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queenimmadolla · 1 year ago

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𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐌𝐞

(A Lisa Frankenstein, Eddie Munson AU)

next ┊ 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Summary: After a series of unfortunate events in your life, and lonelier than ever, you often turn to a dead guy and his tombstone for comfort. Never in your wildest, fucked up dreams did you imagine he’d turn to you for the same thing, but you find yourself hiding a living corpse, bringing him further to life, reaping some justice, and cutting off a lot of body parts all while trying to fit in and falling in love.

a/n: Part One is here! Just want to say thank you to my friends for hearing me rant and rave about Lisa Frankenstein for weeks now, though I’ve been unbearable with this concept in my head. This will be the longest chapter, just to establish some stuff, but we’ll get to the slaying! Hope you love Undead!Zombie!Eddie as much as I do. Happy reading! (p.s.,there will be some romantic smut in a later part)

Chapter warnings: a bit steve harrington x reader, some eddie munson x other female, death of a family member, brief description of SA (bordered with RED DIVIDERS if you’d like to skip), mistreatment of Reader, suicidal ideation (reader just has dark humor), implied murder, very campy, very cunty.

THEN, 1986.

“Where you head’n too so in a hurry, boy?” Wayne Munson asked, sat on the couch with a mug of steaming hot coffee in one hand and the television remote in the other as he watched his nephew bounce around the trailer, grabbing all of the the items he let haphazardly around.

Wayne always told him to pick up his things, but like the rambunctious boy he was, there was no breaking out of his messy habits.

“I got people to see, pops. Things to do. Trouble to ‘cause, cops to anger, you know the drill.” Eddie didn’t even need to turn around to know his uncle was scowling but he was proven correct when he turned to throw his father figure a shit eating grin over his shoulder, “Kidding, old man. Mom had me baptized when I was a baby, remember? I can do no wrong, like Achilles.”

“Wha’?”

“Ugh, dad. If I have to explain the joke, it ruins it. I’ll be back by dinner, alright?”

Wayne fixed him with a pointed look, “You best be on your best behavior, you hear me?”

“Always.” Eddie gave a mock salute before dipping out the front door, still grinning as he tossed the keys of the van and caught them midair.

While he wasn’t necessarily going to cause trouble, he certainly would be providing the fun grass, powder and pills that were often behind it. Eddie knew Wayne was aware of what he did, had implied so when talking about how he knew Eddie was a good kid, just living in the wrong circumstances sometimes. Always said he wanted nothing but the best for his boy and for Eddie to realize he was meant for more than what this particular town forced on him.

Made Eddie’s chest tight, but seeing things like the broken patio board—Eddie had accidentally stomped through it after seeing a spider—reinforced Eddie’s belief that he’d much rather help out any way he could than let his uncle bear the financial weight of providing for him.

The van roared to life, after sputtering for a good seven seconds, and Eddie revved the engine a little. As he let her warm up, something in the side mirror caught his attention.

Someone.

Sheila. His neighbor in the trailer across the street. She was hauling a box to a car, looked rather heavy and Eddie would have dropped everything to scramble over and help her, had it not been for Mr.Brawn at her side.

Eddie watched as the guy, who stole the girl he was in love with right out of his arms, grabbed the box. The two lovers exchanged words which ended with them laughing at something as she followed him to the car.

He slid the box into the packed car as she climbed into the passenger seat, and before Eddie knew it, he was watching her drive away, right out of his life forever.

Eddie hadn’t even realized he was clutching his steering wheel so tight, his knuckles were straining against the skin, hot tears pooling at his waterline but he refused to let them fall. He’d shed more than enough tears over her, over what could have been.

They started off so promising; throwing flirty waves from their bedroom windows, occasionally at school, before she approached him for weed. After that, came the whirlwind romance and Eddie hadn’t considered himself a romantic before—hadn’t had a whole lot of opportunities to make that discovery but he was so fucking romantic. A big sap. And he wasn’t ashamed of it.

Until she’d graduated, and he hadn’t. Again. Turns out, not trying at academics all year and then aiming to ace finals wasn’t enough.

Suddenly, all the bullshit naive plans they had to run away somewhere far from Hawkins weren’t possible. At least, Sheila couldn’t with Eddie.

He lost her to a guy in another band, had made the mistake of taking a piss after he and Corroded Coffin performed to their tiny ass crowd, and had come back to see her talking to the keyboardist of the band that had gone on before them. She looked entranced, leaning forward to hang on to whatever the fuck he was saying. When Eddie had gone over to ask her if she was ready to head out, fully prepared to tuck her under his arm and way from the keyboardist, she’d insisted and told him to his face, in front of his apparent competition, that she was gonna stick around a little longer and he should head out without her.

He’d spent the entire night pacing in front of his window, glancing out of it every five minutes and every time he heard a pair of wheels turn onto the dirt road. Eddie got his confirmation when his car happened to be one of them. He’d watched, heart splintering, as the keyboardist got out of the car and walked around to open her door for her before they disappeared into her trailer. Eddie knew her dad worked nights. Knew what she and that musician were doing and he’d thrown up the entire contents of his stomach at the imagery before passing out.

Eddie woke up to Sheila hovering above him and framed by the glow of the bathroom light like some angel. She’d dumped him right there and left the spare key he’d trusted her with on the table.

And now, she was living her dream with someone else while Eddie got to stick around this shitty town with these people who could barely stand him for no reason (and yeah, okay, maybe he’d poke their buttons). In truth, while he was a little heartbroken over her, it was the fact that she still got her happy ending that hurt the most.

The girls around Hawkins might have been interested in maybe hooking up with him, but they weren’t interested in being Eddie’s girl. Weren’t interested in falling stupid in love with him, making plans to start a life together. Didn’t want him in their plans.

Eddie Munson was lonely. And it sucked.

With a heavy sigh, he cranked on the radio, fingers twisting the volume dial up to the most obnoxious level before shifting the gear to drive.

“It’ll get better, Munson. Love ain’t no stranger.” He mumbled, sucking on his teeth and pulling out on the road.

If he had known then where it would lead him, where the night would take him, he would have at least hugged his uncle. It would be the last time he saw him, and it would be the last time Wayne Munson saw his nephew alive.

Three days later, he’d be identifying and weeping over his boy’s body in the morgue after reporting Eddie missing when he didn’t come home.

NOW, 1989

“Where are you going? It’s almost time for breakfast.” Chrissy called out, head poking out from her bedroom as she watched you race down the hall.

“Not hungry! I’ll be back soon!” You called over your shoulder, the large sheet of craft paper wrinkling in your hand as you took the stairs two at a time before bounding down the short entryway.

You’d almost crossed the foyer and then slammed yourself back against the wall as you saw Laura, Chrissy’s mom, fiddling with something at the table. She had the radio on, some garbage self help tape spewing nonsense to her, and that condescending smile on her face.

Yeah, you’d be avoiding her, lest you wish to be verbally and eloquently belittled. How Chrissy came out of her toxic womb to be such a good person, you’d never understand.

When Laura crossed into the kitchen, you sprinted for the door, fumbling a little with the knob in your urgency, but once you got it open, you were out, running across the walkway and the fencing around the house until you were in the woods behind it.

Only then did you feel safe, the trees a welcome reprieve from your living situation, the magnifying glass this new town had you under, and from the world in general.

You’d come from a small town before Hawkins, so you were used to small town living. But these people were so judgemental. You hadn’t even grabbed a box from the moving van before your neighbors were casting you snide looks, noses turning up and backs to you as they watered their yard and lounged about.

Four months later, nothing had changed. If anything, they were more open with their disdain for you, commenting on your demeanor (and you were a cool fucking person), outfits, hair, body. It was annoying. They were annoying. EVERYTHING was annoying.

You didn’t even want to be there but you had no real choice. You’d graduated high school a couple of years ago and despite the popular teenage notion that you’d simply pack up your things, go to college and be successful at whatever career you wanted, life did not happen like the movies. The freedom you’d been promised by your own delusions never came. That bitch came with a hefty price tag and you weren’t exactly jumping into a safe of gold coins like Scrooge McDuck with your minimum wage job.

You’d gotten into several schools of your choice, but scholarships wouldn’t be nearly enough to cover it, and you’d literally have to sell your entire body to science if you wanted to be able to afford the loans you were being offered, since their interest rates were higher than the standard human beings’ lifespan.

So, living with the ‘rents was checked off on your list of things you didn’t want to continue doing past your high school graduation. And hey—you were only 19 years-old! You were still young! Just save up a few years, and maybe one day you’d be able to think about taking a loan. You had time. What could possibly go wrong to throw your plans off?

Your mother was murdered.

Yeah, that was a bummer. Could’ve been worse, you supposed. You could have died with her, when your home had been broken into, and sometimes you wish you had. Alas, you were still breathing, albeit extremely traumatized. But only good ol’ mom was six feet in the ground, in an entirely different town, because your father had also moved on a mere few months after her death, with the worst woman to leave flaming footprints on the earth’s crust, and they’d eloped after like six dates before moving you to a town where you knew no one.

Thinking about it actually made you sick and feel a little delusional.

The only real good thing about your entire soap opera of a year was the community college you’d been able to enroll in. You had no real idea what you wanted to do in life, had no real drive for career paths, but you were doing something, and that something kept the she-devil that was your stepmother off your back. Most of the time. Some of the time. She couldn’t say you were a deadbeat yet.

Chrissy, your sweet to a definitive and insensitive fault step-sister had pushed you into going with her for registration. Convinced you it was the perfect way to make some friends. It was hard to say no to Chrissy, she had a way with people and could make the meekest soul feel like they were capable of anything and everything. She could always see the best in people, and she was outgoing. Your time in Hawkins had been brief, but you’d easily gathered Chrissy was popular, a former cheerleader (and she’d successfully tried out for the community college team) and beloved by all. While part of you felt a little jealous at her confidence, you admired her more. She was never intentionally mean to you, either. She made the occasional comment, but it seemed like Chrissy had more so a filter problem, rather than spitting anything out with sugar coated hostility like her mother. Chrissy was...nice. After everything you've been through, you could use a little nice in your life.

And sometimes nice was also the woods behind your house, as it led to the Hawkins’ Cemetery.

Morbid, sure, but you couldn’t help yourself. After a particularly nasty encounter with Laura the first week of your Hawkins sentence, and feeling lonelier than you’d ever felt before, you’d gone for a walk, tears decorating your face with wet trails as you tried to physically hold yourself together, arms wrapped around yourself.

You’d arrived at the cemetery, and because you couldn’t pay your mother a visit, you decided the only decent thing to do was visit other lonely souls.

You’d stopped to pay your respects to just about every tombstone and plaque, but one in particular caught your attention.

Tucked away in a corner and separate from the other graves, under a weeping willow, was the most damaged tombstone of them all. Parts of it were broken off, a lot of the information pertaining to the individual underneath it was seemingly grated off. You had no idea who it was, the only remaining legible letters were MUN and you figured it was he simply because you’d taken some paper to the tombstone for etching and ran a black crayon over it. You’d been able to make out the word ‘he’ on the paper and deduced it had once read may he rest in peace.

The state of his tombstone surprised you, given how recent the date of death was. While his birth date had also been worn away, the year of death—1986–had been left. It was 1989. No way his grave should’ve looked like that.

Apparently, even the groundskeeper avoided his part of the cemetery. The grass around his grave was overgrown, and pitiful. So, you’d gone home, grabbed the lawn mower, and pushed it all the way over. You’d ended up disgusting, covered in grass, dirt and sweating like a cheater on a Sunday morning, but his grave was looking better. You’d taken to caring for his grave after that. A bunch of your trinkets and things you'd seen that you immediately thought he’d like surrounded him now and you’d even planted some bluebells.

He also made surprisingly good conversation, even though he never talked to you. His presence, while mostly imaginary to you, was comforting.

So, during any free time you had, you were sat against his tombstone, chatting about your day, life, whatever you wanted. Felt like he was always listening, no matter the subject and it was really lovely to be heard.

When you arrived at the cemetery, it was practically vacant, with just the red headed girl you normally saw. You didn’t see her all the time, she was just one of the faces you saw the most, and that was only a handful of occasions. For the most part, Hawkins didn’t seem keen on remembering the dead.

“Hope you haven’t been lonely without me,” You greeted as you approached his tombstone, ducking under a few low hanging willow branches that still brushed over you anyways. You’d have to ‘borrow’ Laura’s shears soon, the willow tree was hauntingly beautiful around his grave, but you wanted its branches and leaves to frame his grave, not conceal it, “I missed you.”

It was a little odd, but you did.

When you weren’t at his grave, you were thinking about him, trying to put a face to MUN, wondering what his life had been like. Did he have any loved ones? What had his interests been? How had he died? Had he felt as lonely as you did?

“I know, I know.” You settled onto the grass in front of his tombstone, securing the craft paper to his tombstone with some masking tape, “I was just here last night.” You imagined he would say.

“I just can’t stay away from you. You have a very intriguing aura: I can’t see it because you’re dead, and that makes me want to know you more.” You pulled a black crayon from your pocket and went about scribbling on the paper, over where you knew MUN would be etched in stone, “I’ve said it a million times, and you’ve probably turned over in your coffin repeatedly because of it, but you’re the only one who understands me. And you’re the only one here that I care about—probably in the whole world actually, except maybe Chrissy but I know her friends think I’m weird, and I don’t want to drag her down with me.”

Once the letters appeared on the paper, you sprawled out STER and you dropped the crayon to produce a pretty hot pink marker from your pocket instead, signing your name with a little heart to go with it just above the last name you’d crafted for him.

The odds of this dude being a Munster were slim to none, but you thought it was fitting for someone who lived in a cemetery.

You sat back on your haunches to admire it, it was a cute piece. Would look nice on your wall and whenever you missed him and found yourself longing to be near his grave, all you’d have to do is turn on your side and you'd be able to see part of him.

You ripped the paper off his tombstone, and weighed it down on the grass with a rock. With that out of the way, you gave him your full attention, shuffling until your head and shoulder were leaning against the stone, “Would you wanna be dragged down with me? Be seen with me? I’m somewhat of a pariah around here. Did you have better luck when you were still kicking?”

You figured with how fucked up his tombstone had been, probably not. You imagined he’d confirm it, too. Just out right say, ‘Nah, these assholes hated me.’

“Yeah, looks like we’re two peas in a pod.” Then you glanced down, fingers, twirling the blades of grass over his grave, “Or, you know. Casket.”

You let silence fall over you, broken only by the chirping of birds in surrounding trees.

“Goddamit, why do you have to be dead?” Your eyelids fluttered close, and instead of the cold stone, you imagined your head pressed against a warm chest, rising and falling with breaths, and a heartbeat thumping strong below your ear, pushing blood throughout his body. Imagined he was alive, arms slipping around you, firm and strong to hold you together so you didn't have to anymore.

But he wasn’t, and you were reminded when the groundskeeper shouted, “HEY!”

You shot up, glancing around until you saw him by the entrance with a leaf blower, “YOU AWAKE?”

What kind of a dumbass question was that? Sure, it had looked like you were asleep but you were clearly alert now.

“YEAH!” You shrieked back to be heard, and he went back to not caring.

“He can see me leaning against your tombstone, but he can’t see overgrown grass, weeds, rocks, or your grave in general when I’m not here. Men, always so selective, amirite?”

You glanced at the stone, half expecting it to respond. “Eh, what do you know, you’re just a man, too.” You reached your arm back, knuckles trailing over MUN.

“Despite you mouthing off to me most of the time, I brought you something.” You reached into your other pocket and pulled out a necklace, lined with black pearls and a cross pendant. It had been your mother’s. While she had a pension for religion, it wasn’t something you thought about. Dying, sure, but whatever afterlife? Not so much. Felt wrong, sometimes, to carry it around with you—felt like you were disrespecting her a little bit to not believe what she did, even though she had no qualms with it when she was alive. So, you figured why not trust it with the other important person in your life?

“Pretty, huh? It was my mom’s. She’s dead, like you. You wouldn’t happen to have seen her around, would you?” You joked, fingers stroking over the pearls. There was no risk in leaving them with your dead friend, people avoided him and you had a feeling even grave robbers wouldn’t dare step near the willow, so they’d probably be with him for the rest of eternity, “I want you to have them, take care of them for me.”

You placed the necklace over the peak of his tombstone, smiling when they didn’t fall from their place, “Mm, you look good in them. Better than I do, I’m not big on pearls. More of a silver jewelry kind of girl. I could do gold and diamonds, though, only for a wedding ring.”

You held your arm out, admiring your ring hand void of any actual rings, “Nothing too gaudy, of course. That’s what my earrings are for.”

Your eyes trailed from your outstretched fingers, to your wrist, and the watch decorating it. The time made you heave a heavy sigh, “I gotta go. Chrissy’s dragging me to a party tonight, so I’ve got to mentally prepare for that. You’ll think of me while I’m away, won’t you?”

Trailing a finger down the stone, you leaned forward to press your lips to it in a sweet kiss.

“I’ll be back soon, and this time I won’t forget my book of sonnets. I know how much you love the cynical poems I force on you.”

And though you announced your departure, you found it hard to leave him, like you always did. It took all you had to gather your crayon, marker, and your new poster (and you kept dropping all three to have an excuse to linger) and leave the cemetery behind, glancing back impulsively every couple of steps until it was no longer in view, and the moment it wasn’t you wanted to drop everything and run back to him.

You had to remind yourself he was a stranger, who didn’t care for you, rotting in the ground. And it sucked.

“I don’t wanna go.” You announced, staring into the bathroom mirror you shared with Chrissy. You’d just finished your makeup, eyes heavily lined, and lashes coated an electric blue that made your eyes pop. You were always a little heavy handed with your makeup, you figured the whole point of it was to use it as you wanted. Your hair had been manipulated to hell and back, but regardless of what you did, you were unsatisfied with the girl staring back at you, “I’ll just stay home.”

“Not on my watch!” Chrissy declared, reaching in front of you for her pink lipstick. The bathroom counter was littered with your combined beauty products, “This is the first major rager of the year, the perfect social gathering. You need to meet people, sissy.”

You scowled at the idea, “I have met people.”

Chrissy tubed the lipstick bullet, rubbing her lips together as she gave you a concerned side-eye, “People who like you, sissy.”

Ouch, there’s that brutal honesty.

“It’s not good for you to be on your own all the time,” She set the lipstick down so she could place a dainty hand on your shoulder, big blue eyes focused on you, “I worry about you. Daddy and mom worry about you. Your doctor worries about you. You need to get out more.” Chrissy stressed, pink lips pulling into a reassuring smile before she went back to focusing on the mirror and her makeup.

You let out a heavy sigh, mulling her words over. Definitely could have been phrased better, but Chrissy was right. You were currently the town recluse, and occupying your room and the town cemetery wouldn’t change that.

“That blush isn’t the right shade for you, sissy.” Chrissy broke you from your thoughts and your eyes drifted back over to your reflection, the girl looking so unsure and right back at you, “You really have to accentuate your features, compliment them, because you’re already beautiful.”

Didn’t feel like it.

Your expression must have given your inner thoughts away because Chrissy turned to you again, practically bouncing, “Wait a minute, you could use my tanning bed!”

You deadpanned at the mention of the ridiculous full on salon tanning bed that Chrissy owned. There was a dedicated mini garage in the backyard for it, next to the pool, and complete with neon lights, her beauty pageant trophies and sashes as well as her cheer trophies. The PG&E bill was always through the roof for the Tan Shack alone, and you still had no idea how Laura could afford it.

“No, Chrissy I-I don’t think that would work on me. At all.”

Chrissy waved off your concerns, “It’s not about the tan, or even if you can tan. It’s the experience. When I lay in that tanning bed, with those little goggles on my eyes and I can hear the buzzing, I feel myself blooming. Regardless of whether or not my skin actually tans,” It didn’t. Chrissy burned but she somehow still looked good, “I feel amazing about myself.”

“Are you sure that’s not cancer?”

“You’re so funny!” Chrissy laughed even though you were being serious, “Sissy, every girl deserves to feel beautiful. If I can provide you with an experience that might raise those confidence levels that are dragging across a nail-covered floor right now, why wouldn’t I?”

Your eyebrows furrowed, trying to decipher if that was a compliment or not, but you didn’t have long to mull it over before Chrissy was framing your face with her hands.

“And I can. Please, let me do this.”

You groaned, long and drawn out and awkward, before squeezing your eyes shut and slowly nodding your head. She squealed, clapped her hands together and dragged you out of the bathroom.

After explaining how it all worked, Chrissy bid you a cheerful goodbye and left you to your own devices so she could finish getting ready for the night ahead of you both.

You’d selected your tan level, positive you wouldn’t see any real results but maybe the ‘experience’ would benefit you and shed your fuzzy slippers and robe, leaving you in some boy shorts and a tank top as you tried to settle yourself in the tanning bed. The dip was awkward, and you couldn’t get a good grasp on the top of the tanning bed since it was meant to only open and close rather than stay in position so grasping onto it for balance as you lowered yourself in led to you conking yourself on the head with a noticeable bonk.

You hissed in pain, rubbing the sore area as you clambered the rest to the way in. Once you’d stretched your legs out, lowered the top, maneuvered the goggles over your face and waited for the magic to happen as you were surrounded by neon blue lights.

You heard the buzzing as the tanning bed started up. The magic happened alright. The entire tanning bed shocked you, and you shrieked as you felt the intense electric current ripple throughout your body, sparking every single pore in the worst way possible.

“I’m so sorry you got electrocuted, sissy.”

Chrissy broke the silence as you sulked in the passenger seat, your hair a little bigger than normal and not a result of styling. After getting all five senses shocked out of you, you’d come out with a hairdo that would not usually be up to par with you, and some serious case of static electricity. You’d tried to gently press your hair down and when you saw a literal spark in it, you decided to just leave it alone.

Your step-sister had been apologizing since.

“It’s alright. I survived.” And you wanted to forget about it.

You could see Chrissy glancing nervously at you from the corner of your eye as she drove you to the party location.

“So…how are you liking Hawkins Community, so far?” She asked, thankfully changing the subject.

“It’s fine. The campus looks relatively the same as the community college I toured in my old town. Classes are decent.” Pitiful. The classes were so boring and straight out of the book, but it cost you a fraction of a fraction of what you’d have to pay to attend a university.

Chrissy lips turned up in a mischievous smile and you internally groaned, fully expecting her next question.

“See any cute boys?” And then, as an afterthought, “Or…girls?” Then she took her eyes off the road again, squinting at you as if she was trying to assess something, “Or…..anyone?”

