#he doesn't save anyone and he mostly just makes things worse

[cyrsed]

i only realized recently that the reason it's been 3 years for isaac since ds1 is bc ds1 came out 3 years before ds2, which is cute. isaac has no memory of the past 3 years in ds2 bc he hasn't existed since 2008 lol. there's some fun (maybe partially unintentional in certain cases) meta narrative in ds2 that is interesting to think about? control vs lack of control, agency vs manipulation etc. i think it's sorta funny that isaac's arc goes from sort of "accidentally"/in self defense killing someone and feeling bad about it in a cutscene (QTE notwithstanding), where you the player don't control what isaac does, to the end where isaac is consciously making the decision to essentially execute tiedmann lol. which is interesting from a character growth perspective (like, what does it mean for him to take a life purposefully: is it catharsis? is it closure? is it heroic? idk about that since it's not like he wouldn't have died anyway lol, so is it just what tiedmann Deserves? oh, 2011 video games), but it's also interesting from a player/game interaction perspective, since the themes of dead space like paranoia/conspiracy/loss of control/memory/manipulation/free will/futility/etc. mean that isaac is never really in control and never really has agency. he's either manipulated by other humans, or by the marker, and very literally controlled by the player.

so in isaac's ds2 arc, ignoring the grief aspect, he goes from acting in a way that could arguably be considered to have more agency to it by killing someone in a cutscene where the player has no input into his actions one way or the other (other than being able to let isaac die if they fail the QTE, but the actual killing part is extra loll), to killing tiedmann, but with the caveat that the game gives the player the actual input to execute tiedmann rather than watching it happen like before. obvs that's just down to game mechanics more than anything, but it's FUN to think about the THEMATIC IMPLICATIONS okay??

[luveline]

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 

summary eddie munson is super weird. he holds your hand too tight, he has a fascination with your neck, and he can’t give a hickey to save his life. good thing you’re super weird, too. [20k]

warnings two losers falling in love!! vampire!eddie munson, ditzy!reader (kind of), fem!reader, smut mdni (p in v, unprotected sex, oral fem receiving, general heavy petting and kissing, praise), fluff, hurt/comfort, angst (eddie struggling with guilt and grief). canon divergent (the events of volume 2 take place but there’s a mostly happy ending i.e. everyone good lives and everyone bad dies) TW eddie doesn't have suicidal thoughts, but he does think about it briefly. not with intent or anything like that though. requested here for my halloween party <3

(㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

Eddie Munson never wanted to be a vampire, and he wants that on the record. 

It's a ridiculous existence. It's embarrassing. It's nothing like all the movies and books promised him. 

He's looking at you, Bram Stoker. 

In Eddie's mind, Stoker’s nothing less than a liar and a sycophant. 

"Who's dick were you bouncing on, Stoker?" he demands to know, kicking fallen leaf mulch under his feet angrily. "Need'ta fucking impress some vampire lover with your over-exaggerated, over-powered, ridiculous descriptions? Great. Hope it was worth it. Meanwhile I'm here, self-esteem half the size of a grain of rice because I can't scale a building with my bare hands." 

Eddie would know. He's tried. 

He's not genuinely angry with Bram Stoker, but he'd rather take his frustrations out on a guy who's been dead for a hundred years than take them out on the demobats, because he doesn't want to even think about the demobats. They're all dead too. Not before they'd had (see: devoured) their pound of flesh and changed his life for the worse, though.

He shakes his head to drive out the memory like water in his ears. It's easier to pretend none of that shit in the upside down ever happened. (Impossible to pretend. He begs himself to try anyway.) 

He’s pissed because science fiction has promised him a lot of things and reality has delivered on none of them. No super strength, no impermeable skin. He is faster, but that's more a reflexive thing than anything else. And being faster doesn't make running fun. That’s impossible.

Sunlight breaks through the treeline and his skin crawls. Science fiction didn't get that right, either. The sun doesn't hurt. It's just really, really annoying.

He covers his eyes, winces at his itchy hand, pulls his sleeve over his fingers and covers his eyes again. "This blows," he says, and means it. 

In Dracula, the sun nulls Dracula’s supernatural abilities. Eddie doesn’t have any abilities worth nulling, unless you count echolocation.

He doesn’t. 

He walks another five minutes up the road toward Forest Hills when he realises you're behind him. His senses are enhanced now as a bat’s might be, hearing fine-tuned and dialled up every second of the day — which makes living in a trailer park where everyone thinks he's a murderer an acute misery — but he's as prone to distraction as anyone else. Especially when he gets stuck in a memory.

Eddie throws his gaze over his shoulder and finds you thirty or forty feet away, talking to yourself under your breath. He knows you more for your sounds than your appearance. To be able to put a face to your mindless babbling is a mystery solved. Of course you look like that. A skirt made of soft looking fabric bounces over two cute thighs, a pretty lacy corset type of thing that isn't too tight outfits your top half. You look more like a vampire than he does. 

"Hi, Eddie," you call.

His eyes widen, a deer-in-the-headlights kind of surprise. If you notice how he's frozen you don't show it, continuing to push your bike toward him. The tick of the wheels grows louder as you get closer, two hands on the handlebars with wrists draped in bracelets, both silver and fabric. 

Besides your jewellery, your arms are bare. You must be freezing. 

"Hey," he says. 

He doesn't know your name. He doesn't know how you know his, and he’s too awkward to ask. 

Your sounds peak as you close the gap. The wet scrape of your dirty black canvas shoes over shining asphalt, the soft puff of your breath, the clinking sounds of whatever trinkets you have in your bag. If he focuses, he can make out the tiniest pinches of fabric. Your short sleeves rubbing against your arms, your bra straps stretching over your shoulders. 

Eddie takes a deep breath and tries to diminish his senses. 

"Where's your van?" you ask curiously. 

"Piece of shit kicked it in the middle of town. Just my luck." 

You pause at his side, looking him up and down obviously but without the judgement or irreverent disgust he's come to expect from near about everybody in Hawkins. 

"That's not good," you say succinctly. 

It's such a genuine response that Eddie can't find it in himself to be sarcastic. 

"God awful," he agrees sullenly. 

You nod and start to walk again. Eddie falls naturally into step beside you, matching your pace without thinking. 

"You should get a bike." 

He laughs. Coughs to cover it up. "Yeah?" 

"They're way more reliable than a car, and it doesn't hurt the zone." 

Eddie squints. "The o-zone?" 

"Is there another one?" 

You're still so serious that he spares you the ridicule he might dole out to anyone else. If Dustin had said something like that he would've ripped the kid a new one, but you're rather sweet in an odd way. You have a soft manner of talking — each word sounds like you've thought its pronunciation through meticulously beforehand. 

He ignores your question and points at your bike, ring catching the sun. "Why aren't you riding it?" 

"My chain slipped." 

"So much for reliable." 

That makes you smile. Eddie feels it like a punch, a flat palm slapped into his chest. 

"You can't put the chain on yourself?" 

A brisk breeze whips your hair, your earrings. The left kisses your cheek, a silver heart-shaped hoop with pink beads that click together. You lean into it, face tilted to one side as a perplexed smile plays on your sticky lips. "You can do that?" 

"Sure, you pull it back around the gear. It's easy." He hesitates for a moment, and then feels guilty about hesitating. "I'll do it for you, if you want." 

"The guy in no. 62 has been charging me ten dollars." You don't sound as angry as you should, in Eddie's opinion. 

"I'll do it for nothing." 

You beam at him. His chest feels like a bruise. 

Pretty girls don't like Eddie. Not before Chrissy, not after. He's trying to work out your angle, what it is that you want. 

Or maybe you don't know. 

As soon as you find out who he is, you'll turn your pretty nose up at him and walk the other way. He shouldn't smile at you, he definitely shouldn't fix your bike. 

He can't help it. He's so starved for positive attention that he follows you all the way through the park, westside to east. 

He checks the driveway of his own home and smiles mildly when he spots Wayne's new car. It's new in the sense that it's different. It's actually way older than the one he'd had before, the one he'd pawned to pay for Eddie's — well, Eddie's everything. His check-ups, his court dates, his goddamn bail. In the same way that this trailer isn't the trailer, but an older, smaller one as far away from their first as possible. 

Kid, if I had the money…

Wayne hadn't needed to finish. If he had the money, they'd leave. Leave Hawkins, leave Indiana. Settle down in some other mediocre Midwestern state with all the same creature comforts and none of the "You were acquitted but literally none of us believe you didn't kill someone," motif. 

All they have now is debt, each other, and the Great Munson mug collection. 

Eddie keeps his head down as they pass the old trailer. Nobody lives inside now. Only termites. 

He can taste blood by the time they reach your home. Far from the metallicity of his human blood, Eddie's blood now harbours a bitter taste. Not quite like coffee but with that same overwhelming earthiness. He pulls his teeth from the bitten flesh of his bottom lip and quickly raises a hand to his teeth, alarmed. 

No knife-like points. Normal teeth. 

"Are you thirsty?" you ask him. 

Eddie flinches and drops his hand. You've parked your bike against the wooden lifts of your porch and are halfway up the steps to your front door, hand clasped loosely on the railing. 

His heart fucking pounds. 

"I have grape juice?" 

"Right," he says hurriedly, "right. Yeah, that would be awesome." 

Duh, you meant juice. 

You send him another endearing smile and pop up the last of your steps and into the front door. It's not locked. He doesn't follow, thinking you must live with somebody (who's gonna know exactly who he is and tell him to get lost).

He turns his attention to your bike instead. It's easy enough to fix. He rolls the bike so its handlebars are resting against your concrete driveway and covers the top bar of the metal body with his sneaker to stop it from toppling. He rolls up his sleeves and bares his arms, but pulls them back down immediately when he remembers the white-purple whorls of scar tissue lurking underneath. 

"Fuck," he mutters. Everything is a reminder, all of the time. He can't escape what happened. 

It's everywhere. 

He's getting his fingers under the chain when you reappear. You've layered up, bracelets and naked arms hidden by a black hoodie. 

The wind blows and your skirt shifts. From his position he can see a ladder hiding in your tights where your inner thighs are pressed together. He whips his gaze up like a high-school perv caught sneaking peeks in the girls locker room and notices the stitching on your chest for the first time.

"You like Dio?" he asks excitedly. 

"Who?" 

He wilts. "Uh, your hoodie. Dio." 

"I got it for three dollars in the bargain bins," you supply helpfully, all pep as you climb down the stairs and offer him a glass cup adorned in dainty enamel flowers. "Is Dio good?" 

He waves his hand at the glass apologetically. "Two seconds…" Lifting the chain with the second hand, Eddie tugs and then feeds until the links are lined up with the bumps on the big chainring. The skin on his fingertips get pinched and his eyebrows pull together in pain, but it's a mild irritant at worst and after a moment the chain is back in place. 

He pulls his hand away and wipes dark grease down the front of his jacket. "I think I did it." 

You're glowing, earrings like a metronome as you ask, "That fast? You're awesome."

He turns the pedal and your back wheel spins in time with his heart. You're awesome. When was the last time somebody who wasn't Wayne said anything like that? 

Although Dustin had told him he thought Eddie was a much cooler, more fucked up version of the guy from Van Halen the other day. 

You're just saying that 'cos we're both called Eddie, Eddie had said morosely. 

Learn to take a compliment, dude. 

When they aren't pity compliments, he might. 

Eddie lifts your bike back onto the wheels to show you that it's working perfectly. You giggle your evident pleasure. "Oh, thank you, thank you!" you say, super sweet even as grape juice sloshes over the rims of your flowered glasses and drips down your fingers. 

"Here, let me," he says, taking the glasses from your purple-stained hands. 

You kiss your hands clean which is a thing, a lot to watch. Eddie admits to himself that he thinks you're really pretty, recognises that that is a bad thing to think considering the likely very short life span of your acquaintance. God knows you won't be saying anything as friendly when you find out who he is. 

"You're so nice," you say. It feels like you're talking more to yourself than him. "Thank you. It's slipped off three times this month, and ten dollars is ten dollars. Wait, do you want ten dollars?" 

"My services were administered charitably.”

Your smile grows. You accept your glass and take a small sip, eyes lit up as Eddie steers your bike one-handed to rest against the porch. 

"Do you wanna come inside? I don't have any of the Dio, but I have Blondie." 

He holds in a throwaway comment about real rock and roll, astounded that you’d ask him. "Your folks aren't home?" 

"I'm twenty-two." 

Eddie squints at you. "Seriously?" 

"You didn't think so?" 

He shrugs. It's not that you don't look twenty two. Or even that you don't act twenty two. But it's been a long time since he met somebody living alone in the park. Forest Hills is where poverty comes to settle. 

"A boyfriend?" 

"Just me and mister Porterson." 

"That your grandpa?" 

"That's my pet fish."

He smiles. It's his first real, authentic smile in days. He's genuinely elated by your offer and your attitude, but he doesn't know how to handle it, struck with a sudden nightmare of you, afterward, telling somebody you'd invited him in and he'd tried to hurt you. It isn't fair of him to assume you'd do anything like that. You've been nothing but sweet and sincere this whole time. 

Eddie hasn't let his guard down in a long time. 

You're giving him this wide-eyed, imploring look that promptly suffocates any fear. 

And in a week, when she finds out who you are and feels betrayed, feels tricked? What then, Munson?

"You know what happened?" he asks.

"What happened?" 

"Two years ago. Chrissy… Chrissy Cunningham?" 

Don't say her fucking name. 

Your expression clears as clarity blooms. You take a step. He needs a second to realise you've come forward rather than away, fingers twitching toward his hand. 

"I know about it. I'm sorry that happened to you." 

He stares. 

This is a trick. Two years and he can count the amount of people who believe him on his two hands, and only because they'd all gone through it with him. Sometimes there are outliers, logical people who seem to realise Eddie couldn't have killed all those people, couldn't have been in all those different places without leaving any evidence behind. And sometimes there are people who agree he didn't kill Chrissy, but he's a coward for leaving her to die. (She’d already been dead.)

Eddie doesn't know what he thinks. Wayne sets the record straight every now and then with a clap on the shoulder. You did what every parent wants their kid to do. You lived. I can't ask for more than that. 

"You don't believe it?" 

"That you hurt her?" You hold his gaze, face practically impassive. "No, I don't believe it." 

He pulls in a breath that fills every inch of his chest. "I could learn to like Blondie," he says. 

— 

You're standing in the driveway of Eddie's trailer with a heavy bag over your shoulder, face to face with a man who kind of looks like him but not really. You assume it's his uncle because who else could he be? If you hadn't seen him here you'd never guess. 

"Eddie's mom must've had strong genes," you say. You bring your shoulder up toward your cheek thoughtfully. "He didn't get any of your face. Was she pretty? Eddie's really pretty." 

"She was," he says, peering down his nose at you. 

"I got sandwiches. Do you want one?" 

"What kind?" 

"I have ham and cheese, or ham and lettuce and tomato, or I have pumpernickel cookies. Is Eddie a vegetarian?" 

"Why?" 

"'Cause I only brought one cheese and cucumber, and I have dibs." 

He climbs down the last couple of steps and is still taller but definitely less imposing, face covered in scratchy salt and pepper stubble and crows feet deeply embedded into the corners of his eyes. He looks like a man who has been tired for a very long time. You make a mental note to bring him some lavender for his pillow on your next visit. 

"You're Eddie's new friend?"

You nod your head briskly. "Yes, sir. I'm Y/N." 

He opens his box of camels like a pro, bottom pressed to his chest. He tucks a cigarette between his lips and pulls his lighter out. He doesn't light it. 

"It's nice to meet you," he says eventually, voice warming. 

You search through the mess of your skirt for the zipper on your bag and peel it open, pulling out your tupperware of cookies and cracking them open to release the fragrant smell of cinnamon and almonds. It's a heady scent, fitting for the holiday season approaching. 

You offer Eddie’s uncle a cookie.

"Thought pumpernickel was bread," he says gruffly, taking one. 

"It is, but there's this little town in France that makes these every year at Christmas and they call them pumpernickel biscuits," — he takes a bite and winces at the hard snap — "you're s'posed to dip them in hot chocolate." 

"You don't say." 

You nod happily and he moves aside to let you pass. 

"Thanks, kid." 

You turn back to him with your fingers curled around the door handle. "Of course! It's really nice to meet you, Mr. Munson, sir." 

"Wayne is fine." 

You laugh and repeat his name in a similarly rough voice, letting yourself in as Eddie had told you to do. You find him immediately in a man-made corner of the living room, pale and in his pyjamas. The trailer is open planned, a living room they’ve divided by propping a couch against the kitchen counter, a slim hallway leading to a cramped bathroom and the single bedroom. It's exactly like in your home. 

You're somewhat surprised to see him in pyjamas. Eddie doesn't wear comfy looking clothes out of the house — you've only ever seen him in jeans and jackets like a real rockstar. 

"Are you ready?" you ask.

You've invited him to come and search for bugs with you. Catching any kind of bug, whether beetle or butterfly or spider, is really scary, but you need to be able to catch them to draw them. 

You'd expressed this to him over the phone and he'd said, "I can come and help. I have good reflexes." 

He rubs his hands over his knees. There's a blanket pooled around his feet, a quilt he must sleep with, and the room is decorated with not a whole lot of stuff but enough to make you take a step back. 

"Is this your room?" you ask, enchanted. 

"Kind of." He pulls his hair from behind his ear, obscuring a pale cheek. "I don't think I can come with you today, I'm sorry. I meant to call you." 

You toy with a dark thigh high sock as you ease out of your shoes, height drastically decreasing. "That's okay, we can stay here. I brought you a sandwich. I brought you two sandwiches," you correct. 

He nods. Rather sadly, in your opinion. "Alright. Thanks." 

You step over a tented paperback and hand off the cookies before sitting down beside him on the couch he's occupying. It's smaller than the one against the wall and round like a clam, lots of room for your legs to stretch out. 

"I feel like a pearl," you say. 

You and Eddie have been friends for a little while now. Long enough for you to realise he's either depressed or mentally unwell in some way. You hardly mind keeping him company on his bad days if he needs somebody, so drawing bugs will have to wait. 

His hair is limp, not totally greasy but not super clean either. His face looks fresh enough, though the bags under his eyes make you frown. 

You pull your purse into your lap, thighs covered by the thin layers of your midi skirt. "I have just the thing for you," you murmur. 

"Yeah? Bring me another bracelet?" 

You like that he sounds eager. Making his bracelet had been a challenge, lots of knotting and double knotting, three restarts and one small under the breath tantrum. It's not anything special, black and white hearts seven strands wide, but he'd been very appreciative. 

"No, but I can make you another one if you want. I mastered the inverse chevron last night." 

He hums. You pull a saran wrapped sandwich from the depths of your crowded bag, glad to see it's mostly intact. When you open it up you find that it's the ham and lettuce and tomato one, so you drop it into his lap haphazardly and move onto the next. 

"Aha! Here," you pull a cucumber from your sandwich. "For you." 

He takes it between two tentative fingers. "Thank you?" 

"For your eyes." 

"There's cheese on it." 

"I'll still work," you assure him. 

"M'not putting cheese on my eyes." 

You laugh because he probably shouldn't put cheese on his eyes, cucumber adjacent or otherwise. "Okay, don't. I'll make you a hot towel." 

He drops his hand on your arm as you go to stand. You like how he touches you, soft but not scared. "You just got here. Stay here." He pats you nicely. "Tell me about work last night." 

You settle heavily into the seat beside him, your thigh to his thigh, your hip squished against his hip, doughy flesh separated by nothing more than a strappy tank top and a cotton long-sleeve t-shirt. His heat quickly becomes yours, a sinking transference of warmth. 

"Well," you begin, cheek turning into the couch to face him. "It was mostly okay. I dropped another plate, but this time it didn't have a stack of waffles on it." 

He smiles ruefully and sinks back as you had. Neither of you eat your sandwiches. "Progress. Taking it out of your pay?" 

"Yes, definitely." 

"Discrimination." 

"That's what I said! I said, Sarah, I was born with butterfingers and you know that." 

"She didn't budge?" 

"Dishwashing all week next week. Whatever, though, 'cause it's Saturday." 

He laughs and shakes his head, his gaze dropping to your neck. He does that sometimes. You can't blame him; you wear a varying assortment of necklaces because you think they're pretty, and you're glad he likes them too. 

"See my new one?" 

"What?" 

"New necklace." You look down at your chest and pull the newest addition from between the cups of your bra. "It's real silver." 

"It's nice." 

"It's surprisingly heavy. Wanna feel?" 

"That's okay," he says, slightly strained. 

Right, you think. I'm talking a lot. 

You press your lips together in a mild pout and look at him through appreciative eyes. He's a very pretty boy, all soft and pale and sweet dark curls.

"Do you want me to put your hair up?" 

His lips part before he talks. "I don't know if you should." 

"Sure I should. It's getting in your eyes, right?" You take his hand where it's laid unsuspectingly in his lap and slip the hair tie from around his wrist, his fingertips tickling the inside of your palm. "Sit forward, Eddie." 

He takes a deep breath, holds it, and sits up. You twist and then realise you need some more height, pushing a leg under yourself to kneel next to his lap. 

You weave our fingers softly into the hair at the front of his face and rake away in lieu of a brush. After it's mostly tamed you pull it all into one hand and wrap the tie at the base of his head. You hum to yourself as you go, pleased when his lovely curls behave. 

"Voilà," you announce, moving back on your haunches. 

He breathes out. "Thank you." 

You reach for a curl you'd missed at the very front and encourage it behind his ear. He has subtle indents in his cheeks today like he's in need of a good meal, and his skin is colder than it should be when you flatten your palm. 

"You need something to eat," you fret. Your fingertips stroke under his eye, your thumb his smile lines. 

He moves away slowly. 

You pull your hand back into your lap. "Maybe we can go out and get something, if you don't like the sandwich?" 

"What?" he asks, pale lips taut as he simpers at you. "Are you kidding? This is about to fix everything that's wrong with me." 

His enthusiasm emboldens you. "It so will! There's ham and cheese too, if you prefer that one." 

"Get it! I'm gonna eat both of them." S

Eddie eats both of his sandwiches and you eat your own, the two of you with your heads dropped back against the couch as you watch TV. There's a guy you've never seen before running around the streets of Chicago city centre looking for people to be in his play. Eddie's seen it before. He repeats dialogue in time with the characters, performing each line. Impressive, what with how tired he looks. 

"What did he just say?" you ask, mouth full of cucumber.

"He said he's gonna throw himself off a bridge," Eddie informs. "Poor guy. I know the feeling." 

