#cut you down with words

[fumifooms]

Chilchuck’s wife and family - Facts, theories and headcanons

I want to keep this as a sort of masterpost on Chil’s family situation if I can, but if we get a lot of information on it (in the additional content that Kui is gonna make) that renders this more or less useless I probably won’t update this anymore. If you find other crumbs of information or I've said anything factually incorrect please do tell me! I'm planning to edit this as we go since I want to compile most if not all of the information and pages we get about this topic on here, and if I just wait to post it perfection paralysis will nip this in the bud. It focuses a lot on Chilchuck and Chilchuck's wife relationships, but the daughters and Chilchuck's own parents and siblings are talked about as well.

CW/disclaimer: This post talks about messy family dynamics and such, there’s no outright abuse I’m implying anywhere, but alcoholism and neglect are mentioned and discussed. I’m not here to demonize anyone! I love every character involved and I just want to theorize about the topic as a layered issue that involves complex characters. Also, I try to use very transparent language as to when I’m citing or analyzing canon information and when I’m giving a personal interpretation or headcanoning.

Abbreviated table of content:

Timeline and circumstances

Possible strains on the marriage

The hair question. Confirmation on what his wife looks like?

Other family dynamic & post-canon theories & headcanons

Parenting style + misc in a reblog addition (new)

Let’s start with the facts, shall we?

Timeline and circumstances

So, we see that Chilchuck and his wife are childhood friends, and they married at 13 years old and had two children in that same year. Since half-foots reach the age of maturity at 14, they seem to be what we'd call teen parents. It's a bit debatable though, since Laios says the age of maturity for tallmen (humans) is 16 instead of 18 or even 21, so what's considered to be the age of maturity is a cultural thing and isn't fully reliable when we want to compare to our irl understanding and what developmental stage it perfectly aligns with. Also, during the succubus chapter Chichuck says that his daughters were all now of age to be independent, and Chilchuck's wife leaves to live with Flertom, which would mean that Puckpatti was independent at age 10 and lived away from home as well (since she's the third/last daughter). Ah yes another interesting thing to note is that we don’t know the pregnancy periods for the races, since Meijack and Flertom were born the same year. It could be tight timing or it could be something else, but I don’t think they’re twins, they keep talking about them being the oldest and the middle child, them being twins is definitely the sort of thing that would get mentioned.

Him starting working on the island notably happens just one year before his wife leaves him. I don't remember the other instances of him mentioning it though I feel like it happened, but since he started working at the Island's dungeon, working as a dungeon diver and then forming the half-foot guild, that probably means he started being away for longer periods of time and having a less reliable schedule on when he'd be coming back home. It is said that he went back home somewhat regularly iirc, though he usually ends up sleeping at the half-foot guild quarters. I'm not sure if Kahka Brud is also where he lived with his family, or just since he rented someplace new after she left him. He and his timeline state that he was born in a small village "northeast of the island", which he left at 14 one year after being married, but it isn’t stated where they go after so it’s unsure how far his home was from the island if it wasn’t in Kahka Brud. We don’t know when his father died so if that factors in to him leaving his village we have no clue.

Chil also says that he hasn’t seen or spoken with his wife nor daughters since the incident, which would mean he's gone 4 years without contact with his family during the events of canon. I don't remember if Chilchuck is said to exchange letters with his daughters, beyond the initial one from Flertom saying her mother was with her, so I've been assuming he hasn't.

He also says "For about ten years I’ve been travelling to dungeons in various areas and doing work" which considering he’s turning 29 that year would mean he started around 19 years old? The panel also gives details what sort of work he’s been doing. Either way it’s confirmed that Chilchuck travels for his work a lot.

In addition, since Chilchuck has the seal of approval of the bicorn + says so himself, he has always stayed faithful to his wife. So that means that unless he's had previous adventures before he was 14 and got married, he's never dated anyone else in his life, nor had romantic or sexual encounters/experiences with others in his 16 years of marriage right up to canon (year 514). I feel it’s safe to say that it’s implied that during all these years starting from when they were married, Chilchuck's wife was a housewife whose main job was taking care of the kids and the house.

Marcille's take on what happened is unreliable, as Kui even takes the time to directly say so in the Adventurer's Bible, so I don't want to use it as a baseline even if it offers some insight on what could have happened (her feeling out of place, leaving to test his love, etc etc).

What Chilchuck says seems to be accurate though since it pertains to his perspective of the events! Unlike how Marcille's theory flows, Chilchuck was aware that something was off before she left since she "suddenly fell into a bad mood".

Piecing everything together, my theory: Chilchuck and his wife were childhood friends and have always always sort of danced around of each other, the classic movie love story with childhood sweethearts, until they ultimately confessed and got together. While dating, Chilchuck's wife becomes pregnant and they're both unequiped to deal with the situation but decide to marry, either a bit forced in order to cover it up or hopeful to make the best of it. They make it work as they can and Chilchuck works to provide for the family while she takes care of the home and the kids, which means that even though he's not a deadbeat father (he cares, he was at least a bit involved in their lives and raising them since for example he knows how to braid hair after all) he ends up being rather absent from home. It only gets worse over the years, especially when Chilchuck starts working further and further away from home and coming home less often, and since Puckpatti left home Chilchuck's wife is alone at home most of the time, never knowing when Chilchuck would be coming and if to prepare the table for two instead of one, or even if he'd be coming back at all since his work is dangerous. The humdrum and lifestyle would get to her, they've grown into different people in these 10 years of marriage and she doesn't feel the spark or feels valued & seen anymore, so she leaves. He feels confused and betrayed which turns into anger so he doesn’t try to reach out and mend things, and with the way he says they’re estranged and he moves away I think he’s avoiding his family somewhat.

Possible strains on the marriage

Tfw all your daughters are independent and your husband is gone to work almost all the time and he barely even tells you that he loves you, is there even a reason to stay together anymore? Every day it’s just you and an empty house and chores to do, wondering if you have to cook for one or for two today.

Alright it’s analysis and theorizing time! Although there are more facts down in this post if you care about Chilchuck's wife's appearajce, Chilchuck's parents & siblings or the kids, the essential facts so to speak were all in the first part.

We don't see Chilchuck showing any discontent with his wife through the manga so I'm assuming that he was content in his marriage, happy with his wife, and with how he stayed faithful to her even in the 4 years after she left (and never stopped calling her his wife. Which also shows a weird stubborn attitude since he wasn’t planning on reaching out to her and mend things but I’ll put aside the possible entitlement/coping mechanism for another time) I think he truly loved her and still does. Since she left him and not the reverse, I'm putting a lot of emphasis on his wife's side of things. Especially since we do see how Chilchuck is at work quite a bit but never see how he is at home. I’ll be sounding harsh towards Chil on this but he’s pretty much the only party we can criticize since we don’t know her, I still side with Chil on the leaving issue though, he’s justifiably pissed if she left without a word what the hell even.

Alcoholism and health

Chilchuck’s favorite food as listed in the Adventurer’s Bible is beer, and it’s shown that he’s prone to drinking until drunk whenever he gets the opportunity to. A cheerful drunk is still a drunk. (Extra reading: if interested here's a oneshot FMA fanfic by a friend that goes in depth about this very topic that really illustrates what sort of family dynamic that can bring about. It’s not dunmeshi but it’s a good read.) Chilchuck is also canonically underweight, starving himself for a strict weight management diet (Extra reading: you can look at a short compilation post about that here). Did you know under eating makes one irritable? And this is on top of Chilchuck sometimes/regularly coming back home with "horrible injuries", since Marcille guesses it and he acts like she’s dead right on everything that far.

It’s rough seeing someone you love mistreat themselves, not being able to shake them out of that and having to stay to see them wasting away. It’s rough seeing them put their work above their own health. Putting their work even above their family. Putting alcohol over family time. It's not that simple, but there's always that element when asking someone you love to tone it down with things like alcohol or such, that if they refuse, then it feels like they value that thing more than they value your feelings or opinions. That they love alcohol more than they love you.

You know how there’s often this thing of "Well I’m providing everything for this family, so whatever else that I do you don’t get to complain." I do think that it’s something they’d have argued over a little bit, not that he’d say it that way, but the essence of it. "Chilchuck, you’re drinking a lot of alcohol often, I’m worried maybe you should ease up on it." "This is what I want to do in my free time, give me a break.", "Dear, your mood gets worse when you’re hungry, I really think you should stop dieting-" "Would you rather I die in a trap because I was too heavy?", "Honey I don’t like when you work so far away from home for so long" "Well what else can I do, do you have any better idea?". That sort of thing. Even if not being passive agressive or snappy, or even spoken upon, these situations can cause tension, or a feeling of powerlessness or imbalance in the relationship. Although I personally feel like they were both rather passive in their relationship (thus having little arguments), which itself can be a problem since yes they let each other live but they grew more distant and less communicative as a result, more on that later. Content and tolerating, rather than happy and fulfilled.

