heADCANONS CRYDE HEADCANONS PLEAs
goD okay I have been slowly adding to this for like 2 days whenever I had the chance and it made me so happy djsjdf I love talking cryde headcanons so much.
These are probably things I’ve said before but they’re some of my personal favorites sooo 🥺
Craig’s phone is full of candid pictures of Clyde that he’s taken over the years. Photographer Craig my beloved, he always snaps pictures of Clyde when he’s laughing, or using his hands to tell a dramatic story, or getting annoyed at a video game, or playing with Rex and Stripe. They’re all just random photos of Clyde being Clyde, but that’s exactly why Craig took them.
Clyde saves every single thing Craig has ever written for him — whether it’s a note passed in class, a birthday card, sheets for their numerous roleplays, homework he graciously let Clyde borrow. Craig has chicken-scratch handwriting and sometimes it’s hard to read, but Clyde cherishes every single thing anyway.
Craig is obsessed with Clyde’s cooking. Clyde is an amazing cook, he inherited a lot of really great recipes, and really great skills, from Betsy, and he loves to mess around with new ideas. He always ends up making tasty dishes or baking sweet desserts, and he always saves a plate for Craig (or else Craig will be very upset that he missed out on Clyde’s cooking).
Clyde is super clingy — literally. He just loves to cuddle, or hold hands, or lean against people, or put his head in someone’s lap. He’s a cuddly boy !!! Craig, obviously, is most often at the receiving end of Clyde’s need for closeness. (And he loves it very much, even if he sometimes pretends he doesn’t. Craig is Soft™️ for Clyde always.)
Clyde the clothes-thief my beloved. He is always stealing Craig’s stuff. You’ll find him wearing Craig’s old hoodie, or one of Craig’s favorite t-shirts, or Craig’s new jacket that he only wore like two times. He wears Craig’s stuff more than his own at this point, but like… they’re comfy and they’re Craig’s. Clyde is never giving them back.
Likewise, Craig isn’t really a thief like Clyde is, but he never turns down a chance to flaunt Clyde’s iconic letterman jacket. Not that being a jock means anything special (Clyde is still a big dork anyway), but it does make Clyde really happy, and the jacket is surprisingly comfortable so… win/win.
They argue about aliens. Like, a lot. They both believe they exist, but what kind of aliens they are is where the bickering starts. Are they gray or green? Little and cute or big and monstrous? Will they enslave the world or come in peace? Do they eat humans and abduct cows? Craig and Clyde will argue about aliens for hours if someone lets them. (Their friends are very tired.)
They kick ass at Mario Kart Double Dash. It’s a classic during their sleepover nights and they’ve pretty much scared away all of their friends from playing too by now — they win nearly every time. Clyde-Bowser and Craig-Luigi are just the best team literally ever.
They wore matching Halloween costumes until they were at least in college. It was always something silly: Shaggy and Scooby, Ash and Gary, Wario and Waluigi, etc. Every year, Craig swore they wouldn’t do it, but every year, Clyde’s puppy-dog eyes proved him wrong. (And besides, Craig is just as lame and cheesy too, even if he won’t admit it.)
They constantly make late-night runs across town to grab fast food. 90% of the time, it’s not even because they wanted food, but because they just wanted to be together, listening to Craig’s nighttime playlist or Clyde’s mess of Spotify favorites, and just exist for a few minutes.
Roger Donovan is the biggest cryde supporter of all time okay he loves them so much. He spent a lot of looonnng nights talking with Clyde about his developing feelings and how to deal with them, and all of the confusion that sometimes comes with it. So, in the end, he feels so happy he almost cries when Clyde mentions, casually over dinner, that Craig is his boyfriend now :’)
104 notes
·
View notes
The click of the Zippo opening and closing is almost hypnotic, lulling Steve into that familiar satisfaction of just the right noise at just the right frequency as he watches Robin’s wrist flicking the lighter open and closed, her arms stretched above her like she’s trying to touch the ceiling. Steve’s hands are gently swaying next to hers, in the nonexistent breeze of his bedroom.
It’s one of their weird private moments; where they get to have everything being just right that would get them questioning and judgemental glances from everyone else. The tingling sensation in their arms as the blood flows down and away from their hands, leaving them heavy and floaty in a way that never fails to ground them. But there’s also a safety to this moment, a security that they just get to have this without judgment.
Just the flick of the lighter and not a word spoken for over half an hour now.
Sometimes Robin laments, How am I supposed to ever find a girlfriend when this is my version of quality time? This is just weird. I’m weird.
Maybe, but it’s fun, Steve had said once, staring at the veins in his hands while a large water bottle was balancing on his forehead.
She had sighed and snatched the water bottle from his face to plant it on hers, admitting, It is fun.
“Do you ever wonder if there’s like…” Robin interrupts their silence, the Zippo never faltering, Steve’s eyes still fixed on it like all the answers to the questions of the universe lie somewhere in the peeling black foil.
“Hm?”
“Like, a point?”
“A point?” Steve asks, still following the lighter with his eyes, even as Robin stops flicking it open and closed and starts playing with the spark wheel and stone. There’s no flame yet, though, and it looks like she’s just stroking it almost reverently.
“Yeah, like a reason that we’re still, like, doing things.”
Steve frowns, lowering one of his arms to feel the blood flowing back into his hand, the sensation warm and familiar. Like a reminder. There’s blood in your body. You’re alive.
Is there a point, though?
“No,” he says eventually.
“No?”
“No. I don’t think there’s one. We just are. Not like we can stop.”
“Well, we could,” she says, and in one second there’s nothing, just words hanging in the air. The next, there’s a flame coming from the lighter as Robin presses hard and fast enough on the spark wheel. It stays there, the little flame.
We could.
Steve says nothing, just watches the flame as the blood gets drained from his right arm once more.
“Sometimes I wanna burn down your house. And your car, too. I watch you die in there sometimes.”
“Huh?”
“Your car. Sometimes it’s just; there’s these thoughts. Or, like, scenarios, and they’re super duper real in my head, and I have to remind myself they’re not. Just makes me wanna drench it all in gasoline and just… boom.”
“Boom,” Steve says, and it’s not the reaction that he should be giving, not the reaction of a sane person — but then, sane people don’t play with their lighters in bed or listen to their best friend’s arsonist tendencies. Sane people don’t see what Steve Harrington see, they don’t do what he does. What he had to do. When what he should have done was fail some tests, drink some beers and kiss some girls.
Is there a point?
“I promise when I get a new car, I’m gonna burn this one with you, yeah?”
“Deal,” Robin says, and the little flame dies. The steady click is back, and Steve smiles a little.
“And the house.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
The clicking stops, and before he knows it, Robin’s body is wrapped around his, her head resting on his chest.
“I think that makes for a good point, though,” she says eventually, and Steve perks up.
“Cuddles?”
“You.”
“Me? Isn’t that a little stupid? And scary? Like, choosing a person to be the point in general.”
She shrugs against him, reaching up to hold his hand and link their fingers in the air above them.
“Maybe, but I think most points are either stupid or scary. It’s why people talk about it so often without ever, like, really saying something. I think you can be my stupid, scary point, Steve Harrington.”
Swaying their linked hands gently above them, Steve smiles. “Then I think that makes you my stupid, scary point, Robin Buckley.”
“Deal,” she says again, and there’s less of a threat about it this time.
351 notes
·
View notes