You swallow harshly.

"Seriously?" 

Your sad tone surprises him. 

"I- No, I'm kidding," he says, scratching the base of his throat, friendship bracelet his only adornment.

His nervous itching makes you even more worried. 

"If you did wanna do that, you can talk to me-" 

He baulks, tongue poking out past his lips as he licks the corner of his mouth. "Thanks, sweetheart," he says, pet name like a kiss. It sounds silly but it really feels like one, right in the centre of your chest. "But I'm fine. Promise. It was a bad joke." 

"Okay," you say, letting your suspicion shine through. You hold his eyes. 

You haven't known Eddie long. It feels like you met yesterday, though really it's been two or three weeks. You fit together in a way you hadn't expected and adore more than you can articulate, two funny puzzle pieces.  

"Well, I just wanted you to know. I like being your friend, I don't want you to disappear."

He laughs and licks his lips, a rough, chesty sound. "I don't want you to disappear either." 

Tires crunch outside, a shushing sound and then the sharp shriek of a jeep being put into park. Eddie perks up considerably, his shoulders straightening. 

"Hey, Chief," Wayne calls. 

Trailer walls. Basically made of cardboard. 

"Hey, Wayne. Where's the kid?" 

You can't hear what Wayne says after that, words stolen by the TV. 

"Is that Chief Hopper?" you ask, trying to catch a glimpse of him through the mostly shuttered blinds. 

"Yeah, he- He's friends with Wayne." 

"Why's he wanna know where you are?" 

"'Cause I got into so much trouble." 

You bite your tongue. His tone is hard, not stern but almost, and you realise you've overstepped as you usually do. You want to apologise but you don't want to pick the wound, eager to gloss over and make him smile again. 

"It's pretty cool, isn't it?" you ask him.

"What?" 

You spread your legs wider to slide onto your thighs and make him the taller one again, legs bent in a 'W' shape. "Coming back from the dead! First Will Byers, then Hopper." 

Something surfaces in his expression. An irony. 

"The undead," you croon, aiming for a smile, a laugh. 

He cracks. "The undead," he agrees, smiling in bemusement. His eyes are a funny shade of brown. 

—

Eddie shoo’s you home early that night but tries to do it kindly. He feigns exhaustion, a facade that's difficult to uphold when his entire body is thrumming with want. If there's one thing Eddie hates about being a vampire (there are literally hundreds of things he hates, but this one's special) it's that he wants to hurt the people he likes a thousand times more than the people he doesn't. 

He can't explain it. Your blood is more appealing than any lonesome stranger's. Your pulse is practically music to his ears when you sit beside him. He'd kill himself before he ever hurt you, though. Or that's what he likes to think. Whether he has that amount of control is debatable. 

No. He would kill himself before he hurt you, or Wayne, or any of his friends. 

Steve can see the way that he's feeling on his face. 

Hopper's delivery set to one side, a tall glass with blood congealed in a sticky ring at the bottom, Eddie curls under his huge quilt and tries not to pass out. Blood sate feels the same as a thanksgiving food coma. It's awesome. 

He hates how good it feels. 

"Stop feeling guilty," Steve says. 

"He doesn't look guilty to me," Dustin says beside him, taller than the last time Eddie had seen him but still miles off of Steve's tall stature. He's changed his hat again, this one a garish green. It's not a good look. 

"He looks like he's napping," Robin says, delighted. 

"Can you guys go home?" Eddie asks. 

"Shithead." 

"What Steve means to say," Robin corrects, grinning her huge, catching smile, "is that no, we aren't going home. We brought games." 

"I don't wanna play games." He does. Eddie needs the distraction, because eventually the blood sate will fade and all that will remain will be self-revulsion and a cruel desire to do something awful. 

"I do not care even slightly," Steve says, deadpan, as he sits right there next to Eddie where you'd been sitting before. Steve's nowhere near as soft and he doesn't smell as nice, but Eddie's honestly glad someone is willing to sit next to him at all. 

"Ouch, what the fuck?" 

Dustin looks up from where he's sat himself on the floor. Robin giggles in her seat on the coffee table. 

"Munson, are you fucking shedding? I just got stabbed." 

"They don't work like that. They retract." 

Eddie feels at his broken gums with his tongue. There's a clean incision where his fangs come out and then snap back inside after a time. They're remarkably thin, fitting in front of his natural incisors neatly. 

Steve grumbles, hips lifted and hand searching under his butt for whatever it is that jabbed him. He retrieves exactly what Eddie had been expecting but hadn't had the forethought to prepare a lie about with a shocked gasp.

"Is this an earring? You don't have your ears pierced." 

He swallows, knowing it's a very guilty gesture, and meets Steve's eyes straight on. 

Funny how Steve's hair speaks as much as his expression, bobbing as he nods his head to emphasise each word, "Munson, do you have a girlfriend?" 

Silence. 

"...Not really." 

"Holy shit," Dustin says, sounding extremely pleased. "No way." 

Robin tucks her short hair behind her ears, hands paused in disbelief at her neck. "Actually?" 

"I have a friend," Eddie admits. 

"Thank god," Steve says, dropping your heart earring onto Eddie's thigh. The silver feels extremely hot over his pyjamas, like it's been held in the centre of a blistering hearth. 

"I really thought Steve was gonna have to take one for the team and give you a pity handie," Robin says agreeably, scratchy voice coloured by genuine awe. 

Eddie groans, "Harrington, get this shit off of me. You know I can't touch that." 

"I forgot," Steve lies. "Can you wait? My hands are busy." 

—

He has Steve put your earring between two pieces of kitchen towel and holds onto it. He doesn't see you for a week, and he keeps your damn earring in his pocket that entire time worried it's gonna slip out and brand him at any second. 

Finally, you call him. He pretends he wasn't waiting. 

"Hello," you say, like you're announcing something. 

"Hey. How are you?" 

"Eddie, I need your help. Badly." 

He flinches up where he'd been leaning casually, hard enough to make Wayne jump. Eddie smiles at him placatingly and mouths a poor sorry, turning away to pretend there's a semblance of privacy to be found in such close quarters. 

"Are you okay?"

"I gotta find a rainbow leaf beetle. Do you have a torch?" 

"...What?" 

"They only come out at night, so I'm gonna go look but I don't have a torch that works." 

He relaxes, the lilting cadence of your voice enough to make his whole night. You sound so pretty even through the phone. He suspects you could hold any pitch, deep or high, and you'd still sound nice. 

It's all in the way you — he says this with love — perform the words. You speak like each word you're saying has equal importance, and it's calming.

Even when you say stuff that's nonsense to him.

Right now, you don't sound upset or even worried about not having a torch, simply curious to know if he has one. If he focuses hard (and he's been trying not to, as you deserve your privacy) he can hear you all the way across the park, shifting from foot to foot in your bedroom, carpet crushed under your heels. 

The action makes him think this might be more urgent to you than you'd first admitted. 

"I have a torch." He also has amazing night vision. Like, impeccable. "Can I come help?" 

"You want to?" 

"I'd love to. Are you going out tonight?" He leans back to glance out the window. "The rain is finally stopping." 

"Yeah, tonight! Is that okay for you? We could go tomorrow if you can't." 

You're willing to change your plans now that he's asked to go with you. It's a gesture as lovely as you are. Eddie doesn't think you'd ever think it of yourself; your kindness is so intrinsic you don't notice it, like the fine stitching of a leather bound book. Integral and widely unappreciated.

"That's perfect."

Wayne raises an eyebrow when Eddie relays the conversation. "You're going out in the middle of the night with this girl to… look for bugs." 

Eddie crosses his arms over his chest. "I swear." 

"Be honest with me, kid." 

"I am!" 

Wayne swirls his coke can around in his hand as he thinks, a reluctance evident in his scowl. Eddie knows he's way too old for a guardian's oversight like this but he lets Wayne have a say because Wayne loves him, and Eddie doesn't ever want to put his old man through the turmoil he went through when he ran away. If that means a curfew in his twenties, Eddie's okay with that. 

"If you're going to have sex with this girl, I'd prefer you did it here. You have to treat women with respect."  

Eddie shivers, full body. "Wayne," he groans, covering his face. He can feel his cheeks pink under his palms, that's how quickly his embarrassment rises. 

"I know you're more responsible these days, and you're a grown up. If you want a girlfriend and you want to do adult things with her-" 

"Jesus Christ." 

"- then that's alright. You don't have to fool around outside." 

He drags his hands down on his face, pained. "It's not like that. You met her, you know she's…" 

"Strange?" 

"Alternative." 

"No, you're alternative. She's cooky." 

"Don't," he says. He knows his uncle isn't actually being cruel, so he lets it lie and fights for his own cause. "We aren't messing around. She genuinely wants me to go find these bugs with her. And…" He hates himself. "She has her own place, you know? If we were going to-" 

Wayne seems stricken by the same mortified embarrassment as Eddie, raising a calloused hand in surrender. "Spare me." 

"Thank you," Eddie says, spinning on his heel to hide in the bathroom for a while. It's only when he's sitting on the closed toilet does he realise Wayne hadn't mentioned his more dangerous ailment. For a time, he'd been a normal (debatable) person having a normal (horrifying) conversation with his dad. Not a vampire. Not somebody who ruins everything he touches. 

—

"It's so quiet," you whisper. 

For you, Eddie thinks. 

You're in the forest surrounding the aptly named Forest Hills trailer park, wielding your borrowed torch carefully into the dark. Eddie's following in your footsteps, trying not to smell everything that's on you today and failing. 

You smell like a person as everybody does. Over that is your soap, a faint hint of milk and honey that sticks to your skin even after you've washed it away. Over that is your deodorant, 'unscented', and over that is your perfume, which he likes most. It's a mix of smells, some Eddie doesn't know and some he does. There's lavender, though that might be down to the bunch you'd brought for his uncle wrapped in newspaper, and there's something fruity he can't quite put his finger on, all of it wrapped up in a cloying pairing of vanilla and coconut. 

"Eddie?" 

"What?" 

"Are you okay? You're almost as quiet as the trees." 

If only you knew the trees aren't quiet. 

"I'm alright," he says quickly, catching up to you where you stand a few feet ahead. "What are we looking for?" 

Best change the subject. How to explain he'd been smelling the notes of your perfume? 

"They rest on tree trunks. You have to be careful, any sudden sound or light will scare them away. But if you flash the torch on them, they shine like oil stains." 

He loves when you talk. "Where'd they come from?" 

"Place called Snowdon. They're so rare, they think there's only about a thousand alive there." 

"Well, how did they get here?" 

You laugh under your breath, so quiet he would've missed it if he wasn't enhanced. "I don't know. How do beetles get to different places?" 

"They fly?" 

A twig crunches under your shoe. 

Eddie tips his head to the side, thinking. "If there's only a thousand, how-" He stops, your circle of torch light growing further and further away. "Are you sure that they live here?" 

"No, but if they do we'll be the first to find them." 

"So they've never found any out here? In- In the midwest?" 

"Not yet. Where'd you go?" 

He shakes his head in an affectionate disbelief. "Right behind you." 

You search in silence for a while. Eddie wishes he could say he was mad, or even mildly annoyed, wishes he had even the slightest regard for his own time, but really he thinks any time with you is time well spent. Especially if it's helping you do something you want to do. Whether you find your rainbow leaf beetle or not, he feels better knowing he's out here with you to keep you safe and in company. 

Conversation is sparing. He doesn't mind. Your footsteps fill the sound and he finds even that stupid detail charming, the crunch, the pick up. His own are silent, a rare advantage to his terrible affliction. 

"Any other beetles you want me to keep an eye out for?" he whispers. 

"I'm not sure…" You turn to face him, torch pointed at your shoes. Rubber toes touched together, you lean in until you're all he can smell. Perfume. Blood. "If you see any cool spiders, too." 

"You have the mason jar?"

"You know I do." 

More than you realise, he thinks. The glass clicks in your bag. 

There's enough light reflected to see the most minute details of your face. Your nose, the circle of your irises but not their colour. He suspects Eddie from early '86 wouldn't have been able to see hide nor hair, and it wouldn't shock him if you were technically blind right now.

"Thanks for coming out with me. I was gonna ask you." 

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah, but I didn't want to come on too strong." He can sense your smile even though he can't see it. It's in the way your breathing deepens. "I know I can be a lot to deal with." 

"Who told you that?" 

"What?" 

Eddie doubles down.. "Who told you that?" he sounds heartbroken. 

He kind of is. Yeah, you're weird — Who cares? Who isn't? — but you're not a lot to deal with. He doesn't 'deal' with you.

"Everybody tells me that. All the time." 

"Everybody's stupid." To say it so loudly, scathingly, is sweet. It's therapeutic. "They are. This whole town is stupid." 

Your fingertips touch his thigh. He's willing you to turn the torch up and see his face, because he has a lot of feelings on display that he isn't brave enough to say out loud. 

"You never make me feel stupid," you say softly. 

"You're not." 

You giggle breathily at his vehemence, fingertips pressing in with a touch more pressure before you pull away and shine the torch deep into the trees. 

"This whole town is stupid," you mumble. "But not you." 

He thinks of his friends who are definitely stupid, but he loves anyways. He's about to add them to the not-stupid (subjectively) list when he remembers Steve's discovery: your earring burning a hole in his pocket. He'd been carrying it for long enough now to forget all about it. 

"Hey, I have something for you." 

"You do?" 

"Don't get too excited. It's not a gift." 

He digs in his pocket for the tissue paper wrapping and hisses in shock as the silver plating of your hoop graces his index finger. You shine the torch at him. His eyes ache like he's been stabbed and he slams them closed, hand pulled to his chest. 

How embarrassing. 

"Eddie, what happened?" you question loudly.

He winces at the sudden overstimulation. Slowly, he blinks, and finds you staring at him in a worry that softens every feature, even your nose. He doesn't know the logistics. 

"It's okay. Stabbed a paper cut on the back. Your earring's in my pocket, the heart?" 

"The hoop? I thought I lost it." Your worry turns to confusion and then melds into joy. You step forward and fish in his jacket pocket for your earring. 

"Steve found it." 

"'The hair'?" 

"Yeah, the hair." 

You both laugh and yours heightens when you find the earring, pulling it out like a knife to be brandished. "Yes." 

"I meant to tell you a dozen times that I had it." 

"You're the best." 

There's a crunch of wood somewhere to the left like something heavy falling over.

The forest sprawls in every direction and the trees tower, their presence looming as skyscrapers. The wind ruffles the topmost branches and their trunks groan with pressure. It's enough to freak Eddie out super sense or not, feeling suddenly like he couldn't protect you. He could hear the individual droplets of drool dripping from a lynx's bloody maw, and he can sense each twig underfoot before he takes his next step, but none of that is going to keep you safe in the face of real danger. 

"Maybe we should head back," he says tentatively.

"Okay. Do you want to come over?" 

His breath catches. "You want me to?" 

"Yeah, we can watch movies, I have leftover pasta." 

That sounds more like what he should've been thinking. "I don't wanna keep you up." 

"What kind of pasta?" he asks. 

The torch flickers. "With the tiny tomatoes. You'll like it, super creamy." 

"How do you know?" 

"You like Alfredo," you say astutely, hitting the torch into the palm of your hand. It flashes weakly, the shadow of the trees flickering and so dark they're violet. 

"Try tightening the handle." 

You turn the barrel of the torch and the light switches off completely. You try to undo what you've done to no success, the sound of plastic rubbing plastic almost as loud as your heartbeat. Your pulse falters and then grows to racing when the light fails to come back on. 

"Eddie," you say, sounding unsure. It's a new sound on you. "I don't know where we are. How are we gonna get home?" 

Your admission is like a dousing of ice water over his head. "You don't know what direction we came from?" 

"No, do you?" 

Eddie wouldn't know if he couldn't hear the sound of the electricity pylon buzzing somewhere to the right. But how can he explain that? "Uh, we were turned around."

You creep to his side and grab his arm with both hands. "Are you sure?" 

"Hey," he says gently. "Hey, it's okay. I know where we are. We'll be fine." 

"Are you sure?" you ask again. 

"I'm positive." 

You take a deep breath that doesn't erase your shakiness, a failed attempt at self-soothing. "I really don't know where we are." 

"You're not afraid of the dark, are you?" 

"Not really… I don't wanna get lost out here." 

"You won't. I know how to get back. C'mon," he prompts, pulling his arm to encourage you forward. 

You let go of him and navigate a few steps by yourself. He weaves through the trees, waiting for your heartbeat to slow. 

It doesn't. He opens his mouth to reassure you again when you gasp, kicking your foot against a root and tripping. You barely fall, catching yourself on the trunk of a tree, and Eddie remembers himself. You can't see the trees. That's why you're worried. You can't see anything. 

Then the smell of blood hits him like a freight train. 

—

Your hand stings where you caught yourself, palm scraped down against harsh bark. 

"Shit," you mumble. 

You're panicking badly, and you're confused as to why Eddie isn't. Not only was it fucking stupid of you to come out here with only one torch, it was stupid of you to assume you'd remember what way was home. It was stupid of you to come here tonight for that stupid beetle, and stupid of you to drag Eddie along. You're an idiot, and now you're bleeding. 

Your eyes sting with tears, pain like a popped seal. I'm so stupid. 

"Hey," Eddie says, his tone silky soft, "you're okay. Let me help you up." 

You hold your hands out. 

"Eddie, this is weird." Hopefully he understands that weird means scary.

He takes your hands, fingers closing slowly over your bloody palm. His breath is loud as he pulls you up toward him like he's panicked but his grip stays kind, and you abandon the notion when he rubs over your knuckles with his thumb. "It's alright." 

He doesn't sound the same. 

"Eddie, we can't see." 

"We'll go slowly, okay? I'll put my hand out and we'll walk around anything that gets in the way." 

"Yeah," you say hurriedly, heart bump-bump-bumping against your ribcage. 

He keeps one hand, the injured one, and starts to drag you slowly through the trees. His grip tightens as you go until it starts to ache, until it feels like it might bruise. 

"Ouch, Eds. You're hurting me," you say, going for a lightly teasing tone and missing the mark. 

Instantly, he eases off. "Sorry, sweetheart. You hold onto me, alright?" 

You do as he'd asked, hand clinging to him as he leads. He doesn't squeeze you again, walking slowly as he'd promised, and the closer you get to the edge of the forest the clearer it becomes. Light pollution from the centre of town leaches through the trees like water trickling from an overflowing basin. 

His second hand is in his pocket. 

"Here," he says after you've traversed to the very edge of the forest. "There's the park. We're bona fide explorers." 

He looks out toward the park and you look at the side of his face. Something isn't right. Something uncanny. 

You drop your gaze from his face to your joined hands. They come apart, blood smeared in both your palms like two halves of a dripping heart. 

— 

There is something weird about Eddie. As a residential freak of Hawkins you think you're an authority in this, and you don't feel guilty for judging him. Your brain can't stop going over your night in the forest. For days you play the scenes back and for days you lose the details. You forget how the wind had tousled his hair, how he'd smelled, what he'd said. 

You remember the way he'd squeezed your bloody hand. You remember the way he'd spoken, strained. 

Not strained like he didn't want to comfort you, he had, but strained. 

Restrained. 

You're poking at the shallow cut half-healed now in your palm at work when a dude walks in, very tall, handsome, and gunning straight for you. 

You straighten your badge and hide your bracelet heavy wrists behind your back, receding slightly as he approaches. He slows in front of you. 

You have a light bulb moment. 

"The hair," you say.

He scowls. "He told you that, huh. Typical." 

"You're Steve?" 

"That's me." Steve crosses his arms across his chest, his back to a booth, your back to the diner bar. "You're Eddie's new friend." 

"What counts as new?" A month and a half doesn't feel so new to you. 

"Trust me, you're new." 

He has the strangest patch covering the outside of his left wrist, the same peculiar scarring that you can see on Eddie's waist when he reaches for a glass out of the kitchen cabinet. You don't ask because you're not a dick no matter how curious you find yourself, but it makes your heart skip. What is that? You'd assumed Eddie's was road rash. Now you're not so sure. 

He tucks it under his arm. 

You meet his suspicious gaze. 

"You want coffee?" 

"No." 

You kick your foot, shoe sliding over the shiny waxed floor with a squeal. "Is Eddie okay?"

"Did you want to come to a party next Friday?" 

"No," you say honestly. "Like a cult?" 

"What?" 

"Are you initiating me into your cult?" 

He finally smiles, eyes creased with amusement. "I'm inviting you to our club." 

"Club where you chew on each other?" 

You look pointedly at Steve's wrist. 

"No. Club where we play board games and drink jiffy pop. Come or don't, doesn't matter." 

"If it doesn't matter, why are you asking me?" 

It's a strangely intense conversation to have this early in the morning. Patrons chatter about work, coffee gets poured. The diner smells of syrup and sugar and bitter cold-press. You're both in work apparel, both refusing to move back. If this is some kind of shovel talk then that's fine, and if it's a test you're determined to pass, even if Eddie's been super weird lately. 

"I'll come if you promise not to eat me," you say. 

"It's really not that kind of club." 

—

"I had the weirdest visit in the entire world today," you declare, stopping in front of Eddie's porch with a smile. 

"Yeah?" he asks without looking up, guitar in his lap and pen scribbling over a lined notebook.

You wait for him to stop before you continue, leaning forward with both arms braced on the porch by his feet. "Steve Harrington came to see me, and he was super mean. You said he was nice." 

He frowns at you. "I told you he was a dick." 

"You like him when you tell me stories." 

"How mean?" Eddie asks, patting the seat beside him. 

You climb up onto the porch and plop down onto the couch, worn leather cold with the weather and damp in the seams. 

You take a strand of his hair and curl it around your finger. "Not really super mean, but he was, like, acting like I killed a baby." 

"He's like that." 

You sigh and lean your cheek against the couch cushion, watching Eddie's stubble move as he tamps down a teasing smile. "He invited me to a party next weekr." 

"It's not a party- Sweetheart, what are you doing?" 

You tickle his cheek with the end of his hair. "Nothing." 

"M'gonna sneeze." 

You tickle him again, fine dark strands brushing over his pale cheek. He's a very ashen guy, you've found. Likely because he barely goes out in the sun and he doesn't eat enough. You draw circles around the apple of his cheek and grin softly at his growing smile, a sweet, silly thing. 

"I'll tickle you back," he warns. 

"Promise?" 

He steals the curl back and tucks it behind his ear. 

"You're not a cannibal, are you?" 

