs, the soft hearted old fool no doubt anticipating some happy reconciliation between you both. And you’d agreed. Probably just to rub it in Eddie’s face how happy you were without him, and to see if the rumours that chased him were true. Was Eddie Munson as big of a fuck up as everyone claimed?

“What is this?” Eddie spits.

Your shocked expression twists into something else, something dark and mean. You rise to your feet, matching Eddie’s glare with one of your own.

“God dammit.” Wayne mutters under his breath, rubbing his hand across his pinched brow. He turns to face Eddie with pleading in his eyes.

“We have dinner together on Tuesdays. I forgot because of.. well, y’know, everything that’s goin’ on.”

“Right.” Eddie drawls, making it clear that he doesn’t believe it.

“It’s the truth. Listen, I don’t know what went on with you two, and I can’t say that it don’t bother me somethin’ rotten, but I didn’t set this up to upset you both if that’s what you’re thinkin’.” Wayne says firmly.

“I - I can go. If it’s gonna be a problem.” You say quietly. Hearing your voice feels like a dagger sliding between Eddie’s ribs.

“No.” Wayne replies.

“Of course you can go if you’d rather. But our Tuesdays are tradition, and I’d like you to stay.”

You pause for a moment, glancing between Eddie and Wayne.

“Okay. I’ll stay.”

“Fantastic.” Eddie mutters. He turns on his heels and heads into the kitchen.

————————————💌———————————

Eddie begins to rifle through the various cupboards and cabinets. He’s already found a glass, and now he’s looking for something to fill it with. What he really needs is sitting upstairs in his unpacked bags, but unless he wants to raise suspicion, a drink will have to do.

Wayne raises his eyebrows when he sees Eddie pouring a heavy glug of bourbon, but he says nothing. He’s carrying the grocery bag for you now, setting it down on the counter and unpacking the contents.

“Mac n cheese?” He asks you.

“Yep.” You reply. Eddie takes another sip of his drink as he watches you linger in the doorway.

“Well come on in then darlin’. You ain’t gotta stand there.” Wayne says, clearly desperate to move past the awful tension.

You take a deep breath, as though steeling yourself for some momentous task, then cross the kitchen to stand at Wayne’s side.

“Is Liz coming?” You ask as you wash your hands in the sink.

“Nah. Visiting her momma.” Wayne replies.

“How’s she doing now?”

“A little better. Docs got her on some new meds and they seem to be workin’ alright.”

“That’s good.” You smile.

You shake the excess water off your hands, then turn as though looking for something. Your eyes land on the tea towel, looped over the oven door handle next to Eddie.

Seeming to think better of approaching him, you brush your hands on your wool skirt, the material darkening at it soaks up the moisture.

“How was work?” Wayne asks. He nudges Eddie aside with his elbow, putting a couple of pans on the stove.

“It was good. Pretty busy today.”

Eddie wonders where you’re working now. The skirt and blouse combination is pretty nondescript. He assumes it’s probably some dead end office job, boring as hell. He’s not about to ask.

He drains the last of his drink, quickly refilling the glass.

“Easy son.” Wayne murmurs, low enough that you won’t hear.

“S’fine. Quit worrying.” Eddie whispers back.

He takes a seat at the kitchen table, the sudden scraping of the chair legs over the floor making you jump. Eddie leans back, the picture of calm composure, when inside he feels like he’s vibrating with anger.

You and Wayne are making idle chit chat, clearly used to one another’s company. You have no issue finding what you need in the kitchen, pulling out knives and chopping boards as if you were in your own home. This must be routine for you. Tradition, Wayne had said. Eddie has no right to be upset, but somehow it still feels like a betrayal. He just doesn’t know which of you he’s more angry with.

You’re browning bacon lardons in a pan, the fat sizzling and hissing, when the phone rings. The panic on your face is obvious and immediate.

“S’cuse me.” Wayne says.

“Better get that.”

He heads into the living room, and Eddie is left alone with you.

You’re quick to turn your back to him, nudging the bacon around with a wooden spatula, staring down at the pan as though the task requires your total concentration.

Eddie’s not about to interrupt you. He has no desire to make conversation with you.

He fishes in his pocket for his cigarettes, pulling one from the carton and tucking it between his teeth. When he sparks his lighter your head snaps in his direction.

“Wayne doesn’t smoke in the house.” You say curtly.

Eddie rolls his eyes, aiming the cloud that leaves his lips your way.

“Since when?”

“Since he moved in here. You should go out in the backyard, that’s what he usually does.”

“I’m good here.” Eddie says, catching the way your jaw clenches at his response.

It’s your turn to roll your eyes now, turning your attention back to the food.

Eddie strains to hear Wayne in the other room, but can’t catch anything. This phone call had better wrap up soon.

“What are you doing back here anyway?”

So that’s how it’s going to be. You’re going to just come right out and ask, sticking your nose into Eddie’s business when it’s not wanted.

“Just thought I’d pay my uncle a visit.” Eddie shrugs, tapping the ash of his cigarette into his now empty glass. The possessive nature of his words is as subtle as a brick.

“Why? You’ve never visited him before.” You press.

“Do I need a fucking reason?” Eddie snaps.

“I wanted to come back so I did.”

You turn around with your arms folded, leaving the roux you’d been working on simmering behind you.

“How long are you here for?”

“Why is that any of your goddamn business?”

“Jesus Eddie. I’m just trying to make conversation. You don’t have to be such a douchebag!”

“Don’t I? Christ, I’ve only been back in this shithole of a town for one day, and the person I wanted to see least of all turns up on my fucking doorstep. So how do you expect me to act?”

“Your doorstep? This is Wayne’s house!”

“That I fucking paid for!” Eddie hisses.

You laugh, but it’s humourless and cold. At your feet Ludo whines softly, upset by the tense voices that are increasing in volume.

“Oh right, I forgot. Eddie Munson, the big shot rockstar with more money than sense comes rolling back into town and we’re all supposed to just - what exactly? Kiss the fucking ground you walk on?”

“I don’t need you to do anything but stay the hell away from me. I thought I’d finally got rid of you, yet here you are like a thorn in my goddamn side.”

“F-finally got rid of me?”

Your voice wavers, a sure sign that Eddie’s words have hit their target. You clamp your bottom lip between your teeth, but it’s too late. Eddie saw how it wobbled, that little sad pout that used to make his heart ache. Now it feels like a victory.

“What’s going on in here?” Wayne says gruffly. Eddie has no idea when he reappeared in the kitchen, or how much of the argument he heard, but it’s obvious he’s not impressed.

“Darlin’, you alright?” He asks.

You draw in a shuddering breath.

“I - I’m really sorry Wayne. I have to go. S-something’s come up. I’m sorry.” You stammer, before fleeing into the hallway. Wayne hurries to follow you, tripping up as Ludo gets beneath his feet, both of them chasing into the hall.

Eddie can’t make out the words that are being exchanged, your voices kept too low for him to hear. But he can hear the whine in your tone, the way you sniff and gulp as though fighting back tears.

Good. You should feel bad.

Who the hell did you think you were? Digging Eddie out in what was essential his own home, talking to him like he was a piece of shit. You didn’t know anything about him anymore, you knew nothing about his relationship with Wayne, and he didn’t appreciate you implying that he’d been neglecting it.

A moment later the front door closes. A stormy faced Wayne walks back into the kitchen, pulling back the chair opposite Eddie and lowering himself into it. He remains silent, looking across at Eddie expectantly.

“What?” Eddie grumbles. He shifts a little in his seat, feeling small under the Wayne’s heavy stare. It reminds him of those times he’d got himself into trouble as a kid, for skipping school or that one time he got caught shoplifting candy from the grocery store.