You betrayed yourself, eyes darting to the window before they were back on her and she perked up in the driver’s seat.

“Okay, spill.”

Your heart started thumping wildly in your chest as one particular guy came to mind, but you hadn’t thought about him too much. Hadn’t allowed yourself to entertain the idea of a romance with him. That’s how people got their hopes up and letdown.

“Sissy! Sissy, come on. You have to tell me. I’m your only friend!”

This time, you could tell she was joking, even though she did have merit. You bit your lip as she ribbed you a bit more, the corners of your lips tugging up into a smile.

“Okay, okay!” Your hands flew to cover your face, embarrassed, shy and a little giddy all at once to actually be admitting you had a crush.

“Steve Harrington.”

“STEVE HARRINGTON?” She repeated, incredulous and you shushed her even though it was only you two in the car.

“Sissy, that’s so unexpected! I haven’t really seen him since high school but I didn’t think he’d be your type.” Chrissy admitted with a shrug of her shoulders.

“He works in the library.” You sighed out, recalling your brief interactions with him when checking out a couple of books. He’d been kind, made a couple of humorous comments about the titles, and always tried to meet your avoidant gaze, which meant he was being nice to you. Coaxing you out of your shell. You actually didn't have much trouble interacting with people, you were more abrasive than you ever were shy, Steve was just a little too easy on the eyes. Made you forget how to talk, and on occasion, walk. It was embarrassing, “Always makes those cute displays with recommendations.”

“Good for him,” She commented, sounding impressed. “I didn’t really know he was intellectual. Wasn’t, the last I heard. Had a big reputation in high school, seemed kind of mean and everyone called him King Steve.”

You frowned, feeling the need to protect him, “Didn’t they call you the Queen of Hawkins High?”

“Yeah, but only to make me seem pretentious.”

You raised your eyebrows, glancing away. Chrissy was kind, but sometimes, she could be pretentious.

“And anyways, I’m not a student at Hawkins High anymore, so they can’t call me that. Maybe Steve really did change. Come to think of it, I haven’t heard much about him since he struck out with a series of girls. Maybe he took a good look at himself and decided a change was needed.” You could feel her eyes on you again.

“Does he flirt with you?”

“No.”

“See him flirt with any girls?”

“Nope.”

“Does he still make his hair all big and poofy?”

“Looks more voluminous than poofy.”

Chrissy hummed, “An improvement. Is he all beret wearing and drinking coffee now?”

You tried to recall ever seeing him in a hat, let alone a beret, “No, I don’t think so. If anything, he’s introspective.”

“He’s on the spectrum?”

Your smile waned when you realized she was asking a legitimate question, “Oh. No. That’s—that’s not what that means. I just meant he’s thinking about what he does; how he acts, how he behaves.”

It got quiet for a few moments.

”Well,” Chrissy broke the silence once more, “He might be there tonight. I’m not sure if they’re still friends, but Tommy Hagan is hosting tonight, and once upon a time, they were inseparable.”

You made a sound of acknowledgment, upper lip twitching in disgust. You knew Tommy, saw him around campus. He was a big jerk, you’d witnessed him throw some guy’s backpack in the trash and pour his drink on it. You wish you’d known it was his party you were going to in advance. Tommy was a nasty piece of work, so his friend group was the same. Out of all of them, though, Carol got on your nerves the most.

She didn’t pay you a whole lot of attention, but when you were walking in with Chrissy—and this is Chrissy, so she acknowledged everyone—and she said hi, Carol would just look you up and down before pursing her big mouth like she’d sucked on something sour. One day, you’d like to give her your fist to suck on.

”Patrick McKinney is bringing three kegs and I heard Reefer Rick is bringing his whole inventory.”

“Reefer Rick?”

“Yeah, he’s the local drug dealer now. I mean, he’s always been but he used to have somebody sell for him while he supplied, but he died.”

Your eyes widened while your pupils dilated, mind conjuring up some image of a poor dude being murdered for drugs and then the supplier just taking over, not fearful at all of meeting the same fate, “He died?”

Chrissy nodded her head, looking thoughtful, “Yeah, Eddie Munson.”

Munson.

You sat up in your seat, fully alert and invested in the conversation now, “Eddie Munson? Is he buried under the willow tree in the cemetery?”

You stared at Chrissy, willing her to think faster as she squinted and pursed her lips, “I think Tina mentioned something about someone peeing on a tree over there, so I think so.”

Your mouth dropped open, expression utterly horrified that someone could do that, “That’s beastly, what the fuck?”

“I know,” Chrissy sighed with a shake of her head. “I didn't know him all that much, bought some weed off of him a couple of times and he seemed a little scary—appearance and mannerism wise—but he seemed nice when you had to interact with him. He didn’t deserve that.”

“How did he die?” You asked, voice small and heart shrinking. You didn’t like where this was going. Didn’t like it one bit.

“Well, the official determination, if I remember right, was like a drug deal gone bad or something, but no one really believes it. He was known to have weed on him, kept the harder stuff somewhere else. Everyone knows he was murdered. They did a number on him, it was all everyone could talk about because Sydney Porter couldn’t even get her dad—he worked at the station—to show her pictures. He told her they messed Eddie up bad. People here really didn’t like him. No one knows who did it though.”

You sunk back into your seat, mind troubled and stomach turning. This whole time, you'd been tending to and caring for the grave of a murdered guy, taken from this world simply because people didn’t like him. He must have been so lonely. So scared. And they killed him.

Chrissy was wrong. People in this town knew who killed him, because one of them, or some of them, had to have been his murderers.

Your fingers curled into tight fists, painted nails digging into the flesh of your palms. Chrissy noticed the change in your demeanor.

“Oh, sissy. You’re such an empath. Don’t be so sad, I know it’s a horrible story, but he’s resting now. In peace.”

“No, he’s not. They fucked up his tombstone. He can’t even be dead in peace.” You huffed, furious on his behalf.

“How do you know?” Chrissy asked, raising a perfectly plucked eyebrow.

“I go there a lot, it’s nice. Quiet. A little creepy, but that adds to its charm, makes it relatively peaceful. I’ve been visiting all the graves, but I was drawn to him the most. Etched his tombstone. He’s my favorite.”

Despite the horrors you’d learned, the thought of Mun—Eddie, still brought a wistful smile to your lips. Maybe your presence was enough to settle him, bring him a little bit of peace this town and the people in it refused to give him.

“H-He’s your favorite…?”

“Yeah. I feel this….connection with him. From the very first time I visited. Now, I leave him gifts, flowers, pretty stones, poems I wrote, a book of sonnets I stole from the library.”

“You….should talk to your doctor about this, Sissy. That’s really weird. That’s really weird, sissy.”

You fought to not roll your eyes. As much as you cared about Chrissy, and knew she cared about you, she didn’t understand you.

“Well, since people ruined his grave, I thought it might be nice to clean it up and make sure he’s not forgotten.” You snapped, “It’s not like I call him my boyfriend or anything.”

Chrissy eyed you skeptically, “Well, then that’s nice of you, I guess. Just don’t go around telling everybody about that, or you’ll be known as the Ghost Whisperer.”

“He hasn’t talked back to me yet.”

Chrissy laughed, and freed one hand off the wheel to lightly slap your arm, “See, now that’s funny. If you do tell anyone, end it with that joke. You’ll be a riot.”

You smirked, staring out the front windshield. You’d let her think it was a joke. For now.

You made a sound of displeasure as Chrissy pulled into a clear space on the grass and parked. She jumped out to dance over to her friends, some wine coolers cradled in a plastic bag she clutched.

You allowed yourself a full minute to stew in your misery before getting out of the car and following after her. As you neared her group, you quickly realized that was a bad idea.

“Oh my GOD! Vickie, you fixed your teeth! They look so good. I wasn’t gonna say anything because I thought you were happy with the overcrowding, but now that you fixed it, I can’t look away!”

Yeesh. You beelined away from them and wandered around the crowded front lawn, dodging rowdy friend groups and couples until you spotted a cooler.

Maybe a drink would calm you down.

You squatted down and popped the lid, digging around the ice but all you spotted were Pepsi and Squirt cans.

“The liquid fun is inside.” A guy’s voice came from behind you and you rolled your eyes. You were so not in the mood to be hit on right now.

“What?” You asked, tone bored, but you didn’t want to make him seem helpful so you grabbed a Squirt.

“Alcohol. He keeps it inside.”

You slammed the cooler shut and popped the tab of the can, rising to your feet, “Yeah, I figured that mu—shhhh.”

Oh, shit.

Steve Harrington was standing before you, eyes alight with mirth as he smirked down at you.

You swallowed hard, hoping to god your tongue hadn’t gone down with the movement. See? Here you went getting all stupid around him.

”Funny seeing you here.”

You laughed nervously, “Yeah. I—uh, mhm.” You forced yourself to take a drink of your soda to keep from making an even bigger fool of yourself.

“Sorry if it’s weird of me to just walk up to you. I was chilling on the side of the house and thought I saw you, but I’m a little nearsighted and I didn’t bring my glasses.”

You pulled the can away from your mouth as your brain registered the lack of metal frames on the bridge of his nose. He looked handsome with and without them, that wasn’t fair. It was still throwing you off.

“It’s—It’s okay. Uhm, no harm done.” You shrugged your shoulders, hoping it looked cool and not as stiff as you felt. You even added in a smile with some teeth for a little razzle dazzle.

“I actually came over here to tell you your books are significantly overdue.” Steve deadpanned, tongue playing with his canine tooth as he scrutinized you and you shrunk, smile falling from your face. You had got to get better at following up on your due dates.

“Oh.”

He scoffed, face breaking out into a grin as his shoulders shook with his chuckles “I’m kidding.”

OH, THANK FUCK.

“Oh,” And then, because every god probably hates you, you started snorting with laughter. You cut that shit quick, clearing your throat as you took another sip of your beverage.

“So,” Steve took a step closer to you, “Are you enjoying─”

“Hey!” Carol stepped right up to Steve, practically leaning all over him as her ruby red lips spread into a seductive smile, eyes lidded and no doubt a few drinks in with a drink for Steve in her hand. For the billionth time that night, you rolled your eyes, trying not to gag at how desperate she was. You knew Tommy had recently dumped her, the entire town knew and now she was clearly trying to get into Steve’s pants, “I found the keg.”

She could eat shit, his pants were yours.

“Oh, Thank you.” Came Steve’s bleak reply and part of you thought he might have actually wanted to talk to just you. Now, you were really annoyed she’d interrupted.

“Hey, Carol.”

Carol looked surprised that you’d even dare speak to her, raising her eyebrows, “Hey. Hi— sorry, how do we know each other?”

“You’re my lab partner.” You were unimpressed, you expected her to be a better mean girl.

“Yay me.” The smile she directed at you was anything but friendly, reminding you of the one Laura would make after you did something in public she didn’t like, but she couldn’t yell at you until you were home. Carol swirled the liquid in her cup around, head tilting as she offered it to you, “You wanna sip, partner?”

“Carol.” Steve warned and she tutted, flicking her wrist.

“You’re right, I don’t know why I assumed she partied.”

“I’ll take a beer,” You could handle alcohol, had cleared your mother’s wine cabinet after she was murdered, so this would be no big deal.

Carol looked annoyed but handed you the cup, and to make sure you wouldn’t gag and vomit, you threw it back, throat opening as you swallowed the liquid as fast as you could to refuse it as much time on your taste buds as possible.

When you lowered the cup, you realized you’d made a mistake and glanced into it at the small amount left behind, watching as the ground in your peripheral view began to shift.

Steve seemed to realize something was wrong, quickly taking your cup and ingesting what was left. His suspicions were confirmed and he spat it out on the grass before scowling at Carol, “PCP? Really, Carol? What the fuck is wrong with you? Why the hell would you give that to her!?”

“Oopsie.”

But it was too late for you. You dropped the soda can in your other hand and lifted your hands to your face, watching the lines around your palms and fingers begin to move, swirling around and you backed away from them, watching as everything around you began to come undone.

“Hey!” You heard a voice next to you and someone started rubbing your back, you hadn’t even realized you were crouching. You craned your head up to see Chrissy and you frowned. Her voice was so different, distorted. She sounded more like your dad than Chrissy.

Her face was both far away and right in front of you, you reached a hand out to test the theory, see if it really was close. Chrissy caught your wrist, frowning at the state you were falling into.

Chrissy started asking you questions, about what you’d taken, what you drank but her voice was too loud for you, and the purple behind her head was distracting. Still, you nodded your head.

At your confirmation, Chrissy’s frown intensified and she helped you to the ground before darting over to chew Steve and Carol out.

You couldn’t stay on the grass for long, the blades of it stabbing you and sending pain shooting up your palms and into your bones so you crawled some distance away before you managed to push yourself up and stumble towards the house. It was hard.

Everything was moving. You heard a loud sound and glanced around wildly until you were staring up at the sky, mouth dropping open to see green clouds and lightning.

You had to get away, the need to escape, be safe was urgent but it felt like the closer you got to the front door, the farther away it went. Your breathing was heavy and panicked as you kept stumbling forward, arm outstretched and finally you reached it.

You yanked it open and nearly fell inside, tripping over your feet until you hit the back of the couch and used it to sink to the floor.

You heard your name being called and lifted your head, eyes crazed as you tried to find the source. Fred Benson approached you, the skinny boy squatting to be eye level with you.

“You okay?” He asked and you reached forward, grasping his face in your hand and squeezing to make sure he was a real person.

“You.” Was all you said, booping his nose but still suspicious of him. Was he real?

“Uh, yeah. It’s me. It’s Fred, we sit next to each other in ASL class.”

He looked like Fred. You still didn’t believe he was human, squinting as your hands grasped at the back of the couch.

“You don’t look so good,” Fred pushed the frame of his glasses up his nose, brows furrowed in concern, “Let's find somewhere for you to sit down for a minute. Or maybe a while. Man, what did you drink?”

He stood up, offering you a hand and you took it but didn’t pull yourself up. Fred heaved with all his might and managed to get you on your feet but he realized just walking you wouldn’t be enough, and so did you because you draped yourself over him, one arm over his scrawny shoulders.

Fred cursed under his breath but held your weight, leading you out of the populated living room and you watched a couple furiously make out on the couch cushions as you passed.

“I hate parties. I don’t know why I came—well, actually I do. I never got invited to these in high school, so I guess I’m living out my fantasy now. In all honesty, I’d much rather be watching Weird Science. So far tonight, I’ve seen three cheerleaders throw up and a baby being conceived.”

“Uh huh,” Was all you could get out, watching people swirl past you like shooting stars.

“Would you count that as escaping the teen pregnancy statistic? I know they’re out of high school, but we’re all still pretty young.” He commented as he led you up the stairs. You tripped several times and almost sent him flying down them but the two of you managed to make it.

Fred was heaving by the time you'd shouldered him into the hallway wall, his face and hands clammy.

”Good god, how did I pass P.E.?” The two of you paused there until he regained his breath while you plastered yourself against the wall, cheek pressed to it and hands stroking over the wallpaper. Eventually, Fred peeled you off of it and kept moving until he could find a place to put you.

“You like movies right? Got any favorite directors? Or favorite films?”

“Wall.”

“Huh? Oh, you’re just admiring the wallpaper.”

“Great Wall of China.”

Fred positioned you against the wall, looking a little annoyed. You didn’t care, could only focus on the framed photo of the Great Wall of China directly across from you.

“Oh.” Was all he said when he spotted it. “Stay right here.”

Then he disappeared and you watched as the painting came to life, and the stones of the wall began moving, rippling. You didn’t even know stones could move like that but now it made so much more sense.

Fred appeared again, tugging you along into an empty room. You spotted a trash can and nearly threw Fred into the bedroom wall as you dove for it, retching everything out of your stomach. You could hear Fred gagging, but he was decent enough to make sure your hair stayed out of your way. When you were done, he helped sit you up on the bed, and nearly collapsed next to you.

”We did it,” he cheered with no real gusto. And you sat there, still feeling the earth orbiting. It was the most odd sensation, you could feel a spot on your brain pulsing, like a migraine but it felt so euphoric to close your eyes.

“Here,” They snapped right back open and you glanced to your side to see Fred offering you a handkerchief. Of course Fred Benson carried around a handkerchief. How amusing.

“Thank you,” You gave the three versions of him you could see right then a smile and used the handkerchief to wipe your mouth, eyelids fluttering close just as the sound of thunder filled the room, and a flashing of lightning accompanied it.

“Huh, a rainless thunderstorm, looks like the angels are bowling.” You heard him muse next to you.

And it brought another smile to your face, “My mom used to say that.”

At the mention of her, your brain conjured up all the happy feelings and memories of her, huddled on your couch, in your old home watching black and white horror films. They didn’t scare her, so she could tolerate them. You missed her. She made you feel so light, so seen, so—no.

Something was wrong. Something felt very, very wrong.

Your smile faded and you felt your belly sink as you opened your eyes.

“Does that feel good?”

You didn’t want to, but you looked down to see Fred’s hand on your breast. Your breathing picked up and Fred let go of you to grab your wrist and force you to touch his crotch, “Well don’t just sit there, help me out. Finish what you started.”

Anger filled you and you yanked your hand away, “No.”

Fred opened his mouth as you got up, rushing away from him and stumbling back out the way you remembered while he yelled at you.

You had to get out, had to get away. Had to be safe, feel safe. You banged against walls as you went, desperate to get out of the house, away from Fred, from everyone, and to safety. That was your only concern as the drug really hit you.

All you could remember was seeing colors, hearing and feeling the wind against your sweaty skin, leaves blowing with it and gusting around you.

You had no idea how you escaped the mad house, how long you’d even been walking or how you actually got there, but you found yourself in front of the cemetery, a flash of lightning illuminating the gate.

To anyone else, a cemetery would have been the worst place to find themselves on a night like this, but you’d already been to hell so you trudged forward, feet taking you to him. Even in your drugged state, you were able to find your way to Eddie. Always would be.

Your knees dug into the grass as you collapsed in front of his tombstone, fingers reaching forward to trace over MUN and 1986 before your body curled around the large stone, hugging yourself to it. Electric blue tears slipped down your cheeks, staining them with your mascara.

“I wish I was with you.” You whispered, hating everything, hating this town, hating the people, hating Fred Benson, hating Carol, hating Laura Cunningham, hating how your mom wasn’t alive, hating how the one person you’d unknowingly sought for comfort was someone you’d never met before who was six feet under the ground. And you hated how you weren’t down there.

You laid there, hugging his tombstone for hours under the thunder and lightning as the PCP slowly left your system.

When you were able to stand up on your own, you gave the tombstone another kiss, rested your forehead against it and quietly thanked him for helping you find your way home before you left, following the path you’d made during all of your visits.

The house was quiet when you got in, and Chrissy’s car hadn’t been parked in the driveway when you’d walked up so you figured she was still at the party. Sluggishly, you made your way up the stairs, falling into your shared bathroom. Your hand searched the wall, struggling to find the switch. Once your fingertips made contact with it, you flipped it and squinted as the room was flooded with the warm light. It was still too much for your eyes but you kept it on and walked towards the mirror

The girl looking back at you was not the same one you’d last seen in it. This girl had blue smudged all around her eyes, faint trails of it over her cheeks and a rats nest for hair. Her eyes burned, not from the light, but from a fury within.

She was stuck in a life she didn’t want to live and couldn’t do anything about. As a large strike of lightning flashed from the window positioned at the back of the bathroom, towards the back of the house, you decided to put her out of her misery, picking up a blow dryer and smashing it against your reflection with a yell.

You stood there, chest heaving as you stared at the broken reflection. Then you tossed the blow dryer onto the counter, and went to bed.

Your dreams were much more pleasant than your reality, eyelids fluttering open to the ceiling of your old bedroom. A glance to your side confirmed your mother’s photo was at your bedside, next to your alarm clock on your old bedside table.

“Well?” Her photo asked, shooting you that gorgeous smile of hers, “What are you waiting for? Go get him.”

Your confusion was momentary, your mother raised her chin in a direction and you knew what would happen, you were giddy for it as you looked down to see yourself wrapped in the most beautiful wedding gown you’d ever seen.

You rose from the bed into a sitting position, picking up the bouquet on the pillow next to you. Your dresser mirror was directly across from your bed and you took a moment to admire the beautiful girl staring back at you. Where you last remember seeing trails of tears were diamonds, glittering against your skin. Her eyes sparkled with a joy you’d never known. You bid her one last smile as you turned your head to the figure sitting on the edge of your bed, dark curls cascading down his neck, past broad shoulders with his back to you.

His right arm was out, palm up.

He was waiting for you.

You shifted until you were on the edge of your bed next to him, staring straight forward just as he was.

Without looking, you knew exactly where his hand was, and you placed your left one over it, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours. Slowly, the two of you leaned towards each other, until your head was on his shoulder and his cheek was pressed against the top of your head, his fingers curling around your hand to ground you. You sighed, all the tension and weight of the world leaving you.

“Sissy. . .”

“Sissy…”

“SISSY!”

You groaned as Chrissy shook you awake, eyes prying through all the mascara that had crusted over your eyes. It took a couple of blinks until you regained your clear vision, gaze locking on Chrissy leaning over you. Her face was clean of any makeup, skin glowing and hair wrapped up in rollers.

She’d gotten home later than you and had still been able to look perfect.

What the hell?

“You better get up, sissy. My mom’s losing it over the bathroom mirror.”

You were confused for a second until you remembered smashing it with a blow dryer last night—or this morning. Well, it definitely would have broken at the sight of you now, anyways.

You frowned but made no move to get up so Chrissy tugged your blanket off of you, giggling when the both of you realized you had your hand in your underwear. Hastily, you yanked it out, and threw the blankets back over yourself.

“It’s okay, Sissy. Everyone does it. It’s natural.”

“Oh my god…”

“So, what happened last night to bring this on?” She wiggled her eyebrows and you stared at her for a second. Part of you wanted to yell at her, berate her for letting you stumble around while high on a drug you’d never taken before, the other half knew in Chrissy’s World, it was all rainbows and sunshine—at least, it had been since she’d forced her mother to respect her boundaries. Chrissy didn’t expect the worst in anyone, didn't expect anyone to take advantage of you and certainly didn't expect you to wind up walking to the cemetery and then home on a bad trip. No, in Chrissy’s World, you’d probably spent the night flirting with someone, probably Steve, maybe fooled around in his car before he drove you home.