Eddie chokes on air. You startle at his coughing and move to pat his back, palm slapping a steady rhythm into his shoulder. When he calms down you run your hand down the length of his arm, long sleeve t-shirt soft beneath your touch. You linger at his wrist and decide to hold it. 

He drops his pen and your hand travels until he's caught your thumb. He kneads it in his fingers.

"I'm not a cannibal. Why would you think that?" 

"I don't, but you and Steve are in your club, right?" 

"Hellfire wasn't like that," he says heatedly.

"No, not- Not that one." 

He doesn't say anything. 

"You have… He has this scar, on his wrist. Like something bit him, or-" He turns to you and he looks formidable and upset and himself, not mad at you but raw emotion in his expression anyhow. It's gone as quick as it came. 

"When all that… stuff happened," he begins quietly, "we got hurt. A couple of us." 

You drop your head, ashamed at having pried.  "I'm sorry, you don't have to tell me anything else."

"Don't be sorry…" He squeezes your hand and lets it go. "Don't worry about it." 

"Okay." 

"We usually call ourselves a party, these days. Not a club." 

"Do you really play board games and drink jiffy pop?" 

"Sometimes we get really crazy and order a pizza. You should come." 

You realise as he says it how much his wanting you to go had mattered to you. Eddie's your friend, and you don't think that you're going to stay friends much longer.

"You think your friends will like me?" you ask, voice descending to a new kind of gentle. 

He puts down his guitar and his notebook. His full attention is something you've come to really enjoy, not because of the hunger you often see flitting across his face — though that's neat —, but because of the inklings of adoration clinging to his smile when he looks at you. His blinking lashes. He smiles at you and just slows. A usually frenetic boy calmed. 

"Maybe not Mike. Mike doesn't like anybody. Except for Will," he muses.

"What about you?" 

"What about me?" 

"Who do you like?" 

"I like all of them." He juts his cheek toward his shoulder, conceding, " I think Dustin's my favourite. He's funny. He's funnier than I am, and he's the smartest kid I've ever met. And he knows it." 

Your eyes focus on the pink outline of his upper lip as he speaks. It's a pleasure to be this close, and see him in this kind of crazy detail. When you go home tonight you might try to draw him. You'll probably forget.

It's the kind of smile that deserves to be immortalised. 

"I really like your smile," you tell him, hoping it'll last a little longer. 

It stretches. The pink outline turns white. "Shut up." 

"I do. I've seen a thousand different smiles but I've never met someone who smiles like you do." 

"How's that?" he asks, edging toward you, face a mirror in which you can see your own charmed expression. 

"Like you," — you shake your head with your lips parted — "know a secret. Something you won't tell anybody." 

His smile abruptly ends. 

You've nothing if not a talent for saying the wrong thing. 

"A good secret," you amend. 

He picks up his acoustic and gives it an experimental strum. "Maybe one or two," he agrees. 

Relief catches you. You nibble at the inside of your lip and watch his fingers work over the neck of his guitar, tipping your head so you can read the words he's markered over the body. 

"This machine slays dragons," you murmur to yourself. "Yeah? How many?" 

"Just the one." 

"Save any princesses?" 

"Not yet." He plucks at the strings, lost in thought, before turning to you with eyebrows raised. "Can you play?" 

You exhale out of the corner of your mouth as he pushes the guitar into your lap, an arm coming around your shoulder, the other reaching to guide your curled forefinger to the strings. You turn to face him, watching him talk with a growing fondness. 

"It's easy, I swear. We'll do Call Me. Blondie's basic, even a baby could play it." 

He realises you aren't listening and raises his gaze, shiny brown irises stuck on your lips. This close, it would be worse if he didn't look at them. 

You glance at his, an obvious thing, half a wish. If he only lifted his chin. 

Your breath mingles. 

"It's easy," he says again, a murmur of his usual volume as his gaze pulls back up to yours. "I'll show you." 

You wonder if he can hear your heart pounding; it's deafening. You wait, and you wait, and you turn your eyes back to his guitar and clamp your fingers down against the struts so he can't see them shaking with adrenaline. 

—

Eddie sits beside Steve and tries not to admit to himself that Steve Harrington is, horrifyingly, his best friend (along with the rest of the party, obviously). Steve is the closest in age and Eddie can't make excuses (though he tries and tries and tries), Steve understands how much Eddie doesn't ever want to talk about anything that's happened to them, so he talks about literally everything else instead. 

"It was the weirdest pawn shop I've ever been in. They had, like, a wall of combi's playing the same video at the same time but all slightly delayed." 

Eddie blinks. 

Steve turns his head from the TV, having expected a response. "Did you say something?" 

"No." Then, because he's not a dick. "Sorry, Harrington. Want me to sit on your other side?" 

"What for?" Steve says. Not because he denies how he's hard of hearing, but because he denies having conversations with Eddie. 

He does end up moving to Steve's other side with a pathetic excuse. "I can't see the TV." 

Steve doesn't say a word until he's sat down again. "Sorry I was mean to your girlfriend." 

"Yeah, what was that about?" 

"I was cranky because it was early and I don't want her to damage the integrity of the party." He gives equal weight to both reasons. 

Eddie snorts at him. "Since when do you care about the integrity of the party?" Steve barely acknowledges that they are a party. He thinks that's a very nerdy way to say friends. 

"Since always, dipshit." 

"And inviting her to join the party was the solution because…?" 

Steve drinks the rest of his coke and pretends to really care about what's on TV. "If," he begins after a minute, refusing to look at Eddie, "something happens with her, and something happens to you, that damages the integrity of the party." 

"Steve," Eddie says, jaw dropped down to his chest, "do you have a crush on me?" 

"Oh my god," Steve mutters. "Oh my god," he says louder. "I can't stand you." 

To prove his point, he gets up from the couch with a wrinkled nose, stops to tap his shoe gently against Max's where she's sitting in the armchair across from the coffee table, and disappears into his kitchen. 

Steve Harrington cares about me enough to give Y/N the shovel talk. 

He feels kind of great about it. 

But he's not sure your the one who needs warning. 

That night in the forest, Eddie had almost snapped. There are rules to follow if he wants to keep people safe, self-imposed, Hopper-imposed, and he's broken too many with you already, the most important being no close proximity when he's hungry. Eddie doesn't even realise he is hungry half the time. He'll be standing by you and he'll want to touch you, and suddenly it's like he's three weeks in to the month without sating. 

He thinks about kissing you and suddenly he's thinking about biting you, and hurting you, and it's literally tearing him up from the inside out. 

How can he want to do that to you? 

"You look so depressed and pathetic," Dustin says out of the blue. 

Eddie pouts and falls back into the couch, Steve's fancy throw falling onto his shoulder. "I used to like you," he says, taking in Dustin's outfit with a kind of parental approval. He's getting older and it shows, slightly more handsome than he had been — he's kept all his baby weight and it suits him, his full cheeks surrounded by the softest brown curls Eddie has ever seen. The outfit stays immature, a funny t-shirt and ill-fitting pants. 

"Sad. You have a sad face," Dustin says. 

"Go play with your nerd squad, please." 

He doesn't listen, collapsing in Steve's still-warm seat like a cheap tent and crossing longer, thicker arms over his chest. He smiles at Eddie genuinely. "Where's your girlfriend?" 

"No." 

"Where's Y/N?" 

Eddie tips his head so he can see past the coffee table and points to where you're almost hidden, sitting with Robin on the floor by Steve's sideboard. You have a basket of tapes in front of you, the two of you trying to choose what's going in the stereo. Eddie prays for anything but Blondie. 

You will most likely choose Blondie. 

"What does she like?" Dustin asks curiously. 

"Everything, kind of. Why?" 

"I wanna know what to say when I talk to her." 

Eddie smiles at his friend's face, a soft, surprised thing. "I don't know if she knows anything about the radio but if you're happy about it she'll be happy too. She's a good listener."

Dustin picks at a piece of lint on his t-shirt bearing a white and black print of a dog wearing sunglasses. "So you talk to her?" he asks without looking up. 

"I mean, yeah. What else do you do?" 

"With a girl that likes you? Huh, let me think." Dustin laughs and ruins his own sarcasm, pointer finger laid against his chin in a show of thoughtfulness. 

"It's not like that," Eddie says lightly. 

"It could be." 

"Could it? I mean… I don't even know if she'll stick around. And I feel bad 'cos I can't be honest with her." 

"Why not?" 

"Hopper said he would literally put me in the hole if I even thought about it." There's no need to expand. Dustin would know better than anyone what he's talking about. 

He cringes at the thought, self hatred a hot poker down his throat. He must've said it to Dustin a hundred times when he finally came around from his coma (that wasn't a coma, but a death, and then a rebirth). I can't believe I put you through that. I can't believe I put you through that. I'm so sorry. 

I'm just glad you're alive, Eddie. 

And for a while, Eddie hadn't felt the same. The world he'd woken up to was hard. There had been lawyers and grief and guilt and becoming. He doesn't have the words to describe how it feels to become something new, something that needs to hurt people to live, something that will hurt people to live, whether Eddie wants to or not. 

The loss of choice is suffocating. 

Though moments like this with his friends– they don't make it 'worth it', they're just how it had to happen. There isn't a scenario where Eddie could give up. He can't leave Wayne, and he can't leave Dustin. He can live with the grief of what he is if it means other people don't have to live with grief of what he isn't. 

"Eddie, are you okay?" 

He's missed something. Dustin isn't the only one looking at him. 

He curls a hand around his forearm subconsciously. "I'm fine. I think I'm gonna go to the bathroom, actually. Gotta piss real bad." 

"Eddie-" 

"I'm fine, Henderson." He puts on a good show, patting Dustin's arm. His heart, usually so slow these days, has enough life in it to ache. 

He can't have been in the bathroom for five minutes when somebody knocks on the door aggressively. He's expecting Steve, pissed at his disappearance and likely preparing a speech on attention seeking behaviours and how they're hurting the youth of America, so he opens the door with a tired glare. 

He finds you, beaming and pretty, dressed ridiculously nicely for his idiot friends. 

"Hi," you say. He can hear something from Blondie's Parallel Lines playing from the living room, familiar because it's your favourite album. "Any room for me?" 

Eddie moves back. You close the door behind you. The bathroom becomes a vacuum of your sounds and smells. 

"They didn't have any Dio," you say with a smile. 

"I honestly wouldn't expect any different." 

"You could've brought some tapes, your mix from the van," you suggest. "I love that one." 

"Which one?" he asks, and he can't help it, whenever he's with you his voice crops to a dulcet murmur. The urge to speak to you as you speak to him is unconquerable. 

"One with the winking smile on the slipcase. I really like it." 

"You can have it." 

You lean against the sink. "I can?" 

"Mm. Whatever you want." Especially when you look like this. 

You smile at him, your 'thank you' smile, all sticky fondness and mischievousness. He has no idea what you're thinking. 

"'S a small bathroom in a huge house," you marvel. Your voice echoes "Where does he shower?" 

"There's an upstairs bathroom." 

"Two bathrooms? That's-" 

"Audacious?" 

"I was gonna say overkill." 

Your candidness has him shaking with laughter. He clutches at his sides, arms crossed and leaning forward. You visibly take in his appearance, eyes panning slowly over his clean hair. He'd taken care to look like somebody you might want to look at tonight. 

"Why don't you sit down, Eds?" you ask, eyes creased with an unreadable emotion. 

Eddie feels blindly for the toilet lid and pushes it down so he can do as you ask, wondering why you're asking.

"You look very handsome today." 

He hugs himself. "As opposed to every other day, when I don't?" 

You take a step forward, a second, hands playing with the hem of your shirt. Your outfit today is delightfully simple, a pressed black t-shirt long enough to cover the waistband of your pleated skirt. There's an expanse of thigh that makes his heart beat spin out, one longer than the other where your thigh-high is falling down.

He wants to pull it up. 

"C'mere," he says. 

You take that last step between his shoes and he reaches out, getting his fingertips under the elastic of your sock and tugging it upward over the soft fat of your leg. Your hands come up to his shoulders for balance, and you say, "No, you look handsome every day. Today you look very handsome. I made the distinction." 

He covers your thigh with both hands, looking up into your face as you look down. "You look really pretty today," he says boldly, fingers spreading behind your knee. 

"Thank you. Do you like my t-shirt?" 

It's a screen print of Debbie Harry. Eddie tries not to roll his eyes. "I love it, but your dedication to Blondie is seriously worrying, sweetheart." He gives your leg a short squeeze and pulls the most giggly smile out of you yet. 

"Like Madonna." 

"No!" he bemoans. 

You laugh and grow closer, arms on his shoulder, a hand threaded into his hair. "Cyndi Lauper?" you suggest. 

He puts a hand on your waist as you move in for a hug. Your arms wrap around his neck and the tops of his shoulders, cheek crushed to the top of his head. 

He'd ask if you were okay if he thought you weren't. You're not upset or seeking comfort. You're affectionate. You've been getting more and more touchy for weeks, as he has. Stolen touches, your almost-kiss on the porch last week. 

"No, not Cyndi Lauper," he says, his hand skirting around your back to pull you in properly. 

"R.E.M?" 

"God, no. Where are you hearing all this junk?" 

"The radio." 

"Tuned into the wrong station." 

You pet the back of his head. "Yeah," you say softly, "I think I was." 

The hug is shorter than Eddie wants it to be. You make one of your happy sounds and pull away to get your hands on his face, stroking curls from his cheeks with a protective touch. "Handsome," you say, turning your hand to stroke his cheek with your knuckles. "Pretty. You have really big eyes, Eddie, so brown, and so…" You tilt your head to one side, face inching forward. 

He turns his face to suit, to fit, breath held as you close the gap. 

"So pretty," you murmur, and kiss him. 

His hands are limp and then alive, one clutching your hip, one splaying against your chest. He can hear the thud of your heart clear as day — you're bumping with excitement as you kiss him. It's a delicate, tender thing, the party suddenly far away, the music drowned by the sounds of your breathing. You kiss as you talk, as you move, gentle but with bursts of ardency. Your lips are a blissful heat, the tip of your nose smushing into his as you part your lips over his. 

He lifts his chin higher, his neck craned to receive you. He's savouring every movement. Each pause for breath that you take. The feeling of your inhales over his quick-bruising lips. 

Your hands play in his hair so sweetly it makes his eyes burn with an embarrassing amount of emotion. He screws them closed and squeezes up your waist, steadying himself as you feel along his bottom lip with the tip of your tongue. 

You don't get much further than that, seemingly pleased with your own brazeness or perhaps his touch, eyes glowing with mirth as you pull away. 

"Sorry," you breathe, not sorry at all. "You just really looked like someone should be kissing you."

You're flushed. Eddie can practically see the heat emanating off of your cheeks. He can feel it. 

He stands up, your pulse a ringing in his ears. The wet valves of your heart opening and closing. 

"Eddie?" you ask quietly, lifting your head to meet his eyes as he walks you back into the door. 

His gums sting. A click. 

It's a compulsion. 

His hands curl around your elbows, holding you in place. Your eyes are wide with confusion, your lightly swollen lips parted. He can see the tiniest slip of your pink tongue. 

He holds your gaze as he leans in. Your eyelids flutter closed. You wrap your arms around him as he descends, totally trusting. 

He's a meaner kiss than you are. He starts slow but swiftly loses a handle on it, kisses short but insistent, hot presses like little crescent moons against your barely open mouth. 

His hands move up your arms, a near vice-like grip until he finds your sleeves. His fingers slip underneath, hands hungry for your warmth. 

You make the worst sound anyone has ever made as he moves back, like something has been ripped from you. A gutted gasp, near silent. 

He placates as he wades back in. Thumbs rubbing your arms, lips mouthing damp kisses down your face. The corner of your pout, the hill of your chin, the skin under your jaw. Your head tips back against the door with an audible thud. You exhale hard. 

Eddie can't feel his hands. 

Your pulse hammers under his lips. He kisses it once. He can't think. He can't breathe. 

"You're always cold," you whisper, your hands drifting lazily under the fabric of his t-shirt. Your fingertips trail up his spine. "But your lips are warm." 

He kisses your neck, his lips parting slowly, a hair's width a second as he sucks your skin into his mouth gently. It's barely a kiss. He does it a second time. A third. You start to laugh, a golden sound. 

The point of his fangs touch your skin and you stop. 

Eddie closes his mouth abruptly. His hand leaps to your neck and he feels your heart skip as he holds you still. "I'm sorry," he says, nose rubbing over the damp spot he's left behind, your teased skin. 

Your heart hikes again. 

"I'm sorry," he repeats. He pulls away, an agony. 

"It's okay," you say. Your breathlessness says otherwise.

Eddie takes as many deep breaths as he can stand, wanting to clear his head and filling it with you instead. Your everything; your smell, your skin. Your limp hands against his back. 

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" he asks when he gets a look at you, your unreadable expression. He takes care to keep his head angled down so you can't see the lower half of his face. 

"I don't think you could." 

You cup his cheek in your hand and he leans into it, his weight against yours.

"I wanted to tell you something," you confess. 

"What-" He licks his lips, wincing when his fangs slide into his tongue and scrape grooves across his taste buds. "What was that?" 

"I know you…" You pause, fingertips rubbing at his cheek.

Does she know? Eddie thinks, horrified. He hadn't realised how scary waiting could be. A thousand worries condensed into a handful of seconds. Does she know?

How could she not?

You press your palm to his cheek with more insistence. "I don't want you to think you have to hide anything from me. I know you have scars," you say, fingers sliding into the soft baby hair at the back of his neck. "You don't have to cover up. You don't have to cover any of it." 

"I won't hurt you," he says, trying to convince himself. 

"I know." 

-

You stay a while longer. Eddie's friends pretend that you hadn't been alone in the bathroom for an inordinate amount of time together. You thank them all silently and less so, trying to talk to as many of them as you can. 

There's Lucas, who's really, really nice, and his girlfriend Max, who's less so. She gives you an unimpressed look through her thick-lensed glasses, but you compliment her crutches and she comes around. 

There's Mike, who actually isn't anywhere as bad as Eddie had described him. He's not frosty or standoffish, he's sweet and he asks questions. There's a girl with him that you don't catch the name of, and a boy on her other side. 

There's Dustin, who you adore immediately, Robin, who you adore more, and then there's Steve. 

Steve offers you a pretzel like you're more than familiar. He strolls right up to you with a bowl of them in hand and doesn't leave until you've eaten half of them. 

There's a couple of people you don't manage to talk to at all, and you feel guilty about it all the way home. 

"What if they think I'm rude?" you ask, tired eyes locking onto the stereo system. The time blinks analog in the dark, 12:59AM. 

"They don't, don't worry about it. You have lots of time to get to know them, anyway." 

You hum and turn to his face, indulgent because you know he can't look back. "You're not too tired to drive, are you?" He's spent. Yesterday had been one of his bad days. 

"I'm fine." 

"You say that all the time," you observe, dropping your cheek into the passenger seat's headrest. 

"I'm fine all the time." 

"Liar." 

"Nuisance." 

You huff a laugh through your nose. The strands of his friendship bracelet, the small beads at the ends, swing like pendulums in the gap between his arm and the steering wheel. You can see the rough skin of a scar creeping out from under his sleeve. 

"Mike was really nice," you say. 

"He has a bleeding heart." 

That feels accurate. "He reminds me of you." 

Eddie rolls his eyes. You feel for every detail, the strange tension between you like a gaussian filter over everything. He's gorgeous in a horrific way, heartbreakingly pale, eyes dark as pitch, hands restless. They squeeze alone the wheel, thick fingers curling tight until his knuckles are stark white. Running down the back of his hands are veins like rivers. They're more purple than green. 

"Eddie," you say, playful, a tiny bit insecure. 

"What?" 

"Wanna stay the night?" 

His hand moves forward on the wheel like he's revving a motorcycle, the tendon in his wrist rising to the surface. He clenches. "Not sure it's a good idea." 

"Just to sleep. It's late." 

"I don't know if I can sleep next to you." 

You don't wanna say please. You don't want to ask Eddie to do anything he can't or doesn't wanna do. 

He pulls up outside of your house with his mind already made up. He gets out of the car and you follow his lead. He locks it, shoves the keys in his pocket as you join him on the path up to your porch. 

He's been in here enough times to know what it looks like, but for some reason you find yourself checking his face, worried about what it is he thinks of your things, all your mismatched trinkets, your stained glass lamps, your life as you let yourselves in. He ducks through the beeded curtain into your bedroom wary that they'll get tangled in his hair like they sometimes do. 

"Do you wanna call Wayne?" you ask, gesturing to your telephone on the right hand side, nestled between a stack of books and a cup full of coloured pencils. 

You pull your knee up to your chest and unlace your shoes one at a time. Eddie punches the number into the phone and holds the receiver to his shoulder to do as you're doing. It takes him less time to pop his sneakers off than for you to get out of yours. He's just taken the phone back into his hand when Wayne picks up. 

"Wayne?" he asks softly. "Didn't wake you up, did I?" 

You can't hear his response. 

"I'm gonna stay with Y/N tonight. Yeah, we had a good time. Yeah…" His eyes drift to you as you peel out of your thigh highs.

"Yeah, I'm still here. What?" He meets your eyes and it feels accidental, because he throws his eyes to your bedsheets and turns his face to the wall. "No," he says firmly. 

You scrape together something to wear for bed and some fresh underwear and leave for the bathroom, telling yourself that nothing is gonna happen so don't get your hopes up but not wanting to get caught out if it does. You freshen up, brushing your teeth and washing your face.

You stare at yourself in the mirror and wonder if you should've left your face-powder and your mascara on. Maybe even the skirt. You'd looked nice and pretty for the party. Now you look like yourself, still pretty but without those extra touches. Will he care? Does it matter? 

You debate your pyjama pants considerably. 

There's a lot happening. 

Eddie is… Eddie is something else. He's different, you'd known that for a long time, and his kiss had confirmed it. 

He's something out of a science fiction book. 

Well, nobody's perfect. 

Whatever he is, he'd kissed you. You'd kissed him and he'd responded, he'd come back for more, and now he's sitting in your bed when he could've gone home. You bring your hand to your neck and crane to one side, fingertips poking at your unbroken skin. His hickey's haven't even bruised. 

You screw the pants up and drop them into your laundry basket. You take off every piece of jewellery on your person. 

"Do you wanna use the bathroom?" you ask from behind the beaded curtain. "I left a new toothbrush for you on the sink." 

"Yeah, desperately, I…" He takes you in as you emerge. Fresh-faced, bare-legged. As naked as you've ever been in front of him, physically and otherwise. 