“I want you to tell me what happened.” Wayne says.

“She was being a bitch.” Eddie snaps with a shrug.

“Edward Munson!” Wayne barks. Eddie can’t help but flinch. It was rare for his uncle to lose his cool.

“I raised you better than to talk about a woman like that. When you’re under my roof you’ll watch your mouth.”

“Don’t you care about what she said to me?” Eddie whines. He knows it sounds pathetic, like he’s some snot nosed little kid telling tales. But why does Wayne seem to care more about your feeling than his?

“I can imagine that she didn’t have much good to say to you. And when she’s calmed down some, I’ll talk to her about it. I don’t need the stress of you two bein’ at each others throats every time you’re around each other.”

“Why would we have to be around each other? You’re not seriously gonna invite her back while I’m here?”

“Eddie.” Wayne sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Listen kid. I love you, you know that. Might not say it as often as I should, but it’s true. I think of you as my son. Findin’ you on my doorstep all those years ago was the best damn thing that ever happened to me.”

Eddie’s stomach churns. The guilt eating away at him from the inside.

“But I care about that girl. And you used to care about her too. I’ve always treated her like family, and I ain’t about to change that any time soon. She’s been through a lot over the last few years. So don’t ask me to turn my back on her.”

“What do you mean? What happened?” Eddie asks, hating himself for caring even just a little bit.

“That ain’t for me to tell you. If she wants to explain it all to you then she will.”

“I doubt it. We’re not exactly on good terms. Obviously.”

“And why is that?” Wayne asks.

Eddie scoffs.

“Come off it. Don’t act like she hasn’t filled you in, told you a bunch of lies to make herself sound like the victim.”

“She hasn’t told me a damn thing. That girl hasn’t said one bad word against you.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, and Wayne grits his teeth.

“You know she tried avoidin’ me? When she first came back to Hawkins. I heard she was back, kept expectin’ her to come around like she always did when she was home. But she stayed away. After a few weeks I bumped into her on the street. Damn girl looked like she’d seen a ghost, tried to duck down an alleyway just to hide from me. And so I asked her what was goin’ on.”

Eddie leans forward in his chair, curious about the explanation you gave.

“All she told me was that the two of you had a fallin’ out. It was pretty obvious she was upset, but she wouldn’t give me any details. Just said that the two of ya weren’t talkin’ anymore, and she thought that I’d be mad at her. I told her I wasn’t, and invited her over for dinner. We started makin’ it a weekly thing. But she’d still never tell me what happened between you.”

Wayne sighs deeply, a sad, small smile on his lips.

“I figured you’d work it out at some point. I always thought that you two would.. y’know.”

“That we’d what?” Eddie asks.

Wayne shakes his head.

“Don’t matter. I just thought you’d find your ways back to each other is all. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked her to stay tonight. Guess it was just me hopin’ it’d help.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t think there’s any chance of things working out.” Eddie says bitterly.

“What are you so mad at her for in the first place?” Wayne asks.

“What could have happened for the both of you to still be holdin’ onto it after all this time?”

Eddie falters for a moment.

“Well.. she- I-. We had a fight. I don’t know what else to tell you.”

“Christ Eddie. You don’t even know what you’re mad at her for, do you?” Wayne says, disappointment written all over his face.

“Yes I do!” Eddie snaps, feeling that familiar wave of self righteous anger wash over him.

“You don’t know how hard I tried. She’d send me all these letters, guilt tripping me for being so far away from her as if I could help it. Always wanting me to call or write her more like she didn’t know how busy I was and how hard I was working! And I fell for it, I let her make me feel like I was the bad guy. So I planned something nice for her. Invited her to a show, paid for her fucking plane tickets, put her up in a fancy hotel. And she was so damn ungrateful. Brought her stupid fucking boyfriend with her and spent the whole day sulking and acting weird. So we had a fight. And then she told me she never wanted to hear from me again. So I don’t fucking care, I don’t want to sit here and listen to how good of a friend she once was to me, or hear about how hard she’s had it. It’s not my fucking problem!”

Eddie’s chest heaves, barely having paused for breath through his rant. Poor Ludo had run to hide in the living room, unused to raised voices.

Wayne continued to look disappointed, almost resigned.

“Alright.” He says finally.

“I ain’t gonna push the pair of you to do anythin’ you don’t wanna do. But, if she wants to, she’ll still be comin’ over here on Tuesdays.”

“So what do you expect me to do when she’s here?” Eddie snaps.

Wayne shrugs.

“I’m sure you’ll find some way to keep yourself busy. You’ve still got friends here, right? Maybe you can catch up with them, just so the two of you don’t cross paths.”

Eddie ponders on it for a minute.

Did he still have friends in Hawkins?

He knew the kids were all away at college, his little sheep scattered across the country. And his bandmates were still back in L.A. But there was Steve, and Robin. Sure he hadn’t kept in touch with them as much as he should have, but maybe they’d be glad he was back in town.

He still had the number for their shared apartment, tucked away in the back of his notebook that he scribbled down lyrics in.

If he was here for the long hall, he might as well not spend it in total isolation.

“Fine.” Eddie says, pushing back from the table.

“I’ll finish up dinner.” Wayne offers.

“I’m not hungry.” Eddie replies, turning his back on his uncle and slipping out to head back to his room.

————————————💌———————————

[small-round-and-angry]

The Princess and the Guttersnipe

Best Friend!Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Banter between long-time friends, insults, and a joke mistaken as a deal to be his starry-eyed, small-town girlfriend—it’s lunchtime with Eddie.

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: Eddie’s a menace and a perv, simulated masturbation in public, degradation, both you and Eddie pick on Gareth as it is custom, lots of dialogue because this idea stemmed from me wanting to write specific dialogue, Eddie’s kinda gross lol, simp!Eddie, pining, jealousy, lots of insults (to Eddie), I think this fic is funny and I think I wrote funny dialogue, mention of prostitution, Eddie’s horny, mention of Eddie’s dick, Eddie makes a fool of himself for the bit, flirting met with insults—my kinda party, you call clingy!Eddie a tumor

A/N: This was in my drafts for a while. Written because I think 'guttersnipe' is a hilarious insult. Also, a bottom bitch is the prostitute that’s been with the pimp the longest and usually makes the most money (you'll understand once you read it).

Masterlist

I’m imagining you’re a part of the Hellfire friend group, but you’re literally Eddie’s longest and best friend—we’re talking since elementary school. He’s always been a lot and you’re used to it, but the only way the balance is upheld is if you continue to put him in his place, or else he’ll just become too powerful.

He’s pushing four days in his Hellfire shirt because he thinks it makes him look sick as fuck, completely unaware of the overwhelming B.O. that’s emanating from the flimsy fabric.

You’re already sitting at the table for lunch, picking at the sorry excuse for pizza being served. It’s no Papa John’s—more like dirty cardboard from the back alley, topped with sour tomato sauce and the waxiest mozzarella you’ve ever had the displeasure of consuming.

Deciding you're above it, you toss the hard slice onto Gareth's flattened brown paper bag and swipe the sandwich right out of his hands—his mouth still open for the bite he would have taken had you not ‘traded.’

The surrounding boys chuckle at the brunet's misfortune, ever an easy target for both you and Eddie.

“Hey! What the hell, dude?”

Taking a big bite of the stolen food, you shake your head and mumble with your mouth full, eyeing the abandoned pizza with disdain. "I’m not fucking eating that shit."

Gareth shoots you an indignant look, “And I should?”

You wait until you’ve fully swallowed your food before responding, cocking your head at him knowingly. “Gareth, you’re literally built like a tank. Albeit, a very small tank, but I’ve seen you eat drywall. Your stomach can handle Hawkins High lunch.”