You didn’t see it necessary to shatter her world so you groaned instead, the full force of your migraine hitting you now that you were out of sleep’s clutches, and covered your hands with your face.

“Ooh, your knees…”

You glanced down to see what she was staring at and sure enough, your knees were scratched up from kneeling at Eddie’s grave, but in Chrissy’s World…

“I fell.” Was the only excuse you could come up with and Chrissy smirked.

“Me, too.” Her eyelid dropped in a wink just as Laura yelled upstairs for you, so, begrudgingly, you wrapped yourself in your robe and headed downstairs to receive your punishment.

Just as you suspected, Laura had attacked you with allegations—that were true for once, you had smashed the bathroom mirror—and your dad looked like he could care less.

“You know,” She stated, fixing you with those unnaturally blue eyes of hers, “Your dad wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt. See the good in you, but I knew. I’m an Intuitive Person, you know. An IP. They’ve got seminars for people like me.”

Your mind flashed to How to Handle a Narcissist.

“Laura…” Your dad warned and Laura inhaled sharply, displeased that your dad was sticking up for you. For once.

“Did you know there was a tornado last night? It hailed. Wind blew the fence over. The yard is covered in debris, and now I have to focus on repairing the bathroom, too. I don’t think that’s fair.” She huffed and Chrissy spoke up from her place on the couch.

“It was a tornado watch, mom. Not a real tornado.”

“Actually, Chris, the weather was downright crazy last night. I mean, it was really something, I saw green lightning. Big balls of it in the sky.”

You and Chrissy shared secret smiles at hearing your dad talk about big balls.

“Love muffin, could you swap out being a weatherman for being a father, right now?” Laura gritted out through her chemically whitened teeth.

“It’s a Meteorologist,” You mumbled and her head snapped over to glare at you before she was speaking to your father again.

“Honey, your daughter is a vandal. She’s got a taste for vandalism, and she is deliberately vandalizing and destroying property. First, it was my collection of Precious Moments figurines─”

“That was an accident, you didn’t wrap them in bubble wrap and I dropped the box when I tripped over the front steps.”

“Mother,” Chrissy chided, hands crossing over her robe. “Be. Nice.”

“I am being nice,” Laura hissed, glare never leaving you, “But I refuse to coddle her. She’s headed straight to the nut house with this behavior.”

You frowned, wiping away some of the dried mascara under your eye, “Can you say that if you’re a Psych Nurse?”

Laura had the decency to look embarrassed before whacking your father’s arm. He sighed, putting his newspaper down, “Sweetheart─”

You clocked the twitch in Laura’s eyelid at the affectionate name your father used to refer to you.

“─You’re gonna clean your bathroom, alright? Sweep up all that glass.”

”And?” Laura pushed, still staring at you.

“And…..um. Pay for the mirror, I guess.” Laura turned her nose up, hurmphing.

“That’s fine, can I get ready for work now?”

Your dad nodded and Laura looked like she wanted to protest but you turned your back to her and made your way upstairs, hesitating at the top when your fathered turned the volume of the TV back on and you heard the news reporter reporting from the cemetery, talking about a grave, under a tree, that had been struck by lightning.

You wondered if it had been Eddie’s. There’s no way you’d be able to check today, you’d get home from work too late, so you’d have to check tomorrow.

You tried to stay busy during your shift at the local tailor’s. You didn’t really have a passion for it, but you were relatively good with a needle and thread. With the magnifier headlamp, you were practically unstoppable, altering coats, dresses, blouses, shirts, all with minimal finger injuries—though luminol on some of these clothing items would no doubt reveal traces of your blood.

But hey—you now knew what it meant to work so hard you put your blood into something and you always had band-aids on you, in case anyone needed one.

You were so invested in your work, you hadn’t heard the bell above the door chime when it was pushed open, and didn’t notice Steve leaning against the counter, watching you work until he cleared his throat.

You jumped, head swinging around to see your crush smiling at you and you raised the magnifying glass portion of the head lamp off your face, feeling embarrassed that he’d seen you with the headgear on in the first place.

“Hey! I didn’t know you worked here.”

You let out some nervous laughter, mind racing for ways to make this seem cool but you came up short. “Yeah, I—employed.”

“I can see that,” He chuckled, amused by your lack of verbal sparring.

You didn’t know what to say after that so you stared, fingers twisting and pulling the thread you’d been working with, desperate for him to say something or get out.

“Oh! Uh, I heard you guys also get rid of stains? I’ve got this one on my pan─”

“THAT WE DO!”

You sighed, eyes slipping shut as your moron of a boss came bursting out of the office.

“What can we do for you, Harrington?” Murray asked, leaning against the counter, causing Steve to lean back, smile now less than thrilled.

“Murray…I forgot you worked here.” Steve said it in a voice that made you think he would have avoided the shop had he known who it was that was currently in charge of running it.

“Yup, got me this sweet little gig. And no radios.” He gestured around to the shop, void of any technology save for the cash register—and he made sure it was never him operating it, “Would like to see the government try to control me now.”

“Right, I just came here to drop off my pants, spilled something on—well, it doesn’t really matter, I just spilled something on them.” Steve placed the folded pair of pants on the counter and Murray immediately unfolded them, searching through the fabric until he found the stain by his crotch. To both your horror and Steve’s, he lifted the strained fabric to his nose, sniffing deep.

“Mm. White wine?”

It took Steve a moment to find his voice and close his jaw, “Crush. The soda.”

“Same thing. We’ll get this right out, my man.”

You and Steve shared one more look of disbelief before he slowly backed away, the bell above the door sounding as he left.

“He’s a nice guy,” Murray commented and you shrugged your shoulders, wanting this conversation to be over, “I’m surprised you know him, little loser.”

You shot him a glare.

“Oh, c’mon, lets not pretend you’ve got an active social life—if I call you in for a shift, you’re available. Nothing wrong with being a loser. I was one throughout high school and look at me now. Who got the last laugh?”

You were positive the look of pain on your face should have told Murray that anyone other than him got the last laugh. He was a forty something year old, afraid of technology, convinced the government was watching him, who tried to befriend teenagers.

You’d have to kill yourself if you were anything like him.

When he disappeared back into the office, because of course you’d have to get rid of that stain for Steve, you snatched the pair of pants off the counter. Glancing around to make sure there weren’t any eyes on you, you pressed them to the side of your face, imagining yourself hugging Steve instead of the pants. They smelled like him. It was bliss.

Then your eyes snapped open.

Oh, god. You were a loser.

After your shift, you’d gone straight home. Normally, you’d stop to grab a bite or something, you still had to pay for the mirror you broke so fast food was off the table for a couple of weeks, but on your dining room table when you walked into the house.

A pizza box. Your stomach growled as you imagined the slice of cheese waiting for you.

“Is there any left?” You asked, already making a beeline for it.

“Should be a slice left,” Your dad mused and as you tossed the top of it open, all you wanted to do was maybe beat him with it.

There, on the parchment liner of the pizza box, was the skinniest and tiniest slice of pizza to ever be cut. Not even the width of two of your fingers.

“Want me to order another one, sweetheart?” Your dad asked and Laura immediately inserted herself into the conversation.

“She can eat it, love muffin. Besides, we’ve got vegetables in the fridge if she’s still not full.”

“I said we should have ordered two, but my mom had a coupon she wanted to use.” Chrissy didn’t sound impressed.

“Yes, we got a free soda!”

Chrissy ignored her mom, “Sissy, we’re going to the movies! You could get something there, they sell pizza and nachos, right?”

You knew she was trying to find a solution for you, but your bullshit meter for the day had already been capped. You didn’t want movie theater pizza or concessions, you wanted a reasonable slice of this pizza, not some scrap your step-mother had saved you. It was obvious she was implying that she, your dad and Chrissy were the perfect sized family and you were simply an afterthought. Unwelcome.

“Yeah, I’m passing on the movie.”

Before you could stomp upstairs, Chrissy caught your hand.

“Sissy, please? We’ve got to bond as a family, it’s crucial. If it takes two, how can I do it as one?” She pulled you into her side.

“Really, Chrissy, I’m super tired.”

“You’re tired?” Laura asked, incredulous. Here we go again.

“All you do is work with a sewing machine for hours like some old spinster, I can hardly imagine that being tiring, but my Chrissy just got back from a five hour long cheer practice. They were throwing her around like raggedy ann and she stuck every landing.”

“Mom, stop.” Chrissy blushed, but you could see how proud she was of herself, “I’m sure Sissy pokes herself with those needles all the time, and it hurts, I’ve been prodded myself during all of my custom fittings.”

“I have finger calluses so I don’t even bleed anymore,” You begrudgingly admitted, “I can take it.”

“I bet you can.”

After they’d left for the movies, you’d gone upstairs, showered, put on your comfiest pajamas and fuzziest slippers, you grabbed a bowl of chips and set yourself up in front of the TV to watch Dawn of the Dead. You had to give props to all these zombie actors, you couldn’t imagine having to act out being one of the walking undead, imagined it felt pretty stupid but the paycheck and experience must have been cool.

You popped another chip into your mouth just as someone knocked on the front door. As you placed the bowl of chips on the table to get up, the knocking got louder, more aggressive and you hesitated, fear beginning to swell up inside of you.

Maybe if you ignored it, they’d go away.

You turned your attention back to the tv, picking up the remote to lower the volume and hopefully hide your presence in the house.

Then, much to your horror, you heard the distinct sound of a pained, gurgling groan. It sounded very similar to the ones you’d heard the zombies making on your tv, but this one was louder.

And it was coming from outside your front door.

You crouched, duckwalking to the foyer where one of the house phones was placed. You’d just picked it up from the receiver when a shadow from the living room window caught your eye. You barely had time to turn your head when something came crashing through it, breaking the glass and yanking the curtains from the rod.

Shocked, the phone slipped from your hands, banging against the hardwood floor of the foyer and you let out a scream at the same time as the person on your TV, running away from the figure invading your home.

You made it to the dinning room. Literally scrambling across the table to put an obstacle between you and the stranger—no, creature. Tall, caked in mud, leaves and stems, it resembled the Swamp Thing. It grunted, groans low and reverberating off the walls.

“Uuuhhhnng…”

This couldn’t be happening to you, you couldn’t die like this!!!! It was supposed to be by your hand or nothing!

”STAY AWAY FROM ME!” You shrieked, picking up the decorative plates from the table to throw at the creature. You nailed it a couple of times, watching it stumble as the fine china shattered against it. When you ran out of plates, you bolted from the dinning room, screaming as you scrambled up the stairs, and lost one of your slippers in the process but to hell with it! You had to get out of there. Hopefully, one of your neighbors heard your shrieks of terror and called the police.

You peaked over the railing at the top of the stairs, to see the creature analyzing your slipper. While it was distracted, you locked yourself in your room and made your way to your bedroom window, pulling it open.

“Okay, okay. I can do this, no big deal. Stunt actors do it all the time.” You climbed outside of your window, body nearly convulsing as you almost slipped down the roof, “Nonononono.”

You tried to grip onto a couple of shingles but they gave away, slipping right off the house to shatter against the concrete walkway and you realized Laura had no fucking idea what she was doing when it came to house repairs, the dumb bitch had just laid the shingles out without securing them.

“OH MY GOD-I’M GONNA DIE! HELP!”

Your body slipped further down the roofing, until you were forced to grab the gutter, gagging when your fingers squelched against whatever was in it. You dangled a good six feet off the ground, and while it wasn’t exactly a ten story fall, with your luck, you’d land on your head and break your neck.

Whimpering, you tried to pull yourself back up the roof, but it was no use. You had nothing stable to grab onto as you yanked yet another shingle clean off. You glared at it and muttered a goddammit before tossing it somewhere behind you as you went back to hanging on for dear life.

“Oh, no.” You mumbled, terrified as your fingertips began to lose their grip, wet with the mystery sludge from the gutter. “No, NO!”

You lost your grip, plummeting down but you didn’t meet the concrete. No, the Creature broke your fall and you were now face to face with it. The pressure of you landing on it, made it spit up into your face, green sludge, and you gasped before breaking out into screams again.

Pushing yourself up and off of it as you ran around your front yard, nearly blind. You were not opening your eyes to let that bacteria infested swamp slime, water, whatever the hell it was, into your eyeballs.

You could hear the Creature stomping around behind you as you bobbed and weaved, could feel his presence and you could not believe you were actually gonna die fighting off a swamp monster in your front yard while blinded—in clear and plain view for your neighbors to see, by the way, and unbeknownst to you, an elderly couple was watching you, not even a little concerned about your well being or the creature chasing you around.

“Stop it!”

“Leave me alone!”

“Go away, I’m just a girl!”

The timed sprinklers went off and you were soon assaulted with them as well. With just about all your senses done for, and the sprinklers washing the guck away from your face, you made a run for the house, slamming your back against the door and locking it behind you.

Your chest was heaving, wet body pumping with adrenaline as the back of your head thumped against the door. You weren’t done yet. That creature was still out there!!!

You dove for the phone on the ground, hanging by its springy cord and shouted out hopefully loud enough for it to hear, “I’m calling the police, so if you don’t want your ass riddled with bullets, I’d suggest you leave! They shoot before asking questions!”

You frantically dialed 911 but there was no ringing, instead, you could still hear buttons being pressed on the other line.

Bleak, and accepting your fate, you put the phone back on the receiver, and turned towards the living room, where the other phone was located.

On the chair, next to where the table the phone normaly rested on, was The Creature.

You grabbed one of the lamps, ready to use it as a weapon but it didn’t attack you, just turned the phone receiver this way and that, as if admiring it.

Despite your fear, you took a reluctant step forward, casting the creature in the glow of the lamp you clutched and for like the billionth time that night, you gasped.

The sprinklers had washed some of the filth off of it, too. Before, its head had been caked in a mud helmet, but now, you could actually see it’s head. It had long, disgustingly dirty curls, and wore a leather jacket, jeans and tennis shoes, all covered in grime.

When it craned its head up to look at you, you readied the lamp, poised to throw it at it—him. It was a guy. Big brown eyes, stared up at you and he made no move to attack.

Slowly, you lowered the lamp, and crouched down a few feet away.

His attention returned to the phone—shoe shaped—in his hands and shakily, with stiff limbs, he put it back on the receiver.

“It’s…It’s cool looking, right? The-The shoe phone.”

He glanced over at you and then the phone again as you mumbled out an explanation,

“Our neighbor in our old town cheated on his wife and she threw all his stuff out the window at him and my dad snatched the phone.”

“Merrrruhhhhh.” He moaned out, picking up your slipper and offering it to you. When you just stared, he dropped it and you moved the lamp to the side, crossing your legs.

“I’ve never seen a zombie before.” You marveled, then squinted, “You are a zombie, right? An undead?”

It took him an entire minute to choppily raise his shoulders, you realized he was shrugging. Or trying to. Every movement he made was choppy. Reminded you of how stop motion was made, except his scenes weren’t being played fast enough to have fluid movements.

He tried to get up and promptly slipped, accidentally elbowing the mini sound system at his side. It turned on, Sinead O’Connor’s Drink Before the War playing. You’d been the last to use it.

You watched as his head tilted in interest as Sinead began to croon out lyrics.

“Do you like music? This is Sinead O’Connor. She makes music that heals souls.”

He raised his wrist to his chest and you inhaled sharply as you realized he was missing the hand on it.

“Uhm, no—I don’t think she healed your soul. I meant like, figuratively. Her music makes people feel.” You placed your hands on your own chest, trying to convey your meaning, “She’s one of my favorites.”

A surprisingly comforting silence fell over the two of you—though he sometimes made his quiet dead guy gross sounds—as you stared at him, taking in the green-gray tint of his skin beneath the dirt all over him, cheeks sunken in. You had a feeling if you touched his skin, it’d be hard, maybe waxy and it was a bit unnerving how human his eyes were, but duh! Of course they were, he was a human. Just. A dead one. At least he wasn’t a skeleton.

Man, Hollywood wasn’t too far off with their interpretation.

“C’mon,” You stood up, eyes taking in the state of your home and all the dirt the two of you had dragged in, “I gotta hide you, new dead friend.”

#Eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #Freak like me #lisa frankenstein #lisa frankenstein inspo #Zombie!eddie munson #dead!eddie munson #undead!eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson au #Eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfic #Eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson #Steve harrington x reader #eddie munson x black!reader

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tiredofthehumanlife · 1 year ago

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Do you guys think they’re open for a third

#also i might start writing they poly with reader if you guys want that #lisa x creature #lisa frankenstein #lisa swallows x reader #lisa swallows #the creature #creature x reader

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msookyspooky · 21 days ago

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I see your Creature Randy and I raise you; Creature Reader! (Btw how are you I miss you on may dash >_<!)

I love this especially as someone that's a huge Lisa Frankenstein, Corpse Bride, Nosferatu and Beetlejuice lover

@f1nalboys if ur still into Randy and still write ur masterpieces on him ♡♡♡

And I am so so so so sorry this is astronomically late! It was under like 23 anons of long winded spam forgive me 😭😢 Missed you all too, pookies ♡

I'm just going with Scream since it wasn't specified (But I accept other request too)

Scream 1996 Character + Lisa Frankenstein 2024 Mash Up:

Randy Meeks, Billy Loomis, Stu Macher

TW: Gore, Bodyhorror, Death, Decay, Murder, Bugs

Scream Characters x Creature Corpse Reader

Randy Meeks:

♡ You enjoyed the young man's voice even from 6 feet underground. Muffled and hard to hear; but heard none the less. Visiting your grave site and telling you about his day every so often on his way home. He wanted a partner and complained of the woes of dating as a social outcast? So endearing. You're non-beating heart still stirred even if you were in a peaceful twilight of paralysis and decay.

♡ But he didn't react how you hoped. Absolutely freaks the hell out when you followed him home from the grave after it got struck by lightning and you were resurrected from your eternal slumber

♡ Then you were confused and offended. Why was he running and screaming!? He wanted a date and here you are! Did men not court anymore?

♡ "Jesus!!" He had exclaimed while staggering over objects and holding up a vhs tape as a potential weapon. You gestured to things explaining you were the one he visited at the cemetery, "I wanted a d-date not a damn Evil Dead character from the Grave all guts and maggots!"

♡ When you still didn't quite get it in your haze of reanimation; he spelled it out for you same harsh energy as the gif.

♡ "YOU. ARE. DEAD! A nasty, oozing, rotting corpse! Of course I'm not interested!!"

♡ Ouch. Okay, so you were dead! So, your ear fell off and you didn't feel nerve endings now!...You still had feelings feelings. The kind that made you whimper and feel your heart beating a new and twisting painfully in your hollow chest.

♡ He faltered seeing tears (or um...Whatever body fluids you had) well up in your milky eyes and you stumbled away.

♡ He felt really bad and confused hearing you sobbing in his closet. And absolutely fucking terrified of you.

♡ "Hey...Hey look, I'm sorry but ya gotta cut a guy slack here, okay? It's not everyday an undead person stumbles in my house. You took me by surprise is all...Maybe you're a nice zombie? C'mon, I'm sorry that um...Ack, God!-" He gagged quickly covering his nose at the smell you must be admitting as you cried and he begged, "Pplleeassee stop crying before my room smells like friggin roadkill."

♡ He makes you shower and well even you were a lil grossed out seeing a worm fall from you. Disgusting. And he even gave you an oversized shirt with 'Friday the 13th' on it. How sweet! A gift!...Well, you sorta took it because it was soft and he scrunched his nose telling you it was all yours.

♡ Shows you movies and soon realizes he has someone that will listen to him ramble. He points things out and you hum and nod as he goes on and on and you sit there a 'zombie' as he called you.

♡ He scolded you in the kitchen and waved a paper at you, "Hey, hey, hey! No. Bad Zombie. You can't just go wandering around my house. My sister and parents will flip!"

♡ You grunted in offense at him scolding you like a dog but relented venturing his house...You were bored! You had been in that coffin in the ground way too long just to be shoved in a closet sneaking the same VHS tapes on his mini tv over and over

♡ He's horrified when you killed a guy bullying him in his yard one night that had followed him home after Randy had made a remark about him at work. How dare that bastard hurt your living boy! Said boy is mortified you not only bludgeoned the guy to death but that you stole the bullies ear and urged him to sew it on. You shrugged at him...What? He wasn't using it!... Not anymore.

♡ Randy had the idea of using the faulty tanning bed to jolt your dead tissue after claiming it worked in...Too many movies to remember as he rambled like a mad scientist. And It did work.

♡ He tries to tell you that you both can't just kill anybody but that all backfires like everything else in Randy's lil losercore life

♡ But...The more you're resurrected. More human. More alive with life in your eyes and able to smirk or pull him along to explore. Well...You see how he gets tomato red at you undressing in front of him. Your body not as disgusting as it once was. Not at all.

♡ "Damn...I mean um..." He rubbed the back of his neck giving your now fleshtoned and warmer looking body clothes. "Ya know, maybe no one will miss Robert anyways? I mean he was a total geek like me. No one will remember him." He faltered at you nude and tracing his jawline in concern at how he always talked about himself. He stammered, "I-I-I mean, ya know um...Shit..." He swallowed looking at your eyes now as vibrant as they were in life. "You're...Kinda cute for a zombie. I mean...Well..." He blushed more at you smiling. Not kissing him, not yet, too afraid you were still a bit ripe and just took the clothes while squeezing his hand and he averted his eyes bashfully at your nude form. "Just put clothes on, would ya?"

♡ And hey? He kinda found it romantic after awhile especially not getting caught helping you kill for body parts. Going from the guy no one wanted to an undead but not fully dead individual with eyes on only him and no one else. It may go against every natural law he knew but damn at least he had a date and someone that once fully alive and warm to snuggle with during horror movie nights.

Billy Loomis

♡ (I don't think we give him enough credit for his off putting creepy behavior or his odd ways. He'd be the most down for corpsey you. Like, he's a freak of nature with pretty privledge. In another life, he was a gothic outcast like Lisa in male form let's be real.)

♡ He'd go to the cemetery to think. Smoke. Sometimes he talked to your gravestone seeing you were near his age when you died. You liked hearing him. Wishing you could reach up to hold his hand but alas a pine box and 6 feet of dirt stood in your way.

♡ "Must be nice...Wish I was with you sometimes. Instead I'm studying for English while I'm dying inside slowly. Probably as rotten inside as you are...Corny, huh?" He chuckled wryly and patted your tombstone.

♡ When you stumble to his house on a stormy night while his Dad was away doing God knows what; he obviously flipped. He went to stab you and you just looked down at the knife and pulled it out. A bit of your rot going out with it.