Eddie meets you where you're standing. He's ditched his jacket, and for the first time since you met him you can see the full length of his arms.

"You're not wearing your bracelets," he says, looking between your bodies. His hand twitches toward yours. 

"You have tattoos," you say. 

"They were better, before." 

There's a misshapen mess of black splodges near the crook of his elbow broken up by scar tissue. One arm is less scarred than the other, an almost perfect flank of white skin. 

"Is that a puppet? He's super spooky." 

"Mh-hm." 

You bring your hand to his tattoo and feel over the skin. It doesn't feel like it's there. Eddie holds your wrist and the two of you move together, your fingertips stroking up until you're wrapped around his bicep. 

Eddie brings his free hand to your collar. His index finger straightens, encouraging your chin up so he can ease forward and kiss you. He's firm, eager, and your lips curl up into a smile underneath it. He turns his head to the right and you fall left, smile worsened when you feel his own start to form. 

He nudges your nose. You take it for a telling off and laugh. "Sorry," you apologise, kissing his top lip. 

"You're making this difficult," he chides. 

Despite any sternness, Eddie loosens his grip on your wrists to slide his fingers between yours, pressing your joined hands to your chest. He leans back down and he's careful, almost methodical in the way he kisses. Chaste pecks, hot and precious as tiny stars. 

You reach for his waist. 

Eddie kisses you a final time and steps back. "I'll be back," he promises. 

You lower your chin, flustered and perplexed by his sudden departure.

Walking around to the right side of the bed, you click on your bedside lamp — a beautiful glass and foiled contraption that throws dainty stripes of stars and hearts over everything close in the dark — before climbing in. You sniff one of your pillows experimentally, trying to remember when you last changed the bed. You decide they're acceptable even if they really smell like your hair oil and flip them around to be safe, plumping them up with your hands.

You've curled up on your side and almost succumb to your fatigue when Eddie returns, bringing with him the smell of spearmint and a fuzzy feeling in your stomach as he shuts off the light and sits on the opposite side of the bed, facing you. The hair around his face is damp with water, baby hair's limp. 

"I'm sorry I don't have anything for you to wear, I-" Youre cut off by your own gasp as Eddie kisses you, his hand on your neck, his nose bridge sliding into your own. You hadn't been expecting it, and it's no less dizzying than any other kiss he's given you today. 

"It's okay," he murmurs lowly, lips pressed to your lips, "have to wear you, is all."  

You huff a laugh into his mouth. "I swear I'm always laughing when I'm with you," you muse as Eddie dedicates himself to your bottom lip. You cup the back of his head. "You're amazing." 

Eddie groans and eases back. "I'm not good with words, sweetheart. To tell you how I feel about you." 

You push one of your legs toward his knee. "...You can show me." 

He shifts in the bed until he can lean over the entirety of your chest, hands cupping your face and lips poised hovering over your own, a millimetre of space between your mouth and his. "Okay," he says quietly.

He dips down. You can feel his bottom lip tremble, and then he's kissing you too hard to feel it anymore. You wrap loose arms around his back. 

"Are you sure?" you whisper to him. 

He rests his nose against your cheek, eyes closed, drawing the tiniest left to right. "I want you," he reassures. 

"And you're okay?" 

"Yeah, sweetheart. I'm okay. Do you want to?" 

"Yeah. More than anything." 

Another loving kiss against your cheek, Eddie moves down, down, down. "Tell me if I do something you don't like," he murmurs, top lip dragging and leaving a line of dampness to the base of your throat. 

He adorns the canvas of your neck in half-moon contusions, big hands caressing your shoulders, your chest. You hold your breath as his fingers pass over your nipple, fighting to keep in any embarrassing sounds. 

Eddie disagrees with his plan of action. You shiver as he brings his lips to a close and his bottom teeth scrape upward, as he pulls his head up and says, "C'mon, angel, breathe." 

He follows his command with a manipulative touch, a circle over your nipple that makes you shudder. He kisses you and it feels like a thank you, pressure, a heat as his palm smooths over the bump of your tummy to your thighs. He squeezes the outside of one and for a while you can kiss him back, and then he pulls your thighs apart and you break away. Eddie follows, kisses you even when your reciprocation is weak. 

He pushes your thigh flat to the bed. 

You feel the heat of your excitement start to grow. Your stomach aches with the want to be touched. 

"You're like a space heater, you're that warm," Eddie says, hand coasting down the inside of your thigh. He squeezes until fat melds under his fingers. "Are you scared?" 

His whispering in your ear, his hand as close as it is to where you want it, it winds you up like a coil. You sigh as his thumb strokes the edge of your panties, sound coloured by an awful, devouring desire. 

His face presses further into yours in reaction. 

His touch is like the tide. He wades in, away. His thumb strokes inward over something soft and then his whole hand moves back to your thigh. 

"Teasing," you utter. 

"A little… Why, is there something you want me to do?" 

His clueless whispering is infuriating and exciting at the same time. Your heart races and you can't discern if it's more lust or love.

"Touch me," you plead, pouting, knowing he's a pushover.

Anticipation stabs like a needle in your tummy as he slides his palm over your cunt completely. He rubs a careful, almost casual rhythm into your panties with the breadth of his fingers, lips kissing a lazy stripe up to your forehead, where he rests his face. You both watch his hand move past the valley of your rising chest. 

"M'gonna pull these off, yeah?" He sits up, fingers pushing under the sides. "Lift your- yeah, thank you, sweetheart." 

You buzz with his pet names, his soft voice, the feeling of your panties sliding up to your knees and his gentle exhale. You swear you can feel it fan over your slit. "Shit…" he moan, pulling at your spread cunt. 

He looks like he's in pain, eyebrows pinched together and murmuring curses as he circles the wetness gathered at your entrance. You turn your head searchingly as he starts to ease his index finger inside your heat, a gentle probing. 

One becomes two. He muffles your sighing with firm kisses, amorous praises, "That's it, baby, relax," as he works you open, fingers wet with slickness but not enough. He changes his position, pushing his middle and marriage finger inside and curving as his thumb slides up your slit looking for the bead of your clit. 

Slow, slow circles. "There, huh?" 

You shiver as he pushes in deeper, fingers as far as they can go. He spreads them wide, drops reassuring kisses all over your face when you keen. It's so new to have him kiss you at all, and to have him touching you — you're melting into nothing right there in his hold. 

"I got you. Tell me if it hurts, okay?" 

"Want you to- I want you to fuck me," you murmur, arms wrapping around him so you can hide your face in his neck. 

"Fuck. Fuck, baby. Gonna fuck you just as soon as I can fit," he murmurs back, sinking three of his thick fingers into your snug cunt. He pulls wetness out with every thrust, a line of slick dribbling down onto the sheets underneath. He wipes it upward and pushes it back inside, his chest heaving. "Y'so tight, gotta take my time. Take our time." He rubs his nose against your head until he can kiss the highest point of your cheek. "Make sure you can take it." 

"I can." 

It doesn't bear repeating how quietly you're speaking, a mouthing inaudible under the wet, rhythmic thud of Eddie's pinky finger slapping your sticky cunt as he ups the pace of his finger-fucking. 

"I don't think so," he coos, pulling his fingers from your cunt and making a show of spreading them wide. Your slick ribbons between them, almost invisible in the dark. "Ruin your sheets before any of that, maybe." 

Eddie sits up and gets his hands under your armpits. You laugh as he tugs you up so your shoulders are on top of the pillows, but you don't have time to be confused. He quickly moves to kneel at your feet and pulls your leg over his shoulder, your back lifting unevenly from the sheets. 

He starts with a sweet kiss pressed to the skin closest to his mouth, your lower thigh, and then works his way up, open mouthed, barely kisses at all until his hair whispers against your sensitive cunt and he's nipping at the stripe of skin between your thigh and the place where you most want his attention. 

"Pretty," he says into your damp skin, lips shining. You reach down to stroke his hair behind his ears, worried he's gonna get it dirty. 

He looks at you from between your thighs, his eyes dark in the dim light, their lashes long and soft where the outermost flutter into your skin. He's lovely. 

He holds your gaze as he pulls back to your inner thigh. "Pretty everywhere," he says salaciously. 

His lips part over your skin and you think he might bite you, a bruising hickey, but he pushes you down flat to the bed by your hips and kisses your clit, a simple kiss. Your fingers weave deeper into his hair. Your fingernails scratch lightly against his scalp, every tiny lick or kiss reflected in the minute tightening of your hands. 

He goes slow, mouths down, kisses wetter and wetter as he reaches your entrance. "Poor girl," he murmurs, hands pulled down to further scandalise. He sinks two fingers inside and laughs into your cunt. You squirm. 

"What happened? You're dripping on my fingers." Your thighs draw closed around his head as he curls his fingers against a soft spot.

"Eddie, can you-" You swallow. "Please. Please." 

He pries your thighs open and rubs them soothingly, lapping at the heat of your cunt in face of your pleading. His tongue appears broad and flat up the centre of you until he's kissing on your clit, fingers pumping in rhythm. Your fingers work into his hair and he groans, the vibration enough to make you whimper under his mouth. 

He laps at your clit messily and you tip your head back, breath coming in tight pants. You don't know what you say, only how you say it, desperate "please,"s and keening "Eddie,"s. 

His thrusts grow in enthusiasm, fingers rubbing eagerly against something sweet. You pull your legs up and nudge his face to your cunt insistently, thigh shaking as you hold it up. Eddie doesn't need any more encouragement, his pretty pink lips suckling at your clit until you see stars. You make a pained little sound and try to move away from his kissing, startled at the intensity of your high. 

Eddie lets your clit pop out of his mouth with a lewd, slick sound, his hands moving under your thighs and pulling you closer. "Good girl," he says, rubbing his wet face against the inside of your thigh. He inhales hard as you are, though he pauses to kiss your kneecap and pat your leg. "Good girl, sweetheart." 

"I'm sorry," you say breathlessly, hands pulling his hair from his face. Pleasure rolls through you in hot waves. 

"For what?" 

"Tugging on your hair," you explain, shoulder pulled up to your cheek.  

Eddie kisses your tummy lovingly and climbs on top of you to do the same just under your chin. "It’s okay, sweetheart, I like that shit. That was good, huh?" he asks, lips dropping down to yours all wet and warm. 

He's not bragging, he's genuinely asking. 

You nod into his kiss, your hands coming up to his sides. You swear your ears perk up as he unzips his jeans and eases them down, a hand disappearing into the mess of fabric. He moans quietly at the first touch. 

You move his hair out of the way to watch. Eddie tugs at the length of his cock with a cruel hand, a short dribble of pearly precum sobbing down the tip and under his fingers. He spreads it as it goes, the slickness emphasising the ridges and veins of his cock. You can see it throb, if you look close enough. 

He sits back and eases his jeans and boxers down enough to reveal a thatch of curls that brush his hand with every pump downward. 

"You okay?" he asks, smirking. 

You pull your shirt over your head and your chest warms at his adoring smile. "Will you take off yours?"

He doesn't hesitate like you worried he might. He sheds his t-shirt, pulling the fabric over the back of his head and dumping it off the side of the bed. 

You take in his chest and it's abundance of ragged scarring still purpled with newness. He has a tattoo over his heart, a black whorl of legs and eyes. Fine dark hair crawls from the middle of his chest down his navel, joining with the thatch of coiled hair surrounding his aching cock. You shuffle forward and wait with two tentative hands held aloft until he says, "It's okay," before you touch him. You run your hands down the soft slopes of his waist. 

"Does it hurt?" 

"Not anymore." 

"Can I kiss it?" 

He snorts. "Prefer you kiss something else." 

That really makes you laugh. You dot a kiss against his jaw and can't make yourself stop, dropping them all the way to the skin behind his ear. Your hand creeps lower as you go, held to the curve of his tummy. His skin is hot to touch the lower you go, and his stomach feels solid, a heaviness you know all too well. 

"Can I touch you?" you whisper into his ear. 

"Please." 

You drop your forehead against his chest and he brings his hand up to cup the back of your head. His cock pulses as you wrap your hand around it, skin smooth and slick as you palm slowly up and down. You watch in awe as a bead of precum wells at the tip, Eddie's rough breathing loud overhead. 

"Lie down, Y/N," he says, hand moving behind your naked shoulders. 

"What way?" 

"How do you want it, sweetheart? We'll do it whatever way you want." 

You think about it. Whatever way you want. No matter how indulgent, you know he means it.

"Will you spoon me?" 

He pushes you gently and follows behind, dragging your body into his front and angling your hips, cock hot and prodding your back. He gets his hand under your knee and pulls it up, splaying your cunt. You jump in surprise as he pushes his cock through your folds, tip rubbing against the still sensitive bead of your clit. 

Eddie wraps his arms around you, hugging you from behind. "You wanna put it in for me, baby?" 

You reach between your bodies and take his sticky cock into your hand, shifting until the head nudges against your hole. He sinks in inch by inch, arms tightening around your waist and grinding you down onto his cock until you're whimpering. 

You grab at his arms with your hands and tether yourself to him as he starts to rock his hips, his thrusting tender and his face turned into your neck. 

He presses his hand flat to your abdomen, an anchoring point as he moulds your weepy cunt around his length, each slovenly movement into your heat spreading you that little bit wider. 

"Fuck," he says finally, sounding seconds from a black out. "Oh, fuck- You're tight. Gonna fuck you open slow, okay?" 

You're pretty sure you'd let him do just about anything. You bring his hand to your mouth and kiss every white knuckle, every freckle you can see on the back, and when he bottoms out your cover your lips with his stolen hand to smother a tearful gasp.

Eddie's thrusts are spearing in their steady rhythm, a dirty slap ringing with every punching thrust forward. You curl in on yourself and hide your mouth in the sheets, wet pants smothered by fabric. Eddie's grip falls to your hip, where he pulls your body back and forces your cunt open even deeper. 

His cock pushes into your sweet spot sudden and emphatic. You moan and he stills, rutting into that same space without pulling out until you're babbling his name, body knocked forward with every thrust. 

Eddie turns your face toward him as much as he can without hurting your neck, your moans echoing in time with each thrust. "There you go," he says, "wanna hear how good it feels." 

If he cares that you can't answer him he doesn't show it, arm coming up under you arm to grasp at your chest, your breaststroke soft and aching under his hand as he squeezes tenderly. His cock kisses at the sweet spot inside you intermittently; you're dizzy with it. 

Eddie can't keep quiet either, his moans breathy, his breath hissing between his teeth when you clamp down around him. "Fuck," he begs, dragging his cock out of your heat, "fuck, Y/N." 

He says your name like the syllables alone are appraising. 

You can tell when it gets too much for him. He slows. His face drops into your shoulder, and he matches his pace to the wet kisses he leaves behind. Your wetness feels stickying, each of his thrusts snug. 

His breath hitches, ragged pants accompanying every slow push of his hips. "Where's my girl?" he asks, eyes still closed as his hand abandons where it'd been squeezing the bump of your tummy to search further downward, fingers disappearing into your folds, short curls wet with slick. He can't find any purchase. You roll your hips, chase his touch and the pleasure that comes with it. 

He groans into your shoulder. It sounds more pain than pleasure. 

"Are you okay?" you ask, trying to turn in his arms. He holds you in place. "Eddie?" 

"Yeah, fuck, I'm okay." He grinds up into your cunt. "Fuck, you're perfect." 

"Will you kiss me?" 

He does. It's nowhere near the bruising press you'd wanted. It's too careful. 

"Listen," he murmurs, "I'm gonna get you on your front, okay? Gonna make you feel so good," he promises, waiting for you to nod before he pushes your shoulder away from him and climbs up behind you. You lay flat on your stomach and Eddie settles on your thighs, a heavy weight. 

He pushes into your cunt with two fingers first, the new position allowing for a new pleasure. He pumps in and out and swaps his fingers for his cock quickly after, bearing the full weight of his body into your back as sinks to the hilt. 

You both moan in time, hands fisted in the sheets. 

He kisses your neck, lips parted, and his teeth feel so sharp that your heart sinks as it had in the bathroom. 

"Eddie-" you start. 

He pulls away, stops every movement. 

"Eddie," you say again. What are you supposed to say? You both know what he is. 

There's a lull where neither of you knows what to do filled by your too-fast breathing.

"I won't hurt you," he says, hands rubbing up the length of your back and then under. He holds a hand over your heart. He drops his lips to your back. "Do you want me to stop?" 

He must feel your pulse calm under his touch, but he still asks again when you don't answer. "Do you want me to stop? It's okay if you do. You're okay, baby, I promise." 

You steal a pillow from against the headboard and rise up on elbows. Your admission comes weak but completely honest. "Fuck me, Eddie, please... I want you. I want you-" Your murmuring's interrupted by a sharp breath as Eddie starts to move again, the head of his cock pushing into your cunt, a slick, perfect feeling. 

He moans from the back of his throat as his cock pushes into you again and again, hips smacking the dough of your ass as his pace quickens. You hug your pillow tightly, tears popping up in the corners as he ruts deep. 

"Being so good for me," he groans, clamped down on your hip with a vice-like grip. "Fuck, you feel so good. Fucking clinging to me every time I pull out, baby, Christ." His blasphemy is punctuated by a thrust that has you sliding up the bed, sheets wrinkling under your arms. You spread your thighs and wetness pools at your clit as his pelvis thrusts into you, driving pleasure so deeply it aches in your hips.

You moan pathetically and reach back to hold his hand, wiggling your fingers. He takes it in one and presses your arm against your lower back with the other, struggling to maintain a steady pace as he gets close to cumming. You're a babbling stream of sounds as he fucks in deep, swollen sweet spot tapped against mercilessly.

He throws himself back on his haunches, cock dragged out of your heat. 

You pull your legs out from underneath him and curl onto your side to watch, eyes wide as white spurts of pearlescence jump out of the head of his reddened cock and drip down the bumps of his fingers. He leans back, his stomach and thighs tensed with every pump. 

He groans through a smile, moan's coloured by a happy, relieved laughter. "F-uck," he drags, fisting his cock dry. 

He meets your eyes as the last of it slides down onto his stomach. 

You smile softly. "Fuck," you mumble. 

Eddie wipes his hand in his jeans like a fucking hooligan and tucks his cock back into his boxers with a wince, and then he collapses on top of you. He's sort of nice about it, his arm over your shoulder and his face behind your ear. 

"Fucking beautiful," he praises, dropping his head back on the bed so you're face to face. "You're so fucking pretty. So perfect." He kisses you. "You're perfect," he repeats, staring intently into your eyes. 

You pull a hand from between your legs, smelling of sex. Eddie literally couldn't care less if he tried, and he lets you take his face into your hand without complaint. 

He gets his arm under your arm and starts to rub your back. "You want me to take care of you again?" he asks, eyebrows raised gently. "Yeah?" 

And you would let him, you would, but you need to see them for yourself. 

You touch your index fingertip to his lip. 

"Can I see?" you ask. 

He loses his boisterous joy, tamps it down. He realises that he can't lie, that he hasn't been lying, and he nods. You tremble as you pull his lip up over his canine tooth, excited and scared.

A sharp, exceptionally white tooth pokes out of Eddie's gums. You're taken aback, though you'd known exactly what you'd find.

A fang. 

Blood oozes at the gums. 

"You're bleeding," you worry aloud, touching your finger to the dark beading at the base of his tooth. 

Eddie's eyes rove over your face thoughtfully. He pulls your hand away from his lip and sets it on his neck instead. "They always do that. The gum heals, breaks when they wanna come out." 

"How often do they come out?" 

"A lot more since I met you. Whenever my adrenaline spikes, they seem to think it's… feeding time." 

That is a dizzying thing to learn. 

You're not sure how you feel, but you know one thing: he's Eddie. "It's too bad," you say, forcing a lightness that turns real more easily than you expect. "I really want to kiss you right now." 

He strokes your cheek with his thumb. "I really wanna kiss you too. Maybe a small one?" 

You find yourself leaning forward, unafraid. 

He kisses you once, twice, three times, the two of you holding each other's faces and covered in mess. Slick and sweat and blood. The hearts and stars from your lamp spray over his hip and paint him with pinks, greens, oranges, a rainbow cutting over his trim waist. You rest your hand overtop, feel his keloid scars like hills under your fingers. 

"My boyfriend's a vampire," you mutter, bemused at fate.

Eddie blinks at you. "I'm your boyfriend?" 

"Yeah, I think so. Don't you?" 

Eddie pulls you into his chest and doesn't let you go for a long, long time.

-

Your first time watching a blood sate is weird. 

For one, Chief Hopper is firmly against it. He's got his kid with him, the boy from the party that Mike had been so heavily doting on, and if he didn't you might think he was a pretty scary guy. 

"I think this is stupid," the chief says plainly. "I think this is stupid, I think you're stupid," — he points at Eddie where he's sitting sickly in the round couch — "and I think you're plain crazy, kid." He points at you last. 

You beam at him. "People have said that about me." 

His kid laughs. 

"Will," Hopper says tiredly, "go sit in the car." 

"Look, Chief, I know I messed up, okay, but she kind of stuck her hand in my mouth and I didn't really have a choice." 

Wayne looks at you with new eyes. "You did?" 

You nod at him faux-seriously. 

"And what gave her the inkling that you might have had something in your mouth worth looking at?" Hopper says, which is hilarious. You laugh behind your hand. 

He gives you a disapproving look that you completely ignore. If you'd taken notice of disapproval you would've stopped having this much fun years ago. 

"Uh, well, she might have… felt them?" His pitch rises. 

Hopper looks like he's about to blow a gasket when Will says, "What was he supposed to do? Never talk to anyone new ever again?" 

"He did a lot more than just talk to me," you say. There'd been a fixed bike, phone calls, lots of sandwiches, bug hunts, an entire sketchbook full of drawings. 

"I told you to wait in the car," Hopper says.

Will grins and raises his hands in surrender. "Bye," he mouths. You wave. 

Hopper waits for the door to close before he continues. "I get it, when you're a teenager you think your hormones are the end of the world-" 

"I'm almost twenty three." 

Hopper pinches his hand closed. "But you do not understand the danger that you are creating here."

"Like a stake-ing," you whisper, very very quietly. Eddie's the only one who can hear you, and he laughs so hard he snorts. 

"I'm glad you find this funny." Hopper's tone could not imply the opposite any more. 

He hands Wayne a paper bag that audibly sloshes and stalks out, his anger a palpable cloud of steam rising off of his shoulders. Eddie seizes up beside you at the sound, lips parting as his fangs come through. You don't touch him because you value your blood inside your body, only slide away from him and smile. "You okay, handsome?" 