Workaholism and long distance

Spending a lot (or even a majority?) of time away from home for years and years obviously can strain relationships in many ways. Besides becoming more distant, both with his wife and his daughters, there's just that side that maybe you grow apart or you end up not knowing them all that well. Like the fictional dialogue excerpts I wrote just above, the way Chilchuck puts work above most things can by itself be the source of a lot of unhealthy habits and strains that could not only hurt himself but his relationships too. Devoted doesn’t mean attentive, even if Chilchuck 100% devotes himself to only her romantically and works in the goal to support her that doesn’t transfer into being there for her, even when he physically is.

An absent father isn't necessarily a deadbeat father, but an absent father is absent. And alright, we don’t know what his schedule was like exactly, but he was busy and traveled around, I think it’s fair to assume that if we were to make comparisons it’d be like parents irl who are often on work trips. We don't know what Chilchuck's wife's social circle is like, but regardless of how big or small or supportive it is it would be easy to get lonely I think. Besides raising the kids undoubtedly falling more onto her shoulders as well. Managing a household can be very hard and tiring even when not alone, I can imagine she felt like she missed the support of Chilchuck either as help or comfort oftentimes. We know very little about her, but I don't get the impression that she'd build up resentment over it except maybe her ‘falling into a bad mood’, but exhaustion? Absolutely.

It’s also implied imo, even beyond Chil not often being at home, that they rarely go out together. And that could very well be part of why she was mad after the outing. In Marcille’s theory she says that her wife felt out of place amongst all the cool adventurer coworkers, and if it’s a rare time that they go out together and it was supposed to be about her meeting his coworkers… I feel like what could have happened was that she felt out of place yes, and even moreso if she ended up not participating in conversations much because of it and no one really seemed to care, and the evening was all Chilchuck and his coworkers chatting it up as always and she was an outsider, if she sort of just faded into the background, if it felt like nothing would have changed wether she was there or not... If she felt like her presence didn’t matter on this special outing that rarely happened, it could have been the straw that broke the camel’s back for her to want to leave, definitely. He finally comes back after a long work travel and they finally go out and this is what their quality time is like? The outing that was supposed to be about her & them both ended up being all about him, and once more she was supposed to just orbit around him and his life without complaint or her own selfish wants like a devoted wife. With how Chil said that she got mad "all of a sudden" on the way home and he didn’t know why, plus that he was probably drunk (which may very well have made the whole thing worse), I feel like it supports that he didn’t pay her much attention during the evening, not that I’m assigning him ill intent at all, I’m sure that for him, it was a casual and fun night out and he didn’t think it'd been unpleasant or alienating for her.

That night

And all of this speculation in order to try and figure… What happened? Why did she leave? I've already gone into it a fair bit, but this is where I discuss it fully in depth.

We can’t rely on Marcille’s theory. Neither in the why she felt so out of place enough to want to leave, nor if her intention when leaving was to "test" him. I definitely agree that the reason why she left is layered and that the night/outing was the straw that broke the camel’s back more than the cause perse, but besides that it’s hard to say how much of it was impulsive and how much was because nothing else had worked to fix their relationship, or how long she'd been thinking of maybe leaving him.

Personally my favorite interpretation isn't that she found herself to be boring surrounded with Chilchuck's adventurer coworkers, or her reason for leaving is super centered around insecurity and if Chilchuck even loves her anymore, but that she sees how rich and eventful Chilchuck's life is and at the same time realizes how stagnant her own life has been. Chilchuck has adventurers for coworkers and they go out to bars and spend evenings together chatting it up, while she always does the same house chores every day and waits, and wonders, uncertain about when her huband would come back, and waits some more. She has a sort of passive role in her own life that gets pulled in one way or another by the people around her at their whims and needs, which is also a recurring theme in the manga: having a passive role in your own life, or a role that's devoted to others. Like with Falin who's always following her parents' directives or following Laios around, being the party's healer and eventually sacrificing herself for Laios and Marcille (she also doesn't seem to think much of marriage, as seen with Shuro proposing to her and her not having answered yet, which fits with how she was supposed to have an arranged marriage in her hometown too; a loveless marriage isn't something alarming to her). Izutsumi too, whose whole arc is about her gaining freedom and figuring out how to use this empowerment for herself and what she wants.

So she'd sit there, not knowing anyone except Chilchuck and not being able to follow their conversations about dungeons, and think about how this is a world she's totally apart from. How she knows so little of the world compared to him. She'd realize that while she's always waiting for Chilchuck to come home, dedicated to him and their family, Chilchuck's world doesn't stop and end at where and when he sees her, that while she's waiting he's living and experiencing things and being self-fulfilled. She's so passive and devoted and her tasks seem almost senseless now that the house is empty except for her, and in that time he's formed half-foot unions and she understands so little of what his life has become outside of her sight. This isn't a diss on Chilchuck or his attitude, I just think that it'd make her ponder about happiness and lifestyles, what's worth it and if she's content with her life. I think she'd find that her and Chilchuck aren't on the same page anymore, and probably they don't communicate much or even that they don't know how to communicate with each other anymore.

Other factors

They really do seem to be on different pages and not know how to communicate with each other well, since for example Chilchuck thinks that on the way back home she "suddenly" fell into a bad mood and seemingly left it alone, or otherwise they didn't talk until he knew what was wrong. Or like how she left and Chilchuck never reached out to her to talk or mend things, just like she never reached out either. According to Marcille it could be that she wanted to "test his love" and see if he'd even care if she was gone, but Chilchuck just got angry that she left like that and never reached out to her, so if that's true they definitely have incompatible expectations or ways to deal with things like that. Maybe she thought of leaving as something he should react to by trying to win her back, but Chilchuck did nothing and let her do her thing, and tbh if that were me I'd also have waited on her to reach out because I figure out that if someone leaves me they want space from me idk. He seems to be rather passive when it comes to interpersonal relationships and how they can mess up, made an analysis post here that talks about it, so the way he reacted by not reacting doesn't feel surprising, maybe she didn't know/remember that part of him, or wanted to shake him out of that tendency. He has no clue why she left, and there are just so many misunderstandings here that it's impossible to know what happened and how she felt and what she wanted for the future.

Also, we’re shown that younger Chilchuck, when he started dungeon crawling, is much more "innocent" and optimistic, less closed off on himself and bitter, and maybe he hasn't even developed his famous "sarcastic retorts" and "abusive remarks" yet as is plastered on all his character introductions and stats. Chilchuck has definitely changed a lot over the years, and some would argue not for the better. Staying with someone for so long has implications that they'll change and be different of course, but signing up for marriage with someone can still leave you questioning that choice decades down the line when they're so different

We get to see his freckles fade in sync with his corruption arc /j

Tfw when you can’t recognize the man you fell in love with.

The hair question

Edit 1/13/2024 leak!!!! Things aren’t officially confirmed but this is a safe bet. You can still read this section to see my reasoning to thinking she had black hair prior to this tho haha

It's not all that important rationally, but the community's been split on the topic: is Chilchuck's wife blonde or not?

Kui highlights Chilchuck being attracted to blondes a grand total of three times, and many assume that his wife is blonde due to this. However, the only vision we see of Chilchuck's wife is Marcille imagining herself as a halfling, so it's up for debate! Flertom has black hair, and that's mostly been the key clue that has people arguing.

I'm not an expert in genetics but black hair is a dominant gene, but it also doesn't mean a black haired parent can't have a brown haired kid, or that two brown haired parents can't have a kid with black hair. As long as one of the parents have it in their genetic code from somewhere in their family tree, it's possible, if not maybe unlikely.

People have been taking Flertom having black hair as evidence that Chilchuck's wife has black hair, but it could be Chilchuck that has the gene and could pass it on. Although...

That seems unlikely. We don't know what Chilchuck's elder brother's hair color was, and his elder sister does have a darker brown hair color, but in the case their parents had black hair or the gene for it, it seems highly unlikely if not impossible for the dominant black hair gene to miss this many amount of time in the gene russian roulette game.

And so I shall now call a witness to the stand, and you reader shall be the judge… Dandan.

You know, this guy? He makes appearances throughout the whole manga, but only has one spoken line in an easy to brush over flashback iirc. He's most often seen hanging out around Chilchuck and other half-foots, but it's unsure how far back he and Chilchuck go.