♡ He backed up against a wall breathing heavily. Eyeing you till you put the knife down and pointed at a picture he took of your grave on his bedroom wall.

♡ You're dead eyes look pleased when he remembers and you went to hug him and he was a bit like...No. Pushing you away with a grimace.

♡ Yet, he looks at you in wonder. Intrigued how you work, your anatomy...And he's actually flattered you came to him. That you were 'special' in the same dark way he was.

♡ You're disheartened when he specified he wanted to be in the ground too, not necessarily with you. It hurt. Being rejected in death like you were in life.

♡ "Oh Fuck-" He grumbled pinching his nose at your tears. "Okay if you're gonna be dead; you're gonna be clean and dead. Shit-" But he muses, "This is like Re-Animator. Or Frankhooker only I didn't pick your parts." You give him an offended look and he smirks, "Oh? You got sensibilities? I just saw a worm fall out of you."

♡...He had a point but you were still offended.

♡ He gives you one of his oversized polo shirts or flannels. He slid his fingers over your cold thigh, curious as can be as you lightly went to smack it then realizing...Oh right. No hand. How Embarrassing.

♡ He smirked in fascination and lifted your wrist to examine it, "Bit of a problem." You couldn't help watching how his beautiful dangerous dark eyes looked at you, "You need parts...And I think I know exactly how to get them." You grunted in response and he raised a brow, "What? I won't give you some ugly old wrinkled hand or something. Don't worry about it...I'll take care of you. Promise."

♡ Let's you sleep in his closet and he SHOULD be mortified but instead he's like a young boy who has a secret friend no one knows about.

♡ Gets you a hand and you blink as he still had blood on a rag it was wrapped in. "Hey, don't worry. I told you I'd get it. You're like my newest thing to focus on. Like...Like Edward Scissorhands even if I'm no Winona...More like the mom." He jokingly mused while putting the new hand on your wrist. You grunted but relented as he sewed the hand onto yours. Both of you disappointed it didn't work. He paced the room in annoyance, "Damn... There's gotta be something-" when...The neighbor did have a faulty tanning bed they didn't use anymore

♡ Treats you like a beloved experiment. Enjoying his kills having a purpose to bring the perfect girl/guy/person to life.

♡ It even distracts him from getting revenge on Sidney. Sometimes.

♡ He eases into bed with you, "Hey...You're dead you know. I'm not waiting around till you're alive to get laid. I mean, does everything...Even...Ya know, work?" He mused aloud. His eyes scanning your body barely covered by his flannel as you may not blush yet but your skin was a blu-ish flesh tone or getting more warm by the day and you watched and let his hand...Travel curiously.

♡ Finds it endearing that you don't like him having a girlfriend or beinh so close to Stu, "Aw, you want me all to yourself? I have a lot of chicks I have sex with you know-" Grins wider at you almost fully alive again grumbling and holding his pillow in bed with a pout. He loves feeling wanted. Adores it especially with a girlfriend like Sidney that was too nice, too pure, too trusting. He craved a possesive partner that wants him and only him...But damn it, this living man was all you had. You had no one but him. And he had such pretty eyes too.

♡ He's secretly very possessive of you even if he gives you a hard time. When you sneak out and some guys were flirting/haggling you; he yells at you then drags you back before holding you close reminding you you were HIS secret. HIS deadgirl/guy/person. HIS project. HIS.

♡ You knew his killing was getting erratic near Fall time and on the night before the murders; he fully makes you alive and you both don't hesitate to explore. Why not? Go all the way making the night special. He reasons horror movie logic doesn't work on supernatural creatures like you

♡ The night he dies; You're devastated beyond belief and you sneak out and get his body from the morgue not caring if your caught and resurrect him with that tanning bed

♡ He's not as dead as you were but has no memories solid. That bullet scrambling his brain a bit and if anything; it's perfect. You take care of him while trying to make him alive. No revenge, no mommy issues, no murder. Just you...Just you and him. A twisted couple but together forever.

Stu Macher

♡ He only knew your grave from it being a shortcut as a tween to home. THEN he used it to scare kids with the shtick of, 'watch out...You say the name at midnight and she comes back!'

♡ Screamed so shrill and loud he'd never admit it when showed up at his house covered in mud and clearly a corpse. He screamed like a young girl at you actually showing up on his doorstep undead both out of longing and annoyance of him constantly PESTERING your resting place

♡ "Get away from me you undead freak of nature!! Bro, I SAID GET BACK!!" Followed by him throwing a pot at your head and you groaning in discomfort and annoyance clutching your rotting head.

♡ He finally mustered his usual bravado when you were thumbing through his CD collection, "Ugh nooooo! Goddamn, why?!" He grimaced. "Man, you got your nasty dead fingerprints all over my shit!" You ignored him and tried sitting the CD on top the CD player expecting it to work like a record. He raised a brow, "Uh no. Get with the times, babe." And begrudgingly played it for you properly.

♡ He watched you listening to the music and get mud and worms and body juices- "Oh damn it, get in the bathtub! Fuuucckkk, man. I just got this carpet my parents are gonna kill me." He grumbled shoving you in the tub

♡ He watched you get in washing away grime as he cringed, "Man, you smell awful. Like, I'm gonna puke just looking at you-"

♡ If you threw a worm at him from your insides for being an ass it would so funny. You should do that so he screams again.

♡ After he gets over the shock he's calling Billy up and nervous and of course Billy thinks he's high or pranking him and hangs up just for you to be standing behind him

♡ Does question if he can use you like a pin cushion and you feel no pain just for you to lift your shirt and remind him if he tries to take out his sick lil urges on you...It ain't blood. It's decades of rotting insides and flesh and body juice.

♡ He's gagging but morbidly curious, "Eewwwwww, you're fucking disgusting." As he goes to poke a hole on your rotting torso and you smack him with your stump of a wrist where your one hand is missing, "Soorryyy, got it. Don't finger your holes." He joked and you grumbled tempted to crawl back to your grave in annoyance at him.

♡ He's cleaning frantically and doesn't let you help after you bent over and more...Stuff came out of you through the shirt he gave you and onto the carpet but he does wonder aloud, "Wonder if we put you together like, I don't know, Frankenstein or something if it would work?" He looked at you as you shrugged with a grunt unable to do much else as a corpse

♡ He warns you to stay in the attic and you definitely did not enjoy that but shrugged as you busied yourself going through his families belongings. You saw the dolls hanging up in there, grunted and kept it moving

♡ You secretly disliked Tatum and how she talked to him and he was over the moon teasing thinking his dead toy was jealous. He even made remarks that hurt your feelings but you didn't cry. Didn't give him the satisfaction of finding something else to nitpick. He had new girls behind Tatum's back there constantly anyways.

♡ You...May have coughed up a worm as a fuck you in him and Tatum's popcorn one makeout movie night when they were distracted.

♡ But you blinked at him getting you and hand that didn't match you. Blinking but he was already sewing it on and excitedly saying, "Don't worry, I got it. Man, this is gonna be so friggin cool!"

♡ He told you to get in Leslie's old tanning bed she said had a short in it and cranked it up...To your shock...It actually worked. Shocking your system.

♡ He grinned smugly, "Ha! Knew it...Wonder if I can sew a dick on you or big tits or-" You glared with your newfound muscles in your face restored and he held his hands up, "Alright alright. Jokes, jeez."

♡ You started to realize he may have initially acted normal but was anything but. He WANTED to show you off like some fair project and you refused for obvious reasons. He was charming and a huge risk taker to the point of being a ditz but also not. He was an odd conundrum

♡ He was cute obviously but he crushed on you first having bizarre taste. "Ya know..." He had you in his bed with his sister one oversized nightgown on you. "I always wondered what it would be like to...Ya know...Do stuff with a stiff-" You gave him the most bewildered offended look, "I'm just saying! I wouldn't do it. And you're...Undead, not the same morally." He rolled his eyes with a huff but eyed you and got closer. "Just...I mean, you're like the ultimate doll. Just for me. And you can't blame a guy for being curious."

♡...You were also curious but thankfully his parents came home and you groaned as back up to the attic you went. He did provide magazines for you though

♡ You just had one more 'part' left to replace in an embarrassing area and he used the night at the party as Ghostface to get it. Billy still didn't believe him and he seemed to not care. Not wanting to 'share' with Billy anyways

♡ Bloody and looking better than you wanted to admit he smiled like a kid in a store sewing it on and touching you along the way in a way that surpringly made your undead carcass...Warm.

♡ People still drunk at the party complained when the power went out when he fully resurrected you to living breathing tissue and you and him despite your better judgment kissed and...Tested out your parts.

♡ He had it in his head you were his toy and doll and thing and you disliked being a thing and yet the way he made you feel alive literally and metaphorically...Maybe you could play along.

♡ When he died that night from the tv you brought him back before cops could fully investigate. He wanted to go back for Billy but didn't hesitate to leave him either once he came to

♡ Is devastated he looks like 'a freak' with his face now and yet you cup his cheek and kiss him. His player cassanova days are over but...He had you. Now? There was level playing field. And if you both had to kill to get parts along the way so be it.

#scream #stu macher #billy loomis #randy meeks x reader #randy meeks #stu macher x reader #billy loomis x reader #scream imagines #lisa frankenstein #creature reader

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m0llygunn · 1 year ago

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CREATURE FROM THE GRAVE

Creepy guy on the side of the road? Perfectly acceptable to pick up and bring home, especially when he’s the living dead.

Summary: The first night at your house— the undead has a name! wc: 900 ─── † ཐི❤︎ཋྀ † ───

“Frankie boy, my love, my new pal, please stop gargling or growling or whatever that dreadful noise is.”

He gurgles another low, stomach deep noise, and you use your elbows to prop yourself up on the mattress, looking over the edge to see him lying on the floor. His eyes meet yours and with his cracked, decrepit lips pulled into a frown, you make a mental note to buy him some chapstick tomorrow. His frown deepens, brows pinching together as he shakes his head, upset over something. You fall back onto your pillow with a sigh.

“What is it now?”

He groans in response, dragging out his deep, annoyed tone. You hear shuffling as his voice grows taller.

Rolling your eyes, you meet his gaze as he sits up on his makeshift bed, barely visible through the darkness of your room.

“Frankie, I can’t understand you. Didn’t your mother ever teach you about enunciation?”

He grunts. You sit up again and as soon as he has your focus, in a slow, creaky movement, he raises his arm to point at his chest.

“You?”

He nods. His shaky finger points towards his chest again, pairing the movement with a negating shake of his head.

“You not…?” you guess.

He nods enthusiastically— well, as enthusiastically as the undead can get. He points to his chest again and you have absolutely no clue what he’s trying to say. Zero, zilch, nada clue. It’s past midnight and he might not need sleep but you do.

“You not… tired?” you guess again. He groans, shaking his head, disagreeing. He pauses for a brief moment, shrugging— maybe— but then he continues shaking his head more convincingly than before. He’s not tired but that’s not what he’s trying to say.

With a sigh, you deflate. It’s already felt like the longest night of your life but now this… “Frankie—”

He grunts harshly, interrupting you. His jagged movements point his finger into his chest a final time, followed by a final shake of his head.

“You’re not Frankie?”

He nods, letting out an agreeable grunt.

“Well, I know that, silly. We’ve already gone over this— I don’t know your name and until you can better enunciate your grunts, you’re going by Frankenstein.”

He stares at you blankly and you roll your eyes, shifting on your elbows to get a better look at him.

“You know Frankenstein? Like the book? Mary Shelley? Judging by the pins on your jacket, you should have been alive way after the book was written, so either you’re being difficult or you just had really, really terrible taste in books, Frankie.”

He groans dreadfully again, dragging out his explicit disagreement for his new name.

“Well, what do you want me to do? Guess names at random until I get it right? That would take forever, and it’s already past midnight because we had to spend three hours scrubbing dirt off of every inch of you. And bugs, Frankie, so many bugs!”

He rolls his eyes and you gasp— to be treated like this in your own home!

“Frank—”

“Euggh!” he cuts you off.

“Euggh is not a very nice name but if that’s what you want to go by…,” you smile, watching him scowl his hardest yet. “Sweet, Euggh, I am so very tired and I have to wake up tomorrow morning to scrub the house clean from your mud. I am going to sleep. Goodnight. Again.”

You toss your comforter back over yourself and sink into your pillow. Not even a full second goes by before you hear the creaky shuffle of Euggh getting up.

“If I knew the undead operated on a different time zone I would have left you where I found you,” you say, shifting to get comfort.

He grunts in response, short and abrasive, but you don’t take it to heart. You hear more shuffling, the drag of his bad foot, and the squeal of your desk drawer being pulled open. There’s about 12 seconds of silence before every noise you just heard happens in reverse.

“Hmmmmm,” he groans beside your bed, dragging out the low rasp of his voice. When you pretend to sleep he gets louder, even going as far as knocking the edge of the mattress.

“Jesus, this can’t wait until morning?” you sigh, sitting up. You switch on your bedside lamp, blinking away the harsh light to look at your new, quickly-growing-annoying friend.

Not having looked at him in a while, his once wet hair has now dried, sticking up and frizzing out in all different directions, making him look more like Bride of Frankenstein than Frankenstein. You can’t help but snicker a giggle. His brows pinch together and once again, he’s back to scowling.

“Lighten up, would ya?” you tease. “We can give your hair a good deep condition tomorrow, then it won’t be as frizzy. Who would have thought a century of grime would be drying for the hair follicle?”

“Errrgh,” he drags out, before shifting his balance and raising a hand towards you. In his pale, scrubbed clean fist is a paper, ruled lines ripped straight from your diary— classy.

“What’s this?” You sit up even further, crossing your legs in front of you as you take the paper from him.

Flipping it around, you read the messy chicken scratch writing scribbled across the page in sparkly pink gel ink.

“If you knew how to write, why didn’t you say something earlier, Eddie?”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson blurb #zombie!eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #undead!eddie munson #lisa frankenstein inspired

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e-evangeline · 2 months ago

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𝐴𝑛 𝐸𝑙𝑒𝑔𝑦 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑅𝑒𝑏𝑖𝑟𝑡ℎ

Tomura Shigaraki x Reader.

part 1, wc: 1k+

Synopsis: “The last thing you were expecting to see tonight was him. Caked in mud and stumbling down your hallway. Tomura Shigaraki. The headstone you’d been visiting and writing your Plath-esque, teenage rage poetry beside at Kamino Graveyard. More importantly, he’s supposed to be dead.”

Contents: Lisa Frankenstein!AU, Tomura Shigaraki x Reader, AFAB reader, romance, fluff, references to gothic literature, death (and resurrection), non-sexual intimacy, sexual tension, explicit language, mutual pining, idiots in love, happy ending, multiple parts! more tags to be added…(do not have to have seen the movie)

A/N: I hope you enjoy this first chapter. I will be cross-posting on ao3 once I sort my account out. I will update when that is done.

It started around 3 months ago. Moving to a new city to live with your father’s new wife and step-daughter, isn’t the easiest of changes. Let alone for an 18 year old entering her final year of high-school, and now at a new state school where the other kids already have their cliques. If anything, it was more of a pain for you rather than a haunting sentimentality for your old life that has made it difficult to adjust.

Instead of making friends with people you’d soon forget about in a couple weeks as you walk across the graduation stage, you had decided to fill up the remaining time that the typical students were using to socialise and organise weekend karaoke events with friends to do what you do best. Write.

It was late winter, that time where spring is on the horizon and where the fog hangs a little too low and where the dew in the air attaches itself to your hair, dampening and making it flatten against your scalp. You’d been walking home from your class’s mandatory meeting to discuss their fundraiser for the spring festival when you took an accidental detour, stumbling upon a pair of rusting gates that read ‘Kamino Ward Cemetery’.

Despite its creepy appearance, something about the chill and foggy atmosphere encouraged you to enter. To your left, you could see a small crypt that you could only assume housed some upper-middle class egoist who must have thought they were better than the rest of Kamino city’s dwellers. To your right, a few miscellaneous graves of varying sizes whose names were mostly hidden from the neglect of the land’s upkeep and age. You had almost missed it, but somewhere further back you saw a lone grave anyone could have easily missed if they didn’t do a double take. Stepping on a branch, the snap filled the silence as you approached it. Getting closer, the small light seeping through the fog began to dissipate slowly till you were craning your neck up at what you now realised was a much larger, much more gothic style grave with a man’s head sculpted of stone at the top of it. You gripped the branches and leaves obscuring the lettering. Then tracing your eyes over the slab, half lidded and bored, it read:

“Here lies, a young man who deserved more than what he got out of life … Tomura Shigaraki”.

—

From that day on, you’d been a frequent visitor of the man you’d found to be only a couple years older than yourself at the time of his death. You had always been one to have a morbid curiosity and interest in the macabre, so after school every other day you would bring your writing tools to this neglected field of corpses for a couple hours until you started getting ‘where are you?’ texts from your sister. There was something about this dead man though, that interested you, like you were Heathcliff and he were Catherine. You had began to picture the life of some done and dusted guy, talking to that stone head you couldn’t tell anyone you thought was handsome for fear of being locked up in some run-down loony bin. You’re sure if your dad’s overbearing wife found out you were just hanging about graveyards alone for fun like a creep, she’d bust a pretty nail or two and admit you anyway.

“You don’t get it Tomura, well maybe you do, or did, how would I know. My step-sister is being a real cunt lately, she keeps trying to get me to go to these sport rallies with her uppity-douche of a boyfriend who I’m pretty sure doesn’t even know the difference between a Jane Austen novel and a Charlotte Brontë novel!”

Flipping a page in your notebook and lowering your voice to a smaller octave, you mutter: “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Everyone and everything irritates me. My dad says he’s worried about me but he’s leaving with his wife to go on a weekend trip to Okinawa… does that sound selfish of me?”.

The temperature is lowering and the sun is starting to set, you sigh and look up one last time at his grave. “I wish you weren’t so dead Tomura. I feel you’d have understood me. I’d have liked to have someone to complain about with who also seems to have been a troubled loser…ahh, no you weren’t a loser… I’m sure of it”.

—

‘These new cotton pyjamas are really soft’ you think as you lounge on the living room sofa. Being home alone, you get to be a slob for a couple days because as well as the newly wed couple going away for a few days, your sister is at some university party with her friends. To make the most out of this opportunity, you’ve acquired an array of unhealthy food: a can of cola, a bag of sweet and salty popcorn, sour gummies, and for good measure a slice of a brownie with ice-cream. You’re not going to eat all of it, but the ability to indulge and not be reprimanded by the diet infested brain of your new mother is appealing and gives you a sense of evil satisfaction. This TV channel you found is reprising a bunch of David Lynch movies, tonight’s showing is Eraserhead. A true classic. So you’re going to do absolutely nothing but enjoy the simple pleasures in life for tonight.

The rain has been picking up outside for the past half hour, and the lamp at the side of the sofa is imbuing the room with a warm cosy glow. You’re half way through the movie, comfortable with a blanket up to your chin when you hear a small thud… and then another, but with more umph the second time around. You pick up the remote and pause the TV, slowly moving your feet as the blanket falls to the floor. It’s coming from the door. Another thud. You’re all but about to reach for the landline on the wall when the door comes crashing open and swinging hard against the wall when a large blur stumbles into the hallway.

The blur begins to steady itself and you’ve already got that weird pole thing people have next to their fireplaces in hand read to swing like you’re in a game of baseball, when that same blur turns to your direction and is not a blur at all. But a man. A man you know all too well. He’s staring at you with a look on his face you can’t quite discern.

The last thing you were expecting to see tonight was him. Caked in mud and stumbling down your hallway. The headstone you’d been writing your Plath-esque wanna be poetry beside at Kamino Graveyard. More importantly, he’s supposed to be dead. It’s Tomura Shigaraki. And he’s… alive?

—> Part 2

(Now on ao3, user id is in pinned)

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mytheoristavenue · 1 year ago

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LF Creature x Reader - Mutal Comfort

Summary: You owed Lisa a favor, but you never expected she'd make you pay it back in the form of babysitting her undead boytoy while she goes to a party.

Warnings: rushed/not proofread, bisexual!reader, reader has an unreciprocated crush on Lisa, angst, fem!reader

"Lisa, I never agreed to this!" You shouted at your best friend as she hurried over to crawl back out of your window.

"I promise I'll make it up," she waved you off, sliding the glass panel up. "It's just for the night, I swear. I'll be back before school."

With that she was gone, hearing no other protests. You stood with your back flattened against the wall, frightened gaze never leaving the thing on the other side of your bedroom.

You were the only person who knew of Creature's presence, being Lisa's very best friend for life or whatever. You'd do anything for her but babysitting her undead little pet was definitely stretching boundaries.

You felt some guilt for your terror, after all, he did look incredibly somber, shrinking into the opposite corner. Maybe he felt bad for scaring you?

"S-Soo...uh," you started, pushing off the wall but only by mere centimeters. "Y-You...Lisa's new boyfriend?" The thing seemed rigid at the thought and reluctantly shook his head. "Let me guess, you wanna be?" You prodded, inching closer still. Another timid nod. The two of you had that in common, apparently.

"You and me both," you sighed, sitting on the edge of your bed. Creature eyed you skeptically, still in the corner but not as glued to the wall as before. "Don't look at me like that, I don't mean I want to be her boyfriend." You paused, wondering if his expression was caused by the thought of you being gay or wanting to be a male, or maybe he was jealous at the thought of competition. "But, I don't know, being girlfriends might be nice..."

By this time, he'd inched close enough to sit on the other side of the bed, still as far away on it as possible, though. You took this as a sign to continue. "It's just that, me and Lis have been besties since like- kindergarten. I even convinced my parents to move her with her after her mom died and it feels like all she does is blow me off now," you ranted. "Like, before the incident, we'd have these long talks about the future, and we were always in each other's but now...I don't know anymore..."

An anguished moan was his only response as he drew his discolored hand to his chest. "Sorry," you said dropping your head. "I know you've gotta be hurting too listening to her ramble on about-" You brought your hands to your cheeks and batted your lashes, making your voice an octave higher to imitate your crush. "Micheal Trent!" He nodded, rolling his eyes slightly. "Y'know, I really don't know what she sees in him? Dude's a class A poser. He pretends to be into all that dark music and poetry but it's literally just to look cool and mysterious so all the preppy girls will fall in love with him."