"Kid, maybe the chief is right. We don't know how Eds is gonna act with you here," Wayne says. 

You nod respectfully. You like Wayne, and he knows about all of this stuff more than you ever could. 

"No," Eddie mumbles, putting his hand out for you across the couch. 

You take it without thinking. 

Wayne sighs. You can hear him grumbling as he disappears from view into the kitchen and puts a pot on the stove. There's the sound of a bag being punctured with a knife, a wet slosh. Eddie's grip on your hand tightens. 

You're still fascinated that he even drinks blood in the first place. That's wickedly sickening. Wicked, because it's cool that he's a vampire, with his impressive hearing, senses and smell. But sickening, because if you had to drink a pint of blood every couple of weeks you'd throw up. 

"I read about a new blood-sucker." 

Eddie raises his heavy head. "Another bug?" 

"No, a finch! A vampire finch. They're really pretty, Teddy. They're small and brown with long beaks and they drink blood because there's barely any water on their island." You give him a loving smile. "They aren't parasites. S'just how they had to change to survive." 

He squeezes your hand, this time on purpose. 

"Are you gonna come and have it in here, Eddie?" Wayne asks, one last shot at separating the two of you.

"I'm okay," he says loudly. His eyes trace your smile. "Really." 

It can't be fun to have two people watch you drink a warm mug of blood, but Eddie finds it funny. He keeps laughing every time he brings the rim of the glass to his mouth. 

"I can't do it if you're looking at me," he says. 

Wayne rolls his eyes and looks away. You cover your face with both hands and part your fingers to spy on him through the gaps. He makes it look easy, draining the mug basically in one long pull, though his hunger turns violent as the cup empties. He chokes. Blood trickles down from one corner of his mouth. 

You automatically want to reach over and wipe it away. Wayne grabs your arm before you can and gives you a fatherly look that says, I wouldn't do that if I were you. 

"Shit," Eddie says, slamming his now empty mug down on the coffee table. It makes a grating sound like a ground mortar and pestle. He sits as far back on the couch cushions as he can, nausea clear on his face. 

"Deep breath," Wayne says. 

"Fuck, Wayne." 

"You're aces. Deep breaths." 

Your heart hurts watching Eddie like this. He covers his mouth with eyes closed tightly and breathes hard through his nose. Already there's colour coming back into his face, not a lot but anything is an improvement. He'd been practically grey. 

When Eddie pulls his hand from his mouth blood has spread over his lips and jaw. Your eyes widen.

"I'll get the shower running," Wayne says, slapping his knees as he stands. He stops before the hallway. "Good job, Eddie." 

The boy in question slouches into a ball on the sofa and nods into a cushion. You wait for the sound of Wayne pulling the shower cord that turns on the hot water before you stand up, head tipped to one side. 

"You okay, handsome?".

"Tired." 

"You want a hug from me?" 

"Is anyone else offering?" He opens one eye to peek at you and grins at your distraught expression. "I'm joking, I'm kidding. C'mere, before I start bawling." You sit and then flop onto your side, pulling your legs up next to his. "Such a frowny face." His voice is adorably tired.

"Better than yours. You look like someone from Night of the Living Dead, baby." 

Eddie's arm lies limp like a dead fish over your waist. "Lemme nibble on your brains," he says, words thick as dark honey, eyes closed. "Just a snack." 

You're waiting for someone to pull the rug out from under your feet. No way your boyfriend, your cries at the end of every movie, brings you flowers because he felt like it, won't step on cracks in the sidewalk boyfriend just skulled a glass of O-negative like it was a milkshake. 

You feel guilty as soon as you think about it. He's not confined to all his softest parts and he never will be. He's snarky and angry and loud. He plays guitar like a real rockstar and he doesn't take anyone's shit. He's a survivor. A glass of blood every now and then was never gonna stop him. 

You keep wondering if you should let him suck your blood. It could be hot. It could also probably be the worst idea ever, a relationship faux pas up there with proposing after a month or saying I love you on the first date. 

"What are you thinking about?" he asks. 

You brush the hair out of his eyes with your ring finger. "Embarrassing relationship fumbles." 

"Oh yeah? Like letting your girlfriend watch you drink human blood from a mug shaped like Woodstock?" 

"Least it wasn't Snoopy." 

"God forbid." 

"Is it always like this?" You stroke your hand down his face and rub along his jaw with your thumb. "D'you always get sleepy?" 

"Yeah." He turns his face so your hand covers his mouth. 

You've stopped wearing silver jewellery, your wrists bare besides the endearingly awful friendship bracelet he's constructed for you. Not a friendship bracelet, he'd corrected. You're not kissing other friends, are you? Because that's really gonna put a downer on this whole thing.  

You dip your forehead to his chin and the two of you lay there in silence. You can smell blood, a thick, metallic stick permeating every corner of the room. It's especially strong between the both of you. 

"Do you wanna bite me right now?" you inquire without opening your eyes. 

"Not really. Blood sate kicks in quickly. It's the worst for, like, the first ten seconds after. Now I wanna sleep, but Wayne's gonna make me shower." 

"Maybe I can shower with you." 

"I'm sure he'd jump for joy if you suggest it." 

"Really?"

Eddie kisses your hand. "No," he says with a giddy laugh. 

"I'll pretend I'm gonna sit on the toilet. Keep watch." 

"How will you stop your hair from getting wet?" 

"I'll lean out." 

Eddie laughs even more than he had been, peeling laughter that warms you from the inside out as he kisses your hand again. "That'll definitely work." 

Wayne clears his throat. 

"Shower's hot. I'm going out. For an hour." Eddie perks up. His uncle looks him dead in the eye. "Don't make me regret this." 

And while Wayne had been under the impression you and Eddie were gonna have some grown up fun together in the shower, what you really do is an innocent act of affection: you wash Eddie's hair. 

"You have to lean your head back," you chide. 

"I am." 

"More than that." 

"There's no room." 

You're lucky you both fit. You're freezing standing behind Eddie, the only relief the warm water that trickles down from your hands to your elbows as you draw circles in his scalp, working the shampoo into a fine lather. 

"How did you get blood here?" you ask, scratching rusty flakes from the hair behind his ear. 

"I don't know. It gets everywhere. Like eyeshadow." 

You push your chin over his shoulder. "You wear eyeshadow?" 

"For shows." 

"Really?"

"Is it hard to believe?" 

You encourage his head under the water and rake your hands through his curls, encouraging the soapy water down to the ends with patient hands. "Lip gloss too? Hey, can I do your makeup?" 

"Maybe tomorrow," he bargains. While the shower has helped to wake him up, lethargy remains thick and unshakeable as adamant. 

You kiss the wet ridge of his shoulder blade, picturing his pretty face decked out in dark liners and sticky balm. "Thank you." 

"I haven't worn any in a long time. Haven't played a show in a really long time." 

You wring the water out of his hair and search in the steam for his conditioner. It's mostly empty. "You could put on a show for me. I never got to see you play," you say, shaking it really hard. A dollop collects in your hand and you work the dregs through the ends of his long hair. 

"You want that?" 

"I think you're the best guitar player in the world." 

You're not joking. He's the best, and he plays guitar. And he's pretty good, semantics aside. You love sitting out on the porch with him and listening to him play old rock songs off the top of his head. You could watch his hands move over the strings for hours. 

"If that's the case, I can definitely put on a show. Make-up, costume, stage dives. The whole nine yards. Anything for my girl." 

You roll the ends of his hair between two coated palms and step back. "There. You have to let it soak in for a couple of minutes." 

Eddie turns with a grin, angling his chest and hair forward, away from the stream. 

"Whatever will we do?"

You wipe an escaped streak of blood off of his bottom lip and smile. "I have no idea." 

You kiss. Eddie leans down and you move up, damp noses glancing off of each other. You're used to short kisses, never enough to make his heart race in case it prompts an unnecessary appearance of his fangs, so when Eddie encourages your lips apart to wade in deeper you pull back questioningly. 

"Blood sate. I'm 'sated'. They won't come out." 

Your jaw drops. "For real?" 

He shakes his head with a pleased smile. "For real. Kiss me sick, sweetheart." 

You throw your arm around his neck and drag his face to yours, kissing with an ardency that both surprises and amuses him. He laughs into your open mouth until suddenly he's not laughing at all, only breathing, pushing against you with the same urgent force and the same adoring smile. 

"Does this mean you can give me a hickey?" you ask enthusiastically. Eddie has yet to give you a proper love bite.

He leans back under the show spray and pulls you in with him, laughing when you dissolve like rice paper in his arms, finally warm. There's never been a sweeter sound. 

/\^._.^/\

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[strangersteddierthings]

The Response

Part Two of The Interview [Part One] [Ao3]

With no exact time given by Robin, Eddie's left to kill time. He drags himself from the YouTube spiral to try and track down Steve on social media. After two hours, he concludes that either Steve has his (and official Corroded Coffin's) socials blocked, or Steve just doesn't have any. He's a bit baffled that people can even find Steve to send hate mail to him.

He shoots a text to Gareth. Can you find Steve on any socials?

He gets an instant reply.

DO NOT CONTACT!!!

WAIT FOR RESPONSE

DONOT MAKE THISS WORSE MUNSON

Eddie frowns down at his phone but doesn't argue. He probably would make it worse. He sends back 'k' and looks back to the laptop. Watches it auto-refresh but Robin's feed hasn't changed.

God, what will Steve have to say?

It's mostly true, that Eddie hasn't thought about Steve in years. That's been deliberate. Eddie was so furious back then. Robin wasn't wrong about him venting his feelings into a song, but how was he supposed to know Hey Steve would be the song the catch the ear of the people? And yeah, the lyrics are very unflattering.

A lot of their first songs were filled with rage. The whole first album is just their collective high school experiences. Songs about growing up in Hawkins and how shit that was for them, a song about Eddie's complicated feelings towards his dad, songs about dungeons and dragons disguised as fantasy ballads, things like that. And, of course, Hey Steve.

He can admit that years ago he reevaluated the lyrics and found it to be more harsh than was warranted. But he figured there was no point worrying about that. People exaggerate in songs all the time. The song is out, people still plead for it to be played during encore performances. Eddie hadn't thought it was hurting anyone to play it.

Hey Steve had taken Eddie less than two days to write. He did almost nothing for those two days except write. Fuck. He was still just a dumb kid when he wrote it, barely graduated high school. And the reason for writing it...

Eddie had know Steve wasn't out to his parents when he'd asked Steve to essentially runaway with him. Steve had worried about things like money, and living situations, and getting food. It had all sounded like excuses to Eddie back then. Like Steve was picking the safety of Hawkins and his parents' house over going out into the world to be with Eddie freely.

They'd fought about it. The worst fight they'd ever had. Yet, here Eddie is, a decade later and unable to recall anything that was actually said. Just a summary of that conversation exists in his mind, now. Steve wanting to wait. To save more money now that his hours at the grocery store would be changing from part time to full with him no longer being in school and able to work the morning shifts. Wait to get his car fully transferred to his name from his parents.

All things that adult Eddie can now see as reasonable. Jesus Fucking Christ. He remembers he'd given Steve some sort of ultimatum. He was leaving on the last Grey Hound from Hawkins to Indy. Steve could meet him at the bus stop or stay, but Eddie was going, with or without him.

Steve had shouted back. He knows they just got louder and nastier until Steve finally told him that he would be going without him, then, because they were over. Even as angry as Eddie had been, he'd held out hope. But that last bus left Hawkins with Eddie on it and no sign of Steve in sight.

So Eddie did what he did best. Channeled that hurt into anger and wrote a song. Never in a million years did he think that, in the very first bar they played at in Indy, they'd meet a man who wanted to take a chance with them and get them a demo. All they needed to do was get from Indy to LA. Eddie had a van and the motivation. The next year of his life was too busy for him to even think, much less worry about Steve and his breakup.

Well, that was a lie. He thought about it constantly and shoved the thoughts aside as quickly as they came. Easier to do when he had no way to check up on Steve. He left Hawkins with no laptop and a pay-per-text flip phone he'd bought at a gas station. Wayne tried his best to provide for Eddie, and that meant they'd had one cell phone between the two, and Eddie had insisted that Wayne keep it.

By the time he got a laptop and internet, Steve had blocked him on Facebook and Twitter. That was the conclusion Eddie had come to when he finally worked up the nerve to swallow his pride and apologize and couldn't find Steve on either platform. Another thing that had filled Eddie with anger and hurt. Steve had broken up with him and then made sure Eddie couldn't reach back out.

Now he wonders, did Steve block him, or did Steve delete his socials to stop the hate mail?

Eddie feels nauseous.

Fuck!

What's worse is that, before the fight, Eddie had been so sure he was in love with Steve. But how can he say that with how quickly he dropped him? With how he's acted ever since? He could justify it to himself when he was still freshly broken up with and hurting but that faded away as fame took over.

Hard to be sad about not having a boyfriend when there were plenty of people lining up to be with him.

He pulls himself from his head to look at the laptop. A new tweet shows on Robin's screen and he scrambled to turn off the auto-refresher.

It's a short tweet, and Eddie sees she's changed her name as well.

Clicking the link takes him to a YouTube video.

It starts with the camera slightly jiggling, presumably from someone hitting record. It's been set up in a recording studio. A stool in front of a mic that's suspended from the ceiling is the only thing in the frame.

"Alright, dingus, last chance to change your mind about this," Robin's voice is picked up from off screen.

"You can't talk me out of this," says a male voice, and without any thought about it, Eddie's hand flings out and slaps the space bar, pausing the video. His heart is pounding, and he has to take a few deep breaths. That was Steve's voice. Of course, it was Steve's voice, it's his statement video, but hearing it again. Hearing it spoken softly but determined.

Swallowing feels difficult. Eddie's last memory of Steve's voice was screaming. This is... this is the Steve he never thought he'd hear again, and hasn't realized how much he desperately wanted to. With shaking hands, he presses play again.

Steve steps into frame, takes a seat on the stool. He looks in the direction of the camera, and Eddie has to pause again, to take him in. His hair is longer than it was in high school, the ends of it touching his shoulders. He's got it pulled up in a half updo, keeping the hair out of his face. His face is familiar and yet so different. He certainly looks older but not in a bad way. The biggest difference is his nose; it's not as straight as it once was, like it's been broken and healed wrong. His strong, square face is as handsome as it ever was, perhaps more so now. Eddie's eyes are drawn to the two moles on his cheek; his eyes have always been drawn there. It was his favorite place to kiss Steve.

He's wearing light wash jeans and a deep blue Henley. And fuck if it doesn't make him look good.

Eddie unpauses again, and waits to hear the retribution he deserves.

"This good, Robin?"

"Yeah, you're perfectly in frame."

"Good. Uhh, hi. I'm Steve. Robin told me that there was a lot of fuss regarding a certain Corroded Coffin song, and that people wanted to hear from me. Which is wild 'cause like, I'm just some guy and I don't really have much to say-" Steve is saying, with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Steve!" Robin interrupts him, "I just had to help you move because someone threw a brick through your window! What do-"

"Okay! I get it! But that's not Corroded Coffin's fault. They do that whole anti-bullying thing! It's not like they don't address harassment and bullying. I-" Steve cuts off, seeming to remember he's on camera. His face turns pink. "We can argue this later. Uhh, anyway. There is something I want to say to Eddie Munson, so I hope he's watching."

He makes a 'give it to me' gesture and Robin enters frame, handing him an acoustic guitar. "I thought I'd answer using the one thing Eddie understands best. Music. So, uh, I wrote this song with Robin's help. Lyrics are mine but the melody is Robin. The song doesn't have a title but, uh, okay. Here it goes."

And then, Steve starts to sing, looking down at the guitar for correct finger placement more than singing into the mic but it picks him up well regardless.

"Do you think I'd give up? That this might've shook the love from me? Or that I was on the brink? How could you think, darling, I'd scare so easily? Now that it's done There's not one thing that I would change My life was a storm, since I was born. How could I fear any hurricane? If someone asked me at the end I'll tell them put me back in it-" Eddie is sitting down, and still he feels the floor fall out from under him.

"-Darling, I would do it again, ah, ah If I could hold you for a minute Darling, I'd go through it again, ah, ah."

Eddie doesn't hear the rest of the song because of the blood pounding in his ears. This can't be- it doesn't mean- after all this time? After everything that's happened, everything Eddie let happen, unintentionally or not.

His phone buzzes against his leg. He ignores it in favor of restarting the video and listening to the video from the start. He listens to the whole song and it ends without anything else. Once Steve's strummed the last chord, he just stands up, walks to the camera and the video ends.

He restarts the video again, and again, and again. Hears Steve sing How could you think I'd scare so easily and I would do it again if I could hold you for a minute and though I know my heart would break I'd tell them put me back in it.

It's through the tenth, or eleventh, playback that his phone buzzes again and he fumbles to answer blindly, unable to pull his eyes away from Steve on the screen of his laptop.

"Gare- It's not- what did I do Gare? Everything I thought Steve would have to say never came close to what he just sang. I can't- I don't know what to do," Eddie sobs into the phone.

There's a pause of silence before what is very much not Gareth's voice says, "Well, dammit Munson. I was calling to rip you a new one but you're already crying."

It takes Eddie a moment to place the voice, "Robin?"

"Unfortunately, yes," Robin says. "I think Steve's let you off easily, but I also know I kick a hornet's nest with my interview so I think we should work on getting this cleared up, both publicly and privately."

"How did you get my num-"

"Gareth. Keep up, Munson. I'd like us to be able to call off each other's fans. Your PR team and whoever you employee to do that anti-bullying campaign have done a pretty good job so far in telling people to back off, politely. Helps that Jeff has been on top of this from the beginning. Honestly, I think the best decision you've ever made in your life was making Jeff the front man of your band and not yourself. He's much more pleasant to talk to, and so good with people."

"Robin!" Eddie has to shout because Robin keeps saying words and they don't make sense. "What?"

He hears a sign from the other end of the phone. "You are annoying. You know that, Munson? I'll work with Gareth to get this done. I think we should be seen together, publicly. Maybe getting a coffee. So everyone knows we've made up, or whatever it is Gareth and I decide is happening. We should also meet up privately. There's a lot to talk about."

"I'm so confused."

"Nothing new. Now, when are you free to get on a plane to Pendleton, Oregon?"

"Pendleton?"

"Munson!" Robin snaps, "we just established that you live in a perpetual state of confusion. Instead of questioning me, how about you answer my questions. Now, when are you free?"

"Anytime."

"Smart answer. Get your ass to Pendleton by the morning of the twenty-third. I'll work with Gareth for all the other concerns. He's easier to deal with."

"Can I ask one follow up question at least!?"

"You just did but I'll allow one more before I hang up."

"Why Pendleton?"

"It's the nearest airport to our destination. I am not having a private conversation with you in California. I don't want to be caught speaking to you until Gareth and I have a chance to work out the details."

And then Robin hangs up.

Eddie leans forward and restarts the video on his laptop before looking up plane tickets. Fixing things with Robin might be the first step in ever getting try and, he doesn't know, apologize to Steve? Maybe even have a conversation one day.

He doesn't deserve that chance, he thinks, but he's a bad enough person to want it anyway.

[nogenderbee]

♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ 𝕊𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕘𝕖 𝕚𝕟 𝕤𝕝𝕖𝕖𝕡 ₊˚ˑ༄

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ anon request: Could I request the demon brothers with a lover who says strange things in their sleep? Like, they're just napping and all of a sudden, they say "potato fairy".

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Yeah! Absolutely!

I'm sorry some are really short but hopefully it's at least not forced so I still hope you'll like it!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ fluff, TW: slight mentions of guts in Asmo's part (just skip the dialogue)

✧ Lucifer is probably one of the rare demons who doesn't make big deal out of your habit

✧ it's just like snoring but... talking. And it just happens to be a bit stupid. He's seen worse things

✧ he'll move you to some private space when you fall asleep in public so you can rest there, without worrying layer about anyone hearing your mumbles

✧ he's usually not even paying attention to what you're saying in your sleep and just gets lost in his work

✧ even if he hears what you're saying, he's not gonna tease you about it, unless you really want to hear about things you've said

"It wasn't really anything out of the ordinary. Again, talking and flying fruits. I didn't listen to your descriptions. Sorry dear, but I had work to finish."

✧ overally, it's like he doesn't even notice that trait of yours

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

✧ you scared the living out of Mammon the first time you did that

✧ he didn't knew you talk in your sleep in the first place so imagine fear on his face when you didn't answered simple questions

"MC, what do you mean...?"

"flying piggies..."

"WHERE-?!"

✧ literally believes you every time for some reason...

✧ don't you dare spooking him with ghosts or so because he'll end up clinging onto your pretending to just be "warming you up because you were shaking" ignoring the fact it's him who's shaking

✧ you'd think it'd get better with time, and yes it does a bit?

✧ when he's in front of someone and you start talking stupid things, he'll just explain how it's your habit, but he'll still have quick and sly look around his surroundings just in case...

✧ you're making this man lovkey paranoid a bit, especially if he's after horror movie... then it's even worse!

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

✧ Levi sometimes doesn't even realize you've felt asleep to be honest

✧ he's sometimes so lost in his game or anime, he responds automatically without thinking about it

✧ it's just a habit when he's too focused on his things to just get rid of somebody

✧ it's honestly even funnier when he realizes what you two are talking about and stops everything he's doing to have a lag

"We can conquer the marshmallow kingdom later."

"But teddy bears..."

"Teddybears can wai- hold on... What...?"

✧ he's not letting anyone else hear you to save you the emberassment, so any time you fall asleep in public, he'll try to take you to his or your room, or anywhere private so you can rest

✧ he mostly doesn't even remember stories you've told him unless they really broke his mind so it's rare when you get to hear about things you've said in your sleep

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

✧ Satan simply finds it funny

✧ people who talk in their sleep, sometimes tend to respond and he'll use it to have laugh of the year

"bugs with crowns..."

"Oh really? Why do they have crowns, MC?"

"They beated up Lucifer, then Diavolo..."

✧ the stories you've come up with in your sleep are truly worth writing down and you bet he does just that and reads them to you once you're awake

✧ he's not trying to be mean, he simply can't resist making you a bit pouty and blushy with your habit

✧ though he'll skip this part when others are around and won't mess with you, that's for his ears and eyes only~

✧ weirdly, you fell asleep around him more often after he've discovered your habit

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

@miya-akane - come get your cat lover!