Now. Remember how Chilchuck and his wife are childhood friends? What if, and hear me out, what if Dandan is related to her. A cousin, or a sibling. Or maybe he's Chilchuck's cousin, even, if we go the reverse route.

The chapter cover

Look at the chapter cover below! We see each member of the main party at a table that's meaningful to them and their history, mostly showing themes of family, community and routine. Laios and Falin sharing a meal by themselves, Marcille at a meal in the cafeteria at the magic academy, Senshi by himself cooking in the dungeon, Izutsumi with Inutade at the Nakamoto household, and... Chilchuck, surrounded by much more mysterious and unknown characters and surroundings.

The only face we see besides the infant is a young one on the left which strikes me as looking a ton like Chilchuck! I doubt it's Meijack or Puckpatti, or someone else, especially since Chilchuck left his hometown pretty early which must make family gatherings harder (and routine is implied with the others’ panels). If it were Meijack I think Kui would have drawn it to more closely match her too, and have her usual freckles. I also don't think it's just Chilchuck and his own family, since if that's Chilchuck the only sibling with black hair he could have is his elder brother and the infant in the middle is clearly, well an infant.

My thoughts are that the table is shared with family friends, or at least members of the community. The elderly person implies that either there's extended family or it’s a gathering, especially if Chilchuck's grandparents don't live with them. Community is implied to be very important with half-foots imo, and if Chilchuck is from a small hometown like he says that would surprise me even less. Childhood friends are often brought together as friends because of circumstances, such as proximity or their families being friends! Doesn't that kid almost off-panel on the right, with a Flertom-like hairstyle and black hair, look to be the same age as the Chilchuck on the left? 👀

Also… Notice the dragon plush she’s holding?

Passed down from mom to daughter? The "most likely belonged to his daughters" is interesting too

If he is related, Dandan could be the infant. I suppose he doesn't end up mattering all that much in the end if you theorize that the Flertom-like kid is his wife on its own though haha. But wether or not you think that this is convincing enough, it's all we have on the topic for now.

Ah yes! Lastly, I've seen the sentiment around that his wife should be blonde, that Chilchuck's taste for blondes, if not the thing that brought them together, should be an acquired taste from loving his wife. That if that's not the case, then Chilchuck's type being blondes is either out of place or insuting or unromantic, etc etc. I can't help but disagree! I think, especially with how Chilchuck and his wife are domestic and all about knowing each from a young age, familiarity etc etc, that it would be so sweet if she wasn't his type! Loving someone so deeply, even if they aren't an idealized type... Which is a common theme/story & character beat in Dungeon Meshi.

Family dynamic theories

Meijack is the most capable, takes after her father the most, seems to have her own business as a locksmith but has a stable steady life. Flertom is the most social, she works at a tavern which seems stable and is ambitious with marriage plans, she has a caring side to her since she sent her dad a handmade gift. Puckpatti is the most upbeat, though she has the most unstable lifestyle, seemingly doing odd jobs.

His daughters do seem well adjusted, which encourages me in that their family seems amicable on the whole and (at the very least) decently functional. We don’t hear what they think of Chilchuck but presumably none of them are on bad terms with him or each other. Flertom does say that "half-foot men are stingy" which, gee, I wonder what half-foot man would have made taught her that- though it does also seem to be a racial stereotype in general, with how for example Namari also says to "steer clear from stores with half-foot clerks".

Flertom seems to be the only one who reached out after their mother left (the only one who's mentioned to have done so at least), and it's because she was the one who took in her mother. It’s not implied that they exchange letters regularly too iirc, it possibly was the only letter they've exchanged since then. I wonder if the daughters even know the full story, if their mother told them all about it or very little. Maybe some are pretty out of the loop, or more distant.

It strikes me that they don't seem to be very close. We're not shown anything that leads us to believe they don't like their father, but I think they're so used to him being absent for work that such distance is normal for them and they don't really long for a deeper relationship or to see him often. They were already out of the house and it seems like they didn't see each other much at that time either so for them it would be just a bit less than the regular amount of Dad time. It's been 4 years Chilchuck what are you doing... But yeah! From what we see they seem mostly unaffected, almost indifferent, not that we can truly tell. I imagine Flertom is the one most attached to Chilchuck with how she sent him a handmade cowl, and I think he rubbed off the most on Meijack teachings wise (besides her attitude, she’s also the one who still wears braids, and we see that Chilchuck braids hair). It makes sense, since they're oldest, and on the contrary I think Puckpatti is the one that knows her father the least. It'd fit the timeline with him working away more while she grew up imo.

Wouldn't it be interesting then that she's the one that Chilchuck says is carefree, in the official translation "doesn't treat life real seriously"? That she's the most optimistic, the most go-with-the-flow, out of the bunch? To me that sounds like a result from her being the youngest and Chil being the most often at work, thus her getting raised by her mother without as much involvement from Chil. Far be it from me to say Chilchuck would raise his daughters to be unhappy btw, not at all, we just all know what down-to-earth values he wants others to have so he doesn't have to worry about them.

Although… Puckpatti spotted?? Seems like he wants to stop her from buying something? His heart meter for her is full <3 (Note: I’ve seen it be argued that this could be his wife. I disagree, since the "stop them" and way that the long haired one is off-center compared to everyone else gives the sense that it’s many of his daughters, and the fact that it’s styled after a dating sim doesn’t mean it’s romantic love as we see with the others. Otherwise imagine being her wife and he tells you not to buy stuff when you go shopping together rip)

Headcanons time:

When naming the daughters, together they choose a pool of names they’d like but only one has the final say, and they alternate between who that is. Chilchuck sticks around more near the end of her pregnancies, and he hasn’t missed any of their births. I don’t have any opinions on who named who right now, but there could be some interesting stuff to theorize with Puckpatti, like them taking extra care picking the name together because they settled on her being their last daughter for fluff, or it was supposed to be Chilchuck but he was so busy that he ended up not picking in time and she was the one to name her for angst.

Actually scratch that I have a new theory : What if it’s actually customary for each parent to pick one half of their half-foot kid’s name? So then each would have chosen half of each girl’s name… And this could be why Chil calls Puckpatti Patti instead of Puck which is her first name, because he’s stubborn since Patti was his pick lmaoooo. Pattipuck doesn’t have the same ring to it alas, his wife was so right

Chilchuck liked to do activities with the girls when they were young. He's not opposed to relaxing at home with them perse, but he likes to do workshops with stuff like arts & crafts to develop their agility some. I don't think they'd do much outings to places like restaurants or theatres for money reason, and I don't think Chilchuck is much of an outdoors type, but he could accompany them to nice fields to play in, or in winter places to play in snow and sled, and organize some activities at home. He's not home very often so when he is he likes to take it easy as a break from work and values the time he gets with his family.

Chilchuck would sometimes work from home as a locksmith, say, unlocking a chest for a customer. In those times, Meijack would take interest and watch him work, even handing him the tools he needs as he goes. In this way, Chilchuck taught her a lot about the work of a locksmith over time. He's also the one that would oil door hinges or do renovation around the house- when he's available.

Like the plushies under his table in his home that we see in illustrations, Chilchuck has a lot of mementos from his daughter (and his wife) he keeps around. Sometimes they take a bothersome amount of place, but throwing anything out isn't something he's seriously willing to consider. Flertom's the most artistic and she used to help with sewing clothes back together, so he has a cheap ceramic mug painted by her when she was really young and small embroideries around.

Imo Meijack would be the most distant in the present. Flertom makes efforts for her parents and is pretty involved, and Puckpatti's distance is more out of being a bit airheaded and being busy + not having a great grasp on time or what's a normal amount of family contact, but Meijack's the one who knowingly and intentionally keeps some distance. I think she’d be the least optimistic about their family situation, and although she’d be hopeful when Chilchuck reached out to them again she’d be a but hesitant. I think Meijack would hold some grudges, being the one most critical of their parenting, both grateful to her dad for working so hard for them and saddened that he wasn't in their life more. Since Flertom was born in the same year I think it’s possible that Meijack was pushed aside a bit to take care of the younger baby more, out of necessity rather than lack of love. Her mom probably needed a lot of help around the house too. Flertom wasn’t blind either, and she cared about & noticed her mom’s emotional states, but she’s on the whole more hopeful and forgiving.

