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trashmouth-richie · 3 months

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the raven told me of you

eddie x female reader

crafted from this prompt list by: @bettyfrommars @somnambulic-thing @allthingsjoeq

summary: eddie is released after six months of being behind bars with a false identity, he was never lonely because you were there with him, until you weren’t. now, coming home to a new life with his old name granted back to him. he navigates flashbacks, and trying to settle back in with wayne in private protective seclusion, alone— or is he?

8.1k

tw: 18+ angst. fluff of a new relationship, light smut— s1, s4 canon events with reader inserted into the timeline, mentions of insanity, death, witness protection, government cover-ups etc. this could be a continuation or stand alone fic of your touch but is not necessary to read.

releasing: thursday 3/7

Owens’ worked his charms. The government covered up the mass hysteria and pinned the murders of Chrissy, Patrick and Fred on an accidental chemical reaction from arsenic, radiation and terpenoids. The results left their bones liquified from the toxic lick of acid and torqued before solidifying once again.

The Hawkin’s Post called it ‘a combination of sickly tainted water from the school cafeteria.’

Parents were urged to have their children tested at the local clinic for extra precautions, and thankfully no one else had been affected.

On Thursday the Eighteenth of September, at approximately 1300 hours… an hour into quiet personal time, Mr. Edward Munson, was once again, a free man.

At first he thought it was possibly a mistake, a horrifying joke fed by his many delusions. But when they called him into the warden’s office, he sat across an oak desk from a tall man with a skin bald head, shining like a lightbulb.

He used Eddie’s full name—not the persona he was given— and gave him ten minutes to collect his belongings. It was then he came to realize that maybe he wasn’t crazy after all.

Six long months in the clink with his brain spinning hallucinations beyond his control he wasn’t sure if he’d come out of it without a government issued lobotomy— and in the blink of an eye, it came to an abrupt end.

Prison was cold, unwelcoming in shades of gray coating the ceilings, walls, floors, any service imaginable. As if there was one color sanctioned to the American Prison system and gray was the less costly option.

Concrete was probably more pliable than his bed was. The food was impeccable— if you were a raven on a mealworm diet. It was just shy of hell, and it made the inhabitants calloused to a helping hand or squirreling away from making friends.

Seven months prior, Eddie was in his prime. For the first time in his life he was happy with where he was at, school was almost over and he had a true chance of walking the stage of graduation.

And you, he had you.

Beautiful, charismatic, sweet you.

It was almost like he conjured you up himself with a hard roll against a plyboard table of a twenty sided dice. Mesmerizing eyes that seemed to shimmer in any light, a smile that could soften Medusa’s rocky stare. You were perfect.

The first time his eyes laid on you was across the cafeteria. Everyone moved with the mundane routine, but you were shining like a spotlight had been placed on you overhead.

Your soft skin beckoned him like a moth to a flame. Smooth as silk, and he started to wonder what would your flesh feel like in his hands…would you cower away from their roughness?

His mind raced, and his heart pumped firmly whenever you walked past him, you smelled like ripe fruit, warming by the sun, and Eddie began to understand why Eve was tempted so easily.

And so began the daily task of seeking you out. He was able to spot you like Waldo amongst the boring gray faces of every other girl.

You shone like a gem, a sapphire filled with the darkest of depths, and like an enthusiast to your craft, he wanted to know the breadth of your soul.

His gem.

It was by total chance that he stumbled upon you after months of stray glances. He was walking backwards, yelling to Gareth about being on time for Hellfire that night, when he bumped into something that yelped in surprise.

It was you.

Sprawled and landing hard on your butt. Papers scattered from the collision of your face mashing into a denim patchwork vest.

He stumbled over your feet, falling beside you in a mess of curls and cigarettes, the one between his lips still intact. Your eyes met his for the first time, and that’s all it took for him to fall head over feet, in this case Reeboks, Eddie was a goner.

Your smile spread a warmth in his chest that he had never felt before. And your laugh? Made his knees physically weak.

He still didn’t know how he managed to swing it, but he charmed you into agreeing to a ride home. Conversation came easy with you. You were sweet yet comical, a bit of a smart ass. He was grinning like an idiot.

Chatting about books, then music, he bantered back and forth, teasing on your choice of horror, astounded in your tastes— but nevermore, he was enthused, enamored.

Witty and shit giving, you had him wrapped around your finger before the van pulled in front of your place. A permanent dimple pecked into his cheek that wouldn’t subside no matter how hard he tried.

A ten digit number exchanged on lined paper was the start of the end. A corny fist pump and a pep talk on his jaunt back to the trailer park.

Eddie was living on cloud nine.

He called you that night, foregoing any dumb advice he had seen in movies or heard at school at waiting a certain amount of days or hours, he went on pure instinct alone, and almost threw up all over himself after punching the last number.

You answered with your name after saying a proper greeting and he stumbled over his own tongue before choking out that it was him.

“Sorry who?” you had teased, Eddie’s heart fell into his stomach with relief when you giggled on the other end, “are you calling to sell me some boy scout popcorn, because cheddar is my favorite… but for you I might just buy a tin of caramel.”

A heart laugh erupted from his trailer, loud and barking. “Boy Scouts weren’t really my thing, princess.”

“Ah,” you reasoned, “knots too hard?”

He laughed again, that damn dimple achingly prominent as he smiled through the receiver, and you swore you could hear his cheeks squeak, “something like that.”

An hour had passed and Eddie found himself in the snares of coiled phone cords as he wore a pattern from his bedroom to the kitchen, fiddling with things left on the counter. Even going so far as to start a load of laundry and empty the sink.

You too were in the trenches, living solely on the scraps of information of Eddie’s life that he tossed to you like a pigeon in a park.

He was smart, filled with colossal amounts of knowledge on anything from cars, to reading sheet music. He had an ear for rhythm, cocky enough to have you hum a tune so he could pick up on it, and add to it. Eddie was a closeted genius under the untamed curls.

“Shit— I’m talking too much, huh? " he asked after a long winded speech about a campaign he was planning for the freshman in Hellfire. “I get carried away sometimes,” he admitted with a chuckle, a ripple of embarrassment heating over his body in a wave.

“Not at all,” you eagerly replied, “tell me more about Kas!”

“Well princess, I could show you, if you wanted?” He prayed you’d say yes, to whom or what he was praying to— hewasn’t sure, just crossed fingers and pinched his eyes shut in hopes that you wouldn’t think he was some loser yanking his dick to figurines and elf lore.

But you didn’t, you had said yes faster than he finished asking. And from there— it was history.

He went to bed with a spinning head and a heart wrapped in lace, sugar coated with your sweet voice in his ear, the same lopsided grin he had worn since tripping over you at school.

—

Stepping out into the first breath of freedom, the sun felt heavy on his skin. It itched his arm hairs, the heat touching his neck for the first time in years since he grew out his hair. The brightness stung his eyes.

He had become accustomed to the hollowing sag of fluorescent lights paling his skin to almost translucency, a true dracula in the pits of a four walled hell.

A croaked caw is loud overhead, singular— followed by a fluttering of wings, and the bend of a tree limb.

The clothes he wore didn’t feel like him, the ripped cotton Hellfire shirt wasn’t clean coming in and wasn’t clean coming out, Shredded where the demobats feasted on him like a hotdog at a ball field.

His jeans stunk of decay and murky water from the gate. Caked with mud, dried several times in the days of being on the run, the jeans chafed his skin raw, gnawing on his leg hairs until they popped free, giving up the fight.

A manila envelope held his rings, clashing together in a melodic tone. He slotted them one by one on the correct fingers, yet they felt loose, heavy and familiar all at once.

He was ready to pitch the envelope into a trash bin when he felt something else in the bottom, having to rip it apart to get to whatever was inside. When the ground was littered next to his waterlogged Reeboks, and his palm held the small silver item, his eyes brimmed with tears.

—3

The nightly phone calls soon turned to walks around the trailer park, Eddie listening intently as you strolled around the driveway, kicking up little clouds of dirt or catching the occasional rock with the toe of your sneaker.

He matched your steps, learning about your passions after graduation, how you favored sweets over salty treats, and the embarrassing truth of how after your friend Barb went missing, you didn’t have any friends at school.

“Well, now you have me,” he chirped earnestly, dark eyes squinting in the setting sun as he knocked his elbow with yours, a smirk on his lips, “I’ll take care of ya.”

It was as simple as that, and the easiness of it made your nose tingle with a burn as you fought back tears at his kindness.

Weeks of walking with you after school round and round Forest Hills— the scenery started to change.

The emerald grass faded into sharp tawny weeds. Foliage turned the color of autumn and the air began to crisp and chill.

It was then, on a windy Tuesday afternoon, that Eddie invited you into his home, he made sure to kick dirty laundry under his bed, hide the Playboys in the closet behind an old pair of shoes and empty the heaping ashtrays the night beforehand.

A jewel in a shit shack— you equally looked out of place and fit in with the cluttered belongings of his uncles at the same time.

“My castle.” he announced, bending low and holding the door open like a gentleman.

He showed you around the small square footage, taking less than fifteen seconds to point everything out.

“And that?”

“That’s.. my room.”

It was silly then, how nervous he was to let you into his space, even though during your walks you acquired everything there was to know about him.

—

Snow was on the ground when your after school routine of going to Eddie’s was as second nature to you as breathing.

You were sitting on his unmade bed atop the rumpled comforter and soft sheets, socked toes dangling from the side of the mattress. A textbook balanced in your lap, pencil between your teeth. Your eyebrows pinched in a studied strain as you tried to solve a calculus formula.

His voice had startled you, not sure when he had gotten up or how long he was standing at his desk, looking almost sick.

“Got something.. for you.. something dumb that I saw.”

He tried his damndest to be cavalier. But Eddie was everything but.

Ten dollars in quarters, more hours than he had spent in a pizza joint ever, and a hoard of tiny plastic containers from a machine holding costume jewelry, he had finally gotten what caught his eye.

A silver ring adorning a bat with an indigo colored stone in the center. It didn’t come close to the actual beauty you possessed but the blue stone reminded him of the way you moved through the crowd that day, like a rare gem.

Tired eyes focused on him, a nervous little twitch in his body didn’t go unnoticed as he fumbled with something behind his back, a wanton smile smirked on his lips.

You smile, adjusting the book from your lap and rubbing the pressure from your eyes, “a gift? Ed, you didn’t have to do that.”

“Didn’t have too,” he charmed, moving closer into your space, his jeans tickling the tips of your toes, “but… I wanted to.”

“Should I close my eyes?”

He chuckled, “sure sweetheart, hold out your hand,”

Your eyes shut tight, eyelashes squishing against your cheeks as you giggled, “why am I nervous?”

He stared at the rubber eraser shavings that clung to your bottom lip. The graphite on your fingers, a small hole in your jeans atop your knee, showing a smooth expanse of skin that he itched to touch. You had captivated him since the day you crossed his lazy stare in the lunchroom, and he thought of very little else.

He could still hear your squeals when you opened your eyes and saw the delicate ring in your palm. Still feel the way his heart raced when you jumped up and hugged his middle, squeezing him tight against you, the smell of your hair filling his nose with notes of strawberry, or was it peach?

He didn't realize he had the ring fisted in a vice grip until he felt blood in his palm, salty tears collecting in the thickness of his mustache, his lip quivering.

They’re wiped away in haste at the sound of a police cruiser. The familiar scent of thick gasoline exhaust and a camel cigarette follow with the squeak of his driver's door and release of weight on the suspension.

A towering frame crowds the sun from Eddie’s brow. A thick mustache sits square on an egg shaped skull, sunken cheeks replace a once plump face. But the drawl and cigarette smoke are welcoming just the same.

“Hey kid.”

—

Eddie was nervous.

The time you two had been spending together was making him feel giddy. You hadn’t kissed or so much as held hands yet but the air between you both had become filled with dense clouds of lust induced tension— it was hard for him to see straight.

He didn’t know if you felt the same, or if you only saw him as a friend, but tonight was the night the boundaries would cross, and he stood armed like a Paladin, ready to conquer his toughest quest yet, you.

Ice had built up on the broken concrete steps to Eddie’s trailer and your slick bottomed converse hit the glassy surface just right for you to slip backwards, falling into strong leather coated arms.

“We gotta stop falling into each other princess,” he chuckled, holding you tight with hands wrapped around your waist, “gettin’ too old for this nonsense.”

His scent invades you, encompassing you with hints of camels, a stick of big red gum, and starch powdered deodorant.

Your laugh bubbles out of your throat like a giggly champagne, “damn, you got me, totally do this on purpose, insurance claims. All the rage nowadays.”

He buffers for a bit as you tip forward on your feet and spin to face him, one step higher than he stands. “Only kidding,” you tease, grabbing his chin with icy fingers.

His doe eyes stare into yours, lost in the way you made his heart skip and his bones feel like jello, blood ablaze. He’s searching, searching your face for a giveaway— a sign.

And it happens like clockwork.

Your hands rest on either of his cheeks, thumb sweeping softly over the creamy silk of his skin, an audible sigh slides from his throat, followed by a giggle slipping from yours before your voice narrows to a whisper, “lighten up Munson.”

The salmon tone of his lips have gone more cherry colored in the cold, a little chapped from the frigid temps. Not the usually pinkish orangey hue they drew in warm light when he flustered over History notes and Chemistry study cards.

The apples of his cheeks were rosy like a cherub on a Valentine’s Day card, glittered with fancy text swirling of “Be Mine?”

Coal eyes shone with the bright overhead light from the trailer park. A deer caught in headlights.

Eddie was handsome in a way nobody in Hawkins was. A mane of curled brown locks, eyes to match. He was affectionate, easygoing, and you loved him the minute he crashed into you a few months ago.

Hands still on your waist he pulled you towards him, “Can’t,” he breathes, almost silently, a huff of air between you now, “not when I’m around you, never around you.”

Your fingers tangle together around his shoulders, braided in the hair at the nape of his neck, he shudders at the temperature change on his skin.

A quirk in your brow you tilt your head and wet your lips, “why’s that?”

He joins you on the crowded step, taller than you, peering into your face, heavy hands still on the waist, “for months, haven’t been able to think straight when you’re here,” his hands rub on your lower back making lazy circles under your coat with his blunt nails.

“Hmm..” you tease, twirling a curled lock of of the hair framing his face between your fingers, sultry eyes looking up at him in thick eyelashed innocence, “wonder why that is?”

The opening he was looking for, boundary lines down in overgrown grass as if he rolled a crit hit to whatever creature stood in his path was laid out for him.

His forehead comes to rest on yours, surprisingly warm in the cold, his nose like frost as it slid beside your own, bumping and sharing one breath.

“ ‘cause I’m crazy ‘bout you,” he finally admits, heart loosening, unrestricting, “and I can’t stop thinking what your lips would feel like with mine.”

He feels your smile on his mouth, the bated breath you’re holding teasing his tongue, “find out,” is all you can get mutter before his lips press gently to yours.

—

Hawkins was a few hours drive, longer yet after stopping at the nearest diner for a burger and fries. After staring at a menu for more than Hopper’s liking he ordered for himself and Eddie.

The coffee came in white ceramic mugs, the waitress setting them down in the designated spots that were already stained with rings of taupe, years of wear.

“Wayne’s all set up in a new trailer, living high off the hog or whatever he said during our weekly check-ins.”

Eddie ate in silence, chewing slowly, eating but not really tasting. What was freedom if you weren’t a part of it?

He’d be the first to admit that he talked to you when he was stressed. When he thought he couldn’t shut his eyes without seeing the horrific beings that crawled upside down from our world, he turned to your voice, feeling you wrap around him gave him a sense of hope.

“It’s not in Forest Hills, somewhere a little more private, government owned land.”

Eddie sipped at the bitter coffee, taking the burn in a big swig, letting it hurt. Nodding along as he watched his reflection in the dark cup.

—

Kissing you was like being able to breathe underwater, like the 1986 New Year’s fireworks over Lover’s Lake.

He kissed you at your door before school when he showed up every morning to drive you. He stole more kisses in his van, cursing the 8:15 bell, his hands on your waist pulling you further into him.

Standing by your locker, he kissed your cheeks as you dug for textbooks. He pressed his lips to your ear in the lunch line, making you squirm.

He kissed your shoulder when he sat behind you teaching you to play his guitar. Pressing the delicate pads of your fingers into the strings to play each chord with ease.

He’d groan into your neck, while pressing you into the couch, nipping your skin until his lips were raw.

“Where have you been my whole life?”

Your fingers are entwined in his hair, pulling his weight further into you, your legs wrap around his waist, “led astray, lost, so lost.”

He leans up, dark curtains of hair dangling into your face from your position on the saggy couch in the Munson living room.

He smiles a toothy grin, dimples breaching, “good thing I found you then, baby,” he sweeps a rogue eyelash from your cheek, “can’t escape me now.”

“wouldn’t want to even if I were dead.”

—

“Nope, hasn’t said a word, how do you know he can even talk?”

Owen’s sighs on the other end of the receiver, “he’s tough, but he’s been through a lot, needs time to recover, find out who he is again.”

Hopper takes a long drag of a cigarette, “yeah, don’t know about that one doc, he’s mute.”

Short trimmed nails scratch at a tuft of curly white hair, stationed somewhere in Nevada, “Alright, just get him home, I’ll call the uncle and let him know.”

—

Hugs lingered. Kisses deepened. Bodies pressed to one another in a staticky velcro of magnets, unable to peel apart.

Things were hot and heavy between you and Eddie. Smoky, tingly, a fog that had your blood pulsing places you didn’t know was even possible. You didn’t want to be apart, aching to explore every inch of him.

And he felt the same.

Together you set the plans into place.

He purchased the condoms, made sure his favorite mix of the slowest metal music he could find was ready to go. He washed his bed sheets and lit a dust covered candle.

You had done your own routine, showering and thoroughly scrubbing every surface of your skin, lathering a thick lotion on your body, and planting perfume in the direct places Cosmo described as, ‘irresistible’.

It wasn’t his first time. But it was yours.

Running his fingers through his bangs once more he took a last meticulous look around his room, crossing the trailer to answer the front door, where you had knocked quietly.

You were gorgeous, standing in a pair of light wash jeans and a buttoned red sherpa coat. A bag over your shoulder.