While you ranted, Creature studied your room, noting how different it was from Lisa's. She had string lights, drawings, and moody posters all over her walls, while yours were tidy and well-organized with framed photos and prints of paintings that matched the color scheme of the walls. Eventually, you caught onto his staring and fell quiet prompting him to glance back to you.

"Didn't mean to fly off the handle, my bad." you muttered, standing up with a sigh. "Anyways, what do you like to do? Got any hobbies?" He stood up with you, wandering over to a keyboard that had collected dust in the corner. Curiously, he stuck a key and cringed at the sound it made. You joined him, explaining it. "That's just my old keyboard. I used to play piano as a kid but when we moved here we couldn't take my piano with us, so my dad got me this. It's kinda like an electric piano, only it's portable. Don't really like it though, too synthy for my taste."

Creature sat down in front of it, fumbling with the buttons on the control board while trying out the keys after each adjustment. Finally, he seemed to have found a setting he liked. "I'm guessing you play?" you cocked a brow. You couldn't have predicted how the cocky smirk then tossed you would make you feel. Following that, he threaded his finders together before pushing them out, cracking his knuckles before dramatically slamming down on the keys.

"Holy shit," you breathed, listening to the classical tune that filled your room. Needless to say, he played beautifully and was incredibly talented. At one point, he even glanced up at you with another shit-eating grin, showcasing the fact that he knew the positions by memory and didn't even need to look.

"You're amazing!" you explained when the song was finished, placing your hands on either shoulder and rocking him gently. "I've never seen that much musical skill from one person! What, were you like a professional pianist in your first life or something?"

To your surprise, he actually nodded. "Jesus christ man, I've never even heard that song before, did you write that?" He nodded again, and again, you were flabbergasted. "I bet you had an extraordinarily hard life." You muttered without thinking. "Art like that only comes out of suffering." As he nodded yet again, this time more bashfully, the two of you shared a moment of silence.

"I'm sorry, that was rude," you realized, glancing away. This time, Creature shook his head, an uncharacteristically peachy hand guiding your face back toward his as he stepped closer. For a moment, you waited to see what wisdom he had to offer, before remembering that no words would come as he stared at you, only able to offer a comforting gaze. "I wish you could talk," you whispered as he pulled you into his chest without you even realizing it. "But then again, maybe it's better you can't." you retorted to yourself bitterly. "I've had enough people tell me to cheer up because life gets better."

Creature stiffened, pushing you to hold you at arm's length, shaking his head again. "You think you got something better?" you asked, rhetorically.

Sensing your irritation, he resigned himself to giving up on communication for now. Taking matters into his own hands, he pressed a palm to his heart, a sign for you to trust him. Gently, he guided you back to your bed, pushing you down onto it. Awkwardly, Creature untucked the quilt from the bed a threw it over you, signalling for you to lay down, before tucking you in. You reluctantly followed his instruction, laying down on your side, tears welling in your eyes from all the overwhelming emotion bubbling inside you. You then watched as he made his way over to your desk, seeming to write something on a sheet of notebook paper Following this, he laid the note at your feet as he took a seat in front of the keyboard again.

You couldn't deny that you were beginning to feel drowsy after the soft music he played filled the room. This song was nothing like the first one. It was sweet and serene, unlike the dark and dramatic one he'd first played- with that cocky grin that made you feel so conflicted.

On the cusp of needing to rest your eyes, you remembered the note he'd left for you, briefly sitting up to reach it before laying back down, holding it up in the air to read what it said as he played your consciousness out.

"The sun does not ever reappear if the rain never stops. To live happily is to find solace in any weather. With the right balance, the flowers will begin to bloom. I hope to one day see a lush garden in you, darling."

#lisa frankenstein #lisa frankenstein creature x reader #creature x reader #lisa swallows #lisa frankenstein reader insert #lisa frankenstein fanfic #diablo cody #zelda williams

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xoemme · 1 year ago

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I AM SO BLESSED OMG!!! A LISA X CREATURE X READER ON AO3 NAMED AFTER A DODIE SONG?????

#im in heaven #this is lucky girl syndrome at its finest!!!#lisa x creature #lisa frankenstein creature x reader #lisa frankenstein #lisa frankenstein x reader #lisa swallows #lisa swallows x reader

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angel-sweets666 · 1 year ago

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Sweetheart~ mood board

chapter one out now! Here

reader (fem reader so afab body parts)

The creatures mood board

#lisa frankenstein #lisa frankenstein 2024 #the creature x reader #the creature lisa frankenstein #the creature #lisa frankenstein fanfic #lisa swallows #the creature lisa frankenstein x reader #lisa frankenstein creature #Lisa Frankenstein aesthetic #Lisa Frankenstein x reader #Fanfiction #mood board

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bcmbiquinn · 4 months ago

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These two 🥹 u don’t understand I need a fic where the reader is inspired in Lisa!!

#eddie munson #lisa frankenstein #eddie munson x reader #Spotify

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kaissatou · 3 months ago

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the promise - a lisa frankenstein AU (5.6k)

“Do you like music? I have The Cure.

Oh. Not that kind of cure.

They can’t make you better. I mean they can, but like, emotionally.”

summary; feeling alone, you visit the graveyard for some company. lightning strikes twice, and everything suddenly changes.

warnings; weird girl!reader, Gojo whose lived under a rock for years (literally), alcohol intoxication, attempted sexual assault (not by suguru or satoru) , slight angst, slight suguru x reader

notes; not proofread :( was gonna be waaay longer but i cba :3 part 2 soon if this gets support :p

☆

You thought about death frequently. Not with suicidal intentions, but rather curiosity. Would your body lay there to rot in eternal darkness with no mind left to wander anymore, or would you be able to feel the dirt on your skeletal fingers, and roam the earth as the ghost of the person you once was? You often wondered if the death still had feelings, thoughts. Would bugs take home in the empty hole where your heart used to be before it decayed, becoming a habitat for nature before succumbing into a moss, sinking into the earth and taking root, the only signs of life being your soul, your memories that your family carry with pride?

The year is 1989. Technology is rapidly improving, music is eccentric and full of personality, cinema is great. The first episode of The Simpsons is aired. Nintendo just released the Game Boy. Metallica receive their first ever Grammy nomination. Nirvana’s debut. The release of Bill and Teds Excellent Adventure, which you liked too much to admit. A shake in pop culture, really.

However, you still managed to stick out like a sore thumb, despite sharing these same interests with the rest of the town. Family life was hard following the death of your beloved mother, your father remarrying too quick for your own liking (and good) resulting in you gaining a sickly sweet step-sister, and a step mother who resembled Lady Tremaine.

It was hard to hate Shoko. Despite how much you tried, you couldn’t bring yourself to hate her. Despite her eyebrow raises and murmurs of dislike towards your outfit choices, she was your sister now.

Her mother, however, was a different story. You knew from the first time you met her that she held an unreasonable hatred towards you, afraid to ruin her ‘perfect’ family image. Your dad didn’t care enough to listen to your complains, always brushing them off with promises that she’d warm up to you eventually, ending with a soft hum as he flips his newspaper and leans further into the comforter. Shoko was the only person who actually listened to you.

“I don’t think that blush is your shade,” Shoko bustles into the bathroom, bending down just slightly to reapply her hot pink lipstick in the mirror. She does a double take, her eyes scanning over your face and your heavy eye make-up in disdain. Her lipstick is a hot pink, a true contrast to the black tube resting politely beside your messy, unkempt eyeshadow palette.

“Gee, thanks,” you murmur, patting it out with the pads of your fingers. Ruffling your hair in the mirror, your face turns into a scowl. “I think I’ll probably just stay home.”

Shoko tuts, turning to you with a blank expression as she sets her lipstick down. “It’s compulsory,” she rests her arm against the counter, leaning her body weight against said arm, crossing her legs. “And you know what your doctor said,

You need socialisation.”

That may have been true. After the death of your mother, you developed a tendency to isolate yourself from social situations, isolate yourself from the world around you. As soon as you came home with your first bottle of black lipstick and The Cure vinyl, your father had urged you towards therapy. You didn’t blame him, because his worry for you felt genuine, real. It reminded you of the times when your mother was still around, when everything was still okay.

Shoko had good intentions, even though she was dragging you to a party against your own will. A party full of frat boys and Sandy Olsson from Grease lookalikes, where you would stick out like a sore thumb. Parties were never your thing, at least parties like these. You much preferred the comfort of your own bedroom and Led Zeppelin to soothe your worries, not alcohol and cramped bodies.

“Why don’t you use my tanning bed?” Shoko suggests, quickly earning herself a deathly glare. She rolls her eyes, but doesn’t back down.

Shoko was a sweet girl at heart. To the rest of town, she was the image of a perfect daughter. Top grades, she was a medical student in training. Popular in school, crowds gushing over her and her equally perfect best friend Suguru Geto. Though he was more reserved. Suguru Geto was polite and kind unlike her other friends, never failing to offer you a wave or a genuine smile whenever he was in your presence. Whenever you had the privacy of being alone, he’d allow you to gush over your shared music taste, sometimes even giving you new recommendations for you to spend the night researching while he and Shoko skip off to yet another party.

Shoko often teased you for having a crush on him, which you constantly denied. It wasn’t a crush, it was just, you favoured him, perhaps?

Stepping out of the tanning bed, you stumble on your feet. The crackle of electricity is still running through your veins, and if your vision wasn’t so hazy you’d be worried your blood would be glowing a radioactive blue. Thunder crackles in the distance- or was it just the sparks from the plug of the tanning bed?

“I’m really sorry you got electrocuted, y/n.” Scratching the nape of her neck awkwardly, Shoko avoids eye contact with you.

Once fully stable, you focus on taming your frazzled hair. Shoko pretends to check her nails, trying to swallow don’t her guilt, while simultaneously trying to maintain her own pride. Her trusty tanning bed had never let her down this bad before.

Maybe it was the bad luck that seemed to follow you around everywhere. Maybe it was that grave that you always gravitated to. The one in the corner of the graveyard, the one that never had any flowers. The sore thumb. You liked to think you were quite alike. Despite being from completely different eras and centuries, you two had one fatal factor in common- you were forgotten.

Satoru Gojo, the tombstone read.

“This party’s going to be clutch. There’s going to be two kegs, and Namami, the emo one, stole a nitrous tank from his dad’s dental practice. Isn’t it just off Bluff road?”

“Uhuh,” you mused, finally managing to tame the beast of you hair enough to look socially acceptable. “There’s a shortcut through the forest through Bachelors Grove.”

Shoko stilled, turning towards you in disgust. “The haunted cemetery?”

Even when she tried to be understanding, she still came off as a little judgy. You never minded. You knew she was trying.

The cemetery where Satoru Gojo lay. You often wondered about what his life was like. Did he have a hard home life, too? You liked to imagine so, for your own sake. You imagined he was similar to you, almost. An outsider in his own era. Or was he popular like Shoko is, a figure of such beauty and grace that it was hard to ignore? But still, his desolated grave was a sight on sore eyes. You wondered if your own would be like that too, abandoned.

“It’s not haunted,” you intervened, slightly more defensive then a normal person should be. “It’s just abandoned. I’ve never seen anybody there. I think it’s really peaceful and quiet.”

Whenever you had the chance, free from the harsh load of school work and your jarring step-mother, you liked to tend to the abandoned graves. To show love to the ones who didn’t have any love anymore. You hoped that the ghosts of once was knew they weren’t forgotten. There was someone out there who remembered each and every one of their desecrated souls.

“I do wax rubbings of all the tombstones. I have a favourite,” Shoko knew you were a little weird, sure. But atleast you were happy. That was all that matters, she concluded.

“You have a favourite, yeah?” She egged you on, struggling to tie the strap of her uncomfortable heels. You walk over, still limping slightly from the aftershocks of the tanning bed incident, tightening her heels with little struggle.

“A young man,” you muse, the ghost of a smile on your lips. “I tend to his grave and leave him flowers, and…

I talk to him sometimes.

I just don’t think anyone should be forgotten.”

☆

“If you’re looking to fade out, the Ethanols inside.” A gentle voice from behind caused you to drop dead in your tracks.

The party was already on full fledge, empty beer cans and shot glasses scattered all over the yard. His boots are heavy as the crunch the grass below, his steps thought out and calculated. Put together.

Suguru Geto was always so put together. Maybe that’s why you liked him so much, eagerly eating up his presence whenever he was around. Even his cologne was steady, never seeming to fade, the smell of him almost causing you whiplash. You knew it was him before you even saw his face.

“What?” You weren’t fully there, or capable to decipher his previous words. Your focus had been on the over crowded house- and sorry crowded house, but you were really dreaming that it would be over before it started.

“The booze,” you turned to face him, his grin was gentle and composed. His hands were stuffed into the pockets of his baggy black jeans, sagging them down just slightly due to the added weight. You adverted your eyes. “It’s in the house.”

Oh. “Yeah, I think that Shoko brought most of it.” Speaking of Shoko, you quickly snapped out of your love-ridden gaze to search for the girl, who was currently whispering into the ears of two girls, ones that you recognised to have gave you dirty looks in passing earlier in the school year. All three of them kept glancing your way, trying (and failing miserably) to not make it obvious. They were obviously already inebriated.

You weren’t uncomfortable under their gaze, this situation having already happening to many times for you to keep count anymore. You loved Shoko, really, but she never knew how to keep her mouth shut. And it was the same thing, everytime. They wanted to know how you ended up the way you did. So shut off, so reserved from the world, so desolate. You didn’t want the sob story. You didn’t need people feeling bad for you.

There was nothing worse than the feeling of being pitied by people far superior to you. People who had everything that you once had, that was now out of your grasp. People who never appreciate what they have.

Suguru wandered off, and you followed aimlessly, like a little puppy with nowhere to go. He didn’t seem to mind- or if he did, he didn’t bother to voice it. He shuffled his way to the keg wordlessly, kneeling down beside it and picking out two separate red cups from the bunch. He looked back to you, a silent offering as he held the cup your way.

The piece of red plastic was still empty. You still had the chance to deny. But when Suguru was looking at you with that purple tinted gaze, how could you not? You don’t think you would ever want to deny him of anything.

You weren’t a drinker, despite all of Shoko’s pestering. You didn’t understand how people your age found joy in it. Where was the joy of being constantly dizzy, out of your mind and not even being able to remember a single thing the next day? You concluded that there was no joy in having your previous events from the night before recounted back to you from a friend anxious over your reaction, your body filled with regret. You’ve seen your share of this plenty from Shoko, so why would you voluntarily copy her actions.

But.

It was Suguru asking. So you reluctantly agreed.

Maybe that was the first mistake. Or maybe the first mistake was allowing Naoya Zenin, one of the snobby rich kids, to chat your ear off. It was all a blur, really. You didn’t see Shoko much for the rest of the night, of Suguru either for that matter.

You don’t remember when it kicked in. All you know was that it did. And quick. Was the sky spinning, or was it just you? Nope, it really was spinning. It had to be. Reaching a hand out, on your eyes it fell contorted. You brought the palm of your hand closing to your face, wiggling your fingers. Your palm was moving, your veins bulging- or what it just imagination?

The panic had already set in. Or had it?

Your third mistake was trying to stand up, all too quickly, in a way that had your body immediately lurching over, your dinner threatening to arise. You stumbled back up to your feet, convincing yourself that you didn’t need to sit down, you were fine- your fourth mistake. Naoya’s expression was unreadable, at first. It soon contorted into one of disgust, though he quickly masked it with a (fake) smile, one that seemed so strained it was more like a grimace.

“Let’s find somewhere more private for you to go sit for a bit, yeah?” He arose, invading your personal space with a rough hand on your back, a hand that was too close for your liking. If you were any less inebriated, the red flags in your brain would’ve gone off immediately, sparking like fireworks, enough to light up the whole town in red flames. But you weren’t sober.

“Here we go,” You hardly realised at first when his hand started to wander, sliding down your back to the globe of your ass, with a touch so feather light you could’ve missed it. And then before it’s even took place in your mind he’s raising it back up, wrapping an arm around your shoulder to steady you.

No, no.

Nothing was right about the way he was touching you. He was rough. So rough, it was unnerving. He led you to a secluded bathroom, grunting whenever you slipped up and tumbled your whole body weight on him.

the click of the door muffling all sounds. You were sure that was Shoko you could hear singing faintly. Your breathing was unsteady, uncollected, uncomposed. It had you thinking back to Suguru- what was he doing right now.

But- oh, oh no. That wasn't Suguru infront of you, and that wasn't Suguru whose hot breath you could feel on your neck. And that certainly wasn't Suguru who was leaning in for a kiss-

Something in your mind finally clicked, and you were pushing him away. You didn't want this. And Naoya Zenin knew that.

He stumbles back into the shower curtain, unimpressed. It seems the alcohol is catching up to himself now, as he rubs his head, his fingers pressing firm into his temples, a groan leaving his lips.

And you run, leaving the bathroom behind, leaving the party behind.

Someone yells from behind you. You can't make out who it is.

You don't bother checking.

☆

Satoru Gojo’s grave is bare, as usual, just as you expected.

You fall to your knees beside his tombstone, the mud, wetted by the previous storm dirtying the petite dress Shoko had shoved you in, matching her own. It wasn’t your style, but for her you didn’t mind it. You don’t know when the weather became so…malicious. It was fitting, really. Maybe Satoru had caused it. He knew how you were feeling, if he was watching over you.

“It’s you,” you heaved for breath, the harsh thumping of your heart beat finally steadying as you took a comfortable reside on his tombstone. His presence was calming, even if he was dead. Almost like Suguru’s.

The thunder crackles again and you let out a pained whine, a nimble hand grazing over the lettering of his name. Satoru Gojo. “It’s you,” you repeat. What would he do in this situation? You wish you could ask him.

You wondered if he was weak like you. Or maybe he was strong. Maybe he was the type of person to always have an answer for everything, a beacon of hope. Maybe he was the type of person that people would rely on, the strongest. You imagined he would be pretty considerate- the misunderstood usually are. You liked to think you were considerate- considerate of those around you, putting others before yourself. You even let Shoko put you in her tanning bed, even if it didn’t turn out quite how she planned it. You let Suguru give you a drink- why?

You often blamed yourself for your mother’s death. You were the only one who witnessed it. You heard all the whispers after her body was taking away in the ambulance. Your father holding your frail young body to his chest, your neighbours watching in concern- whispers of “how could this happen?” Nobody blamed you for what happened. It was a freak accident. It was never your fault. So why did it always feel like it was? Why could you never live up to anyone’s expectations?

The thunder crackled again. Maybe it was Satoru’s own way of comforting you, of letting you know that he was listening.

“Oh, I..” your voice cracked as a choked sob threatened to make its way out and disturb the ambience.

“I wish I was with you.”

☆

How were you meant to explain to the Victorian zombie currently huddled up in your wardrobe that, in fact, that wasn’t what you meant.

He was pretty. Really pretty. He had these overwhelmingly blue orbs, that felt he was staring down into your soul. His hair was soiled with dirt and mud (and whatever else, you didn’t even want to think about) but you could notice slight clean white streaks peaking through. He almost looked like an angel. Oddly pretty for a zombie who should be a decaying pile of bones right now.

He was extremely confused when you dragged him back to your house in the midst of the storm, rain damaging your eyesight into blurry splotches. It wasn’t like you could exactly leave him there- a zombie, with no bearings in the middle of the forest. It wasn’t exactly ideal, but you didn’t want anyone catching him. It was either you leave him for dead (ironic), or take him with you. You chose the latter.

You quickly caught onto the fact that he couldn’t speak. Something about being dead, you weren’t really sure. But he could listen, his dead eyes watching you intently, lovingly almost, whenever you spoke. You quickly caught onto the fact he must’ve been distraught about the loss of his voice, grunting and moaning constantly to get any words out. He must’ve been a speaker, huh.

You shove a coat over his body, and the phone rings jarringly. His head moves as quick as it can for a dead persons, his joints aching after not being used for so long. You quickly run over to the phone, declining the call. But his eyes are still caught on it, a hint of curiosity in his gaze.

You quickly remember there was no technology in his era.

“That’s my dad’s shoe phone,” your own words have you stifling a grin at the positive memory. He smiles slightly. You think. You can’t really tell. “He got it for free with his subscription to Sports Illustrated.”

He makes a noise. You’re not really sure what he’s trying to say, maybe it’s in agreement, maybe his curiosity isn’t yet fullfilled.

You decide to switch your record player on to decrease the awkward tension lingering in your bed room, which should be your safe space. It currently isn’t, not with a Victorian zombie lingering in your wardrobe. Music had always been there to ground you. When your mother hadn’t, Ride The Lighting had. Ironic; as lightning had got you into this predicament in the first place.

“I wish I was with you.”

And then everything happened so quickly, in a flash of lightning. Everything was blue. Just like Satoru’s eyes.

The first strike hit the tree resting idly behind his tombstone. The old oak tree, the only presence ever in the graveyard beside your own. On your first visit to Satoru, the old oak stuck out like a sore thumb. You concluded by its size, that it must be so deeply rooted within the soil. You wondered if it was here when Satoru was alive. Maybe you gazed upon the same tree, wishing for the same fate.

The second strike of lightning hit directly on Satoru Gojo’s grave, and in a panic ridden gaze you stumbled back, your own yelp surprising you. And then the ground started shaking, and you could’ve swore that was a hand coming out of the soil-

The Cure. He’s listening intently. It’s a little dark considering your current situation. Boys don’t cry. Boys do cry, but they certainly don’t crawl out of the soil.

“Do you like this, uh, song?” You’ll switch it if he shows any sign that he doesn’t. You don’t want him to suffer in silence.

He nods- almost. It’s his own version of a nod, the best he can do.

You feel pity for him. You’re not sure what you would do in this situation if you were him. Being awakened from your centuries long slumber, to a girl you’ve never met before crying on your own tombstone. Seeing the proof of your death painted so cruelly on a peice of rock. It must be a lot to take in. And then being dragged to said girls house, and chucked in a wardrobe.

“Do you like any other music?” You question, knowing you won’t get any verbal answer. Small talk.

You get up, wandering over to tne record player when all music has died out, and all that’s left is faint scratching. You switch it to the b-side. The music flows again effortlessly.

“I have The Cure.”

He suddenly perks up, and hums. His fill attention is on you, and you shrink under his blue gaze. And then you realise what he’s wordlessly asking of you.

Oh.

“No,” you try to put him down slowly. “It’s not that kind of cure. It’s like a…it’s a band.”