This is my most far fetched one but it is a hc after all, but I think it'd be interesting if one of them had food hoarding tendencies/stress. I like to think it's Flertom, because she's the middle child and would get told that her older sister and younger sister are "growing and need the food" so she wouldn't be allowed to take as much refill or such, add that to them not having much money to frivolously spend on food and that makes a kid who's worried about not eating to her hunger and tends to be possessive over food (I'm projecting). Differential treatment is inevitable in families with many siblings, and it can manifest in small or big ways, maybe they realize it maybe they don't. Working in a tavern has helped eased that tendency of her though, and while she does diet a bit she always leaves a meal feeling satisfied.

When they were younger, Flertom was a real firecracker, loud and spirited with some troublemaking tendencies! She was the daughter that got in trouble & got scolded the most. You can still see slivers of it now that she’s an adult, but she’s much more poised and diligent. She has much more acquaintances than friends, but she has a couple of best friends and usually gets along well with most people. Puckpatti was always a bit head in the cloud, very kind if not gullible, and tended to make friends somewhat easily but didn’t keep them for long, preferring to keep meeting new people and not keeping in touch well. She isn’t super talkative but tends to ramble when she does. Meijack is very introverted, she has more trouble making friends, she has a good handful though they don’t meet up often, her friendships tend to last and she’s close to them. She’s grown more confident over the years, less repressed and more quiet. Meijack as the big sister tended to be the listener for her younger sisters who had more social mishaps. Flertom has dated once before and it only cemented to her that she was going to have very high standards from then on.

Meijack wears thigh-high boots because she hates when sand, dirt or snow gets in her shoes. She wears practical clothing but avoids anything frilly or flashy. Puckpatti also dresses practically, but she does enjoy pretty clothes, it’s more out of necessity and due to not having enough money to indulge. Flertom has a social stable job and she loves prettying herself up (especially as she’s in search of a husband) so she’s the one who gets the most and nicest fashionable clothes and accessories.

Chilchuck is hinted to have had a rather dysfunctional family himself (alcoholic father, distant siblings, etc). So he doesn’t really have the best model on how to raise someone and such. I imagine it was a sort of neglectful home situation, where the kids are encouraged to be independent. If they didn’t have to work or help around much, then free range parenting sort of thing. We do see how the family has full and warm feasts, where someone cleans his mouth with a rag, so it’s not like he didn’t have a caring circle or a tragic childhood though! I don’t remember if it’s explicitely stated, but he’s heavily implied to having grown up poor, as most half-foots, and I just think it's the hardened hardworking family type of childhood where just like he does with others they instill somewhat harsh life lessons in him, which in turn encourages him to indulge in the simple pleasures of life like alcohol and sex, or at least women’s beauty and crass jokes. We do see he seems more optimistic when he's younger in flashbacks, so a bunch of his harsh view on the world is still likely learned and earned rather than taught. I still think he inherited many flawed views from how his father acted, like his attitude about excessive drinking not being a big deal and worth it. That work hard play hard, enjoy life die young mentality he has, shown mostly in the "alcohol" section of his Adventurer's Bible profile, could very well be partly a result of the general poverty half-foot communities are that he grew in as well, like how he doesn't hope for things to be as best as they could be and contends with good enough. As far as I remember, his mother is never mentioned, but I doubt it implies she was out of the picture. She was probably a regular sort of mother that took care of the home as well and was still around when his father died. It looks like there’s a good age gap between one sibling to the next, that could be interesting to dig into too.

A part of Chilchuck’s character is that he takes responsibility for safety and actions of people around him and is very often looking out for them to not do faux-pas wether socially or literally with stepping onto traps. The way he says "I’ve got three people to think of here" makes me think that’s also how he’d think about having to provide for his family, and that could be a source of stress and insecurity for him. Caring for others is a pretty integral part of his character and we see time and time again that his family is very important to him, in any case.

Post-canon

This pic has so much to say!! It’s the ‘thank you for reading’ double page spread where they’re going to a big dining table at the castle with Laios and the main gang. First family gathering in 4 years perhaps?! I’ll say, not feeling very hopeful that his wife isn’t in this, not even implied to be just off-panel with a hand or anything… I imagine before this he still talked to them at least a bit and figured their family situation out, but I think this is still in the early stages of reconnecting. Haha imagine being one of them and receiving a letter saying "Hi it’s been a while… I want to introduce you to my ex-coworker the king and his friends, you up for that?" I don’t want to reconsider all my hcs for this yet, but this pic does seemingly show an eagerness from all the daughters to reunite and reconnect! Meijack’s could be seen as more hesitant, but I think it’s just awkwardness from meeting so many new people, of high status no less. Chilchuck does seem awkward and somewhat self-conscious though, and while that could be just from say Marcille and the others meeting his daughters and him not knowing how to act, I think that also shows that Chilchuck is unsure how to act around his daughters too. Can’t blame him, I’d be stressed too. Anyways, the daughters are all dressed up! Puckpatti even brought flowers! And I doubt it’s just for Senshi, or just to be in with the king. Oh also also, Puckpatti chides Meijack here, seemingly on manners?, so that implies new/different family dynamics there~

We know with the succubus chapter that he does plan on reaching out to his wife again and shooting his shot, and when Marcille was dungeon lord he told her she could help think of a plan to make up with her together at which point Marcille showered him in gifts and flowers intended for her and his daughters. So we do know that whatever happens and however it happens, Chilchuck definitely will at least reach out to her to win her back or worse case scenario get closure on the situation.

-

These are his plans before it’s revealed that the Island is… Well, not an island but the golden kingdom, so the news that Laios is king and that might have changed them a bit, but I think he’s still gonna stick around to help with the half-foot guild for a while.

My personal ideal post-canon Chilchuck life is that after around a year or two of helping around in the golden kingdom, especially regarding half-foot working rights, he gets his shop and finally settles down. He prioritized the whole half-foot guild because there are changes to attend to and people to help, but also used that to procrastinate a bit on getting in touch with his wife again. He does send a letter though, and when she replies they then meet face to face. They explain how it was like on their end, their grievances and their feelings, and they do reconcile. But… It’s been 4 years and his wife has frankly moved on. She’d rather they stay as friends, and Chilchuck has mixed feelings on it but is ultimately fine with it. He was halfway resigned to not reconciling with his wife in canon after all. But no longer do they have cut contact! They get together with the girls for the holidays and the ambiance is nice! He starts exchanging letters more regularly. He also gets a second family of clingy asses with Izutsumi and the main gang and so though he lives alone in his shop he’s well surrounded and well loved, and his daughters visit to check up on him every so often.

I really like the… Maturity of Chilchuck’s plotline, if that makes sense? To me the ending that fits the most is him and his wife reconciling, but not getting back together. I like that they could still be adults about it and at least amicable even after divorce, and that that wouldn’t be treated as a tragic ending. In the end, they were childhood friends and teenage parents, they rushed things a bit and I genuinely think they’re just not that compatible. If not then, at least having it be a gradual process, getting back together and making it work until they’re truly comforatble with each other. Destroy the relationship to better build it again stronger!

Although, his arc in the manga is to allow himself to form connections and be optimistic, which would fit well with him and his wife getting back together. I def think Chil would get healthier post-canon which could fix the issues they had in their relationship though. Like for one he starts eating more, which improves mood & irritability & health, and also after the whole half-foot guild he plans to settle down with a shop so it wouldn’t be long distance or unstable anymore which would definitely give his wife some peace of mind. If they still do some long distance at first while he gets the half-foot guild stable, it’d be really cute if he sent pressed flowers with his letters to her… That could make a nice fic concept, like over time all the pressed flowers and exchanged letters hehe (oh shit that’s a nice title)

My post-canon timeline is Chilchuck lives a nice life living alone in his house except his friends all visit him and care and even tho he likes living alone it’s also bittersweet and every corner of his life is haunted by mementos of the ones he loves and the moments he had with them. But then it’s also like the shared duty of everyone to pass by his shop when they can and keep the old man company and sometimes that means many people come at the same time like if both Meijack and Marcille came the same day~ Cozy life, no regrets except a lil regrets still. That’s it that’s all I want.

Misc

I didn’t know where to put this, so new category time! Family truly is a central theme of Chilchuck’s character. His reaction to learning more about how life gets made is so awed by the wonder of the world. Life indeed…

The implication of this page is that Chil didn’t know about the science side of how procreation works, though of course he did know about the practical side of it. This is speculation, and we have no clue how widespread the information of how reproduction scientifically works lol, but I think it’s fair to think that half-foots’ education especially in smaller communities is handled by the parent, school of life style, or if there are schools then the education is very general and it probably ends early. I think this is supported by how for example half-foots’ jobs we’ve seen are based on experience rather than knowledge, like being a locksmith. Of course any job has its fair share of specialized knowledge to learn, but jobs you learn on the fly pretty well. This sort of dynamic contrasts a lot against elves many tallmen communities, like with the magic academy, where education and knowledge are valued almost above experience, this is what the mandrake chapter was all about after all. Poorer communities tend to have poorer education systems as well irl, it’s a whole issue.