“There’s my girl,” he cooed, holding his arms wide and embracing you in his signature bone crushing hug. His lips found yours in a fevered second and he walked you backwards inside, flipping the deadbolt as he kicked the door behind him.

The duffle bag travels from your shoulder to his arm and he breaks away from your tempting lips. Holding your shoulder he pulls you into him, looking at you as he leads you to his room.

“Got everything you need? Toothbrush?”

You smile a little nervously, “check.”

“Okay, pajamas?” he inquires, “could wear mine if you wanted, you’d look pretty damn cute in my Garfield pants.”

“Packed and folded last night,” you say, tickling

his sides, “you were on the phone with me when I did it.”

He stops before crossing the threshold to his room, hands gently pressed to your cheeks, looking into your eyes in a serious manner.

“Are you sure? Like really sure?” his brows knit into concern, “I want you to be comfortable with this.. with me.”

You tug his shirt with a pinched grip, at his waist, staring back into his eyes, the truth on your tongue.

“I want you.”

—

Gravel spits up from the rubber tires as Hopper’s cruiser pulls off onto the secluded road. Eddie’s head hits the window hard with a thud, waking him from a dream.

“Home sweet home, kid.” Hop grunts, cranking the vehicle to a stop after traveling down a long twisting driveway thick with bordering trees and miles of woods on either side. A safe haven for a man deemed dead.

He could make out the taillights of his van, nestled in the tall grass beneath a willow tree, obscured from view. Wayne’s trusty Ford under the carport.

The overcast sky splayed a gray color against the new Munson home, and sitting on steps that weren’t broken, was Wayne.

The passenger door releases with a groan, and he inhales the fresh scent of dirt and summer grass. Finally, he feels like he can breathe.

Wayne’s familiar thin lipped grin is spread wide on his face, smoke lingering from a cigarette in an ashtray. His wet eyes gleam at the boy he once thought was dead, as he stands to greet his nephew.

“Hardly recognized ya with that short hair, Ed, and that beard?” he says rubbing a weathered hand through his own scruff, “givin’ me a run for my money son.”

He hadn’t seen his uncle since that friday morning in March. Unbeknownst to them both, in 15 short hours a cheerleader would die gruesomely in their living room, sprouting a world of chaos and demons, destruction, uncertainty and more carnage.

Hop had explained to Eddie that Wayne was compensated generously for his grief by the United States Government. He was told the ins and outs of what had happened and where Eddie was, and perched on land in a new house, he was told to wait.

—

Spring had sprung, the hard winter that seemed like it would never end was finally seeing its demise. March brought promises of new growth in the soil, and warmer days ahead.

It was a typical Friday, besides a morning pep rally for the laundry basket team after winning an important game the night before.

A pep rally you never attended.

Your back was pressed against the bathroom stall, skirt rucked up with the help of Eddie’s hand.

“We’re… gonna… get caught.” You rasped out between kisses.

His other hand was interlaced with yours high above your head, “probably,” he teased, tongue licking into your mouth, “it’s worth it though? Yeah?”

His hand travels further to the cotton waist of your panties, dragging them further and further down your thigh, his lips assaulting your neck, vibrating with your delicate moans.

“For you?” you question, hooking an arm around his shoulder, as your panties hit the ground, “always.”

He smiles into your lips as he pushes into your warm center, taking the breath from your lungs as you adjust to him, ass cheeks cold on the metal siding of the stall.

Your legs are wrapped into the crease where his elbow meets, his cock dragging in and out languidly, mouths hung open and tasting each other's ecstasy as your eyes drink one another up.

“Swear I’ve never, ever had someone like you, baby,” he gasped, bangs frizzing from being wet from a morning shower then covered in sweat.

Hips pistoning into you, he can feel your walls clench and tighten, your breath choked before you release, saying his name as if it’s the only word you can make out.

He cums hard. biting his lip and burying his face into your neck, “I love you, fuck I love you.”

It was the first time he had said it. He had known it for months, but today in the girls bathroom skipping a pep rally he could give a shit about, he figured it was the perfect place to say how he felt.

He’s still inside you when you say it back, spend leaking from you and onto the tiled floor. Your own eyes wet with the happiest of tears because no one has ever said that to you, not like this.

But this gorgeous man, in all his reputational flaws that didn’t mean shit, loved you. And you had never felt more emotion flooding through you all at once.

“I love you too, Eddie.”

—

Hopper didn’t stay for supper, patting his barely there belly and saying the missus was expecting him home tonight. He tipped a felt hat goodbye to Wayne and to Eddie, telling them to call if they needed anything.

He still hadn’t spoken, only nodded and waved curtly as the red tail lights danced down the tangled web of a driveway.

“Gonna make pork chops if you’re interested,” Wayne chirped, holding the door open for him as they climbed the same number of steps, “learned how to cook, can y’ believe that?”

He smiled softly, carrying his envelope of release papers and setting them on the table.

Everything from the old trailer was ruined. His guitar, all the band equipment he had stored in his room, the mattress that held more memories with you in them that he’d never get back— all gone, burned to a rancid fiery crisp when the fourth chime rang and Hawkins spread open like a festering wound.

The only thing he had of yours was the small bat ring with a sapphire stone.

Ten dollars in quarters at a shitty pizza place. He should have given you something real.

—

“.. yeah yeah and I was full of shit then,” Eddie grinned as Jeff and Gareth teased him about his graduation timeline. “This is my year, I can feel it.. ‘86 baby!”

He was always a flare for dramatics, dungeon master or not he amped it up for the freshman, acting like DnD was life or death, as if the cult of Vecna couldn’t be missed.

To be fair, he spent months on this campaign, late nights plotting and scrawling into a binder as you sat behind him, playing with his hair.

French braids then pippy styled pigtails, a cute bun on the top of his head with little hairs sweeping against his forehead and at the nape of his neck, perfect curls.

“Ten bucks says Wheeler cries when Vecna makes his return.”

“You think?”

“Definitely.”

Shoving Dustin and Mike with specific instructions to find a replacement player for Lucas, he sits down to his measly little lunch, leaning over to your space and whispering so only you can hear.

“After Hellfire tonight you wanna come over? Wayne bought a frozen pizza and I heard that Family Video finally got some good horror flicks in.”

Stealing a pretzel from his fingers you nod your head yes, “ I’ll get the movie, meet you at the trailer?”

The rest of the day dragged on. One boring class after another, students excited for the upcoming game, teachers unable to keep the roar of amped up Jocks under control, but alas the last bell finally rang. Releasing Hawkins High for Spring Break of ‘86.

Some kids went on vacation, others hunkered down with their friends. And some never made it back to school when classes resumed.

Walking down to his designated selling spot at the forgotten picnic table in the woods, he could have never imagined the trouble he’d be in just seven hours later.

—

Pork Chops seared in a pan with some butter and a chopped onion, Wayne had the news playing on the small tv in the kitchen, listening for the weather report.

The trailer was identical to the one lost to the rotting flesh of the Upside Down. Newer, and a damn sight cleaner, but the layout was exactly the same, except for an added bedroom with an attached bath on the opposite wall of the living room.

The filthy hat collection was replaced by odd cowboy decor and small wolf figurines. Eddie paced around the living room, touching the knick knacks that someone else had picked out not even questioning whether or not Wayne enjoyed this kind of stuff.

He had shown Eddie to his room, a navy blue carpet stretched across the floor, a queen sized bed against the back wall. New new new. Everything was foreign to him.

He would miss the heavy creak of a dresser drawer that didn’t shut properly, his closet door that fell off its track years before. Hell, he’d even miss the itch of the green wool blanket he kept on his bed in the winter months.

“Got your own bathroom too,” Wayne said cheerfully hovering in the doorway, hand rubbing the knob as he stared at the floor, “figured you’d wanna shower ‘fore supper, so I laid a towel out.”

Eddie turned his head nodding while he poked at the too soft blanket folded on his bed.

“It’s good to have you home, Eddie.” Wayne said, finally looking into his nephew’s eyes, “didn’t feel the same without you.”

Wayne wasn’t a coddler, he didn’t want Eddie to feel like he couldn’t be trusted, so he turned to leave, “shower’s got real good water pressure.” He takes a glance back at Eddie, and looks around the room before pulling the door shut behind him.

“Thanks,” Eddie mumbles, turning away at the last second, avoiding the piercing color of Wayne’s eyes before they could break him down.

—

Ten o’ clock on the dot your car crunched onto the dusty driveway of Forest Hills. Eddie’s van wasn’t parked out front yet, but thankfully the Munson trailer was never kept locked.

The trailer smelled of old smoke and musk from two hard working men. Even if the laundry was never caught up, and greasy wrappers from a quick bite of a burger littered the counter— Eddie’s home was comforting to you.

You didn’t have to fumble around for the light switches anymore, walking in the dark you knew where the table could connect with your hip if you weren’t careful.

Ten steps from the kitchen, down the hall was his bedroom door, five steps back led to the bathroom. He had cleared a drawer for you to keep your clothes in, socks, extra pajamas, some of his favorite pairs of your underwear lived in the top drawer on the right.

The mirror on his dresser held a collection of pictures of the two of you from the photo booth at Starcourt Mall, movie ticket stubs, and the mint condition guitar he kept sacred.

A yawn escapes your tired mouth the warmth of a shower calls to you.

Grabbing a towel from the cabinet, the water sputters under the shower head as it always did, and familiar music floods your ears from the thin walls outside.

—

His reflection is gaunt, different than the last time he looked at himself, the night he struck the mirror in disgust.

He’s too happy to rid himself of the swamp smelling clothes that itched and scraped his skin. The lick of a flame would do them justice, good riddance to the worst time of his life.

The shower is bigger, the head double the size of the one he grew used to. The spray of scalding water hits his head like magma. Burning his flesh, washing away months of isolation, stale air, and stiff clothing.

The water released muscles in his back that had grown crimped from the thin cot he curled himself on. His fingers ran through the shorter length of hair on his head, just above his eyebrows realizing it now was long enough to drip water into his eyes.

He didn’t check the labels before rubbing whatever soap or shampoo it was into his skin, but the slide of it onto his pale and gummy mauled scars felt like butter on toast.

Registering the faint scent of a stixky sweet fruit he couldn’t determine if it was strawberry or peach, but the concoction had him clutching his chest, unable to breathe.

It smelled like you.

You. His best friend.

You. His first girlfriend.

You. The only person he has ever loved— so intensely, it killed him.

You you you.

His gem. All sapphire blues with depths beyond comparison to anyone else who simply peaked on the surface.

Gone.

“Ready whenever you are!” Wayne knocked on the door, “pork chop ain’t no good cold.”

He wipes the tears from his eyes. Regulates his breathing with labored intakes. And finally admits the thing he couldn’t for the past six months.

“She’s gone.”

—

“Sorry for the mess, maid took the week off.”

“You live here alone?”

Murmured voices are muffled under the rush of water from the shower, “Eddie?..that you?”

Shuffled steps get closer and the bathroom door swings open, Eddie’s eyes are wide, wild with excitement as they roam over your form.

He licks his lips, stalking towards you in a lazy manner with dark hooded eyes, “prettiest girl in the whole world in my bathroom?” His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you into him, a breathtaking move leaving you giggly as his hand caresses your cheek, “hope you’re naked under these clothes.”

He presses his lips to yours in a chaste kiss, dipping you low and swinging you back up, he tastes like Mountain Dew and lingering hints of nicotine, spread with a wicked grin.

“I missed you, handsome,” you say, pressing your lips to his again, “so how was it? Did Mike cry when Vecna came back?”

Eddie barks out a laugh, rubbing his hands together, “think I might’ve seen a single tear fall, but they defeated him— crit hit by Sinclair’s sister.”

“Really? That’s.. impressive!”

“It was… shit, I’ve never been more proud of those little assholes.” His smile fades and you know he’ll miss being DM for them next year.

“Eddie?” A small voice asks from the living room.

Your brow quirks in question and he looks at you voice whispering low, “Chrissy Cunningham wants to buy ketamine.”

“What?!” you whisper back face struck in shock, “seriously?!”

Eddie nods, eyes wide in almost disbelief himself, “wanted a half ounce at first, but then said she needed something stronger.”

Your face pulls concern, honestly astonished that someone who seemed so prim and proper would want something like that. Eddie didn’t sell k normally you’ve been with him on multiple occasions and the only thing that was consistent with your peers of Hawkins High was weed.

“Do you even have it?”

“Dunno” he shrugs, lips in a frown, “told her I did because it’s an easy thirty bucks, but I could just crush up some tic-tacs… she wouldn’t know the difference.”

“Eddie? Did you find it?” Chrissy calls out in a nervous pitch.

“I can talk to her while you find something?”

“That’d be great,” he kissed you once more, lips buzzing, “two minutes!” He practically skips to his bedroom and shoots you a wink. Leaving you in a flight of butterflies lining your stomach. Helplessly in love.

—

Inhaling the hot cooked meal that didn’t taste like warmed up roadkill, Eddie sat in silence in a clean pair of clothes that weren’t his, listening to Wayne talk about what he’d been up to since they had last seen each other.

He burned with questions, needing, wanting, aching to know but the only thing he could blurt out came choked and almost suffocating on the use of his vocal cords.

“I need to see her.”

Wayne simply slurped his iced tea, setting the glass down heavy on the oak table, ice shifting. “Figured you would… want me to drive ya?”

Eddie swallows hard and shakes his head, “I need to go alone.”

With instructions from Wayne on the less traveled roads back to town, Eddie’s van sputtered to life in a cloud of backfiring smoke. He couldn’t bring himself to look at the passenger seat, he knew what would be there, and what wouldn’t.

Nothing was the same. Not anymore.

—

The boat floor was cramped, quite literally packed like sardines in a can, you were somehow lulled to sleep by the sway of Lover’s Lake waters and the even breathing of Eddie’s chest.

Your head tucked beneath his chin, he wrapped his arms around you as tight as he could without crushing your bones.

Rick’s offered little comfort for an empty stomach outside of a moldy fruit bowl, an expired beer and a singular can of spaghetti o’s. But you were both safe for now. And that’s what mattered.

The kids, Steve Harrington— of all people— and Robin promised food and any information they could find without seeming suspicious. He was gracious for their companionship, needing something to keep him busy while trying to hide his own slip to insanity from you.

Your tears were endless, soft and steady one minute and the next you were wrecked, in a choked fit clinging to him for dear life.

Eddie’s mind played on replay of your trembling screams when Chrissy’s bones snapped like twigs and her eyes vacuumed out of her skull. Vecna, a made up character that he had been obsessing over for the past couple months for DnD was real.

Killing teenagers for what? World domination? Eddie and yourself were the ones on the run, knowing all too well how a dead cheerleader in his trailer would look to any cop with half a brain.

He’d run forever if it meant not losing you and killing Vecna for good. Everything he had ever known, books of fantasy and creatures that he drew for campaigns, it was all real, and these kids have been fighting it for years now.

The sound of tires crunching on the driveway had his ears perked like a guard dog, followed by three slamming doors. Instructions were given, and he could only imagine that whoever it was was in Rick’s house and it was only a matter of time before they noticed the boat house just like Mayfield had.

The walkie talkie Dustin left was clutched in his hand, you were both fucked, and needed help— now.

—

The Roane Hill Cemetery was eerily foggy, dew coated the hot blades of grass from the sweltered heat. Wayne drew a map on what section you were in. Apparently the number of people lost in the “earthquake” were in the upper digits now, and they were running out of land to bury the deceased.

Those not recovered were given markers slotted into the ground with accompanied by silk ribbons to symbolize hope. They were nestled up under a thick tree line, complete with a wrought iron fence.

He bubbled out a laugh when he crossed by his own empty grave. The headstone was covered in graffiti of wishes to burn in hell. Typical. His death date marked as ‘March 27 1986’. But that wasn’t true.

Lots of people passed that day when hell itself opened a crimson quaking flood. but not him. Although he wished he had.

Pushing forward, he knew had to be close now. The air was thick in the foggy whiteness— blinding him. A high pitched croak screeched from the sky, and he stumbled backward, landing on his ass with a wet thud, a spattering of grass grown wild in tender dirt.

His chest cavity sunk in, gasping for breath but coming up empty. Each threatened choke chipped away at him as his fists tore at the soft ground.

His girl. His gem. Laid to rest.

—

The Winnebago rocked on uneven suspension as Steve winded down the Indiana highway back to Hawkins. It was eerily quiet. Even Robin was silent, planning her mission in her head? You couldn’t be sure.

Tightening the bandana around Eddie’s curls you ask him if it feels okay.

“Yeah, course.”

Days of running. Hours of growling stomachs, unable to keep down food— you prayed this plan of Nancy’s would work, that Max would be able to lure Vecna with her vulnerable mind, that Eddie could distract the bats long enough to have the others attack his paralysis ridden body—it had to work— right?

Eddie sits and pulls you onto his lap, adjusting the spear made by the same eleven year old girl who defeated his campaign a few nights before. Erica, you learned, was a warrior.

“Nervous?” you asked throwing an arm around his neck and whispering into his ear.

He shrugged nonchalantly, “little worried.”

You believed in the plan, in the younger kids, in Steve Nancy and Robin who had been fighting stuff like this from a different dimension for years. They were trustworthy and intelligent.

“It’s gonna work babe,” you encouraged, stroking his cheek, “we’ll clear your name, graduate, and then leave this hell hole, together.”

He looks at you with strained eyes, wetter than usual, “you and me?”

Staring back at him you press your lips to his in a gentle kiss, “forever.”

—

He laid there until the sky turned to ink. Speaking to you in his head, knowing in his deepest of hearts that you could hear him. Telling you how he had missed you, how your beautiful smile played like a film in his brain. How he loved you. and hours have told you sooner, more, every day.

He told you how he wished he was gone too. Would you like that? It could be so easy to do.

Tracing his fingers over the formal font of your engraved name. He smirked at the silly spelling of your middle name.

It was comforting.

Eddie hadn’t felt this sense of calm since the day you hadn’t come back to him in the mirror, and he thought whatever magic spell was broken until you reached for him one last time, promising to never leave.

But you did, and he was alone.

Standing upright, he let out a sleepy yawn, “can I come by tomorrow?” he asked, “would you be okay with that?” He smiled, and bent at the knee to press his lips into the stone above your name.