Ignoring the boy's scoff, you look down at the sandwich in pleasant surprise. “Damn, this is good. Where’d you get this?”

“My mom made it.” He watches in pitiful resignation as you reach for his opened can of Coke, taking a swig.

Sighing at the taste of the fizzy drink, you give an approving nod. “Well, my compliments to the chef.”

Out of nowhere, a heavy weight drapes across your back. In an instant, the sandwich is plucked from your hands. You know exactly who the culprit is when he moans obnoxiously into your ear, taking a bite of the now-communal sandwich.

“Mmm. Damn, that's a good sandwich.”

Thrashing your body, you shuck the boy off of you. “Ew! Get the fuck off, you guttersnipe.”

Eddie lets out a maniacal laugh, stumbling into the empty chair beside you—his usual throne. The metal legs of your chair screech against the scratched linoleum as he grips the seat beneath your thighs, dragging you closer.

He usually does this. The touchy person that he is, he never strays far from your personal space. If you try to explain the foreign concept to him—and you have—he turns into Karl Marx, talking about, “Our personal space.” It's useless trying to emphasize ‘personal’ to the idiot.

“Hey, quick question. Are you aware of the putrid stench that is emanating from your bodice, my liege?"

Ignoring Jeff’s cringing face as he gets a whiff of Eddie next him, the curly-haired boy waves you off. "Oh, it’s not that bad."

"Not that bad?" you repeat, eyebrows nearly up into your hairline in disbelief. "I knew you were coming. I literally smelled you five minutes ago."

Throwing his arm over the back of your chair, he leans into your wincing face. You lean back at his movements, the position perfectly airing out his underarms. "But I heard ladies love the smell of guys. It's like pheromones or some shit," he grins, completely ignoring your attempt to get away from him.

Pressing a single finger against his forehead, you push him back into his own space, a look of disgust as you sit up straight again. “I’m pretty sure that’s guys they like, and I don’t like you.”

At your diss, Gareth attempts to start an, “Ooo,” around the table, but Eddie chucks a pretzel at his face, effectively shutting him up. 

“Well, you like me enough to stick around.” He’s smug at his comeback, surely you can’t argue against ten plus years of friendship.

Taking a pretzel from him, you sigh wistfully. “It’s less of a choice and more that I can’t afford the treatment to have the tumor removed.” Your unimpressed look stalls him—apparently you can argue against ten plus years of friendship.

With his stunned silence, you continue. “You’re the tumor, by the way.” 

Huffing out an amused breath, he nods. “Yes, I caught that, sweetheart. Thank you. First, I’m a guttersnipe, now I’m a tumor. Big day for me—a lowly man who gets off on degradation.” His Cheshire Cat grin is unsettling, especially since he’s always capable of twisting your insults into a dirty joke.

Trying to halt his perpetual ‘Yes, and’-ing, you deadpan, “You’re fucking disgusting.” 

You should've known better because your words only lead Eddie to start simulating masturbation under the table. Vibrating his body, he hunches over, pretending to desperately fuck his fist. The lewd display causes the guys around the table to burst out laughing—you’re surrounded by near-adults who have the humor of twelve year olds.

“Fuck, baby, say it again,” he grits out, closing his eyes and pinching his brows in pleasure. 

You tilt your head, watching as he proceeds to embarrass himself publicly. The need to get him back for his comment is nonexistent when he’s already making a fool of himself better than you ever could. Instead, you just lean in with an evil smirk and a mischievous glint in your eyes.

With the clearest diction you’ve ever used, you loudly admonish him. “You’re a disgusting pervert and when I look at you, my pussy gets so dry, it crumbles into dust.”

Throwing his head back in fake pleasure, he heaves out, “Fuck! Shit, shit, shit, I’m cumming, I’m cumming!” 

You make eye contact with two cheerleaders walking with lunch trays behind him as he shakes vigorously. Their disgust is as clear as day as they watch in horror while Eddie pretends to touch himself in the middle of the lunchroom. 

Your smirk widens to a sickly sweet smile as you wink and blow a kiss at them. The unnerving action only causes them to clutch each other and hurry away. With Eddie’s eyes still closed, simulating the come-down from an intense orgasm, you reach over and swipe the cardboard pizza from Gareth’s hands—your third robbery of the day at only 12:37 PM—and throw it at your best friend’s face.

Jerking back at the assault from the mystery object, Eddie finally opens his eyes, wiping the wetness from his face. When he looks down at his fingers, he sees marinara. Throwing his head back in agony, he screams out, “Oh god, I’ve been hit! I’ve been hiiiitttt!” Keeling over, he falls out of his chair onto the ground beside you. 

Scattered laughter travels around the group, but nobody gets up to help him. Propping your elbow on the table, you rest your cheek on your palm as you watch him play dead, smiling and raising your brows at his occasional twitches—an interesting acting choice. You watch him peek an eye open after a good forty-five seconds of no reactions.

“Really? Nobody’s gonna come check on me?”

Turning to look at the sheep, you see they’ve all started their own little side conversations as they continue to pick at their lunches. Glancing back at Eddie, you shrug. 

“Okay, you guys would never make it in the army,” he deadpans, looking at you as if you’re a representative for all of the still-living Hellfire crew. Sitting up on his elbows, he nods down to his homemade shirt. “But seriously, the shirt is working, right?”

You give him a lighthearted nod. “Yeah,” you say, before following up with your true feelings—“Working against you.”

Leisurely picking himself up off the ground, he dusts off his jeans before grabbing a napkin to wipe away any residual sauce from his face. Sitting back down in his chair, he pats your knee condescendingly. 

“You’ll come around, sweetheart. When I move the hell out of this town, you’ll miss me so bad. You’ll be crying to come crash at my place in L.A.” He pitches his voice up a few octaves, mimicking a tone that sounds nothing like yours, “Oh, Eddie, please, can I come live with you? I’m so lonely and I miss you and I’ve never seen your penis, but it’s probably really big, so I miss that, too.”

Unimpressed, you ignore the way he completely butchers your voice and mannerisms—fluttering his lashes and clasping his hands near his cheek like a Disney princess. “And how exactly are you gonna make it in L.A? You gonna start selling your body?” 

Leaning into you again, he grins, “Well, if you come with me, I can sell your body.”

Watching him leer at you, a salacious look in his muddy irises, you narrow your eyes. “Oh, please. You’d be a horrible pimp. You’re too jealous. I couldn’t even go to junior prom with Bobby Jeffries without you begging for my attention like a dog most of the night.”

Reeling back in offense, Eddie shoots you an indignant look. “I did not beg!” 

Gareth butts in, glancing over at Eddie and nodding. “No, I was there. There was definitely some begging going on.”

His reference to that night has some of the other boys nodding in agreement. They all remember watching with amused pity as their shameless leader constantly inserted himself between you and your date. If you were on the dance floor during a slow song, Eddie trailed after you, standing beside your entwined bodies and making idle conversation until your date eventually gave up, awkwardly breaking apart to just stand there. If you were sitting at a table, he pulled your chair close to him like always, putting physical space between you and Jeffries. And if you tried to go somewhere ‘quieter’ with the guy, Eddie tagged along, talking your ear off about the weather, world news, last year’s Olympics—anything to stall.

The only reason you even asked Bobby Jeffries to prom was because, before you could pop the question, Eddie told you he wouldn’t step foot in that place, calling it an ‘inane ritual for horny preps.’ Then the night arrived, and Eddie forced you to let him drive you there—after a thirty-five-minute lecture on why you shouldn’t rely on a guy that’s not him to drive you anywhere, because then you’d be stuck in a car alone with said guy. Once he dropped you off, you found your date, and about forty-five minutes later, in comes Eddie, formal wear on and a can-do attitude—the ‘do’ being ruining your night.