So I already said my piece about his wife not being blonde and it being nice and romantic because literally you don’t need someone to be a beauty ideal to love them and that’s fine and normal and even more romantic imo. But!! I do have an headcanon, now that his wife’s appearance is all but explicitly confirmed. While their hair is blonde, yes their hair is wavy and the ‘main’ one has deep-set eyes, not unlike his wife! Now this is a ‘which came first the egg or the chicken’ question, but while most people seem to be assuming that he got with his wife because she was his type, since they’re childhood friends I feel like it’s his love for his wife that shaped his preferences in that deparment. Like ok he loves golden hair and hers is black, but isn’t it so much more romantic that he has so much love and devotion for his wife and has stared lovingly at it so much over the years, that it’d become his ideal? He loves her eyes <3

Conclusion

Reminder that I’ve got more stuff in a reblog addition now. What I've got left to add at some point:

Compile more info on Chilchuck's father and his other family

Reread the manga and catch details like exchanged letters & his work schedule. Reword some things to repeat myself less maybe

A buddy is planning to make a name analysis post for everyone, and I might have more to say especially about the daughters once I know what possible meaning their names have

Other stuff I may be forgetting about

And thus I leave you with a lil web weaving I made about Chil & his wife’s relationship~ And this is where I’d put panels of Chilchuck’s wife… IF THERE WERE ANY

Should we call Chilchuck's wife Mrs. Tims... We don't know dunmeshi marrital traditions though, and half-foot already have somewhat complex naming conventions... I hate that we don't really know if the daughters' last names are Chils or Chilz. Oh yeah the last names change each generation, that’s odd right? But in english it sounds like saying Chil’s, like, [father]’s, so I think this also supports how half-foots communities tend to be tightly knit and live in the present, for them to be like "Ooh so you’re [father]’s little one eh? I know who that is and this is insightful as to who your family is to me!". Iceland’s a place where last names are like this, though I don’t know about pros and cons of it in that context

Ah and I have a bittersweet spotify playlist about her and Chil too, here if ya want. That’s it the post is over

#dungeon meshi #dungeon meshi manga spoilers #spoilers #chilchuck tims #delicious in dungeon #chilchuck's wife #chilchuck’s family #Tims family #puckpatti #meijack #flertom #Analysis #Meta #Despite my best tries I am not omnipresent it's always fun when piecing together these topics is a community effort!! #please do build upon this if you have anything to add #but yeah editing is up in the air. I'll probably be adding stuff maybe even cutting stuff out #this is a giant post i am slightly overwhelmed #Kui puts so much importance in details it's incredible. It truly feels worthwhile to get into the weeds #We support chilchuck’s wife on this blog #I covered how stressful her life could have been a bit in my Grind Me Down Sweetly fic funnily enough if ya want to give it a read. It has #Daughters mentions too hehe. And my post-canon marchil take #Oh also if there’s already theory and compilation posts out there about this i’m down to link them in or smth. I haven’t seen it done but #If it’s been then i’m very interested in reading & seeing #Apparently chilchuck being an absent dad is a heated debated topic. Oops #Pls do not murder me… Peace and love in the dungeon meshi fandom? He’s my second fave have mercy on this humble stan #This is 7k words btw. Pls do pick and choose what you’re interested in or skim or take breaks or anything

[macadam]

Transformers prime was on a whole other level of character design. Not only was distinctive silhouettes something they actually put a lot of care into (a rare quality of transformers media) but they also went as far as to design different eye styles for every autobot. And they are all stunning. The way they used the classic cartoon pupil expansion/dilation trick on robot eyes by copying the movement of a camera shutter... You can get so much extra expression in there without losing any of the realistic robotic details.

#transformers prime #tfp #transformers #maccadam #Mac mumbles #you guys have no idea how much I cut this ramble down #so much of it was me repeating the same sentence using different words anfdoisabo

[hawkeyeslaughter]

by far my stupidest mash headcanon is that whenever after!mash hawktrap meet someone and they ask how they met they explain and then hawkeye gets to the part where trapper leaves and embellishes the hell out of it ,, he’s like “ he left without leaving a note ,, i thought i was never gonna see him again … “ he does this bit every single time and trapper hates it .

#hawkeye : of course you have to cut him some slack .. it’s hard for someone who can’t write #trapper : well i just had so much poetry in my heart it would’ve been hard to condense it into little words for you #one time hawkeye brings it up and trapper’s so sick of it he sits down and scribbles out a note and all it says is : #‘ here’s your note : shut up ‘ #hawkeye hangs it on the wall #m*a*s*h #mash #mashposting #mash 4077 #mashblr #hawkeye pierce #hawkeye #trapper john mcintyre #trapper john #john mcintyre #trapper mcintyre #hawktrap #traphawk #piercintyre #piercentyre #lgbt #lgbtq

[guardian-angle22]

Brian Michael Smith speaks at the 2022 HRC Las Vegas Dinner

#brian michael smith #911 lone star cast #pride month #trans pride #trans rights are human rights #I just fuckin' love this man #I butchered this part of the speech down a bit to fit in a set so give the whole video a watch honestly if you never have #(even cutting it down the gifs are still a bit wordy but idec cause the words are fuckin important ok) #my gifs #trans

[palmofafreezinghand]

requesting an angsty one shot if you feel up to writing it? :)

thank you for the prompt!

content warnings: discussions of infant death and grief

on ao3 here.

March, 1921. 

Carlisle sped down the old logging road, the mechanical hum of a finely tuned European engine blending with the whistled ‘fee-bee’ of the chickadees greeting the first buds of Spring. His arm hung out the window as he drove, the not-quite-warm air causing his sleeve to flap in the wind. He paid no mind to the shine of his skin under the morning sun. 

After a harrowing winter, the first buds of Spring were more than welcome. It appeared, his tide was finally turning. Or so he thought. 

“She is in a mood,” Edward whispered pointedly, appearing at Carlisle’s window the minute his tires hit the driveway. 

In a second Carlisle’s thoughts took a harsh turn to concern. The newest member of their household had not had an enviable introduction to their way of life, one haunted by desperation and grief, but as of late, she had improved. Smiles graced her face more frequently, a laugh echoed off the walls at least once a day, she had accepted the hand she was dealt with grace. At least he thought she had. Their tide was finally turning, right? 

“Carlisle, leave her alone,” Edward whispered through clenched teeth, yanking the car door open. He barely waited for Carlisle to get out of the car before he threw himself into the driver’s seat. “This is all your fault,” the boy hissed as he slammed the car in reverse. 

The winter — and all it brought — had been hard for them all. It was all his fault. 

Despite this knowledge, Carlisle did not heed Edward’s advice, he rarely did. Instead, he quickly found her in the garden. 

“Good morning,” he smiled, the rotting garden gate creaking as it swung open. 

“Hello,” she said, barely louder than the crunch of a pine needle under a hare’s foot half a mile South. 

She sat under a just-beginning-to-flower red maple tree. Her knees tucked to her chest, frizzy hair pinned on top of her head haphazardly, the circles under her eyes darker than he had ever seen them. Her gaze was fixed on a mound in one of the old garden beds, a single white flower peeking out of the melting snow. 

“Are you well?” 

She shrugged, which he learned to interpret as a half-hearted yes, but did not volunteer any elaboration. 

He took a seat next to her, without another word, as he had many times before. Vulnerability was not a natural state for Esme Anne Platt — Esme Anne a married name he had yet to find out but desperately wanted to know. 

If forced to guess he would say a half hour went by before she spoke.

“Snowdrop,” she said. Somehow her voice sounded as if she had been sobbing, however impossible that was. 

“Pardon?” 

“The flower,” she gestured weakly with her head, “is called a Snowdrop. They were originally imported from Europe, someone must have planted them nearby.” 

“Intriguing.” 

“It is often considered medicinal. People crush the bulb to treat pain. Ironic, is it not?” She scoffed. 

He did not grasp her meaning at first until he followed her gaze. A beautiful painkiller growing from a double grave. 

“This is where you buried them, is it not?” She asked when he did not respond. 

He considered lying, ever since meeting her he was getting more comfortable with falsehoods. In two months he had lied more than in the rest of his life. This was not one of those times. 

“How did you know?” 