“Oh,” he remembered, fishing your ring from the breast pocket of his borrowed flannel shirt, “look what I found.”

He held it to your stone, “this belongs to you, baby, I want you to have it.”

Placing the small ring on the smooth base of your tombstone, he gets back up, knees clicking like he’s years older than he actually was.

“See you tomorrow, my sweet gem.”

—

The night air shifted on his drive home, blowing a chilling breeze from the north that whipped his hair around his ears. The van struggled on the drive home with each gust that blew against the metal frame.

“Think we’re in for a storm tonight.” Wayne said when Eddie breached the front steps, straightening his arm, “ol elbow’s actin’ up.”

“Kinda cold for September, right?”

“All of a sudden it dropped about thirty degrees, somethin’s a brewin’.”

Wayne had his truck keys wrapped around a finger, “I gotta go check on Miss Pam, her husband died in the uhh.. anyway, she’s not doing well and you remember how those damn lights always went out? I’ll be back after while.”

Eddie grew a smile, “should I wait up?”

Wayne stopped in his tracks, talking around a smirk hiding a laugh, “don’t get smart with me.”

They both share a glance and laugh softly, and Eddie still has a smile even after the rumble of Wayne’s pickup gets carried away in the wind.

He locked up, pulling the vinyl shades and unhooking the curtains, pitching the trailer into darkness right as the rain pelted the window panes.

Wayne must have made his bed when he was in the cemetery. A small radio was perched on a nightstand and after slipping into starched pajama pants, from the fancy dresser, Eddie fiddled with the knob until the faint guitar sounds filled the room.

Thunder grumbled in the distance, but what he heard next was repetitive, growing louder. Shit, maybe Wayne didn’t have a house key.

“Ya know,” he says, walking to through the kitchen to the front door, “you tel me not to wait up but then you bang on the door because you don’t have keys? C’mon!”

The door swings open with a final gust of wind. Mud sloshed on his feet, Rain splattered his face. But that was not a concern.

A beautiful face, covered in Earth. Eyes he hadn’t seen outside of a mirror in months. You wore the same thing he last saw you in, same tattered wear that his Hellfire shirt had, but it somehow looked soft.

“I promised you forever.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson blurb #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you #ziggy writes #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst

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colonelarr0w · 14 hours

Text

The Shibuya Incident

JJK characters in Shibuya.

INCLUDED - Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto (!Non-Defected), Kento Nanami, Choso Kamo, Toji Fushiguro, Ryomen Sukuna, Ino Takuma, Yuuji Itadori, Megumi Fushiguro

WARNINGS - mature themes, foul language, mentions of death, explicit death, gore, canon JJK violence, mental breakdowns, mass murder

! PIECE BEGINS UNDERNEATH THE CUT !

"Hey, hey. Take a breath for me," Gojo says softly to you, his thumbs smoothing over the skin just beneath your eyes. You're panicking in his arms, eyes flickering wildly about. Your body is shaking in his hold, fear radiating off of you in frantic waves.

Even with his soft-spoken command, you can't. The ability to breathe feels like it's been ripped out from underneath your feet, replaced instead by sharpened inhales that only make your head spin and your throat burn. The feeling of his skin on your own, while it would've calmed you in any other situation, seemed to only make you feel worse.

"Satoru," you try to bite out, but his name comes out like a breathy plea. His shoulders sag, the eyes behind his blindfold softening as he watches you descend into your own mind. He's just as scared as you are – walking into that veil was the exact same as walking into the belly of an angered beast.

He didn't want to do it, and hell he wished that you would've stayed home where at least he knew that you were safe. But duty called … duty always called. "Honey, you have to breathe. Take a breath."

Though you struggle, you inhale shakily. Gojo nods at you, encouraging you to take another breath. His shoulders raise in an emphasized show of breathing, which he only lowers once he sees your body mimicking the movement of his own.

"There you go--"

Gojo's words fall dead on his tongue as you tug his body against your own, arms winding around his waist and holding him in a bone-crushing embrace. In any other situation, he would've laughed at you – teased you even. But this time, he doesn’t.

His arms wrap around your waist, holding you against him while his cheek lays against the top of your head. He sighs, feeling you shake against him as you conceal your crying into his chest, sobs caught by the thickened fabric of the shirt that he wears.

"Promise me that you'll come back," you whisper, voice barely audible, but he hears you. Gojo sighs, tilting your head up so that your eyes meet his. Your hands shakily lift, pushing up his blindfold to see that his eyes shine with tears just like yours do. "Promise me 'toru."

He smiles tearfully at you, nodding his head and craning his neck to place a loving kiss against your forehead. He lingers there for a moment, feeling you sigh against him as you close your eyes.

"I promise."

"(Y/N)! (Y/N), c'mon, answer me!" Geto must sound like a madman to the sorcerers' that accompany him, but their opinion of him holds no importance – not when he can't find you.

Your phone had gone dead the moment that you entered the station, which he had expected and anticipated. But it didn't make his heart sink any less when he suddenly couldn't reach you. That meant that he wasn't sure if you were safe, or if you were even alive.

And now, with an entire portion of the station infested with transfigured humans, Geto had one singular goal. That was to find you and get the fuck out of Shibuya, mission be damned.

So he sprinted through the train station in a manner akin to a rabid animal, tearing through anything that stood in his path with whatever curse he was able to conjure up. It felt like he had been caught in tunnel vision, only able to see in front of him – all he wanted was to make sure that you were safe.

"(Y/N)! Thank God, there you--" He pauses, his breath catching in his throat. It feels like he's been punched in the gut. His body stands rigid, eyes widening slowly at the sight that lies in front of him.

You're there, you're right there in front of him. But your body is held in the hands of a transfigured curse, one with devilish eyes and a wicked smile that quickly burns itself into Geto's memory. He'd never forget that smile, ever.

Weakly, your head turns so that your gaze meets his. "Suguru," is the only word that you're able to muster up in your current state. The freakishly large hand around you tightens, and with a painful grimace, you're gone before Geto could even process what was happening.

And he stands there, eyes wide and body stiff, mirroring a position that he stood in years and years ago.

"Kento …?" Your heart sinks as you slowly approach your husband's back, feeling your chest tighten in fear at the curse that stands behind him, hand raised – Mahito.

Nanami's spine momentarily straightens at the sound of your voice, head turning just enough that he could watch you walk closer out of the corner of his eye. He wants to open his mouth to tell you to run, to reunite with the others and save yourself. But selfishly, he doesn't.

He waits until you walk completely into view, shocked that Mahito even lets you. He had expected the child-like curse to round on you and promptly blow you to oblivion in front of his very eyes. He looks tired, exhausted even. You soften, tears already pricking at your eyes.

"(Y/N)," he murmurs in that silky voice that always had the ability to make you weak. Even now, in a moment where you know that you were both completely and utterly doomed, you smile. Sure, it's a weak little quirk of your lips, but Nanami feels his heart soar at the sight of it.

You shake your head, eyes flickering between your husband's and Mahito's, struggling to focus on one. Shakily, you lift your arms, readying yourself to attack Mahito. Even as you shake underneath your own fear, you still try to protect him – even if was in vain.

"I love you," Nanami says to you, breaking your focus on Mahito and returning it to himself. Teary (E/C) eyes flicker to meet dulled hazel, and again, Nanami smiles. Your chest tightens, coiling with guilt over the lack of control that you had over the situation. "I love you … so much."

"Kento," you breathe out, tears slipping down your cheeks. "I love you too, but--"

Mahito doesn't let you finish your thought, and in a flash of crimson, Nanami is gone. Your eyes widen, your body stands as still as stone. The curse only smiles, then rounding on you. You exhale shakily, eyes flickering down to what's left of your husband before Mahito's palm hovers in front of your face.

With closed eyes, you accept your fate.

"You better fucking be here," you murmur to yourself, skidding on your heels and sprinting through the empty train station. Apart from your ragged breathing, the only sounds that fill your ears are the distant screams of the innocent and the garbled communication between curses.

Halfway through a one-on-one fight with a low-grade curse, you had felt a prickle of energy across your skin. It was energy that you were familiar with, one that you had committed to memory for occasions just like the one that you were currently living through.

The moment you felt it, you followed it. Choso.

You nearly roll your ankle as you skid to a stop, eyes having caught sight of what you had been so desperately searching for. He’s looking around for you just like you had been for him, and the moment your eyes meet, you’re running at each other.

His arms are around you the moment that you brush against him, tugging you against his chest and burying his nose into your hair.

You don’t mind being crushed against him, not when you had been out-of-your-mind worried about him since you’d stepped foot in the Shibuya station.

“(Y/N),” Choso murmurs into your hair, squeezing you tighter as he screws his eyes shut. Your nails bite into his back, bunching up the fabric of his shirt. He doesn’t care, he truly doesn’t. Not when you were safe, not when you were breathing.

“I’m here Choso, and I’m not going anywhere,” you promise, voice muffled by the thickened fabric of his shirt. His arms squeeze you again, and a comfortable silence falls over the both of you.

You could both go home and hopefully, just hopefully, you could forget about Shibuya entirely.

It had been years, fucking years, since you heard that voice. Years since you’d heard that snarky voice either insulting you or telling you that he loved you — there was never a healthy in-between.

And now, you were standing in front of him. Your ears were hearing his voice, your eyes were seeing his face. Toji fucking Fushiguro.

But unlike the other times that you had seen him, this encounter was drastically different. He was trying to kill you, not bed you.

“Toji?” you inquire with a tilt of your head, watching as the broad man stalks you like a lion would its prey. “Toji? What’s …?” Your words fall dead as he swipes at you, fingers closed around the handle of a weapon that you definitely didn't know the name of.

You jerk back away from him, widened eyes flickering up between the weapon in his hands and his face – which for some odd reason remains blank; you can't read him at all. His eyes are a void, his expression completely void of anything that might even entertain the idea that he was human.

With every time he lunges at you, you retaliate by taking a quick step back. Your eyes flicker up to Toji's face, and for a fleeting moment both of your eyes meet. His entire body freezes, eyes staring into your own as if you were an alien. The weapon that had been pressed against your chest is pulled away from you so swiftly that you barely process the movement.

"Toji what the fuck--"

"(Y/N)." The utterance of your name had you pausing, watching him as he straightened up, rising to his full height. The eyes that once looked like two small black voids are full of life now, their irises that very same color that you once spent hours lovingly staring into.

How is it that he looked exactly the same as the day you lost him?

You don't say anything as he steps towards you, his hands dropping the weapon that he had been holding so tightly onto just a moment before. Those same, calloused hands cup either side of your face, holding it just as tenderly as you had remembered.

You don't know when, but at some point your eyes welled up with tears – tears that Toji thumbs away. He stares down so softly at you, a stark contrast to the hatred that had filled his eyes just seconds before. This was the Toji you remembered, not whatever had attacked you.

There were very few things that you feared in the world. Being a sorcerer had done that to you, had worn down your ability to feel true, genuine fear. But now? Right now?

All you felt was icy fear searing through your body as if someone had dunked you naked into an ice bath.

There was an endless pit where an endless pit definitely should not have been. And standing over it was the one person you had trusted with your life, even if trusting him meant simultaneously putting yourself in immense danger every time that you spent a moment with him.

His hands are in his pockets, his eyes staring out over the destruction that he had caused with a proud smirk etched into his face. He holds no remorse, you know that he doesn't, but the calmness of his demeanor only adds to your fear.

"Ryo …?" Your voice is laced with hesitance as you approach his back, legs shaking with each step that you decide to take. He doesn't turn completely to face you, but you notice the small nod of his head in your direction. "What … what did you do?"

Sukuna sighs – a long and heavy breath that is riddled with pride over his actions. The lives that were potentially lost amidst his destruction meant nothing to him, and they would never mean anything to him.

"I had my fun," he says plainly, turning completely to face you. He spares you no reaction even though he can so clearly see the fear painted onto your face. It makes him smirk, the tip of his nail running along the underside of your jaw. "Come now, I'm not quite finished with this body yet."

You shiver as Sukuna walks past you, tearing your gaze away from the gaping hole right smack in the center of Shibuya. You didn't even want to begin to think about the lives that had been lost, how painful and slow their deaths must've been. How much did they scream? How many of them begged for mercy?

You shake your head, dispelling those thoughts. Hesitantly, you turn to glance at Sukuna, noticing that he had stopped — waiting for you to join his side. You bite your lip, and regretfully, you move to follow him.

“Hey, there you are. Someone’s been asking for you,” Shoko says with a barely-there smile as you sit up. Immediately, a dull ache douses over your body like someone had dunked you underwater. You groan lightly, pressing a palm against your forehead and glancing up at Shoko.

“Really?” you murmur weakly, rolling your shoulders as Shoko takes a step back. Ino stands behind her, his arms and legs bandaged just like yours were. His face morphs into relief as your eyes meet his — and even though he stumbles over his own feet, he beelines for you.

He’s careful not to accidentally upset any of your injuries as he tugs you into his arms, crushing you against his chest and burying his nose into your hair. He can feel you shudder against him, your own arms returning his bone-crushing embrace with one of his own.

“You’re okay. Holy fuck you’re okay,” Ino murmurs into your hair, barely registering your hands as they comfortingly rub up and down the length of his spine.

“Yeah,” you whisper into his chest, voice barely audible over the thickened fabric of his shirt. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

Ino squeezes you tighter, then allowing you to pull away. His hands cup your face, thumbing away the tears that roll down your cheeks. He smiles, and his heart soars when you mirror it. Ino is quick to lean in, lips pressing to yours.

You return his kiss immediately, leaning impossibly further into him and chasing his lips with your own. He breaks from you, much to your dismay, and leans his forehead onto yours. You can feel his shaky sigh as it fans out over your face, closing your eyes and savoring the feeling of his skin against your own.

"Don't go anywhere." Ino's voice shakes as he speaks to you, the grip that he has over you momentarily tightening as he tugs you against him. You sigh, returning his embrace just as tightly and burying your face away into his shoulder.

"Yuuji? Yuuji!"

He turns at the sound of your voice, ears perked like a curious puppy. The tears sliding down his cheeks feel as though they've paused at the sight of you – stumbling over your feet as you reach him. The moment you do, your arms are locked around his neck, throwing yourself against him with enough force that he stumbles back.

He hesitates, hands shaking as they hover above the small of your back. Do you even know what happened? Could he tell you?

You pause at the feeling of his body trembling against your own. His arms were locked at his sides as if he had lost all ability to even use them. You slowly take a step back from him, noticing the faraway look glazed over his eyes and the way that he struggles to focus on one single thing – including you.

Hesitantly, you lift your hands to his cheeks, palms laying against his skin. Your touch almost immediately brings him back to reality; you can see it in the way that his eyes snap to meet your gaze, wide and slightly fearful. But not scared of you, rather, scared of himself.

"Hey, what's--"

"Don't. Please don't," he interrupts you, shaking his head against your hands. His palms lift to lay over your own, fingers squeezing you in a way that silently begged you not to leave. You nod, steering his head down to yours so that your forehead can lightly rest against his own.

Wordlessly, you nod. Your hands shift in position, arms wrapping around his neck again and bringing his body back to your own. His hands immediately go to bunch up the back of your shirt, fingers curling into the fabric in a way that screams 'Don't leave me'.

And you don't. You stand there, closing your eyes and letting Yuuji cling to you as if you were the last bit of what could keep him sane – and in a way, that was exactly what you were. To Yuuji, you were a lifeline – a resemblance of the humanity that he continued to throw away the more that he switched with Sukuna.

"I'm right here Yuuji," you whisper into his shoulder, receiving a loving squeeze in response to your words. "And I'm not going anywhere."

“Promise me you’ll come back safe,” you say, squeezing Megumi’s hands and blinking back the tears that had slowly begun to gather along your waterline. He sighs, reaching one of his hands up to lightly cup the back of your head.

He brings your forehead to his own, closing his eyes the moment that his skin comes into contact with your own. He can feel you shudder against him, a shaky sigh falling from your nose. “I promise you … with everything I have in me, I promise you.”

But that had been hours ago, and you had no idea if Megumi was safe. You had separated from him shortly after that conversation, with you joining Nobara and Nitta and Megumi going off to find Yuuji. In the two hours that you spent fighting against curses and transfigured humans, you hadn’t heard anything about any of the others — including Megumi.

“I’m sure he’s fine. He’s with Yuuji after all, isn’t he?” Nobara says reassuringly to you, nudging your shoulder with her own. You turn to glance at her, swallowing the lump in your throat and forcing your head up and down in a nod.

“Yeah … I guess so,” you answer hesitantly, smiling weakly as Nitta places a comforting hand on your shoulder. The three of you continue walking, a comfortable yet uncomfortable silence falling over your heads. Surrounding you are the sounds of a distant chaos, bystanders scream, transfigured humans gurgle out grotesque noises — reality doesn’t quite feel like reality.

You pause at the sound of something approaching you, both Nobara and Nitta stopping as well. Three pairs of eyes gaze down a darkened alleyway, and your heart stops at what waits at the alleyway’s end.

Megumi’s Divine Dog.

Its ears prick upward at the sight of you, eyes fixed on you in the darkness. Its tail flicks back and forth before it approaches you, not stopping until it nudges its head into the palm of your hand. You scratch lightly behind its ears, eyes flickering to Nobara.

“You both need to go … I need to find—“

“No way. What if something happens to you too?” Nobara interrupts you, reaching out and clasping your shoulders. The shikigami barks angrily in Nobara’s direction, protectively stepping in front of you and making the brunette stumble back.

“Nobara, I can’t just leave him where he is,” you insist, blinking back tears. “I have to. I have to go and find Megumi.”

Nobara shakes her head again, and instead, she pulls you into her arms. You still, glancing at Nitta, who only looks away. “You can’t (Y/N).”

“He sent the dog to make sure that you don’t look for him.”

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spiderlandry · 11 months

Text

Murder Party — ethan landry

Description: You’re the only one who knows where Ethan’s costume is from. You quickly realize you both have more in common than you originally thought.