You gesture to your defense team before throwing your best friend a smug look, “See?” 

Grumbling at being ganged up on, especially on something as sensitive a subject as that fateful night, Eddie concedes, opting to drop the argument. “Okay, fine. How about I pimp you out to myself. Then you really can stay with me! You can be my bottom bitch,” he eagerly offers.

You snort at his infallible logic. “Please, if anything, you’re my bottom bitch.”

“Jesus, fine! I’ll be your bottom bitch, will you just say you’ll at least come visit me?”

“You should really have higher standards for yourself,” you say seriously. “But sure, bitch, I’ll follow you to L.A. And hey, I can even be like your starry-eyed, small-town girlfriend!”

Your sarcasm is lost on him at the mention of you being his girlfriend. “Deal,” he hurries, forcing your hand into a binding shake.

A/N: First fic post-hiatus so pls for the love of god be sweet because I'm so fragile rn lmao. Like, reblog, and comment if you enjoyed this.

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[small-round-and-angry]

Dear Teddy

Chapter 3

Rockstar Eddie Munson x Best Friend Reader

A:N: thank you for all the kind words about the last 2 chapters! Hope you all enjoy this one too, getting some of reader’s pov 🤍

Chapter 3 warnings - 18+ minors dni: mild angst, drug mention, that’s about it!

Series masterlist

————————————💌———————————

Melvald’s is always quiet at this time in the morning.

You can’t bear being in the store any later, and certainly never on a weekend. Too many bodies crowding the aisles, rambunctious children throwing tantrums over candy their parents refuse to buy, or elderly customers taking their sweet time browsing the in the dairy section like the decision between whole milk and half and half was really all that difficult. It always set your nerves on edge, teeth grinding impatiently as you pushed your cart slowly behind some shuffling shopper.

But this morning the aisles are near empty. Not a soul to get in your way as you drop a packet of dried macaroni into the basket dangling from your arm. You run through the list in your head.

Pasta - check.

Cheese and bacon - done.

You swing by the bread aisle on your way to the checkout, stopping to peruse the selection of pastries at the end, still warm from the oven. A croissant makes its way into your basket, with a pain au chocolat for Robin too. The rich smell of buttery pastry and bitter dark chocolate makes your mouth water as you hurry to approach the cashier.

There’s only one checkout open. The one you usually avoid. It seems that Joyce isn’t working today, a sullen faced teenager scanning the items of the only other customer in the store at a sedate pace. You huff out an impatient sigh and do your best to keep your gaze straight ahead of you.

You’re not going to look.

You won’t look.

“One of these is broken.” The teenager says in a bored voice, pointing to the carton of eggs he’d been about to scan.

“Oh! Do you mind if I go grab some more?” The woman ahead of you asks.

The kid just shrugs.

“Excuse me, sorry, I won’t be a minute.” The woman says as she turns to face you. With the most polite smile you can muster you nod and step out of her way. For god sake, you’re going to be late.

Stepping aside for her to pass, your body turns just enough for the rack of magazines to flash in the corner of your eyes. Your stomach drops with the realisation that you've seen the very thing you’d been trying so hard to ignore.

His curls are the same as they always were. Wild and uncontrollable. It’s his face that seems to have changed so much. Gaunt and unnaturally pale. The bright flash of paparazzi lenses casts him in a harsh glow, a smattering of white highlighted under his nose.

One ringed hand is raised, an attempt to block the cameras view of his scowling face. The other hand clings to the waist of the pretty little thing walking beside him, her pupils blown and lips stretched into an almost manic smile. She’s an actress, you think, although you can’t recall any movie of hers that you’ve seen. You’d overheard some customers gossiping about her last week. Apparently she was going off the rails.

The headline screams at you in large white letters from underneath the photo.

Eddie Munson hits an all time low! Bandmates sick of out of control behaviour!

“Excuse me.”

The voice behind you makes you jump. Mumbling an apology you move out of the way of the woman, new carton of eggs in hand. As she finally finishes packing her bags and it’s your turn to empty your basket onto the counter, you do your best to focus on anything other than what you just saw.

The boy scanning your items is called Matt, at least according to his name tag.

“How’s your morning going?” You ask as brightly as you can manage.

Matt grunts in reply and shrugs his shoulders.

So much for pleasant small talk to distract you. You stand in silence, waiting for Matt to tell you your total. You shove the bills into his waiting hand and haul your tote bag up onto your shoulder.

“Do you want your receipt?” He asks in a monotonous tone.

But you’re already halfway to your door, cursing under your breath that even all these years later, Eddie Munson still has the power to ruin your day.

————————————💌———————————

By the time you get to the shop Robin has already arrived. You lock the door behind you, inhaling deeply, letting the familiar scent calm your nerves. The bitterness of freshly ground espresso beans, the comforting smell of smooth new pages mixed with those yellowed with age.

The newer items sold the best, kept the doors open and paid the rent, but you still had a soft spot for the second hand section towards the back of the store. Those worn covers and cracked spines, like scars on skin, but not a sign of mistreatment of pain, just a reminder of those who held them before, lovingly thumbing their way through the pages.

A delivery of preloved books always held more excitement for you. You loved spotting messages written on the inside covers, loved finding them dated from before you were born. So much history held in those pages, and they still had life yet, ready to be selected and adored by someone new.

You hear clattering from the kitchen out the back. By now Robin will be arranging the days offerings onto trays for the display case. Delicately piped biscuits, muffins bursting with ripe blueberries and cherries. There were pastries too of course, golden brown and shining from the egg wash. You still made your daily trip to Melvald’s. Robin insisted sweet treats tasted better if you hadn’t had to slave away over them yourself, although you were inclined to disagree. She was an excellent baker.

“Well hey there beautiful. You come here often?”

Robin leans in the doorway, flour dusted apron knotted around her waist. You scoff but smile, squeezing past her to dump your stuff in the tiny space that serves as both stock and break room.

You retrieve the paper bags from your tote, and Robin grins, making grabby hands at you until you hand over her breakfast.

“How’re you doing?” She asks through a mouthful of pastry.

“Fine.” You reply, pulling your croissant apart and popping a small piece in your mouth.

“Just fine?” Robin raises her brows at you questioningly.

“He was on the cover of Us Weekly again.”

Robin snorts derisively.

“What’s he done now?”

“God knows. I didn’t bother to read it.” You say with a shrug.

You’d learned the hard way not to flick through those glossy pages.

You stopped collecting any magazine that made mention of Corroded Coffin immediately after you and Eddie cut contact. But you still kept the habit of flicking through them in the store, some pathetic need on your part to know how he was doing. But it wasn’t good for you, to see just how fine Eddie was without you in his life.

It only got worse when it seemed that maybe he wasn’t so fine after all.

Every week there were new stories, brawls in bars and rumours of infighting within the band. Suggestions that he had a problem with “illicit substances.” You made yourself sick worrying about someone who was no longer your problem to worry about.

Steve and Robin had to stage an intervention of sorts. Since then you’d gone cold turkey, had avoided any mention of Eddie Munson for a little over a year.

“Well that’s good.” Robin says proudly. She pats your shoulder affectionately.

“Come on. I need to do the displays.”

“Yeah, just a sec. I’ve got to put some stuff in the fridge.” You reply, pulling the cheese and bacon from your bag.

“You going to Wayne’s tonight?” Robin says, nodding at your groceries.

“Well it is a Tuesday.” You shrug.