✧ Asmo, similar to Satan, likes to have a chuckle thanks to your little habit

✧ though he's not as mean about it and has more casual conversation, eventually chuckling more from cuteness of your words rather than the fact he finds it funny

✧ sometimes tho, he may get dramatic with it

✧ try to say something stupid about self-care and he'll have an argument with your sleepy self

"I put jellyfish jam on my face and now I'm dazzling..~"

"You- YOU PUT JELLYFISH GUTS ON YOUR FACE?! Oh no, no! Listen closely, MC, you can't..."

✧ when you wake up, he doesn't let you go untill you two have your skin-care night/morning

✧ he won't be afraid to let you nap in public, after all your mumbling is cute!

✧ speaking of which, he doesn't mind telling others he's close to about what you said last night but he'll stop if you feel uncomfortable with that

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

@vodka-glrl - come get your pretty princess~

✧ Beel is another rare demon who doesn't make big deal out of it!

✧ he talks in his sleep too, and so does Belphie. He began ignoring sleep talking for quite a while now

✧ don't ask him what you've said because poor boy doesn't even remember

✧ he won't really touch or move you when you're asleep but he might sit down next to you and be like your little body guard

✧ if you ask him to tho, he'll move you to more private place when he catches you asleep somewhere public, he wants to make sure you're comfortable after all!

✧ but if you don't mind, he'll just let you rest like you are

"and then... bathtub elve came out..."

"Do they-"

"Oh yeah, they talk in their sleep. Anyway, are we going to that restaurant or not?"

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✧ Belphie also talks in his sleep and believe me, it's sometimes even stupider than things you're saying

✧ like, if you two actually talk with each other in your sleep, stupidest and most creative stories happen

✧ ask someone Beel to record it for you and you'll have a good laugh

"bee's need our help..."

"they can burn on candy sun..."

"but lolipops will melt too..."

"just spill it on Lucifer... heh..~"

✧ even if Lucifer overhears any of your stories, he can't do anything because you're just talking in your sleep and not insulting him consciously or are you

✧ when he sees you sleeping in public, he just joins you

✧ even if you tell him to move you somewhere private, it "slips his mind as he's too tired" and you end up waking up in the same place but with Belphie next to you

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

@miya-akane - come get your sleepyhead!

[joseline-woodhouse]

I want in on talking about Annabel and Prospero.

Since most posts I've seen are about how nice it is to watch them being healthy for one another (it really is, I adore their dynamic) I decided to talk about how neither of them would hesitate to kill one another eventually.

First of all both Annabel Lee and Prospero are calculative people. Both of them care for only the outcome and how to get there. I have seen people call Annabel a hypocrite for protecting Prospero because he's important to her after what she did to Duke and I entirely disagree, more on the rescue from Ada later. We have established that Annabel really doesn't care that everyone in the academy (except one, if the Deans can be trusted) is doomed.

I don't think Annabel's general willingness to sacrifice people needs to be discussed.

Now, I'm leaning a bit far out the window here, but take a good look at Prospero in the left picture above, he looks more frustrated than anything. His chances just got a lot worse, he needs to rethink his strategy and on top of all that Ada is invading his personal space again.

Moving forward to what I think makes their mutual betrayal inevitable, the episodes after the Mansion Arc (this is were it gets interesting):

Until now we have seen Prospero mostly be mildly bothered by whatever is happening. When everything fell apart during the Lesson and everyone except for him apperently just did not do their job, he seemed like he was about to explode and seriously questioning his choice of team. Everyone else appeared to just want to go on with the day, Prospero however demanded answers, proving that he cares to win this entire game without getting side tracked.

Further his behaviour during the lesson shows that he actually doesn't get how anyone else would still be reluctant to kill their friends here. He was genuinely not expecting anyone to act out of empathy anymore.

And after the widow's watch affair and him witnessing Annabel freaking out after the labyrinth and smoothly asking about Pluto instead of giving an explanation, he is surely just one big-ish failure or unwillingness to take action away from openly confronting Annabel how it can be that whenever she is alone with Lenore, things go south ways, how whenever people want to act against Lenore, she calls it a waste of time despite the growingly obvious threat that Lenore poses.

I think Annabel actually does matter to him, and I think he matters to Annabel as well, but both of them expect something really specific from one another and sympathy alone means little to them.

Now about Annabel saving Prospero.

I believe this says everything:

Since Annabel is a chess player, get ready for chess metaphors:

In chess, most gambits are about giving away a pawn. Why? Because a pawn has very little value on its own and sacrificing a pawn in order to get a slightly more profitable structure on the board can actually be worth it.

Sacrificing a queen? If you do something like that, you better be 100% sure you're seeing a forced checkmate.

Not only is Prospero's spector really powerful, Prospero is also the only thing keeping Annabel in control of her own team right now. Other than Prospero who's supporting her as long as she keeps bringing results, she is stuck with Ada who is a complete wild card and useless most of the time, Morella who is only half on her team, Will who is loyal mostly to Montresor and Montresor who constantly challenges her leadership.

The way things are standing right now, everything she has build would fall apart the very moment Prospero is gone.

Also, what if Annabel and Lenore have to stay long enough for their teams to start falling apart? Whom does Annabel want to face in a one on one? Someone like Montresor who's spector can very much use brute force against her or someone like Prospero who's spector is similarly unforceful as hers?

We even saw, that Annabel can just simply neutralise Prospero's rats with her fog, leaving him with no real attack on her. While he applies her with status conditions she can use her blossoms to attack him after she used her fog to make his rats disappear like she did on the widow's watch

Annabel did not safe him because she likes him, which she does. She saved him because he is a very important piece for her game and no real threat to her in the long run.

Prospero follows Annabel not because he likes her, which he does, but because she keeps bringing results. Or at least she did until rather recently.

[morrirylet]

post zombie apocalypses stenbrough save me save me save me post zombie apocalypses stenbrough

stanley is one of the main reasons why the losers are alive, because he's smart and actually knows A LOT about survival thanks to being a scout. he is in charge of scouting in general and also he's the one who finds a proper place for a camp, because he knows where to place it right so the losers could have access to drinkable water, usable soil, and also a good camp should be well hidden yet you should be able to see your enemy from a distance stanley isn't a fighter, the only infected he's killed in ~5 years were his own parents. the others know how it's affected him so they never push him to be violent, usually stan stays at the camp and does gardening/laundry or helps eddie (they're kinda nurses for the whole camp), he also tries to make the camp feel more like home for everyone, but mostly for himself. he really clings to the old life and he grabs every opportunity he can to keep his fantasy alive. stanley does little things like clean his shoes or fill his planner or paint richie/bill's nails or make his and bill's bed, as if it matters. stanley tries very hard to forget all the nightmares they've been though, but it's really hard stan thinks about death a lot. it's hard not to think about it when you have to deal with it every day. he thinks of himself as the weakest and he's very afraid of letting everyone down. his ocd is getting worse as well as his depression. he is very grateful to the others for looking after him yet he still feels like a burden stanley finds comfort in wearing bill's old flannels as close to his skin as possible. he has lost weight and his beauty sleep from stress. beverly cuts his hair the way it used to be because it comforts him too. he wears a compass on his belt and never lets go of his star of david necklace

bill doesn't have any special skills to help his friends with the camp, but he does know how to keep the spirit up. he's the leader of this group and he tries to help with the planning, he and stanley are on the look out a lot, bill also goes hunting with mike or scavenging with beverly, and he helps ben with finding resources/building stuff. he's not afraid of zombies anymore and he's always ready to blow off some steam by killing infected bill has a lot of stress and anxiety. he worries about stanley a lot, and he's gotten into the habit of doing little "normal" things because they make stanley happier. bill is turning gray from the stress, and he also has a few bald spots on the back of his head. bill sleeps more than he should. he always has his little notebook with him because he's still writing stories, and stanley loves them a lot it's not that bill doesn't miss their old life, he just doesn't think about it anymore, he misses it but he doesn't mourn it because he sees what's going on around him, but he tries not to be hard on stanley because he knows stan needs more time bill stopped cutting his hair almost at the beginning of the virus because there were bigger problems than finding a hair band. he is very insecure about losing his hair. it's not like he talks about it with anyone but stanley. bill really, really likes it when stan braids his hair, it comforts him a lot

bill has become overprotective of the losers, but especially of stanley. they're always together when bill's in camp and they're always very close, they're always holding hands or sitting on each other's laps or hugging each other in any way possible or crossing legs, it's like they need living proof that they're both here. bill is very overprotective, like a mama bear kind of overprotective, and it didn't occur to him until eddie told him one day that he was acting like eddie's mother. he tries to be less intense, but it seems like it comforts stanley too they got "married" a few nights after they found richie. of course it's not legally official or anything like that. it was the first time stan told bill that he couldn't handle everything was going on, and bill promised him that they would make it no matter what. they are both wearing heart necklaces and their rings that they stole from one of the shops

they have lots of things to identify each other if they need to, like matching necklaces and rings, but they also have secret markers, like a piece of cloth on bill's leg or little hand-drawn hearts on stanley's arms

my comfort boysssss 🥺🤲

[onehundredandeleventropicalfish]

you know, i can't wait to see season of mists in the show, yes to watch certain pieces fall into place for later story and for one particular dream hob conversation

but also because it really is in so many ways just the funniest volume

and i've seen some of those funny moments get mentioned

i've yet to see anyone list dream's defeat of azazel among them

but like. let's lay this out. so dream already has about 500 problems to deal with, at least 300 of which are queueing up in the dreaming telling him to give them the keys to hell or they're gonna [insert threat here], when all he wants to do is rescue nada and maybe also sulk in his bedroom for a bit

when problem #501 shows up - azazel would like hell back so they can make it even worse, and they've brought nada as a bargaining chip to ensure it. they also throw in choronzon for free, because everyone else has been offering gifts, and dream likes revenge, right? yeah, revenge, that'll definitely get him to like us

azazel mostly behaves themselves during the actual negotiations (mostly), bc they're sure they've won, and no need to cause a scene and make more enemies than they have to. but when they realise that's not the case, they threaten to eat nada if dream can't get them what they want

to which, in a move that made me realise exactly why dream gets along so much better with fey than he does humans, he reminds azazel that everyone who crosses the threshold of his realm is entitled to his hospitality, including nada (thanks for bringing her here for me btw, saves me the trip), so if azazel harms her in any way they'll no longer be entitled to dream's protection

and azazel is like fuck you fuck your hospitality i can eat anyone i goddamn like

so we get that challenge between the two of them taking place inside azazel who is kind of a realm in their own right, which, when dream wins, azazel tries to pull a lucifer "why should i let you leave?"

and yes. dream is currently in azazel's void. azazel could try to eat him from in there, regardless of who won. but see, lucifer had one thing azazel doesn't, which is remembering whose fucking house you're in

azazel's entire realm, entire self, is still inside the dreaming. regardless of where dream's physical manifestation is, demons have no power here.

you really shouldn't have denied my hospitality.

and since dramatic irony is the order of the day, dream's then just like "so, what was it you were promising, again? nada and some, uh, sweet sweet vengeance? yeeeaaaah i think i remember you saying something about that. hey azazel? what are your opinions on glass spheres."

and then he turns to the vast assortment of gods and similar he's been trying to get rid of for two days and is like "any arguments? no? cool, get the fuck out of my house."

[byler-4-life]

I apologize in advance for this monstrosity of a post. But I have to get a point across here. Like...either Byler is endgame and is going to happen, or Will Byers is going to go down as one of the most tragic TV Show characters of all time.

Sounds a little like hyperbole, no? Well, let's just recap. This starts when Will is 12. Just 12 years old. This adorable, sweet, little, innocent bean here. Just keep in mind these pictures for future reference:

He's kidnapped by an interdimensional monster and forced into a dark, cold, lonely place all by himself. He's stuck in another dimension for a whole week, trying desperately to get out, wondering if anyone is going to save him, all while constantly fearing for his life. Alas, the demogorgon did get to him:

And, even after he was rescued, he was still puking up slugs:

All this is from S1. Enough trauma to last several lifetimes. But wait, there's more.

Apparently Will hadn't suffered enough, so they had the Mindflayer set its sights on him. And well, we all know S2 didn't turn out the best for this now 13 year old boy.

And if the mental pain and anguish and loss of innocence of having your body forcefully entered against your will isn't enough, they decided to heap on some intense physical suffering as well:

And to end the series, you have to have the monster literally burned out of you by your own mother while you're tied down to a bed.

Surely our boy has had enough right? Wrong. On to Season 3. 14 year old Will is mostly sidelined this Season, but he's present enough to get ignored by his friends and put down by his best friend for his "childish" interests, a fact that hurts Will so bad he breaks down and calls himself stupid before resorting to demolishing his childhood fortress. The same haven of safety that helped to save his life in the Upside Down. He's then forced to pack up and move from the only home he's ever known, severing all his friendship ties, such as they were.

Well at least they're gonna fix stuff in Season 4. So here we go, and...what? Excuse me....hmmm...okay. So I've just gotten word they in fact did NOT fix things in Season 4. We have Will, now 15 (or maybe actually still 14 since the Duffers apparently FORGOT HIS BIRTHDAY) so happy to see Mike at the airport for the first time since leaving town, get his hug physically rejected (when Mike has no problem hugging anyone else this series). He's then forced to third wheel and watch his best friend/love of his life have fun with his step-sister. He then LIES TO MIKE (something we have seasons of evidence that Will hates to do) in order to project his own feelings for Mike onto El because that's what he thinks Mike needs to hear. And he's then forced to help Mike "confess" his "love" for El as he stands there and hears Mike say that his life didn't really begin until the day Will disappeared?

Guys, even if you don't ship Byler, you have to admit....this is a pretty fucked up life in the span of 3-4 years. My point in posting all of this (and actually depressing the hell out of myself as I looked for all the screenshots) is if they really leave him like this, and Season 5 doesn't turn things around for Will...or maybe even somehow gets worse and they either kill him off, or force him to stand there and fake a smile while Mike and El live happily ever after....well then fuck this show.

They introduced us to this sweet innocent kid, made us all fall in love with his character, then treated him like their personal punching bag for four seasons. If they aren't planning on giving him a happy ending, that's just downright sadistic. After everything Will has gone through, they're going to make him a gay kid in the 80s living in smalltown Indiana in middle America, with an unrequited love for his childhood best friend? A fact that makes him feel "different" and like he's a "mistake"? Overkill for the sake of overkill. Trauma p*rn. And that's just the suffering they've shown us onscreen. Just think of how many nights laying in bed alone Will has had these thoughts about himself. Or desperately wishing that Mike felt the same way, even though he "knows" it's hopeless. Truly tragic.

Yes, other beloved characters in this show have been traumatized too, yes. But they've also all had sustained happy moments that the show has shown us on screen (for characters that were around for more than one season). Every time Will seemingly gets an ounce of happiness it's violently snatched away.

I refuse to believe that the show doesn't want to give Will a happy ending. There has to be a reason for his suffering. And yes, I think Byler is the only satisfactory happy ending. And that's not my choice, that was the choice of the showrunners. They made being in love with Mike his whole character in S4. Gay pining at its finest. Trying to intro a new love interest at the last minute isn't going to cut it. I'm not going full delusional like before. But I do believe that S5 Byler has a good chance of happening. Otherwise...it kind of taints the whole experience.

[rags-writes]

141 helps you move headcanons

This is in honor of my own move, I'm so excited!!! Don't forget to follow me.

Captain Price-

As soon as he catches wind about your move he takes over

Plans everything to the last detail

Calls a truck company that he knows the military will pay for.

Order the other to come and help (they would anyway.)

Gets there like 30 min before the time you plan on

Has a clipboard, marker, tape and extra boxes in his truck.

Luagh at Ghost's very concerning jokes

Makes sure everything done by the time the moving truck is supposed to be there

Yells at the moving truck guys for being late and gets a discount

Cook everyone dinner at your new place.

Is the reason you didn't panic about the move.

Ghost-

Is the only one who didn't plan on help before price told him to but mostly because he didn't know you were moving

What did you expect he doesn't talk a lot much less listen unless it's a misson to you guys

He get there 15 minutes earlier then the plan time,

he doesn't let anyone know he there untill you walk into a room and he scares you half to death just by standing there

He starts in the living room and once it's all packed he move on

He won't pack your bedroom or your bathroom up

Threaten Gaz and Soap if they break any of your stuff that he'll break them

The frist thing he said to Soap made you luagh"You’re not completely useless." "You can always serve as a bad example."

The one at make you ask him to stop was "What’s worse than biting into an apple and discovering a worm?" "Biting into an apple and discovering half a worm."

He make the other two help out at your new place, mostly soap.

Soap-

Complain when Price tells him to help you move

He was definitely planning on helping you, he just like give everyone a hard time

Does show up 15 minutes late

But he brought coffee which would have least everyone frustrated if he was the first one to do so.

Can't stay in the same room even if it would save his life.

You see him in the kitchen but five minutes later he's in the living room

Loves to pester Ghost but runs away once Ghost start making jokes

Start sing and gets everyone but Ghost to join in

Does try to leave after the mover truck leaves but Ghost drags him to your new place

He ends up passing out on your couch at the new place

Gaz-

He shows up on time with coffee

Making fun of price for drinking black coffee as he sip his suger with a hint of coffee

Won't make fun of Ghost (just a little sraced of him.)

Pulls prank like take the duck tape from Price without him noticing and puts it near Soap

2atch from across the room laughing, as Price yells at Soap for stealing his duck tape.

Ghost catches him on the third time but doesn't say anything.

Tells everyone he getting pizza for lunch and head out rhe door.

Soap yells "thank you" but Gaz just calls back "you're the one paying for it" as he hold up Soap's wallet

Helps installs your security with Ghost at your new place

A/N: If you like this don't forget to follow me, so when I open my request up you can send one in

[zvtara-was-never-canon]

The Problem With The Southern Raiders

Brynn_Sasha191 asked: And what do you have to say about TSR episode as a whole? And how ZK shippers constantly refer and think of it as 'the Zutara episode'.

***

The episode itself is alright. Katara and Zuko looked cool as hell in their ninja outfits, sneaking around and being menaces. The scene of Katara choosing to bloodbend (and her horror after) were shocking. The moral of the episode ("Unnecessary violence is never the answer, BUT that doesn't mean people who wronged you are entitled to your forgiveness") is pretty good. Zuko looked like he gained some genuine understanding for Katara's situation, as well as respect for her mom, when he was told about how Kya's death happened. Plus the Sukka bit, and Zuko's reaction to it, was one of the funniest moments in the show.

The only thing that REALLY bothers me about it how it is the ONE time the show tried to sweep Zuko's mistakes under the rug. Katara was not mad at him because she was wrongfully "projecting" her grief over her mom, and her anger at the killer, on poor, innocent Zuzu.

She was mad because this entitled prince that had threatened the people of her village, tried to use her mom's necklace to blackmail her and then threatened to burn it, had been chasing her group all around the world, endangering them several times, to kidnap her best friend managed to convince her for five minutes that maybe there was some humanity to him - and then immediately helped his sister essentially win the war for the Fire Nation, and killing Aang. Then after Katara saved him, the same goddamn prince sent an assassin after them.

It doesn't matter that he was never fully evil, that he had understandable reasons to do what he did, that truly changed sides, and that he doesn't intend to ever do something like that again. Katara does NOT have to forgive him, and she sure as hell does not owe him her friendship, and it's not cool how the episode keeps allowing Zuko to act all entitled, without ever calling him out for it - and worse, activelly saying KATARA is the one in the wrong.

Plus, it's kinda fucked up that it's never acknowledged how Zuko, the guy who was disfigured and banished for wanting the soldiers of the Fire Nation to be treated fairly and with any humanity, and saw harming them for daring to OBEY ORDERS as an absolute betrayal, was willing to kill one of these guys for the crime of... following the Fire Lord's orders - which Zuko had also been doing mere WEEKS before.

Don't get me wrong, I can understand Katara being out for blood and not giving a shit about "well, if he didn't obey, he'd be traitor" when what he did traumatized her for life and made her grow up without her mom, but Zuko just seemed a bit hypocritical, and like he was betraying his beliefs there. It just doesn't make sense in my head that he wouldn't be thinking "What that guy did was fucked up, but I nearly got all of my current allies killed just a month ago because they were still enemies and it'd make sure my dad would not disfigure/banish me again or even kill me, it'd not be right of me to act like I can judge this guy"

But this one doesn't bother me as much since the whole point of that episode was for Zuko to unlearn all the awful "lessons" his father taught him by fully normalizing violence to him - and considering the finale showed us he was feeling sorry for Azula (hell, he was already giving off Concerned Big Brother vibes on the opening scene of TSR)  and was willing to spare even Ozai, I think it's safe to say he will never make that kind of mistake again (the comics are not canon, I don't care what anyone says).

So yeah, it's a deeply flawed, but entertaining episode that MOSTLY works - but it's NOT the "zutara" episode, not just because there's no romance there, but also because, if anything, 99% of it just shows how these two have the potential to bring out the absolute worst in each other, and that, at least until he genuinely started bonding with her during their mission) Zuko had no problem with playing the victim whenever Katara dared to be mad at him for doing horrible things that hurt her, the people she cared about, and innocents in general.

Thank God they grew as people AND have other friends that can pull them out of destructive spirals.

[normal-thoughts-official]

You are getting me intrigued about Bladeweave, and i want to know your thoughts on:

A) Do they get a pet together? (The correct answer is yes)

B) Do you imagine them like, in a specific Bladeweave universe, or like canon-ish one, but like after the Hell Trip?

C) Do you think Tara and Wyll team up to make sure Gale doesn't forget to take care of himself and then Tara teams up with Gale to do the same to Wyll?

D) What do you think Wyll's father thinks of Gale?

Also feels weirdly nostalgic to be on your asks

omg hiiiii beloved. first of all finish the damn game 🔫 second of all damn i missed your asks 💕

in order:

A) they get a frankly ridiculous amount of pets but neither of them will admit it because they're the "they're not my pets, i just feed them" kind of mfs. i mean, that's canon on gale's end but we all know wyll is just as bad if not worse with the whole "hm actually animals are fully fledged individuals who belong to no one but themselves and only a tyrant would wish to conquer them and reduce them to something to be owned and,"- bullshit.