Pairing: Ethan Landry x GN!Reader

Warnings: ghostface ethan is implied, also some sinister energy coming from reader, alcohol consumption (not by reader), mentions of canon typical violence/mentions of murder

Word Count: 1.2k

Author’s note: thank u for the support ive been getting lately!! i appreciate all ur comments and likes and reblogs :] also has anyone else seen murder party? i feel like im the only one lol

At Chad’s request, you attended the one of the frat parties being held for the upcoming Halloween. It wasn’t unusual, you often got invited to parties because of your connection to some people in the football team, like Chad, who you’ve tutored a few times. However, you almost always never went to any of them—except this one.

You were willing to give it a chance. One, because it was almost Halloween and nobody deserved to be alone during that. And two, because Chad said, I have somebody I wanna set you up with.

Chad didn’t know you too well besides what you’ve talked about in the tutoring sessions, so you wondered what could’ve possibly made him think he had the ability to set you up. But you went anyway, out of morbid curiosity. What was the harm?

That’s what brought you to this moment, in the dimly lit kitchen of this random house, the smell of sweat and alcohol floating through the air as you raided the fridge for a soda. The red jumpsuit you wore was just a tad bit too tight and restricted your movement, and you held your scissors in one hand while you took a coke from the shelf.

Ethan wandered the unfamiliar hallways of the house until he found escape from the mass of moving bodies, ones dancing to the music and stumbling around like a bunch of newborn deer. That was how he ended up in the kitchen, leaning against a cabinet, thankful for some space. The kitchen was empty.

“There’s no guy with an axe after you, is there?”

He was wrong. His head snapped to the voice, a sweet sound almost music to his ears, and saw somebody sitting on the counter right at the corner. How could he not have seen you?

“I’m sorry, what?” He didn’t catch it the first time, frankly because he didn’t think anyone was there at all.

You laughed, an even sweeter sound that he must’ve missed out on all his life. “Your costume,” You sipped from a coke in your hand then nodded to his makeshift knight outfit. “It��s Christopher. From Murder Party.”

He looked down at himself, as if he didn’t know what he was wearing. But he met your eyes once more when he realized someone finally knew it. “Yeah!” Cringing at sounding too excited, he toned it down. “Yeah. It is. And no, there’s no guy with an axe after me.”

“No Bill?”

“God, no.” He shook his head, flashing you with a wide grin, unable to help himself. He walked closer toward you. “You know, you’re the only who knows my costume.”

“To be fair,” You smirked. “It is kind of niche. You a big fan of horror comedy?”

He nodded, “Grew up with them. You?”

You shook your head. “More of a fan of elevated horror.”

That was when he processed what you were wearing, and saw the large scissors on the spot beside you. “You’re a tethered. From Us, right?”

“Yep,” You pursed your lips into a thin smile. “Can’t really beat Jordan Peele.”

Something, like a shadow, passed over your face for a singular moment that was difficult to miss. But you recovered quickly and continued the conversation.

“You don’t seem like a party guy,” You commented, more of an observation.

“I’m not, no. Not at all.”

“Me neither. Hate drinking.”

“Why are you here, then?”

You rolled your eyes at the reminder. “Some guy on the football team said he wanted to set me up with somebody. Don’t know where he is.”

“How do you know he didn’t just invite you here for himself?” Ethan got more confident as time went on, maybe it was the shots Chad had him take.

“He doesn’t seem like that guy.”

“How do you know he is who he says he is?”

By then, Ethan had gotten a little bit closer since the music was turned up. You didn’t mind the proximity though, and it seemed that he liked it.

“I don’t,” Your eyes narrowed. “But I’m a pretty good judge of character.”

He raised his brows. “Are you?”

It dawned on you that you never asked for his name. “What’s your name?”

“Ethan,” he breathed shallowly, seeing that you were only a few inches away from him. “You?”

“Y/N.” You held out your free hand, “Nice to meet you.”

Despite his sweaty hands, he took it.

A booming voice interrupted your slowly inching faces, to both of your disappointment.

“There you are!” You saw Chad at the end of the hall, then he did a double take. “And you! You guys know each other?” He was definitely a little drunk, from the slurring of his words.

“N—no, we don’t. We just met.” Ethan replied. Was he supposed to know you?

Chad strutted closer and gestured to you with a solo cup in his hand. “So, thoughts?”

You were taken aback. “Thoughts on what?” There was no way he was asking what you thought he was asking.

“On Ethan!” He shouted over the music. “He’s the one I wanted you to meet.”

He was. You sighed, biting your lip. You looked at Ethan, who was gaping and clueless right next to you.

Before you could say anything, a woman in an orange jack o’lantern top tapped Chad on the shoulder. “Hey, big guy.” He turned around. “You’re needed.”

Chad left on fast feet, leaving you and Ethan.

“For the record,” you tilted your head, leaning closer to him again. “I was gonna say I liked talking to you. I don’t know you that well yet, but I think we’d get along.”

He was relieved upon hearing that, to say the least. “I—I liked talking to you, too.”

You took out your phone from your back pocket, unlocking it, and pushing it in his direction. It was a few seconds until he understood, mainly because nobody had ever done that to him before.

“You want my number?” He needed to clarify that.

“Why else would I give you my phone?”

Ethan laughed. He may be nervous, but not once has he felt embarrassed in your presence. There was no one in the world who could do that to him, besides you.

He put his contact as ‘Ethan :)’ and saved it, closing the phone. As he handed it back to you, it lit up and something caught his eye in that millisecond that he saw your lockscreen. It was you with someone else.

“Who’s that?” He asked out of curiosity. Why did the woman in your lockscreen look familiar?

“Oh,” you sighed. “That’s Amber. She’s my best friend.” You didn’t feel like going into it right now, but by Ethan’s name and matching the description in your head, you had a feeling he was the one you were looking for. Richie’s family that Amber told you about who were just as crazy as him.

It dawned on Ethan. But there was a commotion by the stairs that caught both your ears—one of them sounded like Chad’s voice.

You checked it out, standing right next to Ethan when you finally saw the woman you’d been waiting for—the sole reason you offered to tutor Chad.

Tara Carpenter, the one who killed your best friend.

—————

Additional A/N: i didnt know where this was going when i began writing so it ended up here…for some reason. originally it was non-gf ethan and reader meet cute but i thought i’d switch it up. the backstory here is that amber and y/n are childhood friends and went to different schools, hence why core four doesnt know them. kind of a plot hole but! its whatever. idk. i also wrote in past tense bc it just felt right

#ethan landry x reader #ethan landry #ethan landry fluff #scream 6 x reader #scream x reader #scream #scream 6 #scream vi

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canonmisogynyvictimstournament · 9 months

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PRELIMINARY ROUND - SUPERNATURAL

PROPAGANDA

Charlie Bradbury

1.) Charlie was a surprisingly good character considering she was a lesbian in a famously misogynistic & homophobic show (any woman from Supernatural could be a strong contender in this tournament). She was basically Dean's bestie, made out with a fairy, had an adventure with a grown-up Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz, and saved the guys' asses in every episode she appeared in. Even when she appeared as a corpse. Yeah, she got randomly killed off-screen for shock value and manpain, but she sent an email right before she died so at least her death wasn't in vain, right? According to the wiki she later got replaced by an alternate reality version of herself but this was after I stopped watching Supernatural so idk how they treated her after that lmao

2.) She was a lesbian and a very beloved character and they murdered her brutally for no reason! Well, one reason, shock value. Boooooo!!!

3.) Literally she was such a strong supporting character and they just. Fucking killed her off for no goddamned reason. Like fuck you

Eileen Leahy

1.) She was a badass deaf hunter who all of the fans loved and they killed her off (also she's Irish and the people who killed her are British but that's a whole other issue). Then they brought her back and Eileen finally got to have her cute romance with Sam which all of the fans also loved and then she died when the rest of the world got killed by God (long story). But then everyone got brought back to life (including her) but she NEVER SHOWED UP AGAIN. And Sam got married and had a kid but NOT WITH HER. And they never mentioned her again. JUSTICE FOR MY QUEEN EILEEN LEAHY SHE DESERVED BETTER.

2.) She was the love interest to Sam in the last season and in the last few episodes she was removed off the planet along with alot of other people. When that problem was fixed she is litteraly never brought up again. In the last episode Sam gets a wife but we never see her, she could be Eileen but we have no idea. They basically kill her off in mass event and then when they bring everyone back they somehow never mention her again. How is there not a reunion between her and Sam and the others? She was their friend! At least Cas gets a mention! She doesn't get one at all!

#polls #preliminary round

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spikybanana · 1 year

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on why obi wan kenobi is not a remus lupin variant

cmon guys. honestly.

(this is a shitpost)

obi wan actually rocked a beard. remus lupin could never.

on that note: I don't know how long remus' buzz cut phase lasted, but I'm pretty sure he never had a rattail

being a jedi master probably required more mental stability and competence than a boarding school prefect. at least you'd think.

obi wan wouldn't have actually fallen asleep in a jedi council meeting. I don't think I could say the same for PoA remus. the man probably barely remembered he's a teacher

despite hating flying, obi wan could actually fly a ship. now you try wrestling remus lupin onto a broom

to be fair despite all the war and death obi wan probably didn't have to deal with monthly body horror

oh and, obi wan was only ostracised for being a jedi in the second half of his life. so he at least had a chance of establishing a stable sense of identity in a stable community of, say, beyond four-ish friends.

only one of obi wan's students turned into a war criminal. remus lupin, on the other hand, taught more than a handful of bad wizard wannabes

let's be honest. remus would not have won in a duel against sirius black.

yes yes of course. obi wan's ex boyfriend was actually a mass murderer. remus was just gaslit and delusional

also r.e. the notorious mass-murderer ex boyfriend: obi wan thought his ex was dead. remus knew he was alive and just wished he were dead

oh oh oh. obi wan actually watched over their son!!!! despite being damp and sad and working poverty wage jobs?! obi wan was there!! and where were you huh remus?? where were you???

obi wan, unlike remus lupin, does not visibly lose all his shit when said ex boyfriend is mentioned.

though he did have twenty years in the desert to calm down about it lmao remus never lived that long

okay so maybe he'd teach the boy and refuse to tell him anything about his parents. but at least he stuck around and did everything he can for the boy! even after he died!! remus just half-arsed it for a year then disappeared again.

obi wan would not have knocked up his ex boyfriend's cousin. he had Good Space Monk morals.

damn I'm running out of things to say. oh yes. obi wan died first. and then got to reunite with the ex in the afterlife so canonical happy ending am I right? wolfstar could never.

#happy star wars day #feel free to add on #remus lupin #obi wan kenobi #wolfstar #obikin #shitpost

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spop-romanticizes-abuse · 7 months

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Catra is a Mary Sue.

i can already hear the aggressive clicking of keyboards as fans write an essay on how catra is flawed and therefore not a mary sue. but just stay with me here. here's what TV tropes has to say about this archetype:

“The prototypical Mary Sue is a female character in a fanfic who obviously serves as an idealized version of the author mainly for the purpose of Wish-Fulfillment. She's exotically beautiful, often having an unusual hair or eye color, and has a similarly cool and exotic name. She's exceptionally talented in an implausibly wide variety of areas, and may possess skills that are rare or nonexistent in the canon setting. She also lacks any realistic, or at least story-relevant, character flaws — either that or her "flaws" are obviously meant to be endearing.”

so.. let's run through the list, shall we? the exotically beautiful thing isn't really mentioned much in canon, but it's clear that catra was designed to be seductive and romantically appealing.

she certainly has her fair share of “unique” features with the heterochromia, the freckles, the fangs, the claws, and her other feline features. this isn't inherently a bad thing. it's okay to want your characters to look cool. besides, some of the other characters also have really defining features (except for adora who, despite being the protagonist, has the blandest character design ever. she doesn't even get a wardrobe change, outside of her new she-ra form. and don't even get me started on bow.)

“she's exceptionally talented in an implausibly wide variety of areas” — this definitely matches up with catra. she is supposedly the "lazy" cadet, the one who only shows up at the end of each training session and doesn't put enough effort into training. now i understand that she may still have had the potential to be a strong fighter, but you really mean to say that a teenager — who is rarely ever shown training or polishing her skills — easily beats up the evil dictator who conquered several regions and likely killed thousands of people?

i get that catra was just exploiting hordak's disability but if it was this easy to defeat hordak, wouldn't someone have done this sooner? even if he is disabled, he had to be intelligent and calculating enough to do what he did so far. but no, that's not the point here. catra didn't defeat hordak because she was somehow stronger or because hordak was weak. she defeated him because the writers wanted her to. she's a girlboss and she doesn't lose to anybody, not even a centuries old tyrant who has presumably conquered half of etheria.

“she also lacks any realistic, or at least story-relevant, character flaws — either that or her "flaws" are obviously meant to be endearing.”

yeah, you get the point. she's not flawless but most of her flaws are either swept under the rug or shown to be this cute and endearing thing. oh catra is possessive over adora and attacked her for making new friends? she's just so in love with adora. catra tried to commit mass genocide because of spite? she's just heartbroken because adora dumped her. catra constantly touches people without their consent and borderline harrasses them? she's just a cute disaster lesbian.

so there it is. catra is certainly a heavily flawed character but she's a mary sue (or a "jerk sue" as some people call these type of characters) because no matter what she does or who she hurts, she is forgiven and coddled. no one mentions angella's death in s5, not even glimmer who lashed out at adora earlier for the same reason.

all of catra's actions are just vaguely put as "she made some mistakes" or "she hurt people". making mistakes and hurting people can range anywhere from accidentally calling a person stupid to murdering someone's entire family, and spop doesn't mention where catra lies on that scale. because at the end of the day, all that matters is that catra gets a happy ending at the cost of the other characters' development and happiness. basically, a mary sue is like a blackhole. they are the “best” character, according to the author, and all the characters around them have to act horribly out of character so that this character gets all the spotlight.

#it's unclear if catra was meant to be a self-insert but i wouldn't be surprised if it was #i heard that nate said c//a was inspired by his own relationship with his wife #not sure who the catra of the relationship is #spop critical #spop #spop salt #spop criticism #spop discourse #she ra #anti catradora #anti catra #anti c//a #anticatra #antic//a #anticatradora #anti spop #anti shera #btw i kept the “fanfic” part bc thats basically what spop is lmao

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caelum-in-the-avatarverse · 5 months

Note

ive been a fan of ATLA since it came out, and I think I stopped reading fic for it once Korra came out. So (luckily?), I escaped Embers, but im curious to know what is its influence in fanon. Do you know any examples off the top of your head?

Whoa, that's impressive that you managed to skip it if you've been a fan that long. It started in 2009.

And yeah, I do. Admittedly I do not read ATLA fic often these days, so I'm probably behind on current trends. But if you know what you're looking at it's pretty obvious that lots of Zuko-focused fic is influenced by Embers. Granted, oftentimes the writer may not realize they were influenced by Embers--they may have been inspired by a fic that was inspired by a fic that was inspired by Embers. The fic is 14 years old, and the rabbithole runs deep.

So the effects Embers has had, off the top of my head:

The Wani. Zuko's ship does not have a canonical name, but so many writers have used Vathara's name for it that people are surprised when they learn it's not canon. Even I'm guilty of this one, it's such deeply-entrenched fanon that I figured I might as well use it in a throwaway line (tho I'm seriously considering going in and editing it out of the one fic I mentioned it in).

Dragon!Zuko. If Zuko or Fire Nation people are turning into dragons, that idea probably came from Embers; I don't recall ever seeing that trope in ATLA fic before Embers made it a thing.

Certain Aang-critical readings of canon. There are multiple ways people criticize Aang (fans have complained about him not killing Ozai since the finale aired, and shippers have their own gripes), but there are certain arguments that either originated with Embers or were popularized by it. The concept of "Aang told Zuko he'd come with him if he left the SWT alone, then Aang escaped, therefore he broke his word and lied and he's lucky Zuko is such a good person that he didn't turn around and burn the village to the ground because he totally would've been within his rights to do so" is an Embers original. Then there's the "Aang has totally killed people and is therefore a hypocrite and/or idiot who doesn't realize he kills people" criticism, which may have existed before Embers brought it up, but Embers definitely popularized it. (Canonically Aang has done things that would definitely result in people dying, but also canonically we never saw the bodies so the narrative didn't confirm or even acknowledge it, therefore there's plenty of room to interpret Aang's kill count and still be canon-compliant. I'll admit this is a pedantic argument if everyone else admits that some fans are overeager to give Aang a kill count and call him an idiotic mass murderer, especially when they point at the Siege of the North, where the only people he would've killed were enemy combatants). And apparently now there are stories where Zuko is very knowledgeable about Air Nomad culture and teaches Aang about it, or preaches to him about patience or maturity or morality--I reblogged a post about this recently. That entire mentality definitely came from Embers.

Hyper-competent Zuko. This is not solely Embers's doing, but let me explain. Zuko is the fandom's favorite, we love him, he ticks off a lot of boxes people love to see in a character. It is perfectly normal for a fandom to heap all sorts of awesomeness on their fave, and in fanon they become a super-competent badass who puts up with so much and fights so hard despite the odds, they are knowledgeable and intelligent and strategic, they are confident and compassionate and have iron-clad morals. (am I still describing Zuko or Obi-Wan Kenobi? lol) So this version of Zuko probably would've become a thing eventually; Embers was just the starting point. But things have to start somewhere, and in this case, it started with Embers showing off just how to make Zuko a hyper-competent badass. And Zuko is indeed a badass, but canon gave no indication that he'd actually be good at, like, politics, aside from the narrative implying it by saying he was the best person to become Fire Lord. There are takes on Zuko where he's politically astute, spiritually attuned, brilliantly strategic, extremely knowledgeable about all sorts of random things--none of which have much basis in canon, but they aren't necessarily contradicted by canon either. And again, this is just regular fandom behavior--but in the ATLA fandom these takes were sparked by Embers basically laying the foundation and creating the template for how to write Zuko.

Well-researched fic. Like the previous point, this is not solely Embers's doing. Researching stuff for fanfic has been a thing since forever. But Embers was huge, and Vathara talked a lot about the things she knew and the books she'd read, and people were very impressed and praised her for it, and it inspired them to do and show their own research for their fics, too. Unlike the other things on this list, this actually isn't something that annoys me--even I was inspired by this aspect of Embers, in conjunction with the racebending movement and cultural misappropriation criticism, to make research an important part of my own fic. I'd looked up information for my writing before, but Embers really showed how research could make a fic incredible. And frankly, I'm glad for it, because looking up stuff for my fics has proven to be a fun and rewarding pastime, and I love sharing my research with my own readers (tho I really hope my own author's notes aren't as condescending as Vathara's). Now, granted, given some of the opinions in her author's notes and things she's said elsewhere, I consider all of Vathara's information and reading recommendations to be suspect. But I'm glad it's inspired other people to do lots of great research and share it.