While his nephew may now just be a ghost in your past, Wayne Munson had remained a constant in your life. You loved him like he was your own family, and since your return to Hawkins, Tuesday nights had been reserved for him. You cooked dinner in his kitchen for the two of you, with enough leftover to keep him going for a few more days. It wasn’t like he needed you to do it, he was perfectly capable of looking after himself, and he had Liz now. But those weekday evenings held a special place in your heart. You loved curling up on the couch in his living room after dinner, sipping cheap wine while he nursed a whiskey, Ludo’s head resting on your lap. You’d laugh, and reminisce, and it felt so safe.

Even if the photos on his mantelpiece made you wince.

You hear a bang on the shop floor, followed by Robin spewing curses.

“Did you just hit your head again?” You call.

“Yes! Because someone isn’t out here to help me!” Robin shouts back. You stifle a giggle and close the fridge, already forgetting all about Us Weekly.

————————————💌———————————

The day had felt long, but pleasant.

A steady stream of customers kept you busy, having you searching your shelves for specific titles, while Robin kept her head down in the café, making endless lattes and espressos.

You lock the door with a small smile on your face. The money in the register was good today. There’d been a few months after you and Robin had taken over the store that it looked like the people of Hawkins might not adapt to the change in ownership. But your hard work was paying off, and things were looking positive. The sour start to your day seemed like an eternity ago, and you drive to Wayne’s place with the windows down and the radio up. Even the rain had stopped, a week of constant downpours giving way to sunshine.

Ludo greets you like always, barking his head off as you approach the front door. It’s unlocked, which thankfully saves you the job of digging around in your purse for the key. You have a hard enough time as it is wrestling your door open, trying to keep hold of your bags while nudging one very eager golden retriever back gently with your foot.

“Hey baby, just gimme a second.” You say, shushing his whines as you kick off your shoes. You’re so distracted you don’t notice the unfamiliar boots by the door.

You drop your bags to the floor, sinking down on your knees to let Ludo cover your face in kisses. You’re busy scratching behind his ears when a shocked looking Wayne appears at the end of the hall.

“Shit. I forgot you were comin’ kid.” He says.

“Hello to you too!” You laugh.

“It’s Tuesday. Don’t tell me you’re losing your marbles already old man?”

Wayne shakes his head, still not cracking a smile.

“No, it’s not that. I uh.. I’ve been a bit distracted. I meant to call you and explain.”

Your hand in Ludo’s fur freezes. He grumbles, nudging his cold nose into your palm insistently.

“Explain what?” You ask, feeling your stomach drop. You can’t remember the last time you saw Wayne look so serious. Something was wrong.

“Who was at the door?” A voice calls from the kitchen.

A voice you know all too well.

A voice you never thought you’d hear again.

Wayne grimaces, and the situation becomes all too clear.

Another figure appears beside him in the doorway. Long legs clad in ripped black denim, thin, bare arms that cross over his chest. Dark eyes glowering, a scowl on his lips.

Eddie Munson in the flesh.

————————————💌———————————

[small-round-and-angry]

Dear Teddy

Chapter 2

Rockstar Eddie x Best Friend Reader

A/N: we’re skipping ahead now, a few years after the last letter was sent. Also just a heads up - some future chapters will be told from reader’s pov, and some from Eddie’s.

Chapter warnings: 18+ minors dni - drug use

Series Masterlist

————————————💌———————————

Eddie was used to travelling.

For the last few years his life had been a never ending blur of new locations. Hours spent gazing listlessly out at powder blue skies and cotton candy clouds from plane windows. Lonely miles of highway that cut across deserts, or fields, or on occasion through little isolated towns.

Places of little to no importance, tiny blips on the map that lead to bigger and better things. Beautiful, dazzling, overwhelming cities, with their bright lights and towering arenas, packed to the rafters with adoring fans. All there just to get a glimpse of Eddie Munson.

The tires of the taxi thump in and out of a pothole, the vehicle lurching so violently that Eddie’s temple smacks against the window. He hisses through his teeth, and the driver mumbles an apology from the front seat.

Eddie ignores him. Chooses instead to dig in his pocket for the rattling plastic bottle, dry swallowing two more pills. He’s had a headache since he landed at the airport, all the fluorescent lights and booming tannoys fuelling the ache that bloomed in his skull. The half bottle of Jack that he drank during the flight probably didn’t help, not that Eddie was willing to admit that.

Pressing his forehead against the cool glass, Eddie looks through the drops of rain sliding down the window like tears on a cheek. He’s just in time to see the sign, it’s wood rotting and bending, paint flaking and chipping away.

Welcome to Hawkins

Eddie’s mouth is suddenly filled with a bitter tang, his guts churning and palms sweating. Clumsily he wrestles with the handle on the door, spinning it to let in some cool air. The scent of pine trees and damp tarmac fills the back of the car, icy cold droplets now splashing against his cheeks.

He shouldn’t be here. He doesn’t want to be here.

It’s been almost four years since Eddie set foot in Hawkins, Indiana, and if he had things his way that would have been the last time.

But Andy hasn’t given him much choice. Eddie had been backed into a corner, pushed there by the people he trusted most. His friends supposedly.

It was Hawkins or Luxe Recovery and Wellness Centre. And there was no way in hell Eddie was going to Luxe.

“Not long now Mr Munson. We’re about five minutes away.” The driver says over his shoulder.

“Great.” Eddie mutters sarcastically. He rolls up his window, and takes another pill.

————————————💌———————————

Eddie presses a fifty into the hands of the driver as he swings his bag up onto his shoulder. He doesn’t bother listening to the man’s stuttering thanks or well wishes, just turns his back to the cab and makes his way slowly up the garden path.

He’s seen the house before, but never in the flesh. The realtor showed him photos, and Eddie turned down his offer of an in person viewing, just asked where he should sign.

It was the least he could do for Wayne, the man who gave him everything, and who gave up everything for him. All those back breaking shifts put in at the plant, just to keep the lights on and the fridge stocked. Eddie had sworn that when he made it big he’d repay Wayne, give him everything he deserved.

It was one of the few promises that Eddie had kept.

Gravel crunches beneath the heavy soles of Eddie’s boots. Either side of the path is lined with painstakingly neat flower beds, rows of herbs and flowers all perfectly pruned. Each plant is labelled with a small wooden sign, the names written in perfect cursive. Lavender, Basil, Lemon Balm. It’s certainly not Wayne’s chicken scratch. His uncle must have finally got himself a lady friend.

Eddie’s thoughts are interrupted by a low rumbling. At first he glances up, expecting to see a flash of lightening or darkening skies. But the rain is clearing, the late afternoon sun beginning to break through the last of the lingering clouds.

The sound increases in volume, and Eddie realises that it’s coming from the house. A deep growl behind the screen door that’s cut off by a bark so fierce it has him taking a step backwards.

The creature continues to snap and snarl, claws scratching desperately at the wood.

“Ludo! Lu - will you cut that shit out!” A familiar voice shouts.

Eddie feels relief for a brief moment when Wayne’s face appears at the door. The snarling reduces to pitiful whines, and Wayne chuckles as he unlocks the door.

“Brace yourself boy.” He calls.

A blur of gold leaps over the threshold as soon as the door opens, clearing the porch steps in one jump. Eddie tenses as the dog runs full force towards him, it’s solid body colliding with his legs and sending him straight back onto his ass.

Pebbles dig into his palms when he lands with a pained oof, and before he can raise them to shield his face he’s being attacked with kisses.

Ludo climbs into Eddie’s lap, his whole body wriggling with excitement, hot breath wafting in Eddie’s face as his pink tongue laps at his cheeks.

“What the fu-“ Eddie exclaims.