“The smell,” she said matter-of-factly, in a way that made his stomach twist. He had buried the bodies fifteen feet deep in an attempt to hide the grave from her, save her the torment of a constant reminder. The scent of rotting flesh — noticeable only by the newborn with heightened senses — was not a factor he accounted for. 

The mother and son who lay under the garden bed, had been walking along the shore and had the misfortune of running into a bloodthirsty grief-stricken confused vampire. The bodies lay cold at her blood-covered feet a week after her own son had lost his life. The six-year-old boy was first, Edward had theorized the mother was partly out of instinct, and largely out of pity. 

Besides his mother’s, they were the first deaths Carlisle considered himself responsible for. 

As soon as she realized what she had done, Esme was horrified, rightfully. She pleaded with Edward and Carlisle to give the two a proper burial. 

The garden was the easiest place, somewhere no one would find them. 

Her remorse was palpable. Every silent day that went by felt like a noose tightening. The image of her greedily drinking from the neck of a child was one that haunted him every time he looked at her. 

He was no longer capable of seeing Esme as the woman she was, but was instead the many versions of herself she once was. A bright tree climber with big dreams and a charming laugh, an almost-corpse with a broken spine and delicious blood, a murderer with an enticing smile. 

He was the one who had turned her into this. 

“It was not your fault—” 

“Stop,” she interrupted him. For months he had insisted the deaths were not her fault, he should have had a better grip and used more restraint, he was the one who forced her into this life it was his responsibility to shepherd her through the challenges. She was not to blame. 

She refused to hear a word of it, he had yet to realize this was because she knew he did not believe the lies he peddled. 

His next words were weighed carefully, balanced against the slicing warning Edward had given. Carlisle could not imagine the thoughts that had driven him to such anger. He could not imagine half of the woman’s thoughts, still largely oblivious to the horrors that occurred in the ten years since they met. 

“Is this,” he motioned to the flower, and grave, “the only thing on your mind?” 

He presumed it was not. While, Esme had grieved the lives she took a shocking — quite concerning — amount, she had not mentioned the two strangers in over a month. When he had left her, a mere thirteen hours prior, she had seemed closer to her old, blissful sixteen-year-old, self than ever before. 

She sighed, her eyes closing, her forehead falling on her knees, attention finally pulled from the grave. “Everything is on my mind,” she laughed humorlessly. 

He did not probe further, despite every instinct telling him to be ask a dozen more questions. If he had been able to be objective about the situation, his overwhelming curiosity when it came to the subject of Esme would have been a cause of concern but he was doomed to be the last person to realize. 

“May I speak freely?” She asked, pulling her face off her knees and stretching her legs out in front of her. 

“Please.” 

She sucked in a breath, watching as a crow landed on the garden fence. “I feel as if I have lost the right to grieve,” she said carefully as if dipping a toe in the water to test the temperature. “I miss my son more than words can say, but I feel as if that is selfish.” 

“I can not fathom a world where grief is possibly considered vain.”

“I took the life of someone else’s son. I feel overwhelming guilt every time I have the gall to miss mine. It feels like retribution in a way, I will have to live with this pain for the rest of time.” 

She was not finished, he knew this and thus did not say a word but let his left hand fall to lightly touch her knee, a movement that could be construed as natural or not. Her hand hovered over his for a half second, before squeezing his hand and releasing. He let his hand fall to the ground. 

“Every time I feel the smallest bit of joy, I feel as if a boulder has been dropped on my chest. How can I dare be happy when he never will be? How can I stand to walk another day when I caused someone else this pain? I do not deserve the life you have given me, the safety, the peace, the contentment.” 

“Esme —” 

“I know I have been direful company as of late. I am, as difficult as it is, grateful for all you have done for me.” 

“Esme, you have absolutely nothing to apologize for. You have accepted this life with more grace than Edward or I did. I am the one who ought to be apologizing.” 

“I do not deserve your kindness.” 

“You do. You deserve a marvelous life.” 

She scoffed, his reassurances running off like water on a duck. “I appreciate the sentiment, however untrue it is.” 

“Your son would want his mother to find happiness. You are a loving mother, and a wonderful person, Esme.” 

She bit her bottom lip hard, eyes darting across the garden, looking as if she was on the precipice of tears. “You do not know that, you do not know me. If you knew what I have done…” She trailed off, swallowing hard, letting out a shaky breath. 

He could not fathom whatever occurred in the years they were strangers that she considered worse than a double homicide. Although, he paid more mind to the hurt caused by her accusation. ‘You do not know me.’ Why did this insult him so? 

“I did not look,” she said, turning to look him in the eye. The contact lasted only a brief second before her attention was turned back to the flower. “When he…” she gulped, “died. That is the first time I have used that word. Died. I did not look. I was holding him to my chest.” Her right hand instinctively lingered over her chest, rounding as if cradling a newborn’s head. “He was coughing so hard, I was too scared to watch. He could not see me. Did he know I was there? Did he think he was alone?” 

“Esme-” 

“I don’t even know what happened to him,” she said almost in disbelief. “The doctor pried him out of my hands after a while, I loathed that man. The nurse told me to go home and I did. I left him there all alone. 

“Es-” 

“He thought he was alone, unloved, in his last moments, and then I left him,” she scoffed. “What kind of moth– person does that?” 

Silence filled the garden. He let the words weigh down the air, like a fishing weight to the bottom of a pond. 

“My mother died the day I was born,” he said quietly. He had told her this before, ten years prior, and again as a footnote in his life story but never with the weight it deserved. 

Esme nodded in recognition she had heard the story before, he continued. 

“I know she loved me. I have no evidence of the fact, besides my existence, and I was surely never told. Yet, I believe it wholeheartedly.” 

“She did. She had to.” 

“Why would your son be any different?” He smiled weakly. “He knows, Esme. The only life he knew on this Earth was in the arms of his mother, warm and unconditionally loving. I say this not as someone who cares for you but as someone’s son, he knows. I know your faith has been shaken, but I have enough for both of us. He knows. As a doctor, there is nothing you could have done differently. This is guilt you can not carry any longer. And, as someone who would like to think of themselves as your friend, please permit yourself to enjoy the life your son was denied. You are not a lesser mother for doing so.” 

“Thank you,” she said quietly, mindlessly picking at her cuticles. 

At some point in their conversation, it had begun to rain, a bone-chilling rain, only a degree or two away from freezing. 

They sat in silence for a few minutes before Carlisle could no longer stand the not technically harmful, but certainly unpleasant, downpour. “Is there any chance I could persuade you to come inside?” He asked, slowly standing, attempting to brush debris off his pants.

She nodded and took the unnecessary hand he offered to help her stand. Once she stood on two feet, neither of them dropped the other’s hand for a beat longer than excusable, their eyes met and released their grip in unison. 

He held the garden gate open for her, she gave him a nod of thanks, she walked a step and a half ahead, he tried to appear casual as he quickened his pace to keep up. 

“Your hair curls when it’s wet,” Carlisle observed as they walked down the makeshift forest path. He had washed her hair during her transition, but he was less concerned about the texture and more focused on scrubbing out bone fragments and brain matter. 

“Unfortunately,” she sighed, reaching to tuck the stray lock of hair back into the style. 

“Unfortunately?” 

“It manages to get tangled if I look at it wrong,” she laughed lightly. “I used to straighten it with a clothing iron, but now I have to keep it pinned back.” 

“It knots now?” He asked, their hair was one of the features least affected by venom but was still changed in the transition. 

She paused and considered this question. “I have never worn it down since I… changed. Do you think it might not?” 

“If I had to guess I would say no, although it may be best to wear it up while hunting.” 

“My son’s hair was curly. It was very light,” she smiled to herself. 

“Your husband was blonde?” He asked before he could think better of it.

She had offered very little information about her late husband. Carlisle knew he was dead, he had served in the war, they had married when Esme was in her early twenties, and Edward had told him to never, under any circumstance, bring up the man. Although, she had just accused him of not knowing her. How would he ever learn more? 

“No, my husband’s hair was dark as coal, his eyes too. I have never seen eyes as black as his. Imagine my surprise when I gave birth to a blonde, blue-eyed baby.” 

Her tone was remarkably distant, she did not speak of her late husband with the obvious love and care as she did her son, the smell of freshly baked goods, or lying under the afternoon sun. She did not seem to be grieving, or even mildly upset the topic was broached. 

“He was beautiful. I know every mother says that, but he was.” 

“I wish I could have met him,” Carlisle said. It was more familiarity than he had ever assumed, but it was an earnest sentiment. 

“Me too.” 