And that's all I can think of, off the top of my head. I'm sure there's more, but I haven't read Embers in years, and I don't read much ATLA fic in general these days, so if there's more I'm unaware. If anyone else can think of anything, please do chime in!

#caelum rambles #meta #fandom #fandom history #zuko #aang

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1-800fandomqueen · 6 months

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Murdered 1462

Vladislaus Dragulia x fem!reader

Part Two

WC : 3.7K

SW : No usage of "Y/N," physical appearance and details are left completely ambiguous and are up to interpretation. Mentions of witchcraft, verbal abuse, murder, canon-typical violence and story-line, pregnancy, death, etc.

If there are any more warnings to be added let me know!

This is a re-post, all of my old accounts were deleted.

“Born: 1422… Murdered: 1462.”

‘I was born into a noble family, my father was the duke of Hungary.’

Slipping into the more tame selection of your clothing, muting the sound of ruffling cloth as much as possible to not wake you lady-in-waiting, Agnes, who had fallen asleep whilst handling your linens. Once dressed, you throw a shawl over your head in any attempt to hide your identity. You’d been hated by the townspeople ever since you and your father had travelled here for business, the small-minded people of Transylvania already despised the idea of foreigners, but the idea of you and the rumor of the practice you brought along? Most claimed you to be a witch. But alas, even their hatred couldn’t extinguish your spirit.

Sneaking out had never been easier.

You’d always been an adventurous person, something your father always chastised you for. He believed ladies should sit still, sit quietly, and sit pretty. He had an image to uphold, and he couldn’t have his only child galavanting around town, acting improper. He used to let you do as you please, but when the plague took your mother he became cold, harsh.