“I told ya to brace yourself.” Wayne grins. He whistles sharply, and the sound has Ludo finally calming. He jumps off Eddie and sits at his side, panting heavily while Wayne walks over, his hand extended to pull his nephew to his feet.

“When did you get a dog?” Eddie grumbles, brushing dirt from his jeans.

“About three months ago.” Wayne answers.

A flare of guilt flashes hot in Eddie’s chest. If he called more, he would have known that. His uncle was too kind to say it, but Eddie knows he must be thinking it.

“Didn’t have you down as the type to get a pet.” He says sourly.

Wayne shrugs.

“Well, it was Liz’s idea. And I’ll be honest, I’m kinda glad she talked me into it. It’s nice having him around. And he sounds like a good guard dog even if he’ll just lick ya to death.”

Liz. Eddie searches back for some memory of the name and comes up blank. Another part of his Uncle’s life he doesn’t know about because he never bothered to ask.

For the first time since arriving, Eddie dares to look at Wayne’s face.

He’s relieved to find that he hasn’t changed much. The lines around his eyes and mouth are a little more deep set, his greying hair somewhat thinner. But he still looks like the Uncle Wayne that Eddie remembers. That kind face, those pale blue eyes. They stare deeply at Eddie now. Probing. Seeking out the secrets that he keeps buried below the surface.

Eddie wonders what his uncle sees when he looks at him.

“Come on in then boy.” He says, turning and making his way back up the steps. Ludo eagerly follows, leaving behind a trail of muddy footprints.

Eddie exhales a deep sigh, pulls the strap of his backpack higher up on his shoulder, and makes his way into the house.

————————————💌———————————

It seems that in the years that Wayne has lived in this house he’s done little to change the decor. The wallpaper and carpets all still match the photos Eddie had seen, the same floral tiles in the kitchen, even the furniture has been placed in the same spots chosen by the previous owners.

There were however small signs of the man who occupied the home now. A collection of mugs lining the shelves in the kitchen. Trucker hats hanging from the walls in the hallway. Framed photos resting on the mantle above the fireplace. A curly haired baby on his mothers lap. A lanky teenage boy with a wide grin sat beside his uncle at a barbecue. A twenty year old wannabe rockstar on stage at The Hideout.

The familiar items do little to ease Eddie’s discomfort. This isn’t his childhood home. He feels oddly stiff and formal, out of place like he shouldn’t be here. If he were back in the trailer Eddie could make his own coffee, then kick back on the couch with his feet propped up on the table.

But the trailer now belongs to someone else. The couch is probably rotting in a dump somewhere. So Eddie sits with his back pressed straight against the wooden chair, watching as Wayne reaches into cabinets and drawers for jars of sugar and spoons, trying to make a mental note of where things are stored. Because unfortunately, Eddie might be here for a while.

Ludo hasn’t left Eddie’s side since they entered the kitchen. He’s one change that Eddie finds himself grateful for. When he twists his fingers anxiously in his lap, that familiar itch growing under his skin, Ludo rests his chin on Eddie’s thigh. Round dark eyes blink up at him expectantly. Eddie runs his fingers through the soft mane of fur around the creatures neck, and feels at least a small fraction of his fears melt.

“He’s taken quite a likin’ to you.” Wayne comments with a smile. He places the Garfield mug, Eddie’s old favourite, in front of him before settling back with with his own drink in the chair opposite.

Eddie nods. He keeps one hand scratching behind Ludo’s ear, the other bringing the drink to his lips. He’s had coffee in Milan that probably cost more than the table he was sitting at, supposedly the finest in the world. It paled in comparison to a cup of joe made by Wayne, lots of cream and lots of sugar, just the way he likes it. Eddie closes his eyes as the first sip hits his tongue. For a moment he’s back home, and everything feels simple again.

“Ludo, huh?” He says with a small grin. The retriever’s ears perk up at the mention of his name.

“Yeah.” Wayne laughs.

“You loved that movie. And it just seemed to suit him.”

“It does.” Eddie says softly.

“So. How’re things?” Wayne asks.

Eddie sucks in a sharp breath through his nose. Ludo, seeming to sense the tension in his body, lets out a quiet whine and nuzzles his face deeper against Eddie’s thigh.

“Fine.” Eddie says.

Wayne winces at his clipped tone.

“Who’s Liz?” Eddie asks quickly, a change in subject that his uncle acknowledges with an arched brow. He gives an equally short answer.

“A friend.”

“Just a friend?” Eddie presses, trying his best to inject a teasing lilt into his voice.

Wayne chuckles and shakes his head. A dusting of pink blooms on his lined cheeks.

“No, not just a friend. She’s… someone very special to me.”

“I’d like to meet her.” Eddie says genuinely.

Wayne nods and takes a sip of his coffee.

“So you’re staying for a while then?”

“I - I don’t know.” Eddie whispers.

“Well you’ve always got a home with me, you know that. Stay as long as you like.”

“Thanks.”

The room falls to a strained silence. The mug in Eddie’s hand begins to shake. He quickly puts it back on the table and hides his trembling fist in his lap.

“Son-“ Wayne starts, with the tone of someone about to ask a question he knows he maybe shouldn’t.

Eddie sighs.

“Are you going to tell me why you’ve come back?”

“Does there need to be a reason?” Eddie snaps.

“No. But don’t you think I deserve some kind of explanation? Look son, I get you’re busy, you’ve got your own life now, I don’t hold it against ya that you ain’t been back here. But now out of the blue you call and say you’re coming home, and then 24 hours later you’re sitting in my kitchen. Somethin’ don’t add up.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say.” Eddie grumbles.

“I want you to tell me what’s got you so worked up.”

“I said I’m fine.”

“And I don’t believe you. You’re sittin’ there lookin’ like a time bomb about to blow.”

Eddie clenched his jaw hard, feeling his teeth grind painfully.

“There’s nothing going on Wayne.” He insists.

Something flashes on Wayne’s face. A brief sadness, or perhaps disappointment. The same guilt from earlier burns in Eddie’s chest.

Because what was he supposed to say?

My friends are all boring bastards who don’t understand what it is to have a good time anymore. We got everything we could have ever wanted and now suddenly they’re too good for it, looking down on me from their fucking high horses just because I want to have some fun. And now our management are preventing us from working on our next album because they’ve got it into their heads that I need to go to some pretentious “wellness centre” full of Hollywood nut jobs, so instead I ran home with my tail between my legs.

“I just need a break, okay? That’s all.”

Wayne opens his mouth. For a second it seems like he might push the issue. But Wayne knows Eddie, or at least he used to. So he thinks better of it, and remains quiet.

The two men empty their cups in silence. When they’re done Wayne pushes back from the table, the chair legs screeching over the tiled floor.

“You’re probably tired from the flight. I’ll show you where your room is.”

Eddie doesn’t say a word. He scoops up his bag from beside his chair and follows down the hall.

“Just to warn ya, Lu usually sleeps in here, so he might try to get in with you tonight. I can shut him in the kitchen if it’s going to be a bother.” Wayne says.

“N-no. It’s fine, I don’t mind.” Eddie says truthfully.

“I’ll let you get settled then.” Wayne says, nodding his head to the closed door on his left.

“If you need anything just shout.”

“Will do. Thank you.”

For a moment, Wayne lingers by the door. When he looks at Eddie he appears torn, and Eddie hates the sadness behind his blue eyes, so close to pity. Wayne raises a hand. Eddie opens his arms just a little, expecting a hug. Instead, he receives a firm pat on the shoulder. As quickly as Wayne’s palm lands it disappears, and he’s gone.

Swallowing down the sting of rejection, Eddie nudges open the door.