He rolls his eyes. Well, he’s certainly a character. He’s not exactly what you expected. You thought considering his time, he’d be at least a bit more- gentlemanly. No. He’s sassy. But, he’s still curious. He chucks his head back with as much force as he can, hitting the wall of your wardrobe. A subtle thud.

“They can’t make you better. I mean, they can, but like emotionally.” He…smiles? Satoru shrugs the coat you shucked on him off from his lap.

There’s a comfortable silence for a while. The house is empty, quiet. Your parents are at work, Shoko must’ve stayed round Suguru’s. It’s only you and Satoru right now. He’s still staring at you- unmoving. His expression is soft, his eyes are loving. If he wasn’t covered in dirt, and well, a zombie, you think you could get used to it. Hold on- what are you saying?

You decide to bite the bullet.

It was all a big misunderstanding. If you explained what you really meant, then hopefully, he’d go back to wherever he came from. The ground, preferably.

“When I said I wished to be with you, I didn’t mean that.” You bite your lip, before continuing. He raises his head to stare at you again. He really needs to stop doing that. “I meant I wished I was in the ground, dead.

Because life sucks and people are jerk-offs.”

God, you really do sound like an angsty teen.

He doesn’t look happy. His face is contorted, his big blue eyes suddenly not so big anymore, downturned in the corners. You assume he doesn’t like the thought of you harming yourself. That’s…nice, you guess.

“I didn’t mean that I wanted to be…with you. You know… in person.”

He looks down. You smell it before you see it. It’s putrid. He’s crying.

You do feel a little guilty, before you’re blindsided by the stench. You stifle a gag, and separate yourself from him as much as you can. He looks up. Seeing the distance you have pushed between you two, and his lip quivers. Shakes.

“Oh, oh, I’m sorry.” How are you meant to comfort a Victorian zombie? He’s crying specifically because of you! And, oh god, whatever’s coming out of his eyes cannot be tears. “No, no, no, don’t cry!”

You don’t know if you’re begging for your sake or his.

“Don’t cry,” you try again, softer this time. He listens. “Please.” You add in, for reassurance. You’re not mad at him, even if his tears smell like the centuries he’s been rotting underground. You don’t know why you ever expected different. Well, in your defence, you never expected him to cry.

The dirt tracks staining your bedroom carpet really weren’t ideal. And you had to do something about his - stench. You wondered if he’d look even more beautiful if he was clean. It would be a hard task, but you’d find a way to make it work. Before your parents arrive, at least.

Getting him inside your house last night was hard. His frail body had slammed into Shoko’s mirror and smashed it, sending glass shards flying in every direction. You grimaced. And now you had to find a way to get him into the shower without his rotting corpse succumbing to death again. The poor thing could hardly stand on his own.

“Go,” You cover your mouth and plug your nose, catching Satoru’s attention again. You signal with your hand for him to stand- which he tries. And fails miserably. “Oh..my god.”

It takes some time, but you get there.

“So here’s some soap,” you offer him the pink block, to which he stares at with amazement. Yeah, his soap was probably never pink before. You had a quick fleeting thought about what the facilities in his life must have been like. God knows he’d never used a shower before. “You’re gonna need that.”

He grunts in acceptance. You don’t understand why, but something about him just makes you want to open up and speak. Maybe it’s the factor that he cannot speak back, so you know he can’t judge you. Well he can, but you cannot voice it- but out of sight, out of mind. He hasn’t expressed any disdain for you, yet- no, his eyes are always filled with something else- love.

You know that you’re to blame for the cause of his affections. You know that he must’ve been watching from the afterlife whenever you visited his grave, that he must’ve heard every single word that left your lips. Your declarations of love for a dead man. Affection that he hasn’t experienced for centuries. You conclude that he must have formed a liking for you- whether it was the first time you left him that single red rose, or the first time you cleaned his grave, rid of the moss that was begging to succumb him, to have him forgotten.

“I don’t know why I’m talking so much,” you ramble again. He’s listening with a sparkle in his eye. “I haven’t said this many words in forever. After my mom died, I got diagnosed with traumatic mutism. That’s where you don’t talk at all.”

You don’t know how or why you found yourself trauma dumping to a Victorian Zombie. You had already lost his attention as quick as it came. His eyes closed in on the radio, sitting deftly on the wall of the shower. He examined the buttons and the antenna with a newfound curiosity.

“Would you like me to turn on the shower radio?”

He hums, and your fingers find the switch. “This is Shoko’s station. It’s for beer sluts,” you whisper the last words, like if he heard them any louder he could take offence to it. “I’m gonna turn on the college station. It’s for people like us, with feelings.”

He seems to like it. You reach for the shower knobs.

“Okay,” your fingers trace along the taps, eyes locked on his as if to make sure he was listening. “Hot. Cold,” you start up the water. “This? Water.”

He mimics the sound of the water falling in fascination. “It’s from the future,” you muse.

☆

“What the hell happened here?!” Her voice is distant, muffled, but still as jarring as the first day you heard it. “Get down here now!”

Uh oh.

“Did you smash the mirror in the bathroom?” Damn you Satoru. Your dad’s voice was gentle, a softer contrasts to Shoko’s aggressive mother.

“Last night, I, uh…” last night, Satoru had been the one to smash into Shoko’s mirror with full force when he stumbled into your room, destroying everything that came into his way. Despite being one with the dead, this strength was oddly..alive.

He had been dead for centuries, but yet, he was still stronger than you. That hurt your pride, a little bit. But it also made you wonder about him, just a bit more. Who was Satoru Gojo? Why was he so different from a regular corpse? The twinkle in his blue orbs was so undeniable. It was alive.

“Told you,” Your step- mother scoffed, checking her manicure, her face contorted in disgust. “Your dad wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt, but I knew. I always know.”

Currently, Satoru Gojo was sleeping restlessly in the corner of your wardrobe, covered over with a pile of gothic dressers and vintage coats. You’d shoved him in there hopelessly the second you had heard the door slam.

He was adapting nicely- well, the best he could for a dead man. He seemed enchanted by new technologies, like your telephone, and the radio in the shower. You thought he’d be confused at first, maybe overwhelmed with how much the whole world had change since he inhabited it. He seemed to like it. He had developed a special liking for your record player, too. You decided that when all of this about the mirror was over, you’d walk him through your vinyl collection. You’d also have to find him some new clothes, too, because you were sure he wouldn’t particularly enjoy your choices of attire. Something from the depth of your dad’s wardrobe would have to do. Maybe Shoko could fetch some clothes from Suguru if you explained your situation.

“There was a damn tornado last night! Yard full of debris, now I guess I’ve got to clean up the bathroom, too!”

The commotion of your evil step-mother’s whiny voice was enough to attract the attention of Shoko, who bustles down the stairs and leans on the doorframe, watching her mother belittle you intently. “It was a tornado watch, mom.”

“Well, now, it was quite a storm though, Shoko,” Shoko’s mother turns to your father, who has been silent throughout this whole encounter. “You need to be a father right now. Your daughter has a taste for vandalism. She has been deliberately destroying my property! First it was my precious cake stand..”

“That was an accident!” You but in.

“Y/n, do you know what happens to people who act out? They end up in the loony bin.”

Shoko ruffles her hair. “You’re a psych nurse, mom. Should you really be saying ‘loony bin’?”

You appreciated Shoko’s subtle ways of defending you. It was always like this, whenever her mother would find something to pick on you for. Your father never defended you; but Shoko always did. Despite your differences, you liked her.

“Zip it, Shoko.” Her mother relents.

“All right, y/n.” Ah. Dads input. “You’re gonna go upstairs and you’re gonna clean up that bathroom. And, um..pay for the mirror.”

You’d have to figure out a way to pick up the funds to pay for a new mirror, whilst also simultaneously spending as much time as possible watching over the undead corpse of Satoru Gojo.

“Yeah, I’ll pick up an extra shift at Wayne’s.”

You hadn’t truly thought through about what you would do about Satoru Gojo while you were out. You still had your responsibilities, after all- school, work hobbies. You couldn’t do any of that while Satoru was around. He was undeniably cocky, for a corpse. However, he was missing some… parts.

You had found him some clothes from the depth of your father’s wardrobe. And that’s when you noticed his defects. Satoru was missing a hand. A clean slate, a missing limb. Satoru Gojo also had a hefty scar, running clean through the circumference of his waist. He held a certain distaste for his missing hand- he hated it. Satoru hated feeling weak. At his whines and groans, you’d expressed that there was no way you could magic up his hand. He didn’t like it one bit.

“Let me see,” you expressed with a gasp the second he make the reason for his upset clear. It was ghastly, disgusting. Putrid. “It looks cool.”

“I can’t do anything about that. I’m not a doctor,” he slumped over in defeat. If you had any way of helping this dismembered corpse, you would in a heartbeat. “But it’s okay, they’re just things that make you different.”

What happened to you, Satoru Gojo…?

Satoru slept in the wardrobe again that night.

“I, uh, have to get dressed,” Satoru didn’t budge, his nimble hand rummaging to grab a dress from the top of the pile of the clothing he was using as a makeshift blanket. He holds it out towards you in his working hand. It’s black, long and lacy, and certainly not appropriate for college. “Mm. That’s Shoko’s. She gave it to me because she said she got too many compliments in it.”

He grunts, but he doesn’t relent.

“Uhuh. It’s not really my style. I’m not a skeezer.”

He groans. Fine.

“Can I at least get a jacket?”

☆

79 notes · View notes

queenimmadolla · 1 month ago

Text

𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐌𝐞

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐈𝐈: 𝐖𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐎𝐮𝐭, 𝐁𝐨𝐲, 𝐒𝐡𝐞'𝐥𝐥 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐰 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐔𝐩

(A Lisa Frankenstein, Eddie Munson AU)

previous ─ next part ┊ 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ( + playlist)

Summary: After your stepmother's ahem accident, and now brimming with confidence, you decide it's about time to make Eddie whole again and lend him a hand in doing so, while Eddie regains new and old sensations along with some feelings. An excruciatingly heavy dose of jealousy, included. And you confirm that Eddie Munson is hot. Eddie is so very hot.

Chapter Warnings: he's not super stinky anymore but his feet still are, dark humor, unpleasant home life, intense longing. oh yeah, and murder. again. so there will be descriptions of violence and blood but its a creep getting what's coming. includes references to SA which occurred in a previous chapter.

a/n: surprise, bitch. bet you thought you'd seen the last of me. anyways, got a new macbook so here we are. this chapter was a lot longer but i actually forgot to add crucial details for my plot, so, I'm going to split it into more chapters. hope you enjoy this one! and yes, we are pretending certain songs existed during the year this is set.

light dividers ℗ cafekitsune ♡

“I mean—I haven’t stared at his hands or anything, he’s just got to be dexterous with all the books he handles. It’s perfect.” You’d decided on the next unwitting donor for Eddie. A suitable hand to replace the one he lost.

Of course, with the hand meant there’d be another body to dispose of. You’d planned it out carefully and quickly. You only had about a week until Laura was due back from her conference, or whatever the fuck it was. Regardless, you knew she wouldn’t be making another appearance, alive that is. You were sure her photos would assault you on news channels when she was discovered missing and you were relatively fine with that. It’d be the last of your abusive step-mother you’d ever have to see. You really were finally free of her, and it surprised you how relieved that made you feel.

From the moment she came into your life, she’d made it almost unbearable for you to exist in your own skin, in your own life—in any space or capacity. The months spent enduring her verbal, emotional and mental abuse had eventually made you grow used to it, not that it ever became tolerable or normal to you. You just…stopped realizing you weren’t yourself anymore; always hunched over, eyes staring at the ground, walking on eggshells every minute you weren’t locked in the safety of your room. You’d become meek, doing anything you could to seem small so she’d leave you alone. Always holding your breath.

You could finally breathe.

There was a bit of guilt present, only because you knew regardless of how horrible Laura was to you and how she’d been to Chrissy before your step-sister had graduated high school (she’d told you all about it when you’d first moved in), she was still Chrissy’s mother, and Chrissy would no doubt feel the loss.

She’d get over it.

Eddie slowly made his way into your bedroom after you, and you took the chance to really look him over. He certainly did look more lively. Still dead as fuck, but not so much a corpse rotting for years. Maybe just a few months.

“I’ll see him tomorrow, so we’ve got to do it then.” You kicked off your boots, letting them land wherever they wanted as you padded over to your bathroom with Eddie trailing behind you.

The bathroom light flicked on and you quickly got to work, pulling out your makeup removing balm and skincare products. You got started, making sure your hair was out of your face before you were massaging products into your skin, “You know, my dad said this move would be a new start for us—really, I didn’t have a choice unless I wanted to be homeless—and I thought that was a huge load of crap.”

You stopped the motion of rubbing the balm to pry your eyes open, blinking past the product coating your eyelashes as you stared at Eddie’s reflection in the mirror. He was sitting on the edge of the bathtub, staring intently at your reflection and not at all bothered with the state of your severe raccoon eyes, “I still think it’s crap. But maybe this happened for a reason, maybe I was meant to tend to your grave until lightning brought you back to life kinda. Maybe Laura only ever existed so she’d be around to give you another ear when you’d need it. I mean she always gave me an earful so, I think it’s poetic justice. Now, she’s the one who only has a singular ear. Ear-y, if you will.”

You quickly rinsed off your face and patted it dry with a towel, pausing to contemplate.

”And she’s dead now, too, so it’s like you guys just traded places. Freaky Friday and all that—did you ever see that movie? Jodie Foster?”

Eddie nodded his head.

“Did you like it?”

“Mm.” He shrugged, sticking his hand out and letting it teeter.

You pursed your lips as you applied your moisturizer, “I mean it’s got its moments, some real nice mother-daughter understanding but I thought it was just okay, too.”

You were expecting him to make some sort of zombie sound of acknowledgement, so when he remained silent, your eyes drifted once more to his reflection, finding him now staring intently at the shower curtain, fingers of his good (the other one wasn’t bad, it just wasn’t there) hand twisting it this way and that. The shower curtain was bright pink, holographic and shifted to reveal a bunch of kittens when angled correctly.

Eddie looked perplexed and you had to bite your lip to keep your grin from taking up your entire face at such a blatant display of boyish ignorance.

Slowly, as you watched Eddie continue to fuck around with the curtain, the grin twisted into a small frown.

Sure, Eddie looked a little rough around the edges, had apparently been in the drug dealing business while he’d been alive—but you couldn’t imagine someone wanting a guy fascinated with shower curtains designed for late 40 something year-old women with no taste (Laura had picked out the curtain), dead.

You wondered if they’d been behind his missing appendages, too. Glancing down at his wrist to take in the wound—bone still visible, a heavy feeling settled in your stomach, one similar to the feeling you’d get when you’d watch Carrie; see her smiling on that stage, overwhelmed with joy at finally feeling accepted, but you couldn’t be happy for her. As a reader and viewer, you knew about the bucket.

With your night routine finished, you turned to face Eddie, clapping your hands twice to get his attention. He reminded you of a puppy the way his head tilted in confusion at you.

“Back to my room.” You swept your arms out in front of you, gesturing for him to leave first and when Eddie stood up he tried to do the same thing, only his arms weren’t as loose as yours, so it just looked like he was doing the robot.

You smiled, turning to walk out the doorway when you stopped short, eyes honing in on the dark, red stain on your carpet.

Fuck, you had to clean the crime scene still. Panic filled your chest while your brain tried to recall your dad and Chrissy’s schedules for the day. Chrissy had said she’d be out with friends so she probably wouldn’t return until well past the time your father went to bed, and he’d probably be home by dinner time. Even if he did return early, he rarely—and by rarely you meant never—went into your room. Not to lecture you, not to say goodnight, not to check if you were still alive.

You were in the clear.

Moving to stand directly in front of the stain, your sock covered foot tapped rapidly as you fidgeted. There was no way you’d be able to get all that out, Laura had bled harder than you did when you sneezed on your period. You could soak up most of the blood, scrub out the rest but the stain would always be present, no hiding the dull red amongst the pink fibers.

But maybe…

Your eyes trailed over to the rug placed deliberately under your bed. It was a piece you brought from your room back home, a nifty find from the estate sales you and your mother would frequent with a shared love for antiques and the unique.

You could pull it out a little, have Eddie lift the bed and then you’d be able to cover the stain left behind after you cleaned the carpet. Your lower lip became the victim of nervous chewing as you wondered if Chrissy would notice the difference in placement. Did she even pay that close attention to you? Could you risk it?

Well, it’s not like you had any other option. With the clean up plan in mind, you turned to your doorway and jumped when you nearly collided with Eddie’s chest.

“JESUS! Fuck, sorry dude—I forget you’re so quiet.”

He shrugged his shoulders, and you were almost taken aback with the amusement you could see in his eyes. Eddie had found some amusement in having freaked you out by doing literally nothing—and his eyes kind of…sparkled with it. They hadn’t done that before you electrocuted him. While big, they hadn’t been all that expressive.

Interesting.

Whatever—you’d have to look into that later, right now you had something to cover up. And you needed to keep Eddie busy while you did.

“C’mere.” Rather than just have him follow after you, you grabbed his hand—tugging him over to your bed. When Eddie was in front of you, you pushed on his shoulders to get him to sit down and then grabbed your beat up Walkman, your headphones, and rummaged through your bedside drawer for a certain tape.

No luck. You scowled, slamming the drawer shut as you scrutinized your room. You eyed your school bag, on the ground by your door and scrambled over to it, arm reaching in to search around before dumping the contents out. Damn, still no tape and your irritation was beginning to fester.

Sure, you had more but you needed Eddie to listen to that one. It was important for a reason you didn’t care to delve into. So, you handled your lapse in memory with grace.

“WHERE THE FUCK IS IT?” You shoved everything carelessly back into your bag, practically throwing it back down as you rushed over to your dresser, moving all your crap aside in search of the plastic rectangle.

Not there either.

There was absolutely no way you’d ever misplace your tapes in the drawers of your dresser but you ransacked those, too, slamming them each when they proved futile. Your blood was practically boiling.

“Eddie, cover your new ear because I am about to LOSE MY FUCKING SHI-oh, there it is!”

It had been on your dresser, hidden under an open copy of Frankenstein, with the corner sticking out.

You hummed, annoyance fleeing your person as you held the cassette case up between your fingers to show off to Eddie. During your little bitch fit, he’d made himself comfortable on your bed, laying back and popped up on his forearm. The lower half of his face was cinched up and you had the sneaking suspicion he was smirking at having witnessed you lose your cool, but he was a dead guy so who was he to judge?

“This is gonna change your freaking life, I swear.” And then, as a guilty afterthought, “Uhm. In a good way.” You tucked his hair behind his ears, fingers gentle, and placed the headphones over them before you were pulling The Lion and the Cobra out of its case. “It’s one of my favorite albums and—honestly, I bought it because she’s bald. Well, I guess not bald bald, she’s got a buzzcut. This is Sinead O’Connor. I told you a little bit about her last night.”

After slipping the tape into place and closing it in, you offered the case to Eddie so he could see Sinead on the cover of it, wrists crossed over her chest, and her normally soulful stare avoiding all those gazing upon her.

When Eddie stared down at it a little too long for your liking, you snatched it out of his hands, an unpleasant feeling in your belly, heart clenching a little. It was a simple cover, he didn’t need to scrutinize her, didn’t need to admire her for that long.

You knew his eyebrows would be raised—if he could, but the most you’d seen them do is twitch—with the look he was giving you.

“Shut up. Just—listen, okay? Every single track is a work of art, but some feel a little more…personal than others. Tell me your favorite afterwards, ‘kay?”

Eddie stared at you for a couple of beats and when he nodded, you pressed the play button, giving him a smile.

You could feel his eyes on you as you walked out of your room to retrieve a sponge, some hot soapy water and the carpet shampoo mix Laura concocted and always drenched the floors in.

While you worked on making sure no one would ever know Laura took her last evil, foul wench breathes in your bedroom, Eddie had managed to shift into a different position, lying on his back with his head dangling off your bed, the ends of his curls pooling on the rug below.

Now Eddie had always considered himself a music connoisseur, loved discovering new artists—but he was a little unfair in his practice. As in, he didn’t give a shit what other people told him to listen to.

Well, people he didn’t care about. Eddie cared about you.

Eddie cared about you a lot.

He’d been rediscovering his body the longer he remained alive, still marveling over his ability to reanimate from the grave. With his apparent deceased status, came the sensation of knowing where every organ in his body was.

Eddie had been tempted to cut himself open, confirm with his sight what was going on in there, but he had a feeling you would have yelled at him so he settled for taking mental notes. He could think, so his brain was clearly working, maybe jump started by that lightning strike. He could tell the exact location of his stomach, feel things moving around in there and he’d spent a great deal of time hacking the creepy crawlers up after he’d spat one up in Laura’s lunch—he didn’t want to gross you out by accidentally coughing one up on you or something since he’d already puked on you.

After making sure he didn’t feel any more bugs roaming around in his organs (and he was extremely grateful they’d yet to make his way to his lower intestine because there was no way you’d be normal about him shitting out bugs—if he even could shit), he realized he had a couple of broken rib bones.

Eddie couldn’t remember much about the night he was murdered, couldn’t recall too many images—mostly just experienced an intense wave of fear that clawed its way out of some crevice in his chest and up his throat, desperate to break through with a scream, so he tried not to think about it much. They must have broken his ribs in the attack, if he pressed just below his left pec, that particular rib bone would move inwards with a popping sensation.

Definitely hadn’t done that before he was dead, would have been a sick party trick, though.

And then came the matters of the heart…it’s the one thing he couldn’t really feel, couldn’t locate, unlike his other organs. Eddie had briefly assumed that shit was still dead or dust but then you’d returned home, radiating with jubilation—a far cry from the miserable girl he’d observed that first night, so beautiful and marred with self deprecation.

You’d said it was because of him, of the dress he’d seen hanging in your closet and then fantasized about seeing you wear all night while you’d slept.

Eddie swore he felt the heart he thought had given up, clench. It had been a fleeting sensation, but he’d felt it nonetheless. He had no idea what it was doing, had no idea if was actually beating or just responding. All he knew was that it belonged solely to you.

And then you had to go and mention Steve fucking Harrington.

He wasn’t exactly fond of the self proclaimed King of Hawkins, had sold him some really shitty weed because the blockhead didn’t know the difference. He was an asshole, even worse than Eddie.

And for some fucking reason, the love of Eddie’s life—who read him poetry, talked about all her interests, shared her secrets with him along with the very same loneliness that had plagued him all his life and followed him to his grave, and who was far out of Steve’s league—wanted him. Not Eddie.