Feeling the cold air hit your skin as you shimmy out the window and down the trellis until your shoes hit the ground with a small thud, making a small promise to yourself to be back before dawn. The entire grounds of the house were fenced in, with guards stationed at the main gate. You couldn’t exit out that way as they would stop you the second they saw you. But unbeknownst to them, you’d discovered a break in a part of the fence. Shimmying out the back, you begin the trek down the hill the house sits on to the village.

~~~

‘It had been cold when I met him, when he saved me. If he hadn’t shown when he did, I fear I would have been no longer. ‘

“You can run but you can’t hide, witch!” You were growing tired, legs and feet burning with effort. When turning a corner in the marketplace you’d run into someone, knocking the shawl off your head, revealing your identity. You’d garnered the attention of a group of particularly cruel drunkards, who began to hurl obscenities towards you. And before you could even blink, they began chasing you. You tried to throw them off, hoping all your time exploring would have given you enough of a terrain advantage. But the feeling of someone grabbing the back of your shawl and pulling you to the ground steals all your hope of getting away.

Pain absorbs your back as you land hard and fast on the cold ground. The early morning dew seeps through your dress as the cold air fogs your breath as it leaves your lungs from the impact, the main perpetrator kneeling on your neck, cutting off your air supply. One of the other men wrapping your feet and hands with rope. Your ears rang as your head snapped back against a rock, vision going foggy. You couldn’t hear what the men were saying to you, only that they were taunting you. You were able to make out the blur of a mass of light coming towards you, and it was only when the heat brushed against your face could you tell it was fire.

You tried to fight back, to struggle. But with the mans’ knee against your throat, the lack of oxygen was making you weak. As the black spots were so close to entirely filling your vision, the man suddenly lets off of you, and the heat of the fire goes away. You cough, rolling over onto your elbows and knees as you try to regain your breath. You can hear the men pleading to a deep voice for mercy, and then your vision returns in time to watch as they run away.

“Are you alright?”

‘I didn’t even know his name, he wouldn’t give it to me. All I knew was that I was utterly captivated by him.’

The deep accented voice held your attention entirely, as the man attached to that voice crouched down next to you, a gentle hand placed on your back. “Madam? Are you alright?” Gasping out, feeling like your vocal chords are completely crushed, only able to choke out a small “yes.” The hand on the small of your back stays while one reaches to your left forearm, grabbing it to help you up. And when you stumble backwards, the firm body of the stranger is there to catch you.

When you’ve regained your breath, and were able to stand on your own, you stepped away from the stranger. “Who are you?” gazing at the man before you and trying to map his features by only what you could see in the barely-there moonlight. You’ve decided by what little of him you could see, that he was still undoubtedly handsome. Slightly taller than you, possibly 6-foot, dark hair, and shockingly blue eyes.

“Who I am is of no importance at the moment,” the deep voice jolting you out of your stupor, “But it is important to know why a group of beţivii (drunks) were attacking a young woman in the forest?” At the mention of your attack you feel the pain seep into your neck, adrenaline finally beginning to wear off. Letting out a cough as your hand comes to gently cup the base of your neck. “Well, Romanians tend to be quite wary of foreigners, and you’ve just bore witness to the fact that they don’t particularly like me.” your tone clipped, pulling a deep chuckle from the man.

You feel blush overtake your visage as you realize how rude that sounded, embarrassment filling you at your rudeness to the man who saved you. “I’m sorry, I’m usually not this rude I swear, I’m still just a little frightened. Thank you, by the way, for coming to my aid. I’ll ask my father to make sure you’re rewarded for your valiant efforts.” The stranger ignores your apology and thanks, “Your father?” his head tilted to the side, pieces of hair falling across his face, “Yes my father, He’s the Duke of Hungary, we’re here on diplomatic business.” “Hmm, for what?” You falter and cover your mouth, giving the man an apologetic look. You’re relieved when he seems to pick up on what you’re implying, even though he gives you a dark, brief, look of knowing, “I understand, trade secrets.” He says with a slight smile, holding out his arm. “Here, it’s almost dawn, let me accompany you back to wherever you’re staying.”

And with a small smile, you take his arm.

‘I didn’t anticipate what would happen when I took his arm. That my world was about to turn, that taking his arm on that cold, damp, morning, signed my death.’

It was a lovely walk back, filled with small talk and pleasantries. When you approached the doors to the Governor’s house, you could hear the commotion before you saw it. When the stranger accompanying you opened the door, his right elbow still linked with your left, all the commotion suddenly came to a screeching halt. Several pairs of eyes turned to you, including those of Agnes, then the faces attached to all those eyes paled when they saw the man whose arm you still held. When your father called you towards him, a dark look in his eye, you felt the pit of your stomach drop. “Step away from him. “ Your father beckoned, he hadn’t looked this grim since the doctor in Hungary told him of your mothers fate.

Swallowing in nervousness you look up to the man accompanying you only to find him already looking down at you, a rather downcast look in his eyes. Your father calls again, walking towards you. “Step away. Now.” You stare long and hard at the man by your side until he gently nudges you towards the others in the room. You failed to notice until you looked up that most of the guards in the room had their weapons aimed towards him. Stepping away from him you’re immediately met by your lady in waiting coming and sweeping you up the stairs. “Lock her in her room Agnes, until I call for her.” You throw one last glance towards the man to find him still staring at you. Turning the hall, Agnes gently pushes you into your room, and before she shuts the door behind you, the angry conversation from the foyer floods into the room. “What were you doing with my daughter, Impaler.”

‘I suppose it wasn’t a bad situation, after all I was quite taken with him, even if I didn’t know who he was at first. I didn’t fear him, even though everyone else did.’

It was what felt like hours before you heard a key being inserted in the lock of the door. Bounding up from the bed to be greeted by the sight of two guards when the door swung open. You weren’t able to utter a single word when you were grabbed by both arms and dragged away from your room, well actually the room belonged to your Stranger, in your time locked in you had discovered from Agnes that Vlad was the Military Governor of Romania, and that you and all the diplomats were currently residing in his house.

Ironic how things work out.

When you asked where you were being taken you were met with utter silence, the guards only tightening their grip after you tried to pull away. Only feeling ease when the door to what you recognize to be the master study of the house was yanked open and you were promptly thrown in.

Glancing up at the long table to see other diplomats lining the perimeter, your father and who you've come to know as Vlad the Impaler, gracing the far end of the table. “What’s going on?” questioned towards your father even though your eyes are locked with Vlads. Your father says nothing to you as he quietly sends off the others in the room, leaving only the three of you. You only move when he quirks a finger in a come-hither gesture, your eyes glued to your socked feet as you cross your hands in front of your legs. “You understand the reason for my business here,” your father says, “to create a treaty with him” word spoken with venom, “to prevent him from causing any more destruction and massacre off to the West” Saying nothing, only giving a slight nod, still looking down. “Well everything was lined up perfectly, but now, the Voivode (governor) has added a new term to the treaty. Your hand in marriage.”

Feeling your eyes bulge out of their sockets as your head flies up, immediately shouting out “What?” the glare your father sticks on you prevents you from saying anymore. “You heard me girl.” grabbing your arm as he drags you to the farthest corner of the room. “And as much as I hate to do this, you will marry him. You’re reaching your twentieth year and still haven’t married, and I will not jeopardize the well-state of Hungary just because you decide to be stupid and prance around in the town unsupervised.” Your jaw dropping in shock, eyes welling with tears. This man before you was not your father, in all fairness he hadn’t been much of a father after your mother died but his words still hurt nonetheless.

“Your grace, I would like a moment alone with your daughter.” your father turns red-faced, the beginnings of a protest forming in his mind, “It wasn’t a suggestion.” One elegant finger pointing towards the door, “Leave. Now.” huffing, your father pushes past you and storms towards the door, the loud sound of it banging closed behind you causes you to jump, a small cry of fear leaving your lips.

Now it was just you and him. With your head still down you didn’t notice his approach until perfectly polished shoes fell just within your line of sight. Your name being gently called as a rough hand softly finds itself upon the back of your elbow. “I hope you’ve learned by now that I mean you no harm.” His right hand coming to your chin and tipping your head up, Blue eyes coming into contact with yours once again. “I hope you know I do not wish to cause you distress with my proposal.” You nod profusely, muttering out a soft repeating of “I know.” The same hand on your chin moves up to wipe the tears you didn’t know had fallen. For a man who had killed thousands with those same hands, when he was near it was nothing but gentle touches. “Our marriage doesn’t have to be immediate, I’m not immune to the benefits of a little light courtship, however I am reaching an age no bachelor ever should.” Words spoken with a joking lilt, Vlad briefly hunching over. You can’t help but chuckle at the sight of his horrible interpretation of an old person.

The two of you are launched into a comfortable silence, and you realize that with all that you’ve learned about this man in the past however many hours didn’t scare you as much as it probably should’ve. And with this newfound bravery and lack of fear, you confidently reach and grab the hand that’s resting on your cheek and with as much courage as you could muster, and you accept his proposal.

‘Being with him wasn’t at all what I thought it would be. He was nothing but kind to me, nothing but gentle touches and words all throughout our marriage.’

With the treaty being settled and your newfound courtship with a certain military general, everyone left back to their home territories, including your father. Him practically trading you off to sell his own skin didn’t hurt as much as it used too. He left quickly and with promise that most of your possessions still in Hungary would be sent down to Romania. You kept Agnes with you, after all she’d been one of your closest confidants since your mother had died. When the spring of 1460 came along, it brought your twentieth birthday and marriage ceremony with it.

It was a truly gorgeous ceremony. While not filled with pomp and circumstance, it was graceful, elegant. Your pursuer wasn’t exactly poorer, and you were able to have the most gorgeous gown you’d thought you’d ever seen. You had Agnes of all people walk you down the aisle, seeing as your father hadn’t thought to show even though invitations had been sent weeks in advance. You had been introduced to an estranged number of people at your wedding. Your husbands’ father, Valerious, who served a group of Holy Knights. He proved to be a rather cynical man, yet seemed to be nice once you’d gotten to know him.

You couldn’t help but notice, however, a man who always hovered near the back. He was tall, dark hair, covered in black clothing, however you could never make out his face. You knew he was watching you, even when separated from Vlad you could feel the glare of someone constantly burning into the back of your neck. Everytime you garnered your husband's attention to question him about the man, he seemed to have disappeared, swallowed by the shadows he hid in.

Marriage to one of the most dangerous men on this side of the Balkans wasn’t bad. He always treated you with a gentle hand, was never harsh, never cruel, and he never-ever raised his voice. When questioned on his docile behavior his reasoning behind it being that you were his wife, and you should never need to fear him.

When you came to find out that he didn’t live in the palace-like house you were staying in when you first arrived in Romania you were slightly shocked. No, instead he lived in a citadel, a castle near the Arges River; Poenari. And what a beautiful place it was. You much preferred the secludism of this house than the one in the town. The view of the mountains and the fresh air they produced was always a reprieve. Your room was in the highest level of one of the castle spires, with a large window parallel to your bed, so you always woke to the stunning view of the sunrise.

You were however surprisingly lonely most of the time. As it would turn out, being someone of extreme military prowess took a lot of your husband's time away from you. If it weren’t for Agnes and the few estranged workers who milled around the estate you fear you’d have gone mad. When he wasn’t busy trying to take over most of Europe, he was a very caring man. Giving you luxurious gifts, taking you on trips. His love took you into the deepest throes of passion, both physically and metaphorically.

You truly couldn’t ask for a better husband.

‘It was raining that night, not quite cold enough for it to snow. I can’t remember that much, I just remember how scared I was.’

The rain crashed against your window, thunder and lightning taking the sky ever-so-often, Vlad wasn’t in bed even though it was quite late. He was having a very crucial meeting, about what you didn’t know, he’d only come to your room to tell you not to wait on him, to go on and sleep, and to bestow a small kiss to you and your rotund stomach.

After almost two years of marriage, the summer of 1462 blessed you with news of a child. With Poenari being so far from any doctors, your dear Agnes stepped in as a midwife of sorts, making sure you were healthy; sleeping and eating well. She said that springtime would be when your child would finally make their appearance into the world, and you were eaten alive with both anticipation and excitement.

But with your pregnancy came all sorts of changes. For example, it might have been the dead of winter, but you felt as if you were burning alive. Dressed in nothing but one of your husband's shirts and your undergarments you couldn’t find it in yourself to combat the heat. Grabbing the side of the mattress and your bedside-table, you heave yourself off the bed, reaching for your thin silk robe.

You failed to notice the dark figure in the corner of your room.

Shuffling over to the other side of the room you go to feel around the box of matches off one of the bookshelves, to relight the lamp on your side-table. Once you find what you’re looking for, you turn on your heel right as lightning strikes and lights up the room. It was for only a moment, but that split-second of light was all you needed to see the man standing in the corner of the room closest to your door. You almost think it’s your husband playing a trick on you, but the rational part of your brain understands that Vlad would never do that to you, especially in your current condition. With the man so close to the door you surely can’t run, so you do the only other thing you could think of.

Scream and hope your husband or a guard hears you in time.

You didn’t even register how loud your scream was, your body going into fight or flight mode the second the man lunges forwards. You bolt as quickly as you could to your Husbands’ side of the bed to grab a dagger he keeps next to him off his side-table. You turn to stab your assailant as he reaches to grab you. He clutches your wrist faster than you could keep up with, pushing it back and trying to twist your own wrist towards you. Crying out as it reaches an angle it shouldn’t, you propel your knee forward into his groin which gives you enough time to run around the other side of the bed and towards the door, reveling in his groan of pain.

As you work your way past the bed you feel the air around the back of your head shift and the next sound you hear is that of your window breaking. Ignoring the glass that flies all over the room, you crank open your bedroom door, screaming at the top of your lungs for help as you try to begin to make your way down the spiral staircase. It’s only when you hear voices shouting from below do you feel a hand wrap its way around the back of your neck, yanking you back up the stairs. You’re dragged through your room and brought to where your window once was, glass shards digging into your feet. Lightning strikes once more as you’re flipped around, back leaning out into the rainy abyss, and you’re able to get a better glimpse of your attacker.

It’s the man from your wedding.

Right as you reach this epiphany the door to your room slams open, your husband entering. He calls your name, hand lifting in the air and weakly falling back. “Don’t do this Gabriel,” he pleads, “Please let go of my wife.” The mystery man, Gabriel, pushes you further, your back bending at an awkward angle out and into the chilling rain. “I’m sorry,” your assailant murmurs, “But you broke the oath.”

And with that, he pushes you out the window.

You can’t tell if that sound is you screaming or if it’s the wind rushing past your head. Your hair whips around your face as rain projectiles onto you like tiny bullets. The last thing you see is your Husband leaning out the window, gazing at you in defeated sorrow, and a gloved hand coming around, plunging a dagger into his chest.

You’re not quite sure how you die. Whether your body slammed onto the hard ground hundreds of feet below your bedroom, or if you land in the Arges. All you remember is that brief bit of searing pain,

And then everything went dark.

Originally posted December 2nd, 2021.

#dracula x reader #count vladislaus dragulia x reader #count vladislaus dracula x reader #Van Helsing (2004)#vampire x reader #1-800fandomqueen #mywriting

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lovebeatriceplz · 3 months

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❥ A Dabi/ Touya Todoroki analysis ( also just some thoughts and telling the difference between fanon and canon). ❥

Few songs that remind me of him:

This one is gonna have a little kick

• Touya todoroki is an interesting one. I think I've always liked his character but it didn't really start to intrigue me until late season 5( cs i haven't read the manga, yet).

• So just like all of the villains in the series he didn't wake up one day and choose mass murder. It was a process, chip by chip, little punches here (metaphorically) a couple kicks there until he starts to crack. The whole idea of being the n.o1 hero, being the best was instilled in him by his father. Parents play a huge huge role on the opinions and morals that kids develop. Then when he can't seem to reach that standard, the one to please his old man, it frustrates him, but he was like what 10?. He didn't give up, he was determined, he didn't care if he hurt himself in the process, once he achieved his goal it would be worth it ( which I'll talk about again).

• So when his father insist that he should stop, he should give up, it's just, so odd, to hear a parent telling their child to give up. Knowing Enji this wasn't just for his child's safety, it was probably also for his image, and because he saw it as a waste of time to train his soilder if he couldn't fight on the battle field. Touya knew this too.

• I've seen on many apps, or maybe even edits saying that if endeavor just went to see his son on seketo ( is that it? ) peak that day, it wouldn't have happened and he'd be 'normal', or somewhere close to. I beg to differ, it would have happened anyways, his sheer will to just outshine whoever his dear, precious father wanted outweighed his concern for his own well being. Especially with shoto being born and the new focus of attention. It was just a matter of time, fate, even.

• I remember TikTok in covid time💀, i was on of those people who had a hugee crush on dabi and tomura (mostly dabi), and i remember i used to say things like "I could fix him" "he's just misunderstood" "he secretly loves the league but just can't show it" no pookie bear that is definitely not the case😭. Fanon dabi is.....cool, but if i actually tried to interact with him he'd just, i don't kill me? I don't think he cares about anyone.

• Definitely not his siblings, he hates them too. He has an almost patronizing look on the women in his family, not doing anything to help or protect him ( not that he wanted it). He hated his little brother, shoto, for stealing his life, the life that he wanted. He hates his father for igniting a spark in him, then abandoning it, causing it to burn him up. He hates natsu, for not understanding and just accepting that they were both failures. His relationship with natsu, based on the little snips that we got give me very bittersweet, angsty vibes that i do want to look into. I digress. But no, Touya cares about no one, not even the league, they're just another tool to get him closer to his goal.

• He doesn't care about himself either as i mentioned earlier. Remember that spark i talked about?, it didn't burn him up completely, left a nasty big scar though. It's still burning, it's just fueled by something else now, a desire, a need to torture and kill Enji Todoroki. He isn't afraid of death, he was at it's doorstep and age 13, he's tasted it. He only puts in effort to preserve his life because his goal isn't complete. If he dies during or after, once he gets what he wants, and sees the look on their faces, he couldn't give a shit about what happens to him.

• Touya is not emotionally constipated. He's fucked up yeah but i believe that he's learnt how to feel his feelings, which are mostly anger, disgust and hatred. He appears nonchalant cause he channels those emotions into his revenge plan.

• I'd like to say he's a typical case of a psychopath, psychologically speaking. It's just that he has a motive to kill, most psychopaths do not (realize i said most) they just kill for the thrill. But other than that he checks off all the boxes. He's killed on multiple occasions, having very very little or non existent remorse for his actions, not very socially inclined, and if you think about it, is kinda selfish.

• Do not believe for one second that touya would see and remember the things he went through and be like "no, I'm above that". You're wrong, he would gladly mirror the behavior that he grew up around if it suited him. Top tier gaslighter and manipulater energy from this man.

• I'm not trying to demonize him, it's not his fault he doesn't care about anyone. It's just that he's never felt it, he doesn't actually know what it is, so he can't give it, you can't give something that you don't have. Some may argue that he had his siblings and rei, not saying they didn't love him but he didn't feel it, or want it, he wanted his father's love which he didn't receive in the slightest.

I didn't go over this so they're might be spelling errors

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enby-axels · 8 months

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wei wuxian is so misunderstood it's painful. "he's a remorseless mass murderer" yall. he canonically does feel bad about it. not to mention that imo guilt (as an emotion) is overly valorized. but more importantly, the discourse's emphasis on condemning wwx for situations literally out of his control undermines the novel's abolitionist themes. like the protagonist himself practically spells it out for you

they can ambush him, try to execute him. they can pledge to murder him and the wen survivors. but he cant defend himself? -> is he just supposed to accept that? when they condemn him for fighting back, the implication is that they expect unflinching, self-sacrificing obedience; that their violence is legitimized; that by delegitimizing the violence he did in self-defense, they can absolve themselves of responsibility. but how can he be at fault, for refusing to lay down his life? when the oppressed take up arms to save themselves, destabilizing the authority of the ruling class, and extreme violence erupts, who is ultimately responsible?

their admiration and contempt are insignificant. + he doesnt expect people to forgive him -> he has no interest in their approval. how can the cultivation world have the moral authority to blame or exonerate wwx, when they are responsible for the injustice done to him and still sanctimoniously monopolize claims to innocence and victimhood? what would punishing him even achieve? it doesnt do anything to transform the conditions that led to all those deaths. it doesnt challenge the institutions that forced him to be their enemy in the first place. and it's just viciously oppressive to hold a survivor accountable for patterns of violence he didnt perpetrate

like at the end of the day i think people are just mad that wwx refuses to be a conveniently pacifistic, self-flagellating target lmao. he understands what's going on, the politics of violence and underlying systems of power. he doesnt give a shit about respecting them. militant abolitionist characters my beloved

#mdzs #mdzs meta #wei wuxian #long post

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maximoff-pan · 1 year

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you, me, and the destruction | eddie munson

summary: 4 times eddie makes you want to die (metaphorically of course) and one time he makes you want to live

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: 7k

warning(s): some swears, angst, mentions of death, definitely canon divergent (please don't come for me)

a/n: another 4 + 1, who could’ve guessed? I really, really struggled with this one, but I haven't written or posted a ton lately, so I thought why not... I do hope you enjoy, but I apologize because I know this will likely be difficult to follow along with/make no sense whatsoever, so if you make it through to the end, thank you!

Eddie Munson makes you want to die.

Not like a funny and jokingly crude ‘ha ha you make me wanna hurl myself into the sun’ kinda die, but like a dead serious ‘if you don’t shut up I’m going to commit mass murder and it’s going to be your fault’ kinda die. He’s that irritating. (You say that both seriously and affectionately, because your opinion of him has certainly changed over the last little while)...

But it’s an interesting concept to consider when you break it down, just how aggravating he can be. Sometimes you wonder where he gets it from; who could have possibly created this freak? And then you remember who his friends are, and it all makes sense.

Blood didn’t create him, they did. Although quite frankly, it was entirely mutual; they created each other. A mass of freaks fighting imaginary monsters.

Until one day, those monsters weren’t imaginary. And one day, you found yourself at Eddie Munson’s mercy.

...It’s safe to say you’d known about the Upside Down for as long as the rest of your friends had, you’d been in on the insanity since the beginning. So, as you’d expect, it’s pretty hard to surprise you with anything. But when Eddie got accused of murder, and was dragged into the shit storm you call your life (again), he took it immensely well. Almost too well for someone whose livelihood was on the line.

“You’re so fucking weird.” You’d said to him in disbelief and he’d smiled.

“Pot, kettle.” He’d gestured to himself, and then to you with a grin.