It’s a modest size room, large enough for a queen and small bed side cabinets either side. At the far end of the room beneath the window sits an oak chest of drawers. The bed is neatly made with white sheets and a deep navy comforter, the pillows perfectly fluffed and undisturbed. Wayne must not have many guests. There’s evidence of at least one regular though, a dip in the comforter on the far side of the bed, a collection of golden hairs strewn across the dark fabric.

As if to make a point, Ludo jumps onto the bed and curls up in the indent left by his body.

Eddie’s own body aches, his tired limbs desperate to crawl onto the mattress, his weary mind begging for the sweet release of sleep.

But he’s faltering, his bag dropping with a thump to the floor as he glances around the room slack jawed.

With its neutral white walls, perfectly tasteful bedding, and sturdy new furniture, this should be the ideal guest room. Basic and nondescript, lacking the personality one might inject into the other areas of a home. That’s how it appeared in the photos Eddie saw.

What wasn’t here before was the hand painted Corroded Coffin banner hanging above the bed. The collection of Tolkien novels and DnD handbooks lining the shelves. The various trinkets and treasures collected in adolescence - Eddie’s adolescence, that are scattered across the top of the chest of drawers.

Eddie’s initial reaction is fury.

So this is how little faith Wayne had in Eddie’s ability to make it.

He was so convinced that his nephew’s failure was inevitable that he kept his room ready. Even when Eddie’s success had bought Wayne this fucking house, he’d been planning that Eddie would come crawling back on his knees begging for somewhere to go.

In three quick strides Eddie has crossed the room, arm raised ready to sweep the memories clean off the oak surface. He wants it all gone, torn to shreds, burnt to fucking ashes for all he cares. He knew coming home was a bad idea. No matter how far he ran and how much he achieved, Hawkins was always going to be that black pit of despair ready to swallow him whole.

It’s your face that stops him. It’s your face that has him lowering his hand and gently brushing aside the ticket stubs and Palace Arcade tokens.

A strip of photos from the booth in Starcourt Mall. The summer before his big break, when he was still just The Freak, and you were still just you - his best friend. Four black and white images: one nice one, you’d insisted, where you both smiled for the camera like it was school picture day. One with Eddie’s signature pose, both of your tongues lolling out and fingers raised in horns beside your heads. One where Eddie had done his best to climb up onto the tiny stool, miming air guitar while you grabbed at his legs to stop him from toppling over, your face panic stricken.

The final image had been his favourite. You’re caught mid belly laugh as Eddie’s fingers tickled your ribs mercilessly, his lips pressed to the plump apple of your cheek.

He’d taken one strip of photos and pinned it to the wall in his room, next to where his precious sweetheart rested. You kept the other in your wallet, tucked safely away amongst the receipts and bills.

Eddie picks up the strip. The thin paper flutters with the shaking of his hand.

He can picture it so clearly. Wayne carefully pulling the pin from the wall to remove the photos, maybe tucking them in one of his paperbacks to keep them safe. He’d have folded the banner, probably used it to protect all the miniatures that Eddie had so carefully painted, who had also survived the journey from the trailer to this house, and were now proudly displayed in this room.

His room.

Because Wayne hadn’t set this up believing that Eddie would one day need it.

No, he’d done this because this was his home. Not the trailer, not Hawkins, just wherever Wayne was. Wayne was his family.

You had been too, once.

Eddie lets the photos fall from his fingers.

He rushes back to his bag, tearing open the zipper and tossing clothes aside as he desperately digs to the bottom. That pain was back, the one that built in his chest, growing and growing to a crushing weight that made it hard to breath. He needed to make it stop.

Finally, he finds what he’s looking for, his fingers closing around another smooth plastic bottle. Thank god for private planes. And thank god for Uncle Wayne clearly having not spoken to anyone back in L.A., or he might have demanded to go through Eddie’s bag. He could explain away the bottle in his jacket pocket.

These not so much.

Eddie just about manages to pop the cap with his shaking fingers. He taps three pills into his palm and throws them back, feeling them scrape down his dry throat.

He tosses the bottle into the bedside drawer and collapses onto the mattress. Ludo doesn’t seem to mind sharing his bed, and crawls over to rest his head on Eddie’s chest. His weight is comforting. Eddie lets his eyes drift out of focus as he stares at the popcorn ceiling, feeling silky warm fur beneath his fingers. He waits for the blissful peace that comes when the pills finally dissolve into his bloodstream.

The last thing he thinks of before he passes out, is the feeling of your cheek, warm and soft beneath his lips.

————————————💌———————————

[small-round-and-angry]

loki even NEEDING to speak latin kind of just proves that the writer didn't do any fucking research about the character at all :/

also him saying Odin raised him is LAUGHABLE

Odin couldn't raise a butterfly in a flower garden

[small-round-and-angry]

OK OK but my father used to tell me that if I didn’t poop daily, the anaconda that lived in the sewers would climb up the toilet and bite my ass.

I spent a great part of my childhood afraid to flush, lest I wake up the beast with the noise.

Does anyone else have that internal fear of a snake coming up from inside the toilet a biting you on the ass or have I just watched tremors at a young age therefore traumatizing me?

[small-round-and-angry]

I would advise people who don’t understand why some people find it so hard to accept the “New Loki” to give this a read, but then again, as OP put it, they wouldn’t be interested to interact with different opinions.

What a sad feeling, right? To grieve something and someone intangible, and not even have the support of people whose love fot that were so much like ours two movies ago.

Who Moved My Loki?

Note: The following is a lengthy, deeply personal reflection in which I hash out my thoughts on Loki, the series, and the fandom. It contains negativity. A lot of negativity. I’ve tagged this appropriately, so if you’re the kind of person who absolutely cannot handle negatively at any of the above, please do us all a favor and keep scrolling. I’m not looking to start fights, convince anyone to change their minds, or tell people they’re wrong for liking the show. This is intended only as my own views written for my own benefit. I’ll even hide the negative stuff for easier avoidance. If you choose to read on anyway and don’t like what you see, that’s on 100% on you. 

Continuar lendo

[small-round-and-angry]

That’s a scary, yet very pertinent, tought. I haven’t seen much of the headcannons you described, because I only browse the anti tags for all the ships in this god forsaken show, but I can believe you when you say it. Big oof.

As I’m noticing an ongoing theme of people awwwing over the idea of Mobi obsessively watching and studying and memorizing and vicariously living through every waking moment of Loki’s life on some kind of a screen or other, ending up in love through persistence, and then remembering the unhealthy levels of jealous obsession and possessive ownership a certain kind of stan has been manifesting both with Loki and Hiddles for years, I can’t help but wonder if the nothingburger of a ship that shan’t be named became so popular in certain circles because there are people who look at Mobi and see a mirror.

[small-round-and-angry]

No because that’s the most low effort “”””writing”””” that I ever heard of. I don’t say that often, but anyone could have done a better job than waldo, at this point. I’m genuinely angry and sad, and no one is doing anything about this. Why are’t more people talking about this????

And this all ties up nicely to my idea that they just slapped Loki’s name on this so we , the fans, would watch it, regardless of plot or anything. And they are getting away with it, if the reactions I’m getting from the fandom are anything to go by. God forbid someone deslike this lazy piece of media, we should be happy to get scraps of content from our favourite character, even if he’s the TITULAR CHARACTER IN THE SHOW.

 This was just an excuse to open the multiverse, never a Loki story at all.

Just for fun, here’s the things from Waldron’s sci-fi script that got forced into the Loki series

Starting with things that appeared on his script and we didn’t see in the show, but were discussed in the writers room:

•the main character time traveling to fuck around with people/ be a douchebag

•Time traveling sex montages (is he 12??🤢)

Sylvie’s character:

•literally everything about sylvie was copy and pasted from this script. Nothing was formed in the writers room.