The rest of their walk was no more than three minutes, the silence between them comfortable now. They walked closer than necessary. He held the front door open for her, she gave him a grateful smile. 

He turned towards the staircase, presuming her silence meant she wished for a moment alone as much as he wished for dry clothes. 

Her voice stopped him. “May I ask you one last question?” 

“Was that not a question?” He grinned, turning to face her, he was greeted by a sliver of a smile. 

“I know I do not want to know the answer, but I need to know. What is the hospital’s arrangement for dealing with… bodies?” She gulped again. “I did not have any family nearby, no one would have known…” she trailed off, but the question she refused to ask was clear. 

Edward and Carlisle had spent weeks dealing with the public aftermath of Esme’s death. While new to the community she had been a notable member of the small logging town’s teaching staff, and had been a quite beloved roommate to an old widow. The two had sworn to keep the details of their efforts to themselves. Perhaps, their policy could be bent, just once. 

“Your son is buried in Washburn. He has a modest headstone… next to yours.” 

Her brow furrowed, her head tilting to the side. “How? Who? The hospital?” 

“Do you recall the woman you lived with?” 

“Vaguely,” she sighed. The loss of memories seemed to be one of the effects of immortality she found most disturbing. “Her name started with a D.” 

“Adeline Parker,” he offered. 

“Della! She went by Della, she thought Adeline was too posh,” Esme smiled fondly. She had a dimple on her left cheek and a remarkably nice smile, one he knew he would be trying harder to catch a glimpse of soon. 

“She came to the hospital, a few days after the two of you… passed. You had not returned, she was concerned. Fortunately, I was working that evening and was able to piece together the connection. I relayed the ne—” 

“How did she receive the news?” 

He considered this for a moment. Esme was already vulnerable. Would telling her about the older woman’s sobs that sounded as if she had lost a child herself give Esme closure or grief? 

“As well as she could. She arranged the burials, and I offered to help arrange assistance from a local charity.” 

“He has a headstone?” 

“Yes, Adeline picked most of the design.” 

“She could not afford a headstone.” 

“I may have contributed, under the guise of a charity.” 

“You did that for me?” She asked incredulously. 

“Of course, Esme. It was the least I could do,” he said sincerely. 

She did not say a word but instead launched her arms around his waist, squeezing tightly. Once he processed she was giving him a hug — one of the first of his life —  he moved one hand to rest on the back of her head and the other on her back. It was entirely improper but neither could muster the energy to mind. 

“Thank you, Carlisle,” she muttered. 

#esme platt #carlisle cullen #esme's son #my stories #thank you for the prompt turns out i was really in the mood to write angst since this is like 3k words and the cut down version lol

[bleue-flora]

Ok sooo, I can’t stop thinking about the line from this post [here] by @swordfright , “Sam is a builder and dream is the ultimate engineering project: challenging (psychologically taxing to guard), important (to the stability of the server), rewarding (on those sporadic occasions when dream obeys him without question), and ceaseless (because the ideal prisoner always needs a warden to keep them in line.)” Because the idea that Dream is Sam’s “ultimate engineering project” really got me thinking about the definition of the duties of an engineer as per the Code of Ethics, which I studied in college.

As an engineer it is basically our responsibility to maintain sustainable development, which The National Society of Professional Engineers (NSPE) defines [here] in the Code of Ethics as, “meeting human needs for natural resources, industrial products, energy, food, transportation, shelter, and effective waste management while conserving and protecting environmental quality and the natural resource base essential for future development.” Even further, as a civil engineer (which I am and Sam is as a primary builder) it is our job to help provide the infrastructure and necessities to life, (shelter, water and by extension food +) with civil engineering encompassing the engineering fields of Structural (bridges, buildings, dams… etc), Utilities (power, gas, water, waste water… etc), Geotechnical (analyze and maintain that the ground can support projects), Environmental (protecting the stability of the environment like for example protecting the habitat of an endangered species), Transportation (roads for cars, train tracks, airplane runways… etc). Pretty much the necessities of civilization (lol hence civil). And I found this interesting because it is Sam’s job as the warden to provide the fundamental and basic necessities of Dream’s life in every way. So, in this way Dream would actually be the society Sam’s engineering is meant to benefit from and depends on (which he obviously denies and uses to abuse.)

But on the other side, interestingly a 2004 definition, [found here] of civil engineering based on Thomas Tredgold’s 1828 original is, “the art of working with the great sources of power in nature for the use and benefit of society”. And oh, the use of power here could very well be a good representation of Dream, making him actually the engineering project. Further, The NSPE Code of Ethics states, “Engineering has a direct and vital impact on the quality of life for all people. Accordingly, the services provided by engineers require honesty, impartiality, fairness, and equity, and must be dedicated to the protection of the public health, safety, and welfare.” In this sense, Sam’s position as the warden was dedicated to the protection of the public health, safety, and welfare, which by keeping Dream locked up, weakening him physically and mentally he was in essence trying to protect the server as well as working to strip the sources of power Dream had over everyone. And when his methods didn’t work, he let Quackity in, which funnily enough goes along with one of the The Institute of Industrial and Systems Engineers (IISS)’s summarizing stated [here] fundamental canons, “Engineers shall perform services only in the areas of their competence.” And clearly Sam was not competent in getting the book from Dream, so he teams up with Quackity, his contractor, to finish the project as is typical in the engineering industry.

All this to say, that Sam as an engineer, while not sworn to follow a defined of code ethics still followed the general defined duties of engineering and strived to work for the betterment of the server. A personality and behavior, that Dream saw in him as they grew as friends and worked to build the prison - Sam’s passion for helping, to provide for and develop the necessities of society. His passion for wanting to use his skills to improve the world and help people. His strong principles of dependability, efficiency, justice, work ethic. If Sam was given a job to help people he was going to see it through to the best of his ability. He would not abandon his post, he would protect and serve the common good. - His strong engineering attitude made him a good choice in Dream’s mind for the warden, because of these qualities, which makes sense. What Dream did not realize is that he was not included in the society and all people Sam felt obligated to serve and provide for.

Instead, Dream was but a resource of power - the revival book - needing to be made efficient and accessible, so that everyone could benefit and share that power. Dream thought he’d be provided for and taken care of, but he was the project instead. Sam’s “ultimate engineering project” he deemed too damaged like a bumpy road or crumbling building that wasn’t worthy of patching and filling in the cracks or reinforcing, that’s too eroded to be fixed and preserved. So, Sam strived to tear him down to the bedrock so he could remake, remold, and reengineer Dream according to his design for the common safety, public health and well-fair. He was such a good engineer just like Dream knew he would be, he just forgot the whole teeny weeny ethics part of being an engineer that kind of comes with the job description… Oh well. ;)

#poor dream depending on his engineer to keep him safe and being let down in the biggest of ways #he ran from a war to a building and trusted it to keep him safe but it collapsed instead destroying him….. #did I make sense…. I’m not sure I got my thoughts across.. #hmm oh well words are hard sometimes… #c!dream #dsmp #dreblr #dream smp #pandora's vault #dsmp analysis #c!sam #c!sam and c!dream #this is fine #did someone order an essay? #welll… blame swordfright for giving me brain rot… lol XD #pandora’s vault has a singular purpose #probably gave you way more engineering info than you wanted but… of well lol <3 :) #oh sam… never ceases to break my heart… #sam the most unethical engineer and he didn’t even steal more from the government #or bribe or cut corners he just straight up neglected the fact that all people includes all people…

[gigamuffin]

[The Villains] [Landlubbers] [Media links]

You may recognize the name Kaptein Sabeltann in some of my posts and may have wondered "Hey who is that totally sick and awesome pirate?" Well here's a (mostly objective and unbiased) introduction to our main crew!

Kaptein Sabeltann (Captain Sabertooth) himself is the most feared and revered pirate of the seven seas and the self-proclaimed king of the sea. He is known for his love of gold and the ability to literally smell it + the catchphrase of the show "Hiv o' Hoi". He is a stubborn, decisive pirate who expects everything to follow his way. There is a rumour that Kaptein Sabeltann has sailed the seven seas for a hundred years, but this is often dismissed as scared landlubber tales.

Kaptein Sabeltann sails onboard Den sorte dame (the dark lady) with his crew: Langemann, Pelle, Pysa, Benjamin, Skalken and a young cabin boy Pinky. They reside in a port called Abra Havn, hidden away on an island surrounded by fog and through a narrow passageway only Langemann knows how to get Den sorte dame through. This place is called “Det usynlige land" (the invisible land)

Den sorte dame (the dark lady). Fun fact her skull actually opens and closes it's mouth, and if you don't think that's cool you're not real. They sail her around for the show at night and in the daytime, she is free to ride in the park itself!