No, because this is Eddie’s second life, he still can’t be happy. You wanted Blane and your movie Pretty in Pink ending. Eddie was just Duckie and he had a feeling this wouldn’t be the novelization ending.

When the fourth track began to play, Eddie’s despair was calmed by the sound of a guitar strumming, and he was able to yank himself out of his head. No point in dwelling. This wasn’t about him anyways.

Yes, he’d come back from the dead. The circumstances of his return were still unclear, but he knew it was somehow your doing, somehow because of you. And he’d spend the rest of his life (he had no idea if he was gonna age or not, he’d only been alive for like a day) expressing his gratitude and protecting you.

Besides…

Ah when you close my eyes, babe, I can see most everything, Sinead sang.

And Eddie understood it.

His gaze bore into the side of your face, admiring the tick between your brows as you scrubbed at the stain, the pout of your lips and Eddie wanted nothing more than to be able to get up without his limbs literally creaking, saunter over to you with the confidence he knew would make you swoon over him, pull you up into his arms and kiss you until you forgot Steve Harrington even existed.

He closed his eyes and let the scenario play out, changing a few details in the scene.

The two of you weren’t in your room. Pink carpet switched out for his dingy, stained bedroom carpet. Generic in color, you didn’t seem to mind it at all as you rifled through his vinyl collection, greedy fingers flicking through the covers at an impressive rate.

Sinead’s voice was still comforting Eddie, just not through a pair of headphones. Her voice crooned out from the turntable on his dresser.

He’d been passively engaged in a sketch of the main villain for one of his favorite DND campaigns, still needed a ton of details that wouldn’t be hitting the page tonight. Not with you present, not with you sitting there engrossed in your own world and oblivious to his appreciative stare.

Eddie didn’t like to consider himself particularly vain, and truthfully it hadn’t mattered to him what you’d look like the entire time he was—whatever. He didn’t care. But oh did someone up there have to favor him just a little bit, because when he saw you for the first time with his soil embedded dry eyes, he was sure it was love at first sight. Would have popped a woody if he had any sort of blood flow and if you hadn’t freaked out at having a dead guy crash through your window.

Oh, fuck, he was ruining his own fantasy by remembering the circumstances of his existence. Back to it.

While he could envision you in that black dress, as hot as you were in it, it was the pajamas he first ever saw you in that covered your skin. Hair ready for bed as the two of you winded down in a show of domestication.

Thump, thump.

There it was again. Not always lively but always coming to life when you were around, even in just his daydreams, ready to beat for you. And since this was his fantasy…

Eddie tossed aside the sketchbook and pencil, not caring where they bounced to on his bed in his haste to stand. He padded the short distance to you, snatching the vinyl you’d been checking out right from your hands.

“Hey!” You cried out, any semblance of protest disappearing the moment you turned to look up at him and caught that mischievous Munson Smirk on his face as he dangled the album in front of you. He was teasing you.

Your eyes narrowed up at him playfully and for a moment you were still until your arm darted out in an attempt to snatch the album back—a move Eddie was already anticipating.

The album was quickly held just out of your reach and your grin was sheepish as you moved to get up from the ground. Clearly, your boyfriend (yes, he was your boyfriend in this fantasy, sue him) was feeling playful, and honestly, he just really liked it when you threw yourself at him just as you did right then.

Eddie still held his ground, arm sticking straight up in the air to try to keep the album out of your grabby hands.

Teasing would always get a little physical, since he’d known what it was like to be without another’s touch for so long, he was keen on forever feeling yours.

“You’re such an asshole!” You laughed as you did this pathetic little jump to try to reach it and Eddie snickered, the arm not clutching the album snaking around your side to bring you impossibly closer to him. Keep you there. Preferably forever.

“Mm, but I’m your asshole,” Eddie cooed down at you, angling his head down so the tips of your noses bumped. The gentle curve of your lips had his heart thumping again as you settled against him, one hand stroking up his chest to rest on his shoulder. He could feel your breasts against him but it didn’t excite him as it should have (okay—it did, he just wasn’t paying attention to his dick in the fantasy), what he really cared about in that moment was how he was able to hold you so close, he could feel your heartbeat. And it wasn’t beating for Steve Harrington. It was Eddie who made your heart flutter and race, “and you can do whatever you want with me.”

“Gross,” you whispered, breath ghosting over his lips.

“You say that and yet you still let me─” The rest of Eddie’s sentence was lost against your mouth, soft, and a little tacky from your lip balm but oh so sweet. He let out a pleased hum, flicking the album onto his bed so he could cup the back of your head as your tongue parted his lips. The two of you stood there, holding each other, kissing each other with no ulterior motives. Just the burning desire to ensure the other knew exactly how wanted their very presence, very existence was. Sinead echoed her own statement over and over again in the background, making it the perfect soundtracked moment.

God, there was nothing more he could ever possibly want.

Actually—there was one thing he wanted more, he realized as his eyes opened once more, and your profile came into focus with a couple of lazy blinks.

Eddie wanted you to want all of that.

Wanted you to want him back, because you deserved more than what Steve Harrington could give you. Materialistically, sure okay—the rich douche could give you more considering Eddie was technically homeless without a penny to his name, but you didn’t care about material things. Not like that. It hadn’t been objects or devices you’d told him you longed for at his grave.

You longed for something Eddie was positive he could give you. He just needed his body to be up to par, needed what he was missing so you could see the whole—Eddie as a whole—was greater than the sum of his parts. He could make you happy. He could make you so happy.

If only he wasn’t a fucking zombie—and really, c’mon, that’s the main thing Steve’s got over him. He’s…y’know…more alive.

You must have felt Eddie’s heavy and romantic, not creepy, stare because your head snapped up and you gave him that gorgeous smile again. Then you were knee crawling over and Eddie wanted to bite a chunk of your mattress out—you were so damn cute.

When you were in front of Eddie, and still very much so upside down to him though you were actually right side up, you lifted the headphones off his ears, “How you liking it so far? You good over here?”

Oh, you know just, yearning over a love we’ll never share because I know I could be everything you’ve ever wanted and anything you need, whatever you want, if I weren’t a corpse and I have to listen to you talk about another, much less cool guy when I’m right here and I’m missing a hand, so I could be better.

Eddie held up (down, technically) his thumb and you leaned your body over so you were kind of upside down too, grinning brilliantly at him. Eddie had never wanted an upside down kiss so badly.

“I don’t know if I’ve told you this yet, Eddie. I really like hanging out with you.”

Eddie let out a groan, rolling his eyes and gently pushing your face away from him after your terrible pun while you cackled.

After you finished cleaning the stain to the best of your ability (so not well), you enacted the rest of your solution and had Eddie lift your bed frame so you could pull your rug a little more out and successfully cover the stain.

Before bed, you asked him what his favorite track of the tape was. When Eddie pointed at Just Like U Said It Would B, you nearly jumped up and down on your bed before revealing that was your favorite song, too.

Eddie wasn’t even remotely surprised. Yuuuuup. You were definitely his soulmate.

When you woke up the following morning, squinting like an elderly chihuahua as you once more fumbled out of bed to pry your closet doors open, Eddie had another outfit waiting for you. Unlike yesterday, Eddie wasn’t awake.

He was sitting against the wall of the closet, head resting against the bottom of various dresses and long skirts as a makeshift pillow. His eyes were closed and he was unnaturally still.

Alarms started to blare off in your head and you nearly shit your heart out of your asshole because you thought Eddie had somehow died again. Your reaction was instant, eyes filling with tears as you got on your knees and crowded into his space, hands gripping his shoulders and shaking him with a strength you didn’t know you possessed, “Eddie?! Eddie, c’mon, don’t do this to me—don’t leave me, I just got you, c’mon get up.”

When he stirred, chest rising as he inhaled, you nearly dropped dead from the relief, allowing yourself to fall back on the carpet and partially on the rug sticking out from under your bed.

“Oh my god.” You breathed out, lifting two fingers to check your own pulse. You still had one so you were kicking, and Eddie was still very much alive or whatever he was, “Okay, new rule, you gotta tell me what your body can and can’t do anymore—I thought you were DEAD, Eddie!”

You pushed up on your hands before you launched yourself at him, arms wrapping around his upper half. In that position, his hairs rubbed at your nose and the scent of your own shampoo filled your nostrils and he felt very hard overall, but his arms wrapped around you too. He was fine. Except for y’know, his current state of existence—but at least he still existed.

When you pulled away to look at him, you noticed his eyes looked kind of hazy, bleary. Tired. He was full alert yesterday morning, and you were pretty sure he hadn’t slept that night, nor had he been tired when you got home.

“Are you okay?” You asked, fingers raking through his bangs to settle them against his forehead.

Eddie nodded slowly with a grunt, and grabbed the items that had been resting on his lap when he fell asleep, pushing them into your arms.

A sheer black mesh long sleeve, a red corset to go over that and keep you from getting arrested for the public indecency, and a sleek midi black skirt that was sure to hug your hips and flow the rest of the way down to stop a little past your knees.

“So, yesterday it was Madonna and today it’s Cyndi Lauper?”

Eddie pushed you out of the closet but before he could shut the doors, you wedged your way between them to prevent him from doing so.

“Wait—okay, you win again. Are you tired?” You pried the doors all the way open again so you could see Eddie more clear with the light, his head nodding slowly.

”I didn’t know you could sleep,” You mumbled and the look Eddie gave you made you think he hadn’t known either. You were beginning to suspect your little Dr. Frankenstein moment did more than simply bring Eddie’s ear to life, “Well get up. You can sleep in my bed, I’ve got a couple of classes today. Chrissy likes to carpool on Tuesdays and my dad’s gonna head to work, not that he’d ever venture to this corner of the house anyways. Get some rest and I’ll wake you up when it’s time.”

He looked a little unsure of himself so you had to pull him out. And once you remembered he was in the same pair of clothes, you gave him another band shirt and some plaid pajama pants you’d received on some birthday in the wrong size, to wear to bed.

By the time you’d finished getting ready and doing your makeup, Eddie was asleep again. You found him lying on his stomach, head nuzzled into your pillow with his feet hanging off your bed.

You walked over, grabbing your comforter from where you’d bunched it up on the other side of the bed after you’d thrown it off you and pulled it over him. Whether or not his blood circulation was working wasn’t even a thought, the action of tucking Eddie in was more so an affectionate one than rational.

It’d been years since he’d slept in a bed, having been wrongfully sentenced to spend eternity with worms and everything beneath the earth’s surface. You hated that, something hot simmering in your belly. Laura’s much deserved murder aside, Eddie hadn’t done anything wrong! Yeah, okay, you didn’t exactly know him—but you knew him. The dead dude, currently sleeping (?) in your bed, had acted earlier only and solely to protect you. You hadn’t been in Hawkins when he was alive so the odds of him running around with a sewing machine to bash people’s heads in for you were pretty slim.

Impulsively, your hand reached out to run through his hair with ease, fingers twisting into the curls. His tresses were still surprisingly soft and there were no tangles. Part of you wanted to lean forward and smell him but you didn’t because it’d be creepy and he’d just smell like your shampoo, probably.

With a sigh, you retracted your hand and silently gaped when some of his hair came out with it.

Oh, shit.

Rolling your lips together and with no alternative, you rolled the hair into a little ball and tucked it into your bra to dispose of later. The last thing you needed was for him to be nosey and bored enough to go through your bathroom trash and find his hair in it, without him having put it there.

You were just about to head out when you remembered his shoes and how uncomfortable going to bed wearing them must have been so before you could USE YOUR FUCKING HEAD you were carefully pulling one off (it would be just your luck to accidentally pull his foot off or something) and once his foot was free—you realized immediately why he’d kept them on.

The stench hit your eyes first, tears filling them faster than you’d ever experienced before and stinging them something fierce. When the smell breached your nostrils, it triggered your gag reflex and you did everything you could to keep your dry heaving relatively quiet.

After you threw up in your mouth a little, you managed to put his shoe back on and ran for the bathroom. Once your stomach was settled, you held your breath and braved your room, lunging for your body spray to aggressively mist over Eddie’s sleeping figure before hurrying out, gasping for air once you were in the hall leaning against the bedroom door.

God, your wallpaper was fucked. No way it wasn’t curling in on itself.

You were still in a state of shock and recovery when you ventured downstairs, almost snapping to attention when you heard Chrissy gasp and your head lulled towards the dining room where she sat at the table across from your father. He had his head buried in some magazine while she stared at you in awe, hands covering her mouth.

“My goodness, Sissy! You look like you could have walked straight out of that witch movie that Cher was in! You know, the one with the three witches?”

“I’m familiar, let's hope men in real life are easier to knock dead.” You commented, leaning against the entryway with your arms crossed and the strap of your bag over your shoulder.

Chrissy laughed, the sound ringing out like the most annoyingly pleasant wind chimes as she explained to your father who wasn’t really listening, “Because in the film, daddy, there’s this awful man and they’re trying to get rid of him and really all the men in the film aren’t the greatest.”

Your dad just grunted, still thoroughly engrossed in his magazine, “Uh-huh, I’m sure your sister’s a regular maneater.”

The sarcasm was evident and unappreciated by both you and Chrissy. The brief glare you spared the oblivious sack of meat was lethal before your steely gaze was back on the strawberry blonde.

“You ready?” You usually carpooled with Chrissy on Tuesdays since your last classes lined up.

“Ohhhhh, here she comes. Watch out, boys, she’ll chew you up.” Chrissy teased, popping the last of her eggs into her mouth. You noted, with great satisfaction, specks of pepper peeking out from her gums and between her teeth, “You know, sissy—you seem a lot more confident without mom around.”

Your dumb bitch of a mom, you internally corrected her, lips curling into a smile as you recalled exactly where that woman was. Probably arguing with Satan about which ring of hell she’d be damned to for the rest of eternity. It had to be one of her choosing or she wasn’t going to budge an inch, you could imagine her telling the fallen angel.

“I do have to admit,” Chrissy continued, “It’s pretty peaceful without her here. I’ll have to convince her to go out more often.”

This next part pained you, and you could actively feel your stomach clenching as you forced the words out, “Not too often. I kind of miss having her here.”

Oh, you were so gonna throw up, “I mean—everyone needs a Debbie Downer to put life into perspective.”

Or make you want to kill yourself. The sole reason you were even voicing these lies was because you needed to establish a somewhat ‘healthy’ relationship with your stepmother, for investigative purposes.

Sure, you argued a lot; she hated you, you wanted her dead and now she was, but if you went around saying you missed her, you likely wouldn’t be number one on the suspect roster once she was determined to be missing.

That caught your dad’s attention and he finally looked up in confusion, “Really?”

“Of course! I know we fight sometimes but she’s a good example for me.” You had to put your all into this performance, forcing your expression to appear somewhat genuine even if you were really mocking her, “Because of her, I now know it’s possible for you to be a bitch your whole entire life if you don’t fix your attitude and outlook while you’re young, and that if you don’t start caring for your skin sooner rather than later, you’ll have wrinkles the size of California. I know she doesn’t want that same bitter existence she goes through, sunup to sundown, for me. That’s why she’s so tough on me.”

Chrissy looked touched, a dainty little hand over her chest as she blinked back tears, “You are so right. I know she’s hard on you but I’m glad you’re starting to see she can’t help it. She’d probably rather die than not be a little judgmental.”

You scratched the back of your neck and cleared your throat, “Mhm. So, school?”

“My, aren't you eager to just snap the neck of every boy at school today?” Chrissy gathered her utensils after she’d cleared her plate.

“Just certain ones.” Your nose crinkled with your smile. Chrissy briefly disappeared into the kitchen, and when she emerged, she was tightening the ponytail she’d sectioned the top half of her hair in, allowing you to see a faint bruise just below her jaw.

“Hey—you good?” You reached up to rub a knuckle over the same area on your skin and her eyes widened as her fingertips flew to her jaw, pressing at the skin until she seemed to feel the tender spot.

“Oh, yeah. I must have got myself with my straightener this morning.” She laughed, nervously and your eyes narrowed as you followed her into the foyer.

“I thought you valued not ever using heat on your hair.” You reminded her, having had to often listen to her brag about how her hair was sooooooo healthy and sooooooo long because she never used heat on it. She only slept with curlers on, and judging by the bump to her ends—that had been exactly the case.

Chrissy’s eyes darted away and you knew she was lying, “I-I—I do! I mean I don’t! We were just doing each other’s hair at the sleepover yesterday, and I let them─”

“Sleepover? I thought you just went out for some bowling and a kickback. Did you not sleep here last night?” You quirked your head, mouth setting in a frown. There was nothing more you hated than being lied to. Except maybe getting the shit slapped out of you by Cruella de Vil yesterday.

Chrissy’s eyes widened and she began to stammer, “No, no! I-I did! It was, you know, it was supposed to be a sleepover but I didn’t stay all that long. S-School night and-and all.”

“Huh.” Was all you said, deciding to let it go after making her a little more nervous with your stare. It was powerful when lined with kohl. Chrissy looked like she was about to start shaking in her white princess Reebok’s and you started to feel bad for her. It had been over a year since her boyfriend had broken up with her and she still always felt guilty about being with other guys. You had a feeling she was still holding out for him. That, coupled with the fact that you were feeling sorry for Chrissy—and not the other way around—made you feel good about yourself so you’d happily look the other way while she tried to find affection she probably craved.

Oh, how the turn tables.

The ride to school was filled with chatter, Chrissy’s way of trying to make sure the subject didn’t return to her escapades from the previous night, no doubt.

You let her chatter away as you pulled a piece of paper from one of your notebooks to jot down a quick note. Much flirtier than you had originally planned to write it, but after spotting Chrissy’s hickie, you were inspired.

Once you were done, you folded the pink lined paper up and pressed a kiss to it, leaving your lipstick stain on it. The paper was rubbed discretely against your neck as well, an effort to get some of your perfume on it.

I’m tired of playing games. No more interruptions. Meet me at the old bench in the woods behind the high school at 4pm?

Yes / No

Leave your response on the windshield of the white miata

Xoxo

When Chrissy pulled into the parking lot and the two of you parted ways, you scanned the area for a certain car and placed the note under one of the windshield wipers before making your way to your first class. Luckily, your seat was right next to the window that overlooked the parking lot. You spent the entire class nervously fidgeting until you saw him making his way towards his car.

You watched, with bated breath, as he paused in his approach when he noticed the note. Your asshole clenched when he pulled it from its secure spot and unfolded the note to read its contents.

He was too far for you to make out the expression on his face but he dug around in his pocket until he produced a pen and scribbled his response before jogging over to Chrissy’s car to leave the note exactly where you instructed and you wanted to stomp your feet against the ground in victory but no.

No. You couldn’t, not in front of all these people and certainly not in class. You were just beginning to garner a cool reputation and you weren’t about to let a guy ruin it.

You did, however, maintain a constant smirk throughout the day and it briefly morphed into a genuine smile when you’d intentionally wandered in front of the library, catching Steve’s eye. He’d traded you a secretive smile, fingers waving in your direction and you returned the sentiment before carrying on your way to beat Chrissy back to her car.

You were in such a rush to make it to the parking lot before her, you didn’t stop to think someone could be coming around the corner and crashed right into a broad chest, dropping your back in the shuffle.

“Shit. Sorry,” You mumbled, dropping down to your knees to grab your bag and the subsequent items that had fallen out of it. The mystery person bent down in time to grab the tube of your mascara before you could, the last item you needed, and held it out to you and you glanced up, body freezing as Tommy Hagan stood before you.

“No harm done.” He shrugged, appearing nonchalant as he smiled down at you, “You really should take those corners slow. They’ll get you.”

Tommy Hagan was…something. You didn’t really like him.

He hadn’t given you much of a reason to not like him, since you never interacted with him, it was just…something about him. He was a wildcard. You’d seen Tommy in many different states; cool, calm, collected, goofing off. Then, with a snap of a finger, it was like he was a completely different person.

You’d witnessed him lose his shit on someone before, crowding some poor guy up against his car as he threatened to bash his face in with the door.

He wasn’t much of a bully to you, Carol seemed to target the girls and while you’d heard Tommy used to be a big bully in high school, you hadn’t seen him pick on people continuously. Just those he actually seemed to have friction with, so you assumed he’d grown out of the bullying.

That being said, up until recently, he was still involved with Carol and anyone that could willingly want to deal with her in a romantic situation had to be bad news, and that’s why you stayed away.

How he could go from Carol, to appreciatively eyeing you up in the middle of the corridor, you had no idea.

You didn’t like it.

“Uh, yeah.” Was all you could say when you realized you hadn’t responded to him. “I-uhm-I was in a hurry.”

He nodded, brown eyes sweeping over you once more, sending a bad shiver down your spine. You definitely did not like it and you couldn’t even explain why because there had been nothing inherently crude about the way he looked at you. It wasn’t anything like with Fred the other night, Tommy wasn’t looking at you like he was about to have his way with you…you couldn’t explain it. There was just something so ominous about his presence. Something dark attached to his freckled, ‘friendly’ face.

“Do I know you? From somewhere? We have a class together or something?” He asked, apparently keen on making small talk with you.

“No, I don’t think so.”

”You’re Chrissy’s sister!” He supplied, eyes lighting up and you weren’t fond of being linked with him any sort of way.

“Yeah. She’s-Chrissy. My step-sister.”

How the fuck can I end this conversation?

Tommy smirked, and you could feel your stomach drop as the ominous aura came over him, his face somehow darkening. Not in color, in nature. “Is she the evil one, or are you? Hmn?”

You didn’t know what that meant, didn’t know if he was cruising around for his next cruel girlfriend, but it wouldn’t be you.

Instead of answering his question, you laughed nervously. The sound wasn’t pretty, nor was it modest. You laughed loud, and you laughed obnoxiously. It’s not like you could help it!

“I gotta, I gotta go.” You managed to get out between rounds of your laughter as you backed away.

He watched you with something akin to interest, as you whirled around and made a dash for the parking lot.

You could hear him call out a see you around and since you didn’t want to see him around, you just lifted a hand in acknowledgment without turning back.

Good god, that was unpleasant. That was extremely uncomfortable and it made you feel the need to panic poop. The urge faded, when you saw Chrissy’s car. A white square was under her wipers.

You snatched the note up, quickly unfolded it and the smirk made its way back onto your face, mimicking that of the Grinch’s when he’d come up with his plan to ruin Christmas for The Whos.

Yes was circled, several times, so it looked like you had a date with destiny after school.