(also, honestly? after being called a pet and a pup by mizora for so long, the last thing he wants is to be reminded of her. and considering how in wyll origins he says his biggest fear is to become the devil he was made to look as, i think it'd be highly triggering for him to say anything at all that sounded like it could've come from her mouth, even in a completely different context. so, no, he'll never have "pets", he'll have loyal animal friends whom he feeds and takes care of and who live with him and always come back to him but they're not pets how dare you)

gale is more of a cat/tressym person, and of course tara is gale's friend first and foremost and wyll and her mostly bond over their love for gale. wyll however has no discrimination when it comes to species and i mean none. he'll show up at the tower or wherever else they live all like "hey gale so hear me out" and it's just as likely that he'll have a cat, a dog, a pigeon, a horse, or a crocodile in tow. gale just sighs and goes magic up whatever sort of specialized environment their new tennant will need because he knew what he was getting into when he married Literal Disney Princess, got-speak-with-animals-as-a-cantrip-out-of-a-devil-deal Wyll Ravengard. those are mostly wyll's friends (not pets, the dekarios-ravengard household is completely pet free, ignore the first 10 levels of the tower) but they also get along well with gale too. he makes them tea when they to to their area upstairs for a chat or whatever

B) usually the canon universe, yes. i mean it's fully possible to have a canon run without ever even meeting karlach so it's not like i'd need a fully fledged AU if I didn't wanna include the going to hell part (plus other ending possibilities im not spoiling you about). but also i feel like gale is the kind of stupidly self sacrificial mf who would go to hell with wyll and karlach if that's what it takes, both to be with his love and because karlach does deserve to live and be safe. and he knows that he can help try to look into arcane solutions for her heart. and if anyone understands having a ticking time bomb in their chest and needing support to grow back hope that you'll be able to live without it being a risk, and deserve to, it's him. wyll's saved him from his own time bomb; he would never deny karlach the same sort of redemption, especially when she got in that situation through no fault of her own

so, yes, i can imagine him joining them, even if not 24/7, and trying to help with her heart before they come back. and then we can have bladeweave and karlachzel (? what's their ship name called man) or Fucking Whatever lol. i mean part of the appeal of wyllach to me is that i feel like it makes 0 difference whether it's platonic or romantic, so i can see a platonic helping each other in hell before we can go back to our respective baes sort of situation

C) duh. tara and wyll have a whole routine they've executed to perfection for when gale is having a bad depression day, or a bad back/joint pain day, or an orb flare-up day, or whichever other flavor of disabling situation gale faces (semi-)regularly. tara is both relieved to have someone else to take care of him (both so she gets room to take care of herself as well and just from knowing that no matter what, someone else has gale's back) and pleased to see that, at least as far as depression days go, gale has been having those less and less. not because true love cures all or whatever but because now gale has a significant support network with all the tadfools, plus with the orb stabilized he doesn't have to fear going out, seeing his family, and making friends anymore. nothing is perfect or cured but slowly and steadily he's been building the kind of support net that allows him to breathe and keep himself alive more easily, you know

as for wyll's own disability days, tara is kind of slow to trust and even slower to show said trust. naturally she would always be there to support them both when wyll needed, if anything because it mattered to gale. but it was mostly supporting gale while he supported wyll at the beginning, because she was still wary of anyone who could potentially break her wizard's heart and make him even more fragile

also, he kind of waltzed into her house and then started bringing dogs. yuck.

but wyll is nothing if not explicitly and selflessly loving of gale and completely polite and respectful of tara's boundaries, which means he earns her love faster than any other humanoid ever has. so at first she was kind of tsundere about it - trying to hide her concern when wyll was having PTSD episodes by being kind of focused on gale, being a bit snarky (although never in a mean way), that kind of thing. over time though she fully gave up on pretending and became very involved in helping him. nothing like having a tressym purr to help pull you out of a flashback, or having someone to pet during a depression day, etc.

she is also one of the few people who always keeps in mind that wyll is not, in fact, fully sighted. whenever they go somewhere new or something changes in the layout of the tower she always helps him figure out clues to make up for his lack of depth perception while he's getting used to the state of things. gale also has a tendency to clutter and leave his stuff everywhere when he's particularly invested in a subject so she always makes sure to point out to wyll if there's anything in his path. especially when they're in waterdeep, she always takes the lead when they're walking through crowds, helping make the way so wyll won't bump into anybody by accident. with gale she's more of a supportive friend/housemate but with wyll she goes full on service animal without him ever asking. neither of them ever say anything about it but when she starts doing it wyll knows that he is, officially, part of the family. and most of all, loved

(and they take care of her too, of course. with food and pets and help when she's in pain or sad too. gale is aware that he put quite a heavy load on her when she was literally the only thing keeping him alive after the orb, and wyll is endlessly thankful to her for making sure he was cared for during that time. so they make sure she has all the resting and support she needs, and she is, quite frankly, the most spoiled tressym in the sword coast. wyll also went to ridiculous lengths to make sure everything in their tower was accessible for a non-opposable-thumbs-haver, especially the wizardy stuff because tara is, as gale said, a fine wizard on her own right)

also, sometimes she kneads the bases of wyll's horns when they hurt or feel particularly heavy, physically or emotionally, and it's really cute

D) difficult one. i kinda struggle to imagine ulder having a good relationship with any of wyll's partners, considering he... like... didn't even have a healthy relationship with wyll lol. so he'd probably be distant and kind of strained, but as far as partner choices go, i feel like gale is some of the best he could be hoping for among the tadfools. he is smart and can be charming, and he thrives with older people tbh. ulder wouldn't be a fan of the fact that he's the wizard-living-in-a-tower stereotype and has never really gotten his hands in the mud, so to speak, but gale is respectful, polite, interesting to talk to, intelligent, compassionate, and honorable and ethical to boot, which i think ulder would see as more important. also, he obviously loves wyll, and there's not much more ulder can ask of a partner, especially after he himself failed to provide wyll the love he needed for so long

so i believe he'd like him, although they'd never really be close. the real question though is what gale would think of ulder, because while i think he would be nothing if not polite to him, especially since he knows how much he means to wyll, i also think gale would be playing 5d chess to subtly insult his parenting skills at every opportunity. he is way too nice to be explicit about it but the way he keeps going for the softest, most subtle and hidden of stings, can be more devastating than calling him a bitch. ulder will suddenly realize that two weeks ago gale implied that he was a dumbass, and given that he only noticed that afterwards, he feels like he was probably right. it keeps him up at night sometimes, trying to figure out if gale lightly insulted him or was genuinely just commenting on the weather. the fact that it drives him mad only makes it all the more satisfying to gale. wyll has no clue this is happening at all

this got long and far too detailed but I won't apologize cuz what did you expect really. anyway i love they

[obsidianraven]

Cloud and Tifa's dependency and need for eachother is not unhealthy.

It's something I see brought up a little bit. Mainly in regards to Tifa being codependent in a pro-cloti FF7 view.

Before continuing I've done a small bit of research into the definition of the term "Codependency" and how it defines relationships. In short. It means when one person is selfless and giving. Putting all their energy into a relationship, while the recieving party just happily accepts it and doesn't give back.

So if my reading on Codependency is accurate. How is this true for Cloud and Tifa?

The entire foundation for their relationship is built on their promise shared on the water tower. The one where Cloud promised to be Tifa's hero and save her whenever she needs. Taking events from the game, Cloud definitely lived up to the promise. One scene in particular is the one in the Nibelheim Reactor. When he came to her rescue after she took a hit from Sephiroth. And it's not just that as well, but there's plenty of other moments where Cloud came to her rescue:

Trying to help her when she ventured up to Mt Nibel.

Sacrificing his pride and dressing up as a girl for Tifa.

Saving her from falling after Sephiroth's final battle.

Various, small moments where he protects her throughout the Remake and OG.

And it's not just Cloud doing the saving, but also Tifa when she:

Saved him from atop Shinra building.

Took care of him while he was in a comatose state.

Repaired his mind within the Lifestream.

Helped him out during various combat sequences or story related mental breakdown moments.

Tifa and Cloud have a mutual foundation in which they will both do their best to be there for one another. And it doesn't always work. Such as when Cloud tried to protect his family by leaving them in Advent Children. His insecurities and guilt for past failures drove him away from his family. And what happened? Things got worse.

But... Just because there's failures doesn't mean that there isn't reciprocation. We all know that Cloud doesn't view Tifa as a person that does everything for him. He genuinely loves her. And that proof comes in the form of their promise. One in which he's done his best to hold, but not always succeeded in.

It describes a healthy relationship. You need to make mistakes to grow and mature as a person. So long as you learn from them and actively try to make things work. This mostly applies with Cloud. He's always trying to be someone worthy of Tifa. It's his entire motivation for leaving Nibelheim.

So for anyone out there thinking that CT is a codependent relationship, rest assured. It isn't. Tifa's dependency and need for Cloud is 100% reciprocated and given back.

[sucantslay]

Natsume Sakasaki -Analysis

(from Reminiscences Selection ELEMENT)

and more?

DISCLAIMER + WARNING!!!

I said it before, but I'll have to say it again that this is my PERSONAL ANALYSIS. If anything feels out of place, pls, feel free to have your own thoughts on this. ( Maybe your p.o.v is different from mine )

My English is bad...sorry, but I'll continue to improve it!

I'm not good with analysis so if anything makes you confused, pls do ask. I would love to help you with any problem(that I'm capable of)

Ok~ Let's go!

For those who think the war didn't affect on Natsume much since he looked un-scratch. Then, the answer is a no and yes.

I'm not going to talk about it like, fine by physic and hurt by mental because ( except Eichi ) none character at the end of the war got any physical problem on them. Mostly came from mental then it affects their physical state like Rei or Shu.

Kanata? No, he just lost his beliefs and changed for the better good ( Chiaki saved him in time )

Rei? Got sent away and later on turned into a daunting old man. In his case, he had a bad relationship with Ritsu and his mental problem affected on him made him act and do things like a granny.

Shu, got defeated and had a mental problem after that ( He's getting better later on )

Wataru is...kinda ok actually. Since he was able to figure out Eichi's plan so it didn't do much on him.

Natsume was being protected by the 2yr members of 5 Eccentic so of course, no damage was taken either.

But the thing is, Natsume wasn't able to join the real fight, most of the time, he had to stay back and watch as all his Nii-san fell apart. One by one.

Like, when all your friends got hurt but you can't do anything but stand aside and witness their fall down.

That is why he was so angry. He feels left out.

And he blames it on himself, that he's not as good as them, and that's why he never got a chance to stand up and fight with them.

Now, let's go back in time *click click the turnback button*

He does look a bit uncomfortable when he meets Tsumugi, but most of that is after he knows that Tsumugi knew he's past.

It's like: "Oh...no no, I hate that time and I hate you for being the witness of that old me. Too bad I can't make that memory disappear out of your head so I'm just kinda uncomfortable with you for remembering that stuff."

He starts to get a little un-friendly but then later on, it gets worse, when he learns that Tsumugi is a member of Fine and watches Eichi as his friend.

He goes soft when being with the 5 Eccentric for sure.

But it is still nothing compared to the mad and hatter-like after the war ended. When he ignores Tsumugi and anyone he doesn't care or give a sh^t about. ( He does care about Tsumugi. Sometimes he just acts a little unsettled with anyone he doesn't care/know about. It's not a completely don't care but...ya know what I mean )

( From Chapter 3/ In the rose garden )

So, what made him become like this? It was the war.

It is a yes when it comes to the war's effect on him. It's not as heavy as Shu or Rei or a total change in look and understanding like Kanata but it did have some effect on him.

Hence, it doesn't mean that he's fine. He's better than most but not fine.

How you do think that THAT big of an event can't be able to do something to him. It does!

And to whoever writes his character, I wish your pillow cold on both sides! Because he is such an interesting character to look into.

It's worth pointing out that the feeling of Natsume being an outsider isn't just an experience for him but also for the reader, the viewer who watches the anime and Element 3D version.

Consider the fact that in each episode, an Eccentric was being defeated or was mentioned about their fall.

There was nothing about Natsume but locking himself in a room and keep on writing the script for a happy ending that he was yearning for.

( this is a part of the Black Bird story/ the moment when the script got burned )

Kanata was defeated, then came Shu.

At the time Natsume was writing the script, it was already the end of it all. The situation can no longer be saved.

The Eccentric Party Night? It was all Natsume's dream.

The time when he gets to be with all his beloved Nii-san is in Episode 2. Then later on in Episode 5 when the last Eccentric are being executed.

It was the beginning and the end.

And I don't think if Natsume's plan got accepted by Wataru mean they'll win either. Yes, it is bad for the school as Wataru and Eichi mentioned in Episode 6, but I'm scared for the others who have already been defeated, can they able to gather strength after all the brutal executes their been through.

Simultaneously, the students still hate them. Their anti-fan exists.

They'll have to survive another war even if Eichi's already been taken down.

So in conclusion, if we put the Eccentric Party Night scene out of the picture, then Natsume does seem to be left out.

That why he was so mad, that why he wanted revenge. Even if none of his Nii-san want to, he wants it. Not just for them but also for himself.

He wants a chance to stand up with his own two feet, defeat the bad guy, and show all his beloved brothers that he has finally grown up.

Last but not least! He feels betrayed when Wataru joins Fine. But I think he did understand Wataru's decision. That why he still call Wataru his Nii-san, that why he just a little crappy but not a totally hated form of treatment for Wataru.

You can say he has a soft spot for Wataru, but he didn't beg nor have any rejection over it, he just went: "Why did my beloved Nii-san have to stay in the same unit as that demon...now it is even harder to take him down...what a headache."

He knows Wataru well, and lets Wataru do as he likes. And I think that was a very grown-up of him. After all that begging for the plan to be accepted by Wataru. After all that panic and suffering for his older senior to win it even if there was already no redo.

The Natsume now is calmer than before. Of course, he still has a lot to learn and more room for development, but yes, he may have some improve.

That all~ That alL~ ThaNk yOU for REAding~ XoxO!

Also made one for Tsumugi in the past if you want to read another analysis: https://www.tumblr.com/sucantslay/745663127662837760/aoba-tsumugi-analysis-from-the-animation

[sweetmariihs2]

🪄Cedric The Sorcerer headcanons🔮💫

*it's a big post and the headcanons are pretty diverse*

I lost half of this post because Tumblr didn't save it, then I rewrote it and even continued to write a little more, but again Tumblr deleted everything and returned to the first version of the post. I spent from midnight until 5:40 am writing this and I simply lost the text. I rewrote everything again :) I literally cried out of frustration, the post was almost done

I found some parts in my cell phone "área the transferência" (that thing when you copy a text and the last things you copied remain there), I tried to organize it and rewrite everything that I lost, but I still feel like there's something missing.

Edit: I fixed some grammar errors. I know there's more, but I couldn't find it. English is not my main language!!

Cedric's unhealthy habits (before Sofia entering the castle and after) and how he deals with his insomnia

I don't know if this counts as headcanon since it's practically canon, but I believe that Cedric is not very healthy, he has a very unbalanced sleep schedule, he doesn't eat well and he doesn't exercise. The things he does most all day are preparing spells and potions, and reading.

I think a lot about what pre-Sofia Cedric was like. I think his habits were even worse, and he was even more bitter and antisocial. He had a terrible posture and was always tired and moody, had dark circles due to lack of sleep. I also believe that there moments quite constantly where his vision would go dark and he would suddenly become weak. He always seemed sick and pale, quiet, and when he interacted he made mistakes in front of everyone and everyone saw him as an idiot, weird-looking guy. Sofia brought him some motivation (getting the amulet of Avalor) and that's why he seemed more active and minimally healthier after she arrived. Maybe before he was just very tired and was hopeless of gaining the recognition of the people in the castle, but after finding a chance in the amulet, he became more motivated and active.

He stays up all night reading and making potions (even Wormwood sleeps more than him), only to leave his tower in the morning to get breakfast trying to act invisible, so that no one sees his presence there, and so they don't ask him to do anything he doesn't want to do.

For context: I believe that breakfasts at the castle are like hotel breakfasts, a room full of food where everyone can take what they want and leave without having to pay anything at all. This goes for all meals and the royal family has their own dining room, because of course, they are the royal family.

I imagine both pre-sofia and during-sofia Cedric staying up all night reading and passing his time, only to go get his breakfast early in the morning (he hasn't eaten since about 10 hours ago, and his last snack was a jam sandwich) and having to face everyone in the castle together in the same hall walking everywhere, trying to act as unremarkable as possible, to prevent anyone from bothering him (it's very easy to notice him, he's the only one who wears a black robe and walks like that. no one just cares enough to notice him there). And then Baileywick appears full of information and orders sent directly by the king, while Cedric rolls his eyes and replies exhausted that he will do it (his attempt to hide failed).

I can imagine him (mostly pre-Sofia Cedric) going to the kitchen at night to get some snacks, and he knows he won't go to breakfast in the morning because something humiliating happened to him at his last meal and he refuses to face all those people publicly again.

Pre-Sofia Cedric constantly forgot to eat because of his work and when he did eat, it was never healthy food. He was hungry and starting to feel weird because his last meal was 10 hours ago? He's gonna get just a piece of apple pie.

Pre-Sofia Cedric didn't had the energy to do his own tasks, let alone useless favors for James and Amber or entertain the king's parties. Today he can do this easily, as he is a little healthier (and more motivated) but before it was a sacrifice. What always kept him busy were the tasks he set out to do himself, such as reading magic books he hadn't yet specialized in, making potions he hadn't yet made to add them to his collection (if he ever needs them). As I said, today he does that easily, because his health is a lot better, and he can balance it with his other tasks and practicing his hobbies or taking care of himself, even spending time with Sofia.

Pre-Sofia Cedric definitely deals with insomnia (till this day) and the vast majority of the time he doesn't sleep through the night, to the extent that many in the castle are already aware that Cedric is a night owl and is always awake, no matter how late it is. This is why he sometimes takes naps in the afternoon, but this only happens when he is so exhausted that his eyes can barely stay open, sleeping for 1h30 only to stay awake for another 22h without breaks. Now that his habits are a little less unhealthy than before (they're still bad) he sleeps maybe 3-4 hours per night. But he still need to take naps during the day and yes some nights he doesn't sleep at all, it's just not as often as before.

I think that during the nights when he can't sleep he stares at the moon from his window, or goes out of his tower to take a walk in the garden, or even in the castle. There's something so comforting in staying up late. During the day there's people everywhere, conversations happening, events where someone needs his help. During the night everything is silent and he can have his own moment, there's no people to disapprove him or order him to do something he doesn't want to do. Cedric is definitely a night person.

There's a book that I like that I won't give too many details about, but there's a character who simply doesn't sleep at night and the entire staff from the establishment is used to it. She is a patient in a mental hospital, all the patients are sleeping, and she just stays in the living room, because everyone has already accepted that she doesn't sleep, that's a fact. She spends her time reading, smoking, painting her nails, sometimes talking to the nurses. I imagine the dynamic is similar, but the difference is that Cedric is a little more antisocial. Everyone knows that he doesn't sleep and they couldn't care less about it.

(Cedric fanfiction dating a maid he met during the nights he was walking through the castle because he couldn't sleep???? Hell yes. Late night talks in that giant castle, everything is silent besides the echo of their voices in the halls and their footsteps, knowing that unlike the day, the night is very calm and they can rest in peace, without worrying about obligations. Talking in whispers 👀 silent kisses omg)

I can totally imagine him encountering Sofia at late night just walking in the castle, and he's just like "Sofia? Why are you awake?" Because he's usually the only person who stays up that late (except for some guards and maids). And then she tells him she can't sleep so that's why she's not in her room. They spend some time talking to eachother about how everything is being so overwhelming recently.

He doesn't know how to deal with his new life, now that everyone seems to praise him as a good sorcerer and that he saved Sofia's life. He loves the fact that he's finally being recognized, but it's just something he's not used to. Sometimes when people are telling him about how amazing his spells are, or the King tells someone about how good is his royal sorcerer, or his new fame on the kingdom. He was treated badly so many times that everything seems so unreal. It makes him wonder if he really deserves everything that is happening, or if people are really telling the truth. (And I say this based in my own experience, that feeling is so real)

What if some citizen girls are screaming his name in royal parades or when he goes to the village? He has a fanclub now???? People want to date HIM??? And he just smiles and waves because he just doesn't know how to react to all of this, and the girls starts to scream out of happiness or some of them pass out and he goes "Oh no... my bad.. i'm sorry :(". Even younger girls that are really too young for him, that's certanly something he wasn't expecting to happen. Baileywick makes fun of him saying that he's such a heartbraker now, Cedric rolls his eyes.

Hey that looks like a good one shot prompt (after his redemption arc), a witch who admires him a lot because of what she heard about him finally gets the chance to live in the castle (because of other circunstances), and now she has the chance to meet Cedric. And Cedric is surprised by how she treats him like he was some kind of hero, because only he knows the humiliations he went through.

Pre-Sofia Cedric usually watched the balls from the window of his tower instead of participating with them. He didn't felt welcomed, and even if he was indeed there, people would just stare at him like he's some kind of ghost or a disgrace and his night would be terrible. He was invited, obviously, all the castle's employees are, but he would never fit in there. He felt sad, excluded at some point, alone- but all his sadness turned into bitterness as he watched all those royals, riches and other employees of the castle having fun and partying, like he was supposed to do. Cedric would only make a fool out of himself if he ever thought about stepping there, and he didn't needed to! He didn't wanted to go anyways! Or at least that's what he told himself...

Cedric's love life (+how he views love and his past experiences)

I actually made a headcanons post about who his first love may be: Queen Lorelei. That's not a really popular headcanon but I'm not the first person to talk about it, and once you read about the subject you'll see that it's actually a pretty nice headcanon, so give it a try.

Cedric doesn't believe in "true love", "love at first sight", "true love kiss" (until it's his turn to experience that). Well he does, because there's magic about it, there are many stories of princesses that just had their happy ending because of a true love kiss and everything, there are many spells and curses where love is involved. But he thinks romantic people are so naive, they live for love like there's nothing else in their lives that it's better to do. He has work to be done, you know? People say "mimimi true love" and he just slightly rolls his eyes and huffs (when deep inside he wish he was one of these people. Oh to have someone to love). But when he's in love he's lovesick and can't think about anything else just like those he found irritating. Such hypocrite.

But when he suffers a love frustration (like that one with Sasha) he realizes again that love is irritating and his previous thoughts return. But deep inside he knows that they're not true, he's just bitter because he's single.

HE'S BISEXUAL !!1!1!1!!1!111!1!1!!!!1!!!!1!1

But he doesn't know that this actually has a name so it's more like, he just experiences his feelings and just know that they're feelings, that's all

I believe that during most of his life he only had girl crushes, and it didn't happened that often because he wasn't used to be really focused on anyone. These girls crushes happened when he was a kid to when he was a teenager. But during his young-adult years he started to notice that sometimes he found some masculine traits atractive. At first he was really confused by that, because he thought he liked only woman, but apparently no. Nowadays he already understands how he feels and just treats it normally.