Those had been the first words you’d spoken to him since you’d been close friends a couple of years ago. It was also the first moment the ice started to melt between you and the first moment you'd allowed yourself to think about what you used to be.

The next moment followed shortly after. A trip through the Upside Down does that to you, creates bonds with the people you’d least expect. And as irritating as he was, that’s what you became: irrevocably bonded. Although, you’d still have your fair share of disagreements to come.

The moment it all began to change is something you’ll never forget. It started off innocent; you’d thrown an effortless joke in the air trying to brighten the atmosphere of the group, when all of a sudden, you felt a sharp pain in your right shoulder.

You recall turning to Steve in shock the second after Eddie had saved you from a group of demobats, completely gobsmacked. He’d just fucking jumped in front of you, no questions asked, with no regard whatsoever for his own well being.

Fuck. You remember thinking. You were not about to be indebted to Eddie Munson. Not devastatingly ethereal Eddie Munson. Not your childhood-best-friend-turned-virtual-stranger Eddie Munson. But by God did you owe him your life.

Once over the initial panic, even Steve had cracked up over the look on your face, not used to seeing you unsure of what to do. So, he did what he thought was best, nudging you with a blunt shove towards the man in question.

“You're welcome.” Eddie had mumbled with a pouting huff. “‘S’not like I could’ve just died doing that or anything.” In your state, you’d been too stunned to say anything, let alone thank him. But you could understand where he was coming from.

And it was cute, the way he grumbled, feeling underappreciated for his act of bravery. You’d managed to put aside your past differences, and your ultimate shock – because who knew Eddie had that in him – to eventually give him a solid pat on the back. Like a good, new, old friend(?) would.

It was a weird feeling to get used to, you’d thought. ‘Hey man, thanks a million for saving my life and all…it’s not like I totally thought you hated me two minutes ago???’

You’d managed something a little more mature than that, approaching him with an edge of nervousness. Since when had he ever made you feel nervous?

“I am grateful you know.” You’d surprised yourself with the sincerity that seeped from your tone. “You’re pretty cool Munson…much cooler than anyone gives you credit for.”

You could’ve sworn you’d seen him blush. And it was his turn to sheepishly admit your kindness meant something to him. You used to be everything to him after all, even if you had only been dumb teens.

He’d rubbed at the back of his neck with a soft upturn of his lips. “Thanks.”

That was the day your relationship with Eddie started to become something again, not just acknowledgements of preconceived notions that you’d had about each other previously. But something real. Although, it didn’t change the fact that he was both entirely aggravating and also made you want to die sometimes.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

EXHIBIT A of Why Eddie Makes You Want to Die:

He just has to be right, all the time, even if it means crossing boundaries and using whatever leverage he has on you (but it’s all to protect you, so that makes it okay, right?)

“No.” Eddie cuts you off. “I won’t even consider that.”

“Eddie.” Steve sighs. He doesn’t like this plan either, but it’s the only one that makes sense. “She should be the one to go.”

“No.” He repeats. This time more adamant. He’s not about to let you walk into Creel House alone, especially not after what happened to Chrissy.

“It’s the only way.” You try to reason, but he’s not having any of it. You roll your eyes at his bravado; who the hell does he think he is?

You feel like Eddie’s eyes are burning holes through your body, if they could widen any further you’re sure they’d pop right out of his skull. “I’m not gonna let you put yourself in danger like that…no way.”

You scoff, shaking your head in disbelief. “You’ve been back in my life all of a couple of days, and now you want to act like you have some kind of say?”

Ouch. He recoils at the statement. Maybe you both had more to resolve than you’d thought.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He asks, tone edging on anger.

“I’m not the one who walked out of your life Eddie.” You say, and from beside you, you can see the grimace that has made its way onto Steve’s face. He’s the only other person who knows the extent of your history. Everyone else simply has the cliff notes.

“That’s not fair and you know it.” Eddie bites back.

“Not fair?” You want to scream at him so badly, tear him a fucking new one. “Christ! You don’t see me telling you what you can and cannot do, especially considering you seem to love putting yourself in danger.”

“I saved your life!” He exclaims. “Remember that? Or was that too idiotic for you?”

And he’s right, he has you there. It’s infuriating… Even when he’s wrong, he’s right.

“I never asked you to do that.” It’s unappreciative, sure, but it’s the only thing you can think to say in your state of frustration.

“Fine.” He relents. “You’re right.”

Your brows pull together in discomfort. “That’s not—Eddie—”

“No.” He stops you, eyes daring you to overstep. “You’re right. I didn’t save you because you wanted me to, or because you needed someone to protect you. I saved you because I wanted to. Because I fucking need you! Is that what you wanna hear?” His voice breaks the louder it gets, and you’re stunned. It feels like things escalated so quickly, and yet you know it’s been building for years.

“Even after all this time…” he continues, the crack in his armor growing with each second, “because I’m selfish, and I couldn’t just watch you die. Not like her.”

Realization dawns on you. You’d forgotten all about it; how he’d watched Chrissy die. Survivor’s guilt is written all over his face, he’s begging for some kind of relief from it. And despite your differences, he still cares about you more than you can understand.

He’s right. Again.

He may have leveraged saving your life to prove it, but that doesn’t reverse what he did to protect you.

“I’m sorry.” He says. It comes out pained, nearly a whisper. “If I could go back…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, but you know. You nod at him, a representation of a silent acknowledgment and acceptance of his apology, and an agreement to work on whatever this is. Whatever it may become.

And in that moment, it’s the heartbroken look in his gaze that has you feeling so shitty. Like death had whipped out a pitchfork and stabbed you in the back.

Eddie Munson has much more control over you than you’d once thought, even more so now that he’s seemingly back in your life for the long haul. Because if you’re sure of anything, it’s that he’s not going to let you go. Not after what you’ve just been through.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

EXHIBIT B of Why Eddie Munson Makes You Want to Die:

He makes stupid assumptions without thinking them through, especially when it comes to your friendship (but you do too, so that makes it okay right?)

If someone had told you one month ago that Eddie would walk back into your life, you would have laughed them out of Hawkins.

The way your friendship had ended the first time had left things tense between you, and you weren’t sure if there was anything left to be salvaged. But after surviving what you had in the summer of ‘86 baby, as Eddie had called it, you’d promised to try and make it work.

So you did. As of now, you’ve spent the last number of weeks hanging out with your collective group of world saving friends, bonding over shared trauma and all the things that come with it. And that includes repairing your relationship Eddie. As hard as that has been.

Because while you know he’s genuine, and he wants to be on good terms as much as you do, it’s not easy to forgive and forget.

But despite your fears, you’ve started spending time together one on one, no one else there to buffer the tension. Dustin had recommended it, a weekly movie night to get you more comfortable with each other, and to hopefully hash things out properly. In the interest of friendship, Henderson had quipped, because even he could see there were things between you that had been left unsaid.

And while there are moments here and there where you want to throw yourself out your bedroom window because Eddie is being so fucking insufferable, or you want to build a wall of protection around yourself again because you’re afraid of what trusting him will do to you, there are also moments where you remember just how much you once loved him.

This, tonight, is not one of those moments.

“Can we talk?” Eddie clicks the pause button on the remote, leaving Marty McFly’s incredulous expression and his famous ‘“Wait a minute, Doc. Are you telling me you built a time machine…”’ frozen in a motionless frame.

It feels ominous, but you don’t verbally object. “Okay.” You nod, although it’s dark, so you’re not sure he can see you. You’re almost hoping he can’t.

He releases a sigh, something that sounds like he’s been holding onto it for a long time. “I wanna talk about how things ended between us.” He says as he reaches over to flick on the lamp in your living room.

“We can do that.” Apprehension is floating in the cadence of your tone. Things were just starting to become normal again…it feels like a bit of a risk to dig up your past like this. Not that you have much of a choice in the matter.

You’re more than aware that Eddie’s been eager to talk about it. It’s you who’s been avoiding this for weeks, despite knowing how inevitable and needed this conversation is. You just don’t want to ruin the trust you’ve been rebuilding.

“Where do you want to start?” You pose, giving him control of the situation.

“I guess,” he fiddles with the rings on his fingers, “I want to start by apologizing again.”

“You don’t have to do that.” You protest. Since he’s been back, he’s done nothing but apologize a million times over. And the more he does, the more feelings it stirs up.

“No, I do.” He states. “I’m sorry. I never should have done that to you. I never should have shut you out like that.”

His eyes hold so much sincerity, it almost makes you want to cry. “It’s uh–” you struggle to get the words out. You don’t want to relive it, nor do you want to admit the part you played in it. Because it’s much easier to make him the villain than to implicate yourself in this web of chaos you’ve spun yourself.

Though, it’s time for you to admit your responsibility. A friendship doesn’t end just because of one person. You gave up too, as difficult as that is to admit. “It’s not your fault.” You say sadly. “I know it seems like I put all the blame on you for what happened to us, but I’m just as responsible as you.”

Eddie smiles sadly in remembrance. He’s pretty sure he knows where you’re going with this. “If you’re going to apologize for not coming to my band’s first concert when you were sixteen, that’s so not something you need to apologize for. Honestly, that’s not even why I was mad.”

At the time he had been pretty pissed, so he can see why you’d be worried about it, though you needn’t be.

Your lips purse in thought. “I’ve regretted that decision for three years. To me, that was the beginning of our end. And I was the one who started it.”

“(Y/n), c’mon.” He shakes his head. “You can’t blame yourself for that. It had nothing to do with anything.” It really didn’t. The root of your problems was much bigger, and much darker.

You puff out a strangled breath of air, tone dead serious.“But I deserve to.” You state. “I was a pretty horrible friend to you. You’d been talking about that show for weeks, and I wasn’t there to support you, especially after all the times you’d been there for me.”

Especially after I saw what hides in the shadows, and I changed. The thought sits on the edge of your tongue, another one left unsaid.

A softness rests on his face as he reaches over to place a comforting hand on your arm. He picks up on your implication. “If I knew what you were going through, I could have been there for you more. Instead, I abandoned you, all because of some stupid misunderstanding.”

The look of confusion that crosses your face is unmistakable. “I’m not sure I follow.” You genuinely thought that concert had been the catalyst.

He tilts his head with a grimace. “Steve didn’t tell you?”

Eyebrows raised in curiosity, you tread carefully. “Harrington’s told me nothing. I couldn’t be any more clueless.”

“Oh.” Eddie sighs. “I thought for sure you knew about it.”

You shake your head, jaw clenched. “No.” You pull back your hand from his touch, turning to sit cross-legged on your couch. “But I'm getting the feeling I'm missing something pretty big..." You meet his gaze sharply. "Is Steve the reason you stopped being my friend?”

Eddie’s eyes widen. You sound so serious it almost scares him. “No.” He’s quick to say. “Not exactly.”

“So he is involved?”

“Sort of.” He utters trying to backtrack. “It’s stupid now that I think about it.”

Your gaze narrows. “Eddie. If it was enough to end our friendship, it wasn’t stupid.”

The air in the room feels like it’s thickening with every breath you take. What could Steve have possibly done to influence him?

“You can tell me Ed.” Your voice is firm but comforting. “I promise I won’t get mad.”

He swallows the lump in his throat, a little apprehensive, but abides by your request. “It was on a Tuesday in December — I remember because of how cold it was, and because of everything that was happening with Will, after he’d seemingly come back from the dead — and I heard you and Harrington talking.”

You nod, following along. “I remember that day too.” Your voice is laced with sadness. That was the day your friendship started to crumble.

“I hated him back then. So much so, I almost wanted to kill the guy.” He asserts. “And then I saw you with him, how comfortable you were with each other, and I couldn’t believe you could even be around him like that after everything he’d put us through.”

“Oh, Eddie.” You say. Steve had never done much directly to hurt you, but he’d also never stopped his friends from inflicting their cruelty. He was a bystander to the pain they caused, with the power to end it all. And that made Eddie despise him.

He smiles sadly. “I remember Steve telling you that you could never say anything about it to me.” He places the ‘it’ in air quotes. “I didn’t have the context I do now, but he was so serious about it. I figured you were dating or something and he didn’t want me to find out about it, because he knew–”

He knew how I felt about you. He wants to say, but doesn’t.

“And the way he hugged you. I felt sick.” Eddie continues. “I couldn’t understand it. And then after that day, you started pulling away from me…I know now it was because you were trying to protect me from everything, but back then,” he pauses for a moment. “I thought it was my fault.”

“Oh, God.” You feel like you’re going to cry. Hearing his side of the story is like putting all the pieces of a thousand piece puzzle together for the first time. “It was never your fault Eddie. You have to know that.”

He nods slowly in understanding. It’s crazy what hindsight can do. “I knew you were hiding something, I just didn’t know it was that big. And so, like an idiot, I let Jeff convince me you were just like everyone else…” He stops for a moment to collect his breath. A tear escapes; you watch as it rolls down his cheek. “And then I cut you off.”

“Hey.” You reach for him, pulling him gently into a hug. You snake your arms around his back, letting his head rest on your shoulder as you hear him begin to cry. “It’s okay. It’s okay.” You soothe. “We’re okay.”

This isn’t the first time you’ve seen Eddie cry, but it certainly hurts the most. Despite everything you’d put each other through, you’d never want him to feel this way.

“I’ve got you.” You murmur softly. “Always and forever, yeah?”

Your utterance of the promise you had made to each other as little kids stirs something in his chest. You’d promised to always be friends.

He lets out a half chuckle, half sob as he pulls himself back to meet your gaze. Your eyes search his; they’re filled with so much worry and so much love, Eddie feels whole.

“Always and forever.” He whispers.

And maybe this can be the start of a new beginning. A new kind of trust that is undeniably raw, but stronger than it has ever been.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

EXHIBIT C of Why Eddie Munson Makes You Want to Die:

He makes your heart stop at the strangest of moments (but you want him to, so that makes it okay right?)

“You’ve gotta be kidding me Harrington.” The sound of Eddie’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts, and has you abandoning your assigned task of reshelving all of Family Video’s recently returned movies.

It’s been a couple months since you’d finally talked about everything, and honestly, things have been much better since. You’d gotten a job working with Robin and Steve, and weekly movie nights with Eddie have been going strong. Sometimes you just talk, and it’s really nice.

“Sorry man.” Steve’s tone is anything but sorry. He’s leaning against the front till, an exasperated Eddie waiting on the other side. “I couldn’t hold onto it for you. Keith has been on my ass about not withholding the merchandise from customers just because my friends wanna see ‘em.”

“What’s this about?” You step into the conversation out of curiosity.

Robin chuckles. “Eddie’s been trying to get a copy of Top Gun again.”

“For weeks! I’ve been asking for weeks!” Eddie groans. “But Harrington’s butter fingers keep letting it slip from my grasp.”

You smile at the remark. Your friendship with Steve has managed to stay intact, despite your discovery of his involvement in ending your relationship with Eddie. The night of your big breakthrough, you’d later found out that Steve had told Eddie to keep his distance from you, ‘if you know what’s good for you Munson’, Steve had threatened him…which when you’d found out, it had you seeing red. Eddie had assured you that Steve was only looking out for you, but at the time, it had been quite difficult for him to understand.

Unbeknownst to Steve though, you’ve both forgiven him. ‘He doesn’t even need to know.’ You’d agreed. It was better to keep him in the dark than to create problems where they didn’t need to exist.

“Hey, I’m just following orders.” Steve feigns innocence, arms raised in defense.

“Since when have you ever followed orders?” Robin questions, surprised.

Fingers tapping the counter in amusement, you smirk. “Since he scored a date with some hot blonde who works at the arcade –who’s totally smokin’ by the way, nice job –” you send Steve a smug nod, “and he needs the money to take her out.”

“Ergo,” Steve muses, “I can’t afford to get fired.”

“Pathetic.” Eddie tuts. “I can’t believe you’re doing this all for some girl.” He winks at you in amusement and you stifle a laugh.

Steve’s honey orbs catch yours for a moment before he speaks, “Like (Y/n) said, this girl happens to be totally smokin’—way outta my league—and I’m not about to get myself fired and lose my only source of income just so you can hoard Top Gun from the rest of Hawkins.”

“Hoard?” Eddie’s voice is on the verge of being shrill. “I haven’t even seen the movie once!”

“Oh, well in that case…” Steve trails sarcastically. At Eddie’s dejected gaze he relents, “I am sorry though, truly.” He’s not even a little sorry.

“No no, I get it. I just thought our friendship meant more to you.” Eddie mocks pure disappointment. “I guess I was wrong.”

He almost pulled the ‘after everything we’ve been through’ card, but decided against it. Eddie’s saving that for when he really needs it.

You snicker at the interaction, adding fuel to the fire, “Whatever happened to the sanctity of bros before hoes Harrington?”

“Ah, my dear (Y/n). Clearly Steve here has lost any semblance of loyalty to the bro code.” Robin chimes in. “He’s got babes on the brain.” She wiggles her fingers mockingly.

“How tragic.” Is your response.

Steve scoffs at the remark, unimpressed. “Hey, it’s not like I’m the only one that works here.” He says. “If you were smarter,” he directs to Eddie, “you’d have asked either of them to put their neck out on the line to hold onto it for you.”

“We are more reliable.” You agree.

Robin grins. “And I don’t need this job that bad.” She states teasingly. “Plus, I fucking hate Keith, so even if I did need this job, I’d risk it to piss him off…”

Eddie laments adamantly. “You jest, but this is a big deal!”

And it almost makes you laugh how serious he is about it, because the rest of you couldn’t give a damn about the ability to get your hands on Top Gun. Sure, it’s a good movie, and sure, you’d be happy to watch it again, but you’re not that eager. If he’d wanted to watch it that badly, he probably should have just asked.

It’s not like you work in the movie store or anything…quite honestly, you’d swiped a copy off of Keith a few weeks ago and had forgotten to bring it back. Eddie could have watched the movie twenty times over if he’d bothered to say anything to you.

In amusement of that fact, this is the moment you decide to reveal the information that could have ended this conversation minutes ago.

“Would this be a bad time to tell you that I have a copy of the movie at home?”

“You–what?” Eddie exclaims, eyes wide in your direction. He places a hand on your arm without any thought, turning you towards him abruptly. “Jesus Christ woman, you could’ve led with that!”

His eyes meet yours and all time seems to stop. As your breath catches in your throat, you feel like you’re going to die (maybe that’s a little dramatic, but it feels true in the moment). You’d wanted to quip back with something witty, but you can’t find the words, losing yourself in the pool of his amber orbs. There’s a fluttering in your stomach that won’t go away, daring to grow.

And you sigh. Since when had Eddie been so pretty? Since when had he ever made you feel like this? Fuck, you beg with your conscious, please say something, anything…You can’t be falling for him, this cannot be happening.

Robin giggles at the interaction (and she never giggles). This has been the most fun she’s had in a while, watching your usually calm demeanor fall apart. “Where’s the fun in that?” She poses in your defense, finally breaking the silence.

Steve snickers with her, standing with his hands on his hips, unfazed by your sudden muteness. He’d predicted you’d fall victim to Eddie’s charm sooner or later. He’s just happy he’s getting to watch it happen.

“Y’alright?” Eddie asks, grin so wide and so cheeky that you’d swear he could read your mind. He knows. He fucking knows. “You kinda zoned out there for a second.”

You blink in surprise, trying to bring yourself back into focus. “Yeah.” But you don’t sound convinced, and neither are your friends. “Yeah I’m fine. ‘Was just a little surprised by the outburst.”

“Oh.” He rubs the side of your arm in apology.

“Yeah.” You mumble. The tension in the room has seemingly skyrocketed. You’re not sure if he feels it, but you definitely do. Even Steve and Robin, who are watching silently from the counter, feel it building. It’s awkward, and overtly palpable. But it’s also really sweet.

“So,” Eddie asks, pulling his hand back from rubbing your arm. He reaches it back to rub at his own neck in nervousness. “Top Gun on Friday?”

You nod, a breathy “yeah” escapes your lips. It seems to be the only word you can manage.

Something’s obviously just happened between you, (at least for you), and it’s something you’d rather not admit. In this moment, you’d like nothing more than to curl into a ball and simply pass away from embarrassment.

All because of Eddie Munson.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

EXHIBIT D of Why Eddie Munson Makes You Want to Die:

He has the ability to break your heart (but you’re dumb enough to let him, so that makes it okay right?)

Wednesday rolls around, then Thursday, and now you’ve reached Friday. You haven’t spoken to Eddie since your shift on Tuesday, your plans to watch Top Gun are supposedly still a go. But you’re honestly not sure.

You haven't gone this long without talking to him since you’d stopped talking altogether three years ago. And that makes you a little nervous.

“(Y/n).” Dustin groans, pulling you out of your thoughts. “You’ve got to stop worrying about this.”

You pace through your kitchen, opening the oven door after shutting off the beeping timer. Pulling out a tray of chocolate chip cookies, you slide them onto the counter. “I can’t.” You admit to the teen.

He’s just watched you stress bake for the last two hours, and it’s safe to say you almost have enough cookies to feed the entire town.

“Take a breath.” He says, grabbing one of the fresh cookies from the tray. “Shit.” He hisses as it burns his hand.

You swat it from his grasp, earning a quiet splat onto the floor. “Here.” You hand him one of the cooler batches…still warm enough to be gooey, but not hot enough to kill his taste buds.

“Thanks.” He smiles sheepishly. Mouth full he mutters, “He’s gonna be here.”

“How can you be so sure?” You ask, your jaw clenched in apprehension. “I haven’t talked to him since Tuesday and I feel like he’s been avoiding me.”

“I know Eddie better than most.” Dustin licks some of the remaining chocolate off his fingers. “You’re his best friend, who he obviously has feelings for. He’s probably just overthinking things like always.”

You totally gloss over the Eddie having feelings for you part – you’re not about to open that can of worms – and skip straight to seeking reassurance. “Yeah?”

“I’m positive.” Dustin asserts.

You inhale slowly, exhaling a quick puff of air. “Yeah.” You respond, voice trailing slightly. “I’m sure you’re right.”

A silence floats between you as the curly haired boy grabs another cookie and wolfs it down. He smiles at you in thanks. You follow his lead, taking one for yourself and relishing in the comfort the taste brings you. It feels like home.

“He used to talk about you all the time.” Dustin cuts in abruptly, cookie long gone. You swallow a bite of yours in surprise.

“What do you mean?” You question, brows furrowed.

He elaborates, “Before he got dragged into everything and you weren’t even speaking, Eddie would talk to me and Mike, telling us about the importance of friendship, how you can’t let the people you care about go.” He pauses thinking back on the memory. “After a few minutes, I gathered he was talking about you. I mean, I knew you used to be friends, but I didn’t know just how much you cared about each other. It sounded like he was talking about the love of his life, someone who he’d thought he’d let get away and he was punishing himself for it.”

“C’mon Dustin.” You protest. “We’re friends. Friends care about each other.”

“Not like that.” He scoffs. “You’re always checking up on each other, and the fucking doting,” he states with a groan. “It’s almost sickening how you two can be in a room full of people and act like you’re the only ones there.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, suddenly very self conscious. “Am I really that obvious about it?”

“Totally.” His grin is wide. He sounds excited talking about you and Eddie, like he’s somehow invested in the outcome. And you suppose he is.

When you had first met Dustin, officially and not just in passing, he had been pretty adamant on setting you up with Steve. It makes you laugh to think about it now…you and Harrington? God no. But when Dustin saw you interact with Eddie, he witnessed real human chemistry for the first time. Your history was undeniable. And even though the tension had been so palpable he could hardly breathe, he knew you’d found your perfect match. Again. Eddie had just so happened to stumble back into your trauma-filled dumpster fire of a life when you needed him most.

The memory fades as you catch each other’s gaze. And the next thing out of Dustin’s mouth catches you completely off guard.

“Steve told me on Tuesday, he thought you were going to jump each other’s bones on the Family Video returns table.”

You almost choke on the cookie you had just been chewing. “He said what?!” The look on your face is incredulous. “Steve really shouldn’t be talking to you about things like that.”

“Relax.” He puffs out his chest. “I’m fifteen and I have a girlfriend. You can’t seriously think I’m that naive.”

“I guess.” You secede, still thinking of him as the little kid you and Steve fought demogorgons with at the abandoned junkyard. “But anything Steve told you is bullshit — nothing of that sort happened, it was only a moment.”