•She is the only female character in most of her scenes and is typed as an action girl (every woman in the Loki series is typed as an action girl)

•The main female character was

orphaned as a child, so she grew up alone in an apocalyptic superstore

•Her only emotion is anger, and her only motivation is to kill the big man in power, and she’ll kill any and everyone who gets in her way (but this is never framed as bad, because the main male character is uhhh so much worse??)

•She curses often (which is meant to seem gritty and bad ass but mostly comes off as childish)

•She loses her ability to complete her mission because she suddenly, for no reason at all, fell in love with the main male character (in the script she’s actually overcome with unexplainable lust, which I’m sure Waldron would have loved to include on screen*)

•She hates the main male character immensely and is constantly yelling at him for being an idiot, but her uncontrollable desire to fuck him stops her from doing anything against him

•She wouldn’t be satisfied after killing the man she wants to kill more than anything, with no as to explanation why this wouldn’t be good for her

•She gets stranded at a dangerous point in time with no time travel equipment (and the main male character is the reason for it)

Loki’s character (I want to be clear that this is the Loki we see in the series, not the real loki who is infinitely better):

•The main male character is painted as a relentless narcissistic asshole who is just. So lonely on the inside. Yup that’s it, being secretly lonely but still an awful person is as complex as he gets. He commits atrocities for attention but lacks emotional connection to others because he’s just bad™

•The only way the main male character is developed is through sudden romance (just the same as sylvie, love in the script is actually just lust. There’s a lot of gratuitous nudity and erections. This writer is so. Damn. Immature.*)

•Evil president version of the main character meeting a less powerful version of themself from another time (and that version being softer because he fell in love*)

Others:

•The entire aesthetic focus is put on a trash/apocalypse world

•The dialogue is very basic, most of the characters speak like 12 year olds (and in the series nobody is speaking in a way that is realistic for an asgardian or an all powerful cosmic agency)

•There is a “sit down and catch up” moment where the main characters (who definitely have bigger problems atm) are meant to have a date and fall in love*

•Another character is extremely disturbed by the relationship between the two main characters and goes on a tangent about how twisted they are

•The romance lacks buildup despite being the focus of the story, it just happens because the writer wants it to happen and that fact is hard to ignore as you watch the story unfold (in the script even the main characters don’t understand why they want to be together)

Overall I don’t think I can respect Waldron as a writer because everything about the basic premise of the Loki series, aside from the TVA, was based off of this script. In interviews he says loki is essentially the same as this character who he himself describes as “worst than hitler.” Good writers research before they form a story about an existing character, not after.

*I think Michael Waldron would succeed as a writer for P0rnHub

[small-round-and-angry]

Not only was it completely unecessary, but I would like it so much better if there was ANY chemestry between the characters at all. It always seems like Loki is staring longinly and doing gestures, and Sylvie is just...there. And it’s fine, I get that she has an objective and that she’s focused on destroying the world as we know it getting revenge, but how am I suppose to ship them if not even she is into it right now?

I’m still under the impression she kissed him just to shut him up and distract him, in the end.

The worst thing about being in this fandom right now for me is that I can’t stand the idea of either Sylki or Lokius, and when I go to fester in my own hatred in the anti tags for either of this ships, most of the posts are praising or defending the other. 

[small-round-and-angry]

Yes, exactly this.

Loki selfcest fine in theory but in practice they made girl Loki blonde and explicitly cisfem and not named Loki so that it would be less weird . Coward move. There should have been two tom hiddlestons kissing each other

[small-round-and-angry]

He really repurposed his self insert and called it Loki

Just for fun, here’s the things from Waldron’s sci-fi script that got forced into the Loki series

Starting with things that appeared on his script and we didn’t see in the show, but were discussed in the writers room:

•the main character time traveling to fuck around with people/ be a douchebag

•Time traveling sex montages (is he 12??🤢)

Sylvie’s character:

•literally everything about sylvie was copy and pasted from this script. Nothing was formed in the writers room.

•She is the only female character in most of her scenes and is typed as an action girl (every woman in the Loki series is typed as an action girl)

•The main female character was

orphaned as a child, so she grew up alone in an apocalyptic superstore

•Her only emotion is anger, and her only motivation is to kill the big man in power, and she’ll kill any and everyone who gets in her way (but this is never framed as bad, because the main male character is uhhh so much worse??)

•She curses often (which is meant to seem gritty and bad ass but mostly comes off as childish)

•She loses her ability to complete her mission because she suddenly, for no reason at all, fell in love with the main male character (in the script she’s actually overcome with unexplainable lust, which I’m sure Waldron would have loved to include on screen*)

•She hates the main male character immensely and is constantly yelling at him for being an idiot, but her uncontrollable desire to fuck him stops her from doing anything against him

•She wouldn’t be satisfied after killing the man she wants to kill more than anything, with no as to explanation why this wouldn’t be good for her

•She gets stranded at a dangerous point in time with no time travel equipment (and the main male character is the reason for it)

Loki’s character (I want to be clear that this is the Loki we see in the series, not the real loki who is infinitely better):

•The main male character is painted as a relentless narcissistic asshole who is just. So lonely on the inside. Yup that’s it, being secretly lonely but still an awful person is as complex as he gets. He commits atrocities for attention but lacks emotional connection to others because he’s just bad™

•The only way the main male character is developed is through sudden romance (just the same as sylvie, love in the script is actually just lust. There’s a lot of gratuitous nudity and erections. This writer is so. Damn. Immature.*)

•Evil president version of the main character meeting a less powerful version of themself from another time (and that version being softer because he fell in love*)

Others:

•The entire aesthetic focus is put on a trash/apocalypse world

•The dialogue is very basic, most of the characters speak like 12 year olds (and in the series nobody is speaking in a way that is realistic for an asgardian or an all powerful cosmic agency)

•There is a “sit down and catch up” moment where the main characters (who definitely have bigger problems atm) are meant to have a date and fall in love*

•Another character is extremely disturbed by the relationship between the two main characters and goes on a tangent about how twisted they are

•The romance lacks buildup despite being the focus of the story, it just happens because the writer wants it to happen and that fact is hard to ignore as you watch the story unfold (in the script even the main characters don’t understand why they want to be together)

Overall I don’t think I can respect Waldron as a writer because everything about the basic premise of the Loki series, aside from the TVA, was based off of this script. In interviews he says loki is essentially the same as this character who he himself describes as “worst than hitler.” Good writers research before they form a story about an existing character, not after.

*I think Michael Waldron would succeed as a writer for P0rnHub

[small-round-and-angry]

Y’all know what I would have liked to see in the series? Loki actually flirting with a man, even if it was a nameless, faceless character, like a minute man at the TVA, of a random guy at the bar on the train.

 Mobius dosen’t count, most of what you guys see as flirting is too subtle to even count and I deslike that ship anyways

[small-round-and-angry]

The worst thing about being in this fandom right now for me is that I can’t stand the idea of either Sylki or Lokius, and when I go to fester in my own hatred in the anti tags for either of this ships, most of the posts are praising or defending the other. 

[small-round-and-angry]

disney bootlickers are so fucking annoying

[small-round-and-angry]

It’s weird. They (as in the writers) use the term prune for a lot of different stuff, I think. Pruning the timeline, as in deleting them, pruning variants, as in capturing them, and then PRUNING variants, as in voiding them. 

The way I see it, she was refering to when they took her from her timeline.

if sylvie was “pruned” before loki was even born then she would go to the void right?? so how tf did she just forget about the void and alioth????? how did she get out of the void so she could go and fuck up the TVA?????????? how does she know that she was pruned before loki was born!?????!;!;!