He doesn't like to talk about his love life (he gets nervous sharing such intimate information about himself with people)(and he is single which makes the situation even worse, being in his 30s without someone) and then everyone assumes that he only likes women, and that he's naturally a bachelor because it is what it is. No one is interested in a weird old guy like him. (I am)

Imagine a group of maids talking to eachother in the kitchen while doing their tasks and mentioning "what about that royal sorcerer? he's always lonely. I don't think he has a lover or something, or else we would know" and the other one mentions "he's too scary to get along with anyone. not exactly scary, but he's weird, very slender, always crawling around. I highly doubt any lady would want to have anything to do with him."

(Bonus points if someone put a similar scene in that Cedric x maid character fic, and our protagonist is just silently infiltrated among them knowing that she was kissing him last night, and she responds to them "don't be so hard on him, he's not that bad. he is actually very polite." And the rest of the maids just react like "hmmmm very polite sure girl what else do you have to tell us? Are you hiding something? Do you know something that we don't?")

Cedric doesn't talk much about his romantic interests, implying to everyone else that he doesn't care (which is true), but it's also because he gets nervous about sharing this information. That's why the few people who silently wonder about it just assume that he just likes woman, because he never tells anyone about being interested neither in woman neither in man. And he also avoids talking about it because needs to admit out loud that he is a 3_ year old man and that he's single, and he doesn't want to put himself through this humiliation. The best thing to do is worry about his spells, he's too busy to talk or to think about that. (Deep inside wishing he had someone)

He's like that single uncle for Sofia. You know, a variation from the "cats aunt" and instead he's the "spells uncle". Absolutely no bitches, but his shelf is full of potions and books. Single uncle Cedric!!!!!!!!! (He hates it)

I think he had many crushes in his life but never really had the oportunity to date someone, or this person wasn't interested, or he was too dedicated in his studies. Imagine a younger him in his teenage days (or even in his childhood) really liking someone but too embarassed to say anything. Or when he goes to the person he tries to start a conversation but then his mentor just goes like "no we don't have time for this, you need to train now" and pulls him to practice his spells again. He never had the chance to date anyone, and even if he said something to the person, this person probably would make fun of him because of his reputation in the school.

That makes me wonder if he ever had any past lovers or if he didn't even had the oportunity because everyone saw him as a loser. Teenage Cedric occupies my mind longer than I'd like to admit

I think that the idea of him having past lovers is nice, but at the same time it doesn't fit very well for some reason? Imagine him talking to Sofia "Oh... ___.... she was my first love... I wonder how her life is going today" after she asked "Mr Cedric have you ever loved someone?"

Actually I think he would say first "Sofia, what kind of question is that? Um.. I don't know, I mean... there was a person, but it was a long time ago... her name was ___...."

I never told you guys but I write fanfiction too (top 10 useless facts) and I never wrote for Cedric

I have a big question for you rn: do you guys think he's a virgin? 👀 I think it makes sense actually

His way of flirting is compliments and acts of service. He would never, in the first option at least, directly show interest with phrases like "are you single?", "you're really cute." He would be extremely gentlemanly, he would offer the way for his romantic interest to pass, he would open doors, pull out chairs, offer his arm for his "lover" to hold. Everything would be very subtle, as he wouldn't hit on their romantic interest, but instead would be extremely polite, interested in their company, things that would make them say "Oh, thank you so much, you're such a gentleman" and he would just blush and smile. And he would absolutely say "We are courting", rather than any other word. He would ask their permission to start treating it like this, something like "Can I court you from now on? I understand if you don't want to."

It's easy to make him flustered since he has no romantic experience. Even a simple question about his love life can make him nervous. And if it's a crush who's responding to his light flirtations he becomes very giggly. Even a small crush can have him in their hands.

He certainly has a thing for confident woman (they can make him stutter and feel nervous pretty easily). You know those woman who have that strong feminine energy? His legs get all wobbly.

But he likes delicate girls too. He just needs to assume a different role in the supposed relationship they would have, and his treatment would be more responsible and more chivalrous.

In my opinion, his tastes are the exact opposites. He likes feminine woman, the most confident and mature ones (like Sascha) and the most delicate and sweet ones. But for men he likes very masculine men, who are more than himself, like strong guys, or even, in not so extreme cases, just someone who's similar to him but who has a more confident and mature attitude, that knows what he's doing. Because Cedric constantly feels like he doesn't know, that he's very insecure, so when he sees someone attractive and confident, he gets all nervous and giggly, and offers his services.

I think he would like chancellor Esteban from Elena Of Avalor tbh. Guys like him

Oh my god

Cedric's academic life and his young years

What reputation you may ask? I think he always was like this, being nervous and making mistakes. During that episode where him and Sofia go to Hexley Hall, nobody seems surprised by his failures. Not even in "The Day Of The Sorcerers" episode. Everyone is too familiarized with him being a failure and I think he was bullied in school because of that (most specifically when he was a teenager)

Was he always shy and insecure in front of everyone, or he was dedicated to his studies and when people said "hey let's do something together?" He responded with "I can't, I need to study" and this person just said "omg you're always studying, you have no life don't you?"

"I need to study so I can get better and better everyday", just like he said in his song during the episode "Substitute Cedric"

He can't concentrate if there's too much noise. Imagine him doing a test and he just can't read the paper because there's someone behind him banging their wand on the table and this makes him fail the test. "Ok class, we're going to have a practice test this time, Cedric please turn this feather into glass" and when he was about to make it someone made a bad comment about expecting him not being able to do the spell and because of that he turns the feather into mud, and everybody laughs. People in the school know him as a failure too because this kind of thing always happened.

I found this on pinterest:

That's why if one day he confess his feelings for someone at school this person would laugh at him, and maybe that's why he never did. Or he did and that exact thing happened, so he never did it again.

He was a bookworm. Loved to sneak out of the dorm at night to read books in the library, whether they were magic books to complement his studies, or just story books. He has spent whole nights and evenings there. He does this till this day, like I said before.

Cedric's teenage years in Hexley Hall with the rest of the sorcerers (Greylock, Grimtrix,+) just makes me think about Dead Poets Society. Same vibes 🫶

Let's pretend that Hexley Hall is an institute for a moment. Maybe they also sneak out in the middle of the night to do meetings or studying and walking through the dark halls of the school in the middle of the night all alone. Idk going to the library. Maybe the school staff was really strict with studies during the day and during the night they were strict with bedtime. Maybe some popular students such as Grimtrix and other ppl (also girls) spread the secret news during the whole day saying that there would be a party at night in some specific place on the school grounds where everyone (or just some selected people) should secretly escape from the dormitories. Maybe Greylock leaned on Cedric's shoulders asking if he was going to the party and Cedric complained saying he had more important things to do like studying and sleeping, but when Cedric was alone in the dormitory at night and realized he was lonely he decided to give it a chance. There is something interesting about stories of students at institutes sneaking out of their dormitories at night to escape the strictness of school and have some fun. It would be something interesting to see.

Random Cedric Headcanons

He likes wine, but he doesn't drink it too often. I have a post about his relationship with alcohol here.

I think he doesn't like to be drunk. He doesn't like to think that he can do something that embarrasses him or that he's out of his mind, he prefers to have everything under control. It doesn't happen very often either.

He hate the smell of smoke and cigarettes. He finds cigarrettes disgusting.

He likes tea.

His favorite fruits are berries and he likes them better in sweets.

He doesn't know how to cook.

Cedric has a sweet tooth, he loves chocolate, cake, everything that's sweet.

Cedric enjoys gardening. He just doesn't do it because of his busy schedule, but he has a good knowledge of plants so that he can make his potions, and he goes out with Wormwood to get ingredients to make them. This happens in one episode, actually. Wormwood also needs to know about plants so that he can help him find the ones he want. Maybe he knows because of all the years he's been by Cedric's side.

I believe Cedric got Wormwood while studying at Hexley Hall. I'm not sure how their bond happened, but I believe they've been together since Cedric was around 11-14 years old. Wormwood has been alive all these years because he is a raven especially for wizards/mages/sorcerers, or a spell was placed on him when Cedric was young so that he would stay by Cedric's side while he was still alive. But I think that makes an exception for unnatural causes like accidents for example, he can still die. I believe that this "conditional immortality" spell must have been done by one of Cedric's mentors or superiors at Hexley Hall, and I believe that all of the sorcerers' animals that pass through there need to go through the same spell. I also believe that it may be mandatory for each student to have their own animal, a little similar to the owl system in HP.

This would explain all those animals on the Hexley Hall episode, and why they are making a meeting after "long years of not seeing eachother". How would they be alive since Cedric's school years?They all speak in a tone that implies they have been with their owners since their school days, and the fact that each one belongs to a sorcerer makes me believe that it is obligatory to have an animal. Maybe they're important for specific spells? Studies? Assistants?

He wouldn't feel remorse for killing someone evil. If that person was absolutely disgusting and was a threat to his loved ones, he's not going to spend his whole life blaming himself for having killed someone. Even though he never really intended to kill and tried to resolve things as peacefully as possible, and that this person gave him no choice. He would never kill someone as a first option, though. He prefers to avoid doing it so.

He can takes things personally pretty easily, and because he's used to people saying harsh things to him, even the smallest comment can make him offended, because he's always expecting people to view him badly.

I believe the royal sorcerer is swapped at the same time the king is swapped as well. When the throne is passed to the next generation, the sorcerer also needs to be replaced by the next one. When Cedric's exchange came he was in his 20s, and Goodwyn was so worried because his son was a disaster. He panicked because Cedric would only put his family through an embarrassment with the royal family and the next king (Roland). Goodwyn kept citing to Cedric all the rules he had to know, telling his son to be careful, avoid doing as many spells as possible, and generally panicking. Cedric would just roll his eyes and respond "I know", "okay, dad", "I know". Winifred however brushed aside his bangs and kissed his forehead, saying "you'll make a great royal sorcerer, Ceddykins, I believe in you", which made him more confident and happy.

The sorcerer exchange ceremony takes place after the king's coronation. He also had to wear a ceremonial outfit, which involved a cape and a wizard hat.

He embarrassed himself in front of everyone because it was his first public appearance and it made him very nervous, so he took on the role of royal sorcerer with everyone in the castle and village already seeing him as an idiot. Perhaps during the ceremony it was necessary for him to cast a spell, maybe to follow some specific tradition or just to demonstrate his skills to the people, and Goodwyn covered his eyes and turned away, saying "for Merlin's sake, I don't even want to see this" while Winifred stroked his arm and tried to convince him to watch Cedric's spell. Cedric noticed this and that made his confidence get even worse. Goodwyn has spent every week since the sorcerer switch was announced in pure terror and anxiety, always expecting the worst at every moment.

Roland never saw Cedric as a very powerful sorcerer, so he never believed in his potential since the beginning, and that didn't change after Cedric became the royal sorcerer.

Cedric's hair is stained because of the spell that damaged Cordelia's hair. "Ah but that's obvious", yes, I know, but I believe this happened specifically because he accidentally spilled a few drops of the potion on himself. I actually have a post where I talk about this in more detail.

He absolutely never swears. But instead he says funny words, like the classic "Merlin's mushrooms" or this long and wonderful list I found on the internet.

He was born premature and was so small, everyone thought he wouldn't survive, but here he is now

I believe that they have "bath houses" in the castle for the employees (not the royal family, each one of them has their own bathroom) but Cedric is not a big fan of being naked in front of everyone, mostly because he's not comfortable with the people in the castle, in general. So he has his own "bathtub" (it looks like a wooden barrel but bigger and shorter) and he takes his bath alone in his tower. Well, him and Wormwood. Wormwood is absolutely disgusted by the sight but he's used to it since they grew up together. It's like "okay" for him to be in Cedric's side when he's inside the bathtub, but when he gets out, Wormwood avoids interacting or looking at him because "blerrggrg" (it's funny)

Goodwyn's parents were always treating him as the prodigy he was, so when Cordelia was born she also happened to be a prodigy and he treats her as such. But Cedric wasn't, he was a slow learner (or, using better words, a normal person) and Goodwyn didn't understand how to deal with children like that. He always demanded more from Cedric than he could do, as his sister learned quickly and was generally more praised by the family.

Cedric told Sofia EVERYTHING he did to her after his redemption. They had a long conversation, he said everything, about the sea monster being him, about the sleep spell, trying to take her amulet, literally everything. He cried in the process but he said that he wanted to tell her anyway, because he was truly sorry. Sofia felt sad and betrayed during the whole conversation but Cedric assured her that he was telling her because he didn't want to keep secrets and to prove that he was truly sorry. He promised that she was his best friend and that he could never do anything like that to her again. She understood him, respected him, and said everything was fine, but she would need a moment to digest. After that, Cedric continued to treat her well and prove himself so that there would be no more doubts.

Sometimes, in some situations when there is a bad person, Cedric gets angry with that person and plans revenge, or makes a plan against the person, to teach them a lesson. Sofia interrupts him, calling his name and saying that they already had a conversation about this, and he promised he would stop. Cedric grumbles and says it won't be anything too cruel.

He has medium size nails, squared oval shape because his nails are too detailed in the show and it makes sense. They didn't needed to detail his damn nails but they did, and they are actually a little longer than his finger, you can see that his nail doesn't exactly follow the shape of his finger. THEY PURPOSELY DETAILED HIS NAILS ON THE 3D MODEL I CAN'T (but unfortunately they are nowhere to be seen during "my evil dreams" which makes me kinda sad)

He definitely has gray/white hair mixed in his dark brown hair due to stress, age and unhealthy habits. His bangs were pure white when he got them, but after some time it started to turn gray. Some of his natural gray hair that comes with his age/stress are mixed in the white, so overall the color got a little darker (greyish) as he got older. We love a gray-haired man.

Tall, skinny and has a long nose- has big feet idgaf about beauty standards slay king

Cedric absolutely loves to be praised. At any circunstance, any place, he will give 100% of his attention to someone who's praising him, and he will keep trying to do more impressive stuff so that he can get more praises. Poor guy it's too underappreciated. At this point it's not even a headcanon anymore

Not me accidentaly posting this before I finished

I'm sure I'll want to add more headcanons over time, but when I edit a post after it's been reblogged by someone, that edit doesn't appear on the person's profile, but the previous version does. So I'm going to make a link to the post available on my blog, who knows, maybe the updates will appear on the link! (I've never done this before, I want to prove my theory. If it works, pls tell me).

[cartoonrival]

ok + for goodness' sake sasuke so that the screenshot takes up less space

1)parallels between naruto/sasuke and naruto/kawaki. i think honestly carrying over and actually bringing attention to the love-obsession thing that was going on sort of mostly unaddressed in the original series (in terms of no one called naruto as insane as they frankly shouldve) has the potential to be very interesting, especially because bringing it into the sphere of a father-son relationship rather than a platonic/romantic one is not really something i've seen before, along with the fact that kawaki doesn't actually know naruto much at all, making this very much an idolization of an idea of the person who saved you, someone who can do no wrong and is so without flaw. it was what this dude said:

like kawaki's obsession is weird and emblematic of how he grew up. also, the way that both of them sort of end up treating the other like a thing to be protected or owned or passed around, kawaki trapping him in time prison with zero regards for the fact that no one wants to be in time prison, and naruto's famous "give sasuke back/dont talk about sasuke like you own him in front of me/i'll get sasuke back/ill break your legs if i have to", there is the dismissal of actual personal wants However.

kawaki does this because he thinks that naruto's life is worth more than anything ever, and the reason he thinks this is because he thinks naruto is the most perfect person in the world and the only one who can save the world from evil. in naruto's case, even though he has a habit of possessiveness, sasuke is very much still a person to him, someone he violently and desperately wants to be close to. he doesnt think sasuke is perfect or can do no wrong, he just doesnt really give a fuck what wrong things sasuke does because he loves him too much and wants him too bad to ever hold anything against him. anything sasuke does is understandable and forgivable. naruto wouldnt put sasuke in time prison to protect him because then they couldnt hang out, and he knows sasuke wouldnt want that anyways. while i think naruto's obsession is insane, its more possessive than dehumanizing, which is def the angle kawaki is taking. again, i think this could be interesting if it was expounded upon but i dont think anyone in boruto is enough of a character for this actually do be pulled off in any satisfying way.

2)boruto/kawaki vs naruto/sasuke. i think honestly i just dont really have it in me to even act like kawaki and boruto have a dynamic that even comes close to the bullshit naruto and sasuke have going on, but if i were to attempt to explain why i dont think this is the case than i think at least part of it (beyond the fact taht ever character in boruto is painfully undercooked) is that boruto and kawaki's bond is based almost entirely around both being marked by karma. like they become friends sort of on a more surface level same way boruto is friends with anyone else, but its definitely not the same as naruto and sasuke's inexplicable pull towards one another since they were kids. even though kawaki has like sort of stupid convoluted internal strife going on, boruto doesnt honestly have enough inner issues to even shadow the bizarre knot that is sns. boruto and naruto both didn't want to kill their wayward friends because it's hard to kill someone you care about, i don't think that reads as a strong parallel because its like . what kind of story would it be if boruto was just like Okay lets kill him... now! also if kawaki dies naruto stays trapped im p sure so if he kills kawaki he is also functionally killing his dad

3)naruto and sasuke are both terrible parents but sasuke is leagues leagues leagues worse and he sees boruto has his son more than he will ever see sarada as his daughter. to him, she is his daughter because that is the only way she should have the sharingan. he can't really stand being around her and any interaction he has with her is out of guilt. boruto is his son because boruto is naruto's son

4)why did they bring up that jiraiya might get resurrected and then just drop it or is this me forgetting since i watched boruto 6+ months ago

[mdhwrites]

Do you agree with the idea that Luz is a people pleaser? Or is it just something the fandom made up to make her seem more likable/relateble/interesting with no real basis in canon?

GOD NO! But that's not necessarily a bad thing as the protagonist archtype she's hailing from normally isn't. The problem comes from the fact that she is so ANTI people pleasing that it clashes with her backstory, rare moments in the show and she also just NEVER LEARNS ANYTHING.

This is also a problem for Randy Cunningham: Ninth Grade Ninja. Him and his best friend make a declaration at the start of the year to be popular. They don't care if they're liked or disliked, the goal is for EVERYONE to know their name. This fuels a bunch of teenage shenanigans that are meant to impress people or make them look cool by the definitions they have in their brains rather than what reality is.

Cookie from Ned's Declassified did stuff like this a lot, Danny and Tucker from Danny Phantom are also prime examples of it. It is just a teenage protagonist archtype for them to be trying to live out a fantasy of being special when the reality is that they're just nice nerds who should be happy being who they are. This is Luz. Period.

And there's two sides of this archtype. The first is the FIRST THING WE KNOW ABOUT HER. They will do things to stand out from a crowd because they think it's cool regardless of if it's right. We are literally shown FOUR instances of this back to back from her book report to the montage of her fuck ups. Each time, she is actively looking at what others are doing and going "Nah. Hold my beer and watch this." I mean... She brought fucking SPIDERS to school and looked at best confused as to why everyone ran off screaming and that's not talking about the play she RUINED.

This is then reinforced in Episode 2 when she tells King and Eda to go suck eggs because she is totes a chosen one. She does save them at the end which brings the other half of this archtype when it comes to their fuck ups. When they fuck up, they fix it, commonly so as to not get people killed but also to make sure that either people in general or those closest to them don't HATE THEM. Now, that might sound like a people pleaser... But it's not. It's seeking forgiveness, not permission. I mean in S1 alone you have her explicitly ignoring Willow's wishes in both Understanding Willow and Wing it Like Witches so that she can have her fun before then someone gets hurt or upset and fixing it in someway.

As a note: The moment you realize that SO MUCH of Luz's character is motivated by tropes she likes or be special, a lot of actions she takes take on way worse connotations. A perfect example of this is when she declares in Lost in Language that she'll be friends with Amity come hell or high water... A minute later she's fucking around with Amity's siblings who Amity has shown clear disdain for. Or you can go with Adventure in the Elements where despite her trying to get along with Amity and impress her, she STEALS FROM HER so that she can get the instant gratification of casting magic. And this sort of recontextualization is ALL over the first season especially of Luz just doing bat shit crazy things because it lets her be cool and she never really learns to stop, even PROUDLY stating in Reaching Out that she'll always choose the option that leads to the most chaos. The most adventure, the most tropes. A season and a half in and instead of growing at all, she is still defiantly against reality.

This is also all inherently AGAINST being a people pleaser. A people pleaser wants everyone to LIKE them. Sprig spends half an episode being a people pleaser like this, even if I don't think it's quite who he is. What Luz is after is just to make sure people don't hate her. At best, she doesn't want people to actively dislike her but she mostly cares about if you remember her name. If she left an impression bigger than anyone else.

But I don't blame the fandom for making her a people pleaser. All of what I've said is based on her actions. By her words, she's meant to be someone who has had to hold back who she is. Who has hid from the world so as to be liked by society. Being a people pleaser IS a part of that archtype and that's where we get "Oh no teenagers" and "I'm gonna get made fun of again" and... That's about it. It's actually why those lines annoy me so much because they happen over a season into the show and she has NEVER held back on who she is for even half a second during that ENTIRE TIME. Even Adventure in Elements isn't about pleasing others, it's about not being embarrassed. Being brought low.

But those are literally the ONLY moments in the entire series where she gives a fuck. The Collector and Belos angst? It's not about how no one will like her anymore, it's that they'll hate her because it needs to be that drastic for her to care. It also makes her less of the paragon hero that she sees herself as. And that's laughable because she only has like TWO moments in the entire series where she actively seeks out a way to help someone without them asking. The cure for Eda's curse at the end of S1, where she's trying not to have Eda die in return for watching over her which is just kind of basic kindness and going after King's stuffed rabbit in Titan Where Art Thou. At that point though, the show claims they're siblings so it's just being kind to your family... You know, right before she effectively tells Eda to go rot because she won't let her go fight Belos.

All the while, she is learning NOTHING. The teenage dumbass archtype is GREAT as a main character because it allows so much room for growth. It's part of why Anne is such a good protagonist because while she embraces the lazy side of it more than trying to appear special, she is still a teenage dumbass. As such, S1 spends time teaching her morals and making her grow up so she can be better.

Luz never grows up. Then again, she'd either have to actually face consequences for her actions or care more deeply about others for that to happen. That isn't going to happen though, not when she, and everyone around her, are solely focused on letting her live the isekai fantasy that she's always wanted.

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