“What are you so happy about?” Chrissy asked on the drive back home, a smile on her own face as bright eyes darted from the road to you and back again. The maniacal smile remained firmly in place on your face. You couldn’t help it. Everything really was falling into place for you.

“We watched Bill Nye in a segment of Almost Live in my Lab class today.”

“I love that guy, they really should give him his own show. He is kind of cute, isn’t he?”

You gave Chrissy some side-eye, “Uuuuuhhhuuuh.”

When she pulled up along the curb outside your house, you noticed she only put the car in park and made no move to unbuckle her seatbelt.

When you raised a questioning brow, she supplied, “I’m gonna run into town for a little bit. You need anything?”

Immediately, you were suspicious and if it weren’t for your plans, you might have pushed at the lame excuse. This worked for you, she’d be gone for a while and out of your business, “Nope.”

You made sure to wait until her car had disappeared around the corner before you entered your house, jumping when you saw Eddie trying to yank his good hand out of one of the vases Laura had placed near the fireplace. It had been one you made in art class back at your old high school, so naturally, she deemed it hideous, and hid it behind an even bigger vase.

It was also where you stashed your weed.

Eddie turned to you, his hand still stuck in the vase, and somehow managed to look sheepish.

You glared, shoulder sagging enough to have the strap of your back rushing down it, “Seriously?”

He shrugged his shoulders, grunt sounding small.

“Can you even smoke weed?” You asked, abandoning your backpack on the floor as you bounded over.

Eddie’s grunt in response sounded more like a scoff. Can he even smoke weed…

You took hold of the bottom of the vase, holding it still to allow Eddie to pull his hand from it, still intact—thank god. In his grip, was a brightly colored Lisa Frank pouch, meant for holding your school supplies.

It obviously did not hold your school supplies.

“Alright, bloodhound. We’ll give it a shot. Later. Right now, we’ve got big plans.” You gestured for him to follow you upstairs and he did, after stopping by the front door to retrieve your bag for you.

You shoved your bedroom door open to find the bed fully made, and Eddie’s pajamas haphazardly folded on top of your duvet.

Sparing a glance at his approaching figure, you made a mental note to stop at one of the stores in town to get him some more threads. He couldn’t wear the same thing everyday. Actually, he could but you didn’t want him to. That was gross when guys did it, especially dead ones.

Your bag was tossed to the side, and you began rummaging around in your closet in search of spare sheets, “Did you get everything else ready?”

Eddie grunted in confirmation. After he’d woken up, he’d put the items you’d requested in your van and discovered a discarded filter in there, which resulted in him searching your house for the stash you had to have.

When you emerged from the closet, arms around balled up sheets which you soon transferred to Eddie’s waiting arms, you gave him a determined look.

“Let’s do this.”

The van ride had been a quick one, and it was parked somewhere in the woods away from the roads and any foot traffic once you made it.

A quick detour was made at the cemetery before you walked over to the area behind the high school, not too much of a walk away from the cemetery. How appropriate.

You assumed it was once a family location back in the glory days of Hawkins, but you had no idea why there was only a singular picnic table there.

Come to think of it, you didn’t see any sort of grills or anything else that would make this area a popular destination, so why the hell was there a random picnic table in the middle of the woods???

Before you could give it much more thought, you heard the sound of leaves crunching and turned your head to see Eddie’s latest donor walk right through the treeline.

“Hey,” Fred grinned, a surprisingly thick finger reaching up to push his glasses further up his nose. His hair was wet, and you tried to keep your lip from curling at the knowledge that it was sweat and not just water. You had a sneaking suspicion the walk had been a challenge to him.

Show time.

“You got my note,” you breathed out, making sure the statement sounded airy and affectionate despite how the hairs on your arms were rising at the sight of the guy who’d touched you so brazenly without your consent.

“I did,” Fred confirmed, nearing you and you stood up to stop his approach, “I was really hoping you’d come around. And-And don’t worry, you don’t have to be embarrassed about the other night or anything.”

You don’t have to be embarrassed about the other night.

You.

Fred had tried to take advantage of you while you were under the influence of a drug you hadn’t known you’d taken, had whisked you away to an empty room where something sinister could have taken place had you not saved yourself—and you didn’t have to be embarrassed about what he’d done to you.

Something in you snapped, blood boiling so hot you could feel yourself sweat a little.

You didn’t even like Fred as a person, and yet you could feel something lodged in your throat, heart pumping heavy in your chest and loud in your ears. It wasn’t fear, wasn’t the anxiety that overtook you more often than not.

Rage coursed through your entire being.

You had no pity for him, Fred was going to get exactly what people like him deserved.

“I was just so nervous,” you lied, tips of your fingernails dancing over the wood of the table top as you slowly moved to the other end, “And you were so kind to look after me.”

A glance was spared in his direction, your gaze heated through your lashes.

His cheeks flushed, splotchy face gaining more color to it.

“It was nothing, really. We freaks gotta stick together, right?”

You scoffed, the sound playful though you held nothing but malice for the guy across from you.

Fred was no freak. He was a monster disguised as a nerd. You’d gone through Chrissy’s yearbook before, had seen how small he used to be. He’d evidently gained a bit of muscle since high school, swapped out a wardrobe for something slightly better, but all the physical change could do nothing to hide the little man he really was. A self-titled nice guy who wondered why girls never went for him while trying to take advantage of ones that could barely stand up on their own two feet.

At least the creeps made their nefarious intentions obvious. Fred was dangerous; someone calculating who hid his intentions behind a pair of frames and a somewhat friendly approach.

“You’re right. You’re so right, and I feel really guilty about the way I ran out on you. I was hoping…” You fiddled with your fingers, feigning a coy demeanor, “Would you let me make it up to you?”

If Fred really was worthy of some sort of stupid fucking redemption, of living, he’d say no. He’d realize how fucked up in the head he was, this whole situation was, and go get help or put himself on some sort of registry if not just disappear from the face of the earth altogether. In an ideal world, those would be possibilities.

This wasn’t that world, so Fred only nodded his head frantically as his knees began to shake.

As you led him through the woods, you briefly wondered what was going through his head. What exactly did he think you were going to do to him? Not like it really mattered, since he’d proven to be the type to try and force people to do whatever he wanted.

You felt something swipe against the side of your pinky and pulled your hand to your chest just in time to prevent Fred from taking hold of it.

At his questioning look, you just gave him a demure smile, “That’s for later.”

He just shrugged his shoulders, not at all upset about being unable to hold your hand just yet because he’d get to do other things to you.

“Where’d you say you parked your car, again?” Fred asked as the two of you approached the back of the cemetery. It was eery in this section, the area even creepier after the lightning strike. You could feel Fred’s nerves.

“Just outside of the cemetery, it’s quicker if we cut through it. Although, I have to say, I quite enjoy strolling through it. Really puts life in perspective, don’t you think?”

Fred gave a nervous chuckle, hair dampening again, “Uh-huh. I don’t have many dead relatives, so, no-uh, real reason to come on by this place.”

“What’s the matter, Freddie? You scared?”

“No way, just not one to take romantic strolls through a cemetery. I’m not scared though.” He huffed out.

You should be, you thought.

A chuckle was the only response you gave him as you neared Eddie’s grave.

“That one’s my favorite,” A polished finger was pointed in its direction and you could hear Fred’s intake of breath. Eddie’s gravesite was particularly fear inducing, the stone cracked and blackened. Patches of the grass around it had also been charred, with black arms seemingly reaching out from it. Patterns from the lightning strikes.

Fred’s steps slowed significantly, tension building until it all came to a head when he finally noticed the mounds of dirt pushed aside, a large hole in the ground just in front of his tombstone.

“We—We should really be g-getting out of here,” He stammered in fear.

“Nonsense. What? Does it creep you out? Relax, Fred. It’s just from that shit weather that night, remember? Lightning, is all. Not like the dead can just climb right out.”

Your tone was reassuring but if the noob couldn’t see the marks Eddie had made when he’d clawed his way out, couldn’t see the footprints of his shoes embedded in the mud—well, that was on him.

But Freddy boy had had enough, walking right up to you to grab hold of your wrist so he could drag you away, “Let’s just go to your van already, this place is evil as shit and his grave is not a welcome place for anyone, let alone me.”

Fred pulled you to his chest, which sent you into a panic. You hadn’t been expecting him to get physical with you so soon. Your body went into fight mode, squirming to get away from him which seemed to only annoy him as he fought to subdue you.

Before you could even voice your protest, demand he let you go or kick him in the balls, Fred yelped. His grip on your wrist disappeared and you jumped back in time to avoid his body colliding with yours as he went crashing down to the ground.

Your breathing was labored, relief morphing into the best kind of elation when you spotted the hand, coming from the hole in the grave, wrapped around Fred’s now twisted ankle.

Fred turned to stare down at it, too. His mouth dropped in horror, body shaking like a leaf as the two of you watched Eddie Munson rise from the grave.

The shriek Fred let out was decidedly girlish in nature, high pitched and almost impressive. You couldn’t have anyone hearing him though, so you dealt a swift kick to his mouth.

You didn’t use much of your strength, but the kick still sent him onto his back. He groaned, reaching a hand up to his mouth and you noticed his teeth were staining a shade of red, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth.

“Feeling ambushed, Freddie? Violated, perhaps?” You hissed down at him, mind flashing back to that night, feeling so disoriented and lost and wrong as he’d cupped your breast, felt you up while you could barely string a coherent sentence together and still said no.

Fred groaned again, hunching over to spit out some blood, “What the fuck?” He asked, voice sounding dazed.

You didn’t notice your kick had also knocked his glasses off his face until he was shakily reaching for them. One of the lenses was cracked. It didn’t impair his vision too much, though, because he started screaming again when he caught sight of Eddie again, who’d climbed completely out of the grave and stood just over your shoulder, glaring menacingly down at him.

“Stop screaming, you banshee.” You quickly squatted down, scooped up some dirt and shoved it into his mouth. He fought against your palm, but the idea had the desired effect; Fred was too busy coughing the dirt out to scream.

“Please,” he croaked out, tongue sticking out of his mouth, “Stop! Please don’t hurt me. I didn’t know what I was doing!”

The chuckle you let out was void of humor. Of course, when a man has to answer for his evil ass actions, suddenly he’s capable of admitting what he did wasn’t in the right. Too fucking bad for him. You were about to tell Fred it was far too late for pleas, until his next round of statements made you realize his begging wasn’t directed at you.

“It was Chance! An-And Andy! It was their idea, I had nothing to do with it! I mean—I mean, I was just the lookout! How was I supposed to know what they would do?”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, and you looked over your shoulder at Eddie who appeared just as perplexed as you.

His brown eyes bore into yours, searching for the question in them before he shook his head.

You turned your attention back to the weasel cowering on the ground, “You know him?”

Fred’s gaze darted frantically from you to Eddie as he kept stuttering. He’d clearly caught on to you being unaware, and possibly Eddie. You couldn’t have him keeping secrets, though, so you reached for the ax Eddie had pulled out of the grave where’d he’d hidden it and Fred let out an inhuman line of gibberish.

“Yes! Yes, okay, yes, I know him!”

You weighed the ax in your hand, glaring down at Fred. You just needed this fuckers hand for Eddie. That’s it, just needed his hand and you couldn’t let him live after that.

It’s not like he’d just let Eddie have it, go about his life pretending like he didn’t know there was a deadman walking around with his hand after the two of you cut it off.

That’s all you needed of Fred, and now he was mentioning having known Eddie. Implying something was done to Eddie, and you had a sickly feeling you knew exactly what.

Did Eddie want to know? Would it do more good than bad?

You turned your attention to Eddie once more, and found that he was already watching you. There was nothing expectant in his gaze. Despite the circumstances, and the guy shaking like a leaf on the ground with broken teeth and a broken wrist, Eddie didn’t appear menacing to you at all.

Just looked like he was waiting to follow your cue. And you remembered how he’d come to your rescue so many times already. It was high time you started showing up for him.

“Explain.” You demanded of Fred, handing the ax back to Eddie.

Fred looked hesitant, only speaking when you turned to Eddie as if to deliver the instruction to kill Fred, “It was…It was after graduation. Look, I don’t know everything, okay? Chance and Andy told me I had to meet them at the Quarry and just make sure no one else came by but Eddie. I wasn’t thinking, I was just scared as hell about someone else showing up, like what was I supposed to do to stop them? I was a twig! And then—And then, everyone came running out and yelling to scram and run for it! So…I did.”

You watched as Fred seemed to shrink before your eyes, back to that scrawny boy you’d seen in the yearbooks.

“I…I didn’t find out until my mom turned on the news later that night…I didn’t know Eddie was dead until then.”

You couldn’t do anything to stop the shaky croak, a hot tear trailing quickly down your cheek as Fred confirmed Eddie had been murdered.

Your Eddie, the sassy guy with long curly hair, a mischievous and playful nature, so far from hostile unless someone was a direct threat to you.

He’d been harmed, his life stolen. The rage you’d felt earlier was nothing compared to the craze you were spiraling into.

“They killed him,” You whispered out, nearly shaking. When Fred gave a slow nod of confirmation, you just about shrieked, “And you didn’t tell anyone?! You didn’t go to the police!?”

Fred looked at you like you were out of your mind to even suggest that of him, “And tell them what? That I was the one making sure no one interrupted? I would have gone to prison.”

Your mouth dropped open.

Okay.

Yes, you were fucked up. Your emotionally, mentally, and apparently physically abusive mother was dead and you’d played a role in that. But she was only dead because she meant to seriously harm you, and Eddie had stepped in to protect you. If it had been someone innocent, someone like Chrissy, you would have taken the blame and the prison time. You wouldn’t have been able to live with yourself.

But this motherfucker knew Eddie had been murdered that night, had not been too far away when it happened, and hadn’t told a soul because he was afraid of possibly being held responsible. Always only thinking of saving his fucking skin.

“You selfish son of a bitch!” You spat out, “Eddie died that night, you knew he was murdered and you let them get away with it! If you weren’t an accessory then, you sure are now!”

“Does it look like I was meant to be in a cell!? Admonish me all you want, I did what was best for myself! I can’t take it back, what’s done is done. Besides, you didn’t know him. Eddie–he was a burnout. He wasn’t gonna do anything worthwhile anyways.”

You couldn’t believe someone so pathetic EXISTED!

It made you want to scream, but you held it in, physically having to close your eyes and take deep breaths before you made the last demand that would determine what would happen next.

“Go to the police. Tell them everything. You can even tell them about me, and you can try telling them about Eddie,” You jabbed a finger into your zombie boy’s direction, “They’ll never believe you about that, though.”

Fred blinked at you, incredulous.

“I’m not telling anyone anything. I’m not going to jail. I’m not.”

You nodded your head a couple of times, running a hand over your hair. “Yeah, okay, you’re right.”

Then, you grabbed the ax from Eddie’s grasp, swinging it down onto Fred’s propped up wrist. It was a clean cut, hand perfectly severed and Fred let out a scream.

“You’re not going to jail.”

Blood spurted from the wound and you cringed back a little, wishing he’d aim it away or something. Gross.

“Why’d you do that—oh my GOD, my HAND!”

Fred was in hysterics, clutching his arm, and really you couldn’t blame him. It probably sucked to lose your hand this way but he wouldn’t have to suffer for long.

You picked up the appendage, waving it around triumphantly.

“Why are you bitching? What’s done is done. I’m holding your hand like you wanted.”

Eddie made a sound behind you and turned to hand him the…hand.

“Here, this is yours now.”

Fred whimpered as you positioned yourself over him, ax in hand and poised near your head.

“The hand is Eddie’s, but chopping it off was for me. You’re never gonna touch another girl, never gonna cause harm with it. Never again. This, however,” you adjusted your grip on the ax, making sure you had a good handle on it, “Is for Eddie. It’s nothing personal, it's just that I hate you and you shouldn’t have been too much of a bitch to report a murder.”

With that, the ax came down. Fred didn’t make any more noise.

“So, you really don’t remember much about dying?” You asked for the third time, perched on Eddie’s headstone as he shoveled dirt over the grave to seal it once more.

“Uhn, uhn.”

“Can’t remember faces?”

“Uhn, uhn.”

“…Did it hurt?”

Eddie paused in his ministrations, stabbing the shovel into the ground as he leaned against it and seemed to ponder your question. You wondered if he was trying to recall the answer, or if he was debating on whether or not he should answer.

You got your answer a few moments later when Eddie slowly nodded his head, shoes smoothing over the surface of the dirt before he pulled the shovel out and gestured for you to follow him back to the van.

Eddie was quiet, something had changed. Aside from, you know, your body count.

You had an inkling it bothered Eddie to not know what happened to him. Not a whole lot of your thought went into it, but Eddie had to have been mourned by someone. He had that tombstone, the inscription. Those weren’t cheap and someone had to have cared for him enough to make sure he had it. Did he have a mom and dad? A guardian? Family?

He’d left people behind, against his will and probably had no idea where they were now.

You hoped he didn’t feel alone in the world.

It wasn’t impulsive, it was an action that came from a great deal of caring… you reached out for the hand still attached to his body. It wasn’t warm, and it wasn’t cold, either. What it was, was comforting.

From your peripheral vision, you could see his head turn to you in surprise and you met his gaze, offering a smile and a squeeze to his hand you were sure he couldn’t feel.

Until he squeezed yours back.

“We didn’t even need the sheets.” You realized out loud. Originally, you were gonna wrap Fred up, weigh him down with some rocks and throw him in Lover’s Lake. It had been Eddie’s idea to bury him. By that, you meant he just dug out the rest of his grave (impressive with one hand) and rolled Fred into it.

RIP FrEddie Munson.

After a quick trip into town to get some things for Eddie (he had to lay down in the back), and pick up some more thread, the two of you made it home to find no one else had which worked in your favor.

You didn’t bother changing out of your bloody clothes just yet. You still had some Frankenstein work to do with a live-ish appendage, so you found yourself on Eddie’s lap, sewing his new hand into place.

It would have been quicker if you could focus but Eddie’s face was just a few inches away from yours and he would not look away. The side of your face his gaze was boring into felt hotter than the other side and it was making you nervous for some reason. Not a bad nervous, just…nervous.

You decided to break the tension.

“Oh, shit, this is the wrong hand.”

That did the trick, you felt him tense up underneath you and Eddie’s head darted down to make sure he didn’t have two of the same hand, body relaxing when he realized you were joking.

“Got’cha.” You grinned, eyes scanning over his features. You felt your heartbeat stutter when you noticed the twitch at the corner of his lips. Eddie was smiling at you.

Swallowing hard, you cleared your throat, gave him a tight smile, and went back to work.

He groaned on one particular tug of the thread, and you paused with a wince, “Did that hurt?”

He shook his head, but he was also making a bit of a face.

“Feel unpleasant?”

“Mm.”

“Sorry,” You were a little more gentle in your actions, trying to carefully weave the needle through his wrist, and his new hand, making sure your tugs were extra gentle which he appeared to appreciate, nuzzling his head against yours for a brief moment.

You nearly convulsed.

Once the hand was on, the thread had been snipped and neatly secured, it was to the tanning bed!!!

You got him all situated, made sure he didn’t hit his head and then watched him light up.

The smell of burnt hair filled the mini garage, and you made a mental note to pick up some hair products later. Eddie’s curls were gonna need it if they wanted to stay attached to his scalp, though you supposed you could probably scalp someone should he need a replacement.

Argyle, a guy who worked at one of the local pizza places, had long luxurious locks of hair, but you couldn’t do that to him. He was a nice dude, stuck in a permanent trip for sure, and so always pleasant to you. He was also your dealer and you were pretty sure his girlfriend was a witch. The last thing you needed was to be cursed or hexed. Or turned into a goat.

Settling in for what you expected to be a long wait while Eddie tanned, you were surprised when just a few moments later, all sparking stopped. Figuring you didn't set the right temperature to bake him at, you moved to mess with the dial only for a hand to curl out and push the lid of the bed up.

Eddie’s time in the tanning bed, while somewhat briefer this time, still seemed to have cooked him. Smoke dripped out, flowing almost syrup-like down to the floor where it all seemed to pool and twist around your ankles as the bright blue lights of the bed’s panels cast the room in a euphoric glow.

You stared wordlessly, mouth parted in complete enchantment–and you swore you could hear the intro to Ozzy Osbourne’s No More Tears in the background like some godly music video on MTV–as Eddie’s figure emerged from the smoke still gathered in the bed.

And in seemingly slow motion to your captivated self, Eddie pulled the goggles over his head, hair tousling just the right amount. His movements were fluid, not a stiff limb in sight. In fact, he even stretched out, shirt riding up to expose his pale—no longer a completely sickly shade—stomach and a smattering of dark hair that made up his happy trail.

Uh oh. Something was going on in your body.

It was only when that happy tail was covered again, Eddie hunching forward, that you realized you were staring at his crotch region. Your eyes drifted up to find Eddie staring at you, more life in those warm, gorgeous eyes of his, framed by attractive dark circles as he smirked at you. No twitching of his lips, no maybe smiles. It was a full on smirk. Eddie was in complete control of his face (and you noticed his cheeks dimpled when he smiled).

He lifted his new hand and wiggled his fingers at you in greeting. That’s when you lost it, jumping up and down in elation.

“OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD!”

Eddie was fast, pushing himself off the tanning bed to dart forward and sweep you right out of the garage, spinning you around and around.

You clung to him, laughing and filled with so much joy at the knowledge that Eddie was coming back to life. When he decided you’d been spun enough, and your head was a whirlwind, he released you and you stumbled a little, finding your balance with the hand Eddie offered to you for stabilization.

“Look at you.” You breathed out in amazement. It was more of a whisper but Eddie heard. He looked pleased, gesturing to himself with a sweep of his wrists, Look at me.

You were correct in your scrutinization of him when you’d first played dress-up.

Eddie Munson was very much so hot when he was alive. There was no doubt in your mind. You hadn’t seen a whole lot of his movements, what with him finally being able to move freely occurring just a few moments ago, but you were inclined to believe he was extremely theatrical in them. Probably in everything he did.

And confident.

Eddie seemed to have had enough of the small distance between the two of you, twirling you back in his grasp so you were pressed right up to him, his hands on your sides to hold you. He was grinning like an idiot and you were positive your face was no better. Your cheeks were beginning to hurt from your smile.

“So. You’re the infamous Eddie Munson.”

He rolled his eyes and you laughed, something inside of you warming up at the smile he gave you in response to it.

“It’s nice to meet you, Eddie. I’ve been wanting to for a while now.”

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