“A momentary eye fuck you mean.”

You shake your head in mock disappointment. “Jesus Dustin, no.”

“Fine, fine.” He relents, arms raised in defense. “But if you want my honest opinion,” he says more seriously now. “I've seen Eddie with you in his life, and I’ve seen him without — trust me, he’s much happier when you’re around.”

Your gaze softens at his authenticity. “You really think so?”

He nods. “Know so.”

Dustin’s right. Maybe you're just letting your insecurities get the better of you. Or maybe you have a right to be nervous. He’d walked out of your life once, what’s to stop him from doing it again?

It really doesn’t take much for you to realize the power Eddie has over you. If he wanted to, he could take your heart (which already so dangerously belongs to him), and shatter it into an insurmountable number of pieces. Quite honestly, that might be the most terrifying thing about having feelings this big. You’d barely survived losing him the last time, and that was before you’d even considered admitting there might be something more between you.

You’re not sure what you’d do now, or if you’d even come out of it alive. Physically you’d likely be fine, but mentally and emotionally? You’d be better off dead.

You’re caught by surprise when Dustin is suddenly nudging you, hissing at you – something about answering something – and your attention snaps to him.

“(Y/n).” He waves, pointing towards the phone.

It rings on the wall beside you, breaking the flow of your vulnerable thought pattern. You reach over to pick it up, Dustin taking this as a chance to pop another cookie in his mouth.

“(L/n) residence.” You answer.

“Hey.” Eddie’s voice travels through the receiver.

“Hi.” You respond, trying not to sound too excited. You don’t want to scare him away.

From the other side, he smiles; he’d missed talking to you. After Tuesday, he’d struggled with whatever moment had happened between you. His mind couldn’t process the thought that maybe you felt the same as him and he needed time to think it all through.

“Sorry for not calling earlier.” He says. “I just wanted to make sure we’re still on for tonight?”

A grin creeps its way onto your face. Dustin stops himself from laughing at the look that’s adorning your features. “Of course!” You fiddle with the phone cord anxiously. “My place at 7?”

“Sounds good.” He murmurs.

“Great, okay.” You reply. “See you then.”

“See ya.” He says.

You hang up the phone with the biggest sigh of relief. “Fuck.” You breathe.

“I told you he’d be here.” Dustin’s grin is smug. Shit eating doesn’t even begin to cover it.

You agree begrudgingly. “You did. I promise not to doubt you next time.”

He chuckles. “I’ll be sure to remind you of that next time I do something incredibly stupid.”

“Very funny.” You grimace slightly, feeling like your heart is beating out of your chest.

Dustin notices quickly and eyes you in amusement, no concern whatsoever for your current state of being. “You okay?” He asks out of pure enjoyment.

“Yeah.” You smile, breathing slowly to try and slow your heartbeat. “Just, why does it feel like this? Talking to Eddie, it’s never been like this.”

Dustin laughs. “Because you’re in love with him. And now you know it.”

Love feels like too strong a word, and simultaneously not strong enough.

“Shit…” You groan, dragging it out like your life depends on it. Your head falls into your hands and you swear you can feel the vainglorious pride radiating from Dustin’s direction. He’s so satisfied with himself it almost makes you laugh.

Fuck that little shit. You hate that he’s right. You hate even more how defenseless this makes you.

You can’t believe you’ve given Eddie the key to your heart. There was a time a few years ago where you had been sure it would happen. That was, before everything fell apart. Though you suppose, despite all the obstacles along the way, it was only a matter of time.

It still shocks you nonetheless.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

+ 1

The end credits roll across your television screen, Tom Cruise and Top Gun the only ones you’re really able to pay attention to. You’d seen this movie before…it wasn’t like you really needed to watch out for anything. If you’re being honest, you had so much more to focus on.

Like the beginning of your night for instance…

Eddie had arrived perfectly on time with a bag of microwavable popcorn, and a shy greeting. There hadn’t been much talking since, apart from a couple apologies when your hands would graze while reaching into the bowl for a popcorn kernel or two. Or when you had to pause it so Eddie could go use the restroom. It was totally and utterly bizarre how quiet it had been, unlike any of your previous movie nights where you’d regularly quip stupid lines, mocking the characters back at each other.

Awkward doesn’t even begin to explain it. And the tension was so thick — what’s that saying? — you could cut it with a knife…You'd need a pretty sharp damn knife.

“So,” you start by flicking on the lamp beside you, hoping to relieve some of the stiffness in the room, “what’d you think? Was it as good as you were expecting?”

Truth be told, Eddie hadn’t paid attention to a single second. And for all the weeks he’d begged Steve for a copy of the movie, the second he got the chance to watch it, all he could focus on was you.

“I wouldn’t know.” He answers honestly. “I can’t remember.”

You tilt your head in confusion. “But we just watched it.”

“I didn’t.” His voice is so soft, yet so serious. “Couldn’t focus.” He furthers.

“Then what were you focusing on?” You’d be lying if you said you weren’t hoping he was thinking of you.

He shrugs, but you can tell there’s more to it. He’s trying to be nonchalant so you think he’s calmer than he actually is.

“Us.” He nearly whispers. “You, me — whatever line we’re teetering on crossing. I can’t get it out of my head.”

His words strike a chord with you. “Neither can I.” You admit. “I’m uh, I’m sorry for making things awkward on Tuesday, I just, something felt—”

“Different.” He finishes for you. That’s the word you’d been looking for.

“Yeah.” Is your quiet response. “Scary different,” you elaborate, “but good different.”

He hums in agreement. “So it wasn’t just me then?” He asks hopefully. “Because I was certain you’d finally realized how I felt about you and just didn’t know how to let me down easy.”

A delicate laugh bubbles from your throat. “When you touched me, my mind went into overdrive and all I could think about was how much I wished this could be all the time.” You tell him your perspective, and a smile grows on his face. “And it was terrifying, because I hadn’t had thoughts or feelings like that since…” You trail, but he knows exactly what you mean.

“I don’t think I ever stopped having feelings for you.”

That causes your heart to clench.

“Can I kiss you?” You ask, taking Eddie by surprise. It’s not too sudden by any means, but he had always thought he’d be the one to make the first move, if it ever happened.

But, he supposes, he should’ve expected it from you. You’d always been ten steps ahead of him.

He blinks, still in disbelief. “Please.” He mumbles. “Tell me this is real.”

You smile, scooting forward to place a soft slow kiss on his lips. “It’s real.” You murmur against him. “I promise.”

His breath is airy and light against your skin as he captures your lips in another kiss, this time needier. He’s been waiting for a moment like this for years, and he’s not about to let you slip out of his grasp. Your arms wrap around his shoulders as you begin playing gently with his hair. At the action, he shifts you inevitably closer, lips coming down to rest in the crook of your neck.

“God, you have no idea what you do to me.” Eddie hums, pulling away to get a good look at your face.

You look perfect, your eyes filled with wonderment, like a rose in first bloom. “If it’s anything like what you do to me,” your lips part effortlessly as you lean in to whisper in his ear, “then I have a pretty good idea.”

A shiver runs down Eddie’s spine. This feels like a dream, this has to be a dream. To further convince himself it’s not, he runs a hand down your cheek, eyes searching yours for any sense of regret or mistrust.

He can’t find any, and neither can you.

“I love you.” He lets it drift from his mouth with ease. It’s not the first time he’s told you he loves you, but it’s the first time he’s said it like this.

“I love you too Eddie.” Being sure to add it, you quip teasingly, “forever and always.” A reassurance from your childhood.

He laughs at the remark. A true laugh, filled with a melodic tone and pure contentment. “Forever and always.” He repeats.

As he pulls you into his side, you let your head rest on his chest, feeling it rise and fall with each breath. The silence feels comfortable, nice even. And for the first time in a really long time, you feel happy.

So yeah, sometimes he makes you want to die. But he also, equally shows you that as long as there’s a breath left in your body, that life is worth living.

Eddie Munson, as much as he makes you want to die, he makes you want to live.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson imagine #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things x y/n #stranger things imagines #stranger things imagine

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stinkyme · 8 months

Text

Hello! This is a part two of "Nowhere else to go", there will be part three as well. I hope you like it and enjoy it! :) <3

Part one :), Part three

CW/TW: gn!reader, A LOT of dialogue, unsettling/disturbing dream (may be for some), reader meets Nikolai who tries to get them to help him kill Fyodor, manipulative Nikolai, uncanon reasoning behind his motives (given last episode), reader talks about their's and Fyodor's past/childhood (none of these events are canon, all made up), mentions of accidental killings by Fyodor's ability, mentions of hatred/hate oriented speech (towards him), mentions of burning the house down (Fyodor's house), mentions of abuse/attack (towards him), mentions of religious aspects, mentions of mass murder (Fyodor), if I forgot anything, please let me know! :)

* None of the things are done by the reader, they tended to his wounds and shared a heartwarming moment...kind of

** I have no idea how to tag this fic...lord help me

I apologize for any mistakes in advance! :)

A pact of freedom. What fool will you be?

Everything is gray, it feels heavy. Some sort of lake? You walk towards it, a loud wet sound being produced as you walk, feeling so slow and the path seems endless. There is nothing around you besides thick fog and your legs feel like they are bound with rocks. You finally reach the lake where the fog is the heaviest, not seeing anything in front of you. There is some noise. Dripping? Is it water?

No. It's blood. You look around, your vision is blurry. Dead bodies? Loads of dead bodies are underneath you. You don't recognize any of those. You feel paralyzed. You look behind yourself, noticing that what you were walking on are smashed, decapitated and bloody bodies. You want to scream, but you can't. It feels like you can't even breathe.

The dead bodies begin sucking you in, getting you buried up to your knees. You reach your hand out as they keep pulling you down, your face getting smashed between them. Unable to breathe. It's heavy. It's scary. You try to keep your hand out for as long as possible, desperately stretching it out. Somebody! Anybody! You wish to scream, but the words only echo inside your mind.

Finally, someone catches you. A cold hand pulls you out. You feel wet and heavy, everything is still blurry. You look up, your vision hazy. You can only see the arm being stretched towards you as it still holds your hand.

"Come back to me. Do not be scared. Let me save you from this suffering." his voice whispers, sending shivers down your spine before it feels like your head explodes, only seeing the crimson red blood in front of you.

You gasp in as you wake up, covered in sweat. Your breathing is heavy as you look around. It seems you fell asleep on the floor.

"Finally awake?" a happy voice asks you and you turn your head only to be met with a white-haired man who is dressed like a clown. A jester? Who is he?

"Who are you?" you ask weakly as you rub your forehead, still feeling like you are in a dream.

"I would make you guess, but you seem to be in no state to do so. Bad dream?" he giggles as he tilts his head.

"You could say that. Anyways, who are you?" your voice is raspy. You slowly get up, grabbing the glass of water that seemed to be put on the table for you.

"Drinking so carelessly? What if I've put in the poison?" he grins at you.

"There is only one way to find out I guess." you reply disinterested, as you continue drinking.

"I like you already! This will be much easier than I thought then!" he giggles and your head begins to throb from his loudness.

"Anyhow~, my name is Nikolai, I came here to find Dos-kun." he says happily and you choke on water, coughing a little bit.

"Dos-kun? Dostoevsky? What do you need him for?" you ask after you calm down, sitting on the chair slowly.

"So, you do know him!" he grins happily, his tone excited.

"I never said that...or I guess I did. What do you want? He left last night." you sigh out, your heart aching as you remember how he treated you.

"Are you his friend perhaps?" he tilts his head, his happy tone irritates you.

"No, we are not friends. I thought we were, but I guess not." you say in a bitter tone, but there is sadness lingering in it too.

"I know how you feel." he says with a brief feeling of sympathy in his voice. Your eyes quickly scan him, you didn't feel too safe in his presence. He seems...unpredictable, to say the least.

"No offense, but I don't think you do." you say in a slightly suspicious tone.

"And you would be perfectly correct!" he lets out a long, loud giggle and you feel your head pulsating.

"I figured. So, what business do you have with him?" you close your eyes as you lean your head against the chair.

"Well you see~, I want to kill him." he says with an excitement in his tone and your blood runs cold, quickly opening your eyes to look at him.

"Are you serious?" you ask hesitantly.

"Deadly serious!" he giggles at his own words.

"You see, when he died in front of me, I felt this...sadness. It was weird. Unexplainable. However, what I realized is that the freedom I am looking for is unreachable whether he is dead or alive. Then, I figured, it was only impossible because I wasn't the one to kill him personally and reach my own freedom with my own hands!" he explains in an euphoric tone, his hands quite expressive while doing so.

"Freedom?" you give him a confused expression, borderline unconvinced.

"Freedom, yes. Do you think humans are truly free?" he asks you, his tone more calm.

"Depends. Each person has their own definition of what freedom is." you reply disinterested. You were not looking for a philosophical conversation, especially not with someone like him.

"That's what they all say. You are boring like everyone else." he points his finger at you, pouting a bit.

"I guess I am. Can you leave now?" you tilt your head at him, getting bored.

"No, I have to explain to you the essence of freedom. You see, Dos-kun is my only friend. Only one who ever understood me. I have strong feelings towards that, therefore towards him as well." he explains slowly.

"Mhm." you nod, still disinterested.

"Therefore, if I kill him, I will kill the last amount of emotions I have and with that achieve complete freedom!" he claps his hands, happily explaining now.

"Not to burst your bubble, but you are a fool if you think you can kill someone like him. You didn't succeed the first time, so now what?" you yawn as you stretch your body, not even looking at him at this point.

"I am happy you asked, even though your lack of creativity grosses me out. That's where you come on the scene!" he tells you in a loud, excited tone.

"Me? And what makes you think I can..or rather, will, do it?" you lean your head back on the chair.

"Because, unlike him, I am the person who understands what you are going through." he says calmly.

"I don't think-" you want to dismiss him, but he cuts you off.

"But I do." he says in a colder tone, slowly removing the card that was covering his, what seems like perfectly healthy, eye.

"I lied when I said I don't understand you. Don't you see it yourself?" he asks, tone deeper.

"No? Do I see what?" you ask as you narrow your eyebrows in confusion.

"We both share the same pain. We are bound by our feelings for Dostoevsky. Are we not?" he asks, tone a bit more empathetic.

"Your feelings differ from mine. Plus, I assume I know him longer than you do, so killing him doesn't exactly bring me joy." you reply a bit sharper, trying to hide your own pain.

"So, you are in love with him?" he asks, tilting his head.

"..You could say that." you confirm, too tired to deny.

"And he left you behind?" he continues, carefully.

"He did." you nod, your heart skipping a beat as you confirm another painful truth.

"So, don't you think if we kill him, you will be able to get free? Be set free from those feelings? The pain that you feel?" he asks, still careful.

"No, I know him a bit too much in order to do that. My heart is bound to him by many memories, not only painful ones." you say in a sadder tone, remembering.

"It doesn't matter which ones. You said I am a fool that can't kill him, and now you are being a fool who thinks it can be loved by him. My foolishness seems more sane than yours." he cuts your thoughts short, his voice calm.

"Perhaps. But also, less violent and destructive." you reply with bitterness in your voice.

"If violence is what you worry about, I can assure you that you won't do anything violent." he says with a sly grin, returning his card to his eye. You give him a confused look.

"I will! I will do the violence, all you need to do is deny him treatment for one." he grins even more.

"How did you-"

"You forgot to remove your supplies. And after all, it's the only reason he would come here. Given that he wasn't keen on catching up with you, given what you've said." he giggles which makes your blood boil.

You feel disgusted and appalled. You? Denying Fyodor treatment? Letting him die? For this lunatic? Unthinkable.

"I want you to leave my house, right now." you say sharply, pointing at the door.

"I can tell you where he is." he grins, a little giggle following as he notices your face softening.

"I don't care where he is. I don't want to see him again." you say weakly.

"Liar!" Nikolai yells at you, more giggles following as he snaps his fingers.

"Anyways, you seem to dislike violence, destruction and all that fun stuff! Tell me why!" he switches the topic, looking at you intently.

"Because I am a sane person who possesses an ounce of empathy and morals." you reply in a tone that was making it seem like this was an obvious thing.

"Ah, you will never reach true freedom like that! But, just for fun, how come you love Fyodor then? You do know what he does, yes?" he asks with a malicious smile on his face.

"I am aware of it, yes. As for loving him.." you turn your head to the side, placing your hands on your chest.

"Truthfully, I started loving him a long time ago. It seemed so hard for others, but easy for me. I just wanted him to know he was loved, that somebody, regardless of it all, still holds hope for him. Sometimes, to this day, I think he was born into violence. That it was never his choice, he was just an unfortunate soul." you speak sadly, remembering some heavier moments.

"What makes you say that?" Nikolai asks, a bit more calm.

"Given his ability.., you know?" you ask a bit quietly, as if it was a sin to speak of it. It actually was, now that you think of it.

"I am not entirely sure how it works." he replies with a little hum, tapping his own cheek.

"Me neither, but..he can kill people he touches." you say in a casual tone. Nikolai's lips turn into a sly smile, reason unknown to you.

"Back in the day, when we were young, that's when it happened for the first time." you close your eyes, a lump in your throat forming.

"I don't know how it happened, I suppose his ability fully manifested that day. Locals went to his house, his mother, father, siblings..hell, everyone was dead. Only Fyodor was alive. They thought it was an organized murder at first, but then..he accidentally killed one of the women who came to his home to investigate. Apparently, she held his hand to get him out and part of her head just...exploded, blood leaking everywhere." your eyes tear up as you remember the outcome.

"Anyhow, all we were told is to stay away from him. That he is a demon child, possessed and needs to be cleansed. But no one had the guts to touch him. They were making us pray, for ourselves, not him. It was considered a sin to speak of him or what happened. Anytime anyone would see him they would throw insults his way..say things such as he will be punished, how he is a disgrace, how God made a mistake when he sent him to this Earth, how his mother should've died at birth and take him with her. Parents would close the doors, the windows, make their kids immediately leave the playground or any place where he was. Eventually, they burned his house to the ground while he was inside, hoping to cleanse the sin he committed and hopefully get rid of a possessed child. As you can see, he didn't die. That made people even more scared and hateful." you let out a little sigh out, playing with your own fingers as they become shaky.

"Fyodor kept coming to church when no one was around. I didn't say anything as I assumed he was praying or simply honoring his family in some peace and quiet. My heart was aching for him, he was so isolated and thrown away by everyone. Some days I would see him sleeping in the streets. He had this badly made tent. It was truly horrible. Eventually, I would bring him some food and water, during the night, when no one was there. I don't remember him talking to me or eating it, but that was all I could do at the time. One time though...a couple of older people decided to ruin his tent, the very last place he had to sleep at. It was a cold, awfully cold winter. They brought long sticks, to keep their distance I guess, and decided to hit him until he passed out. They would yell how they need to beat out and kill the devil. It was absolutely horrifying." you slowly squeeze your hand with your other one as they feel cold and sweaty.

"There was blood everywhere. But they were happy and satisfied with beating up a defenseless child. I have never felt more sad, angry, scared and worried. I was too much of a coward to say anything. However, after they left, I sneaked back to him with some medical supplies my mother kept in our house, as well as some food and water. I remember when I came back, he was still unconscious. I began cleaning the blood off of his face and sanitizing his wounds as much as I could." you take a deep breath as Nikolai keeps watching you, listening intently.

"He woke up while I did it, but he wasn't saying anything. At the time, I thought he became mute from the trauma. Anyways, once I finished with his face and neck, I had to take care of his hands. Truthfully, that was scary to me. I was hesitant and I felt awfully guilty. This was a boy I used to play with, share meals with, pray with, learn with, spend time with his family, and so many other things. Yet, at that moment, I was unable to touch him out of fear. I didn't believe he was actually a demon, but when everyone says one thing...it's hard not to be scared." you take a deep breath in, eyes squinting as you try not to cry from the feelings of guilt.

"However, he finally spoke up. All he said to me was "Do not be scared", like an angel, and I did it without giving it a second thought. I was just happy he was able to speak. I touched his hands and nothing happened, as you can see. It made me very happy. Once I finished cleansing his wounds, he said how I am quite skilled and how I should do this in life. He mentioned how he thinks our hands are polar opposites it seems, but perfectly made for each other. It was intimate and special for me. It made me feel seen and appreciated. Later, I decided to go to medical university, perfecting my skills, keeping his words in my heart. I promised him how I will take care of him and how I have trust in him." you take a deep breath in, your chest feeling heavy as you speak.

"Naturally, after our little moment, he disappeared. The next morning, he was nowhere to be found and I was scared that he was frozen to death somewhere. People were celebrating, thanking God for this miracle and blessing. It didn't feel like one for me, though." you sigh out again, pausing for a moment.

"And then?" Nikolai asks, evidently intrigued.

"And then..years later, he sent me a letter. He wanted to meet up. I was still studying at the time, in that same city. I was so happy he was alive, I can't explain it even now. We met up and that's when he told me his plan and asked me to join him, which I refused. It broke my heart, but there was a part of me that understood. I remember apologizing to him, feeling guilty for not helping him in a better way back in the day. For not standing up to the people and defending him. He told me he will free me from my suffering which I didn't understand at the moment." you pause, remembering your dream. You try to shake off your thoughts as you keep your voice steady.

"Alas, later that day, our whole small city was killed. Every single person but me and my family. I knew he did it, but it was confirmed when I got another letter from him saying how my guilt is now unnecessary and how I can help him now by joining him. I was so scared at the time, I can't even describe the sheer horror I was experiencing. I was forced to change universities, conveniently enough, to a city he was in. From that moment, this whole back and forth thing between us is going on. Or used to." you finally let a breath out, all of those memories sitting heavily on your chest. Nikolai remains silent as you pick on your past, realizing your own inability to accept it all or sit with it.

Truthfully, you don't even know why you opened to someone like him, but it felt a bit easier sharing it somewhere, rather than letting it sit on your chest.

"That indeed sounds like a good reason for him to do all the things he is doing. But you seem to ignore a vital piece here." he smiles maliciously.

"What do you mean?" you ask, sadness subsiding by confusion.

"He deems you as special, doesn't he? And he wanted to free you from your suffering, don't you owe him the same thing?" he asks in a tone that was trying to drown out his own excitement.

"Didn't I do enough for him?" you ask, a weak smile appearing on your lips.

"To me it seems you are just scared again. Scared to dirty your own hands in blood other than the one he brings to you. You did it when you were a child, and how did that turn out to be?" he giggles as your eyes widen a bit. He makes a little jump towards you, cupping your hands in his own. His uncovered eye is wide, wicked and borderline lunatic.

"So, what you can do is give him freedom. Let me dirty my hands, without tending his. Join him. That's how you will help me kill Dostoevsky and free him from his suffering. You will end up being by his side at the very end, just like you would like to. You will be the final observer of his when he reaches his freedom from this world that hurt him so badly." he says in a slightly sympathetic tone and you bite down on your lip.

Truthfully, yes, you could be able to help him. But is killing him really the only way?

"I will let you think about it." Nikolai stands up, leaving a piece of paper on your table. You take it and see the address, knowing it was Fyodor's hideout.

"Choose wisely. Remember, you can free him." he grins before disappearing in his coat.

You let out a soft breath out, biting your own lip as you rub the piece of paper.

It could all come to an end, quickly. What will you choose? A pact with a demon or pact with a clown? What fool will you be? Whose marionette?

To be continued... :)

I hope you liked it and enjoyed it! :) <3

I am so sorry for the tags if they are wrong, I truly have no idea how to tag it :")

Thank you so much for all the love and support, it truly means a lot to me! :) <3

Forehead kisses for everyone :3

#fyodor x reader #fyodor dostoyevsky x reader #bsd fyodor #fyodor angst #idk how to tag HELP #nikolai x reader #nikolai gogol x reader #bsd nikolai #bsd imagines

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