Let's talk about Kaptein Sabeltann's first mate and right-hand man: Langemann (Longfinger) (pictured on the left). He is Kaptein Sabeltann's most trusted man and helps keep the crew and sometimes the captain himself in check. He is the only other person with free access to Kaptein Sabeltann's castle. Langemann is known as "Sabeltann's shadow" because "Where Langemann is Kaptein Sabeltann is close by."

Langemann is very serious about his job and makes sure the usually incompetent crew actually does their duty. But off duty, he knows how to joke, flirt, sing and just be an average guy, which is something he uses to his advantage to spy on landlubbers (one of his main jobs is to fool them for information on treasures). Langemann is Pinky's father figure, and behaves very much like dad in general.

And this is Pinky (Tiny, pretend his english name isn’t real), he's technically our main protagonist and has the overarching plot of the show. Pinky was found on a shipwreck as a baby by Kaptein Sabeltann and his crew (but mostly by Langemann). He grew up in Abra Havn amongst pirates and dreamed of becoming the world's youngest pirate, which is something Kaptein Sabeltann scoffs at. Kaptein Sabeltann only sees Pinky as "the kid that Langemann picked up in that shipwreck" and doesn't take his wishes to become a "real pirate" seriously at all. Langemann on the other hand does try to encourage him to become a pirate someday. He is currently 11 years old in canon. After he realizes he doesn't want to be a pirate anymore he dreams of finding his biological dad, Morgan, instead. This is his overarching plot of the show.

Langemann used to be close friends with Pinky's biological dad Morgan and raises Pinky assuming Morgan is dead. Pinky lives at Langemann's house and often follows him around when he's in Abra Havn. Pinky looks up to both Langemann and Kaptein Sabeltann a lot growing up. Pinky is valued for his ability to read but other than that he is just a cabin boy in Kaptein Sabeltann's eyes.

Now we can move on to the other crew members.

Pelle and Pysa (Wally and Wimp) are twin brothers and huge mama's boys. They can't read, write or count, which is often the butt of some joke. Pelle (Wally) sees himself as the "older brother" of the two, despite being only a few minutes older. He is often very bossy and mean to his brother Pysa. Pysa (Wimp) as his name implies is more of a coward. Other than that they are very similar. They are the stereotypical stooges, comedic reliefs, and love food, especially their mother's cooking. They are always bickering and even have a whole song dedicated to just that.

This is Benjamin (no yeah he's Benjamin in english too we're blessed), he is lazy first and foremost, and boisterous. He usually tricks Pelle and Pysa into doing his job for him. Despite doing very little he often brags about being one of Kaptein Sabeltann's most famous and talented crew members. He often twists words or cracks jokes (often referencing things from modern day, aimed at the adults in the audience) that annoys Kaptein Sabeltann and the crew. He very much prioritizes fun and jokes over doing his job and being serious. If Pelle and Pysa are the physical comedy he is the verbal comedy. Benjamin also has the best eyesight of the crew and is often stationed at the crow's nest.

Finally there is Skalken (Tully, his name actually translates to crust)...... Skalken is the ship's cook, and just by looking at him you can guess he isn't very good at it. Skalken only cooks food that makes the rest of the crew squeamish. He is often on the hunt for rats and cockroaches to put in his "famous" rat soup. According to him, rats and cockroaches are nutritious meals and a necessity to pirates. Despite everyone verbally and physically hating his cooking he just laughs and goes on believing he is a first class gourmet chef. He is our gross-out humour guy. Skalken, like Benjamin, often makes jokes that go over kids' heads, only Skalken has the ability to break the 4th wall.

And that's the main crew of Den sorte dame! I plan on writing another post for the villains, the side characters and the shows themselves in the near future. I will also have a short post with links to some of the media up soon. See you then!

#kaptein sabeltann #its just short of 1K words #and it used to be more than 1000 words trust me i this is the cut down version #and i have still more to write about kaptein sabeltann. so you reading liking maybe even reblogging this means a lot<3 #look a talking muffin

[oatbugs]

Jack Marsh (2005), Friendship Otherwise - Toward a Levinasian Description of Personal Friendship

#saw carnation lily lily rose by john singer seargent irl today. it was basically at my doorstep all along idk why i never went to see it #it was placed at a corner in the gallery. me and my friend sat down and sketched the paintings of beautiful naked people quite badly. paper #provided by tate britain. she told me about how she couldnt look her boyfriend in the face after a harrowing film about war. when i say the #interview was informal i mean the person who was supposed to be my boss told me let me get you a cider and then he said after #50 years of life he knows people are inherently good and it only takes a little bit of kindness to save this world. he said he tricked #his wife into keeping the baby and then he said he quit his job at a US bank to help people find meaning and in it #he would have liked to find meaning. instead he started climbing with his friends. he said he chews his cigarettes because its a habit from #when he had to hide things from people. the entire time i felt uncomfortable and incredibly enlightened. this is my friends mentor. she has #his pattern of pauses and expletive and penchant for ends-justify-means attitude. i do think im not very clever #but maybe one day i will love you enough to make up for it. i wrote code i dont understand staring at the final error i thought about how #we both thought of how when we're too old to remember the voices of our friends we would like to stand in the pathway of the LHC beam pipe #cut it open and eat light in the freezing cold vacuum (kills you long before radiation will) the invisible puncture wound unfolding dna #back to the start larger than you ever were. you go to heaven once youve been to hell. my friend is in my bed #practicing calculations of eigenvectors by hand and she is uninterested in a visual proof you are uninterested in incompetence #we catch a train this is your kind of burden you tragic hero wincing at that word you only do this because you have to. im the only one #who can. i am a coward in this for the fucking poetry. the visual proofs. the pretty numbers. an architect who was horrible at maths wanted #to be a philosopher and accidentally ended up neck in deep in 70th Error On Visual Studio Code i want to kiss your eyes before we say #goodbye we both know there is no love in the way there should be. I still have your dress in my wardrobe. i hope you make art. #you think im alright head-wise i think you fucking hate me i think ill never be so clever you want me to tell you my idea? #if you wanted more of this world i would have liked to kiss you harder. we cant both be like this. im sorry i cant be with you the whole wa #the love is gone if you have to ask it. his breath catches his eyes feel stiff it is -1.9 kelvin he is near the beam pipe i miss holding #his hand i miss her singing voice i miss his hair and i found the antonym of pain thank you for carrying me home.

[normal-person-i-promise]

Bad Apple

chapter two

Nightmare's tentacles gently close the doors as he makes his way to you, steps confident, hands behind his back.

When he reaches for you, he tilts your head up to meet his eyes and presses his white teeth to your forehead, dripping the black sludge all over you. The rumbling starts anew from within his hollow ribcage, the warm sound loud enough to echo through yours. He brushes a hand down the side of your face, tender and loving, before he pulls you into a crushing hug, tentacles encircling you, pressing the air — and your cries — out of your lungs.

Petting your hair, he says, "You have no idea how much I've missed you, my love."

that scene inspired by that one drawing by itsxroxxanex. you know the one

same ao3 link btw

dreamtale belongs to jokublog, killer sans belongs to rahafwabas

× × ×

When you wake up, it's wet. Wet and cold.

You don't quite remember falling asleep on something with this kind of consistency, this chill that sent shivers down to your bones.

Though your eyes were still firmly shut, clinging to the last bits of sleep, you could feel... Things coiling around your body, the very same wet and cold being present on them. Everything was wet and cold.

It was uncomfortable, to say the least.

There's a deep, gentle rumbling from behind you, resonating through your body as you languidly blink open your sleepy eyes, and—

Where are you?! It was beautiful, yes, but—

"Finally awake, doll?" Nightmare's low tone fills the room you lie in, his voice reverberating through your ribcage from where your back was pressed up against him.

You'd nearly forgotten about him.

Your eyes flicker down to your body where his tentacles caressed your skin, entwining themselves in your limbs, securing yours to his. Preventing you from leaving. You instinctively struggle — though in vain — as the jet-black tentacles flex, elongating as they bind you to Nightmare.

"Leaving so soon, love?" You feel him press a bony cheek to the top of your head, nuzzling it into your hair, making the rumbling grow even louder — growing in tandem with your mounting discomfort.

You freeze when you feel his sharp, pitch-black hands caress your arms, feeling every inch of the skin on them as he brings the black phalanges up and down them in a slow, rhythmic motion. Every once in a while, he'd pause to trace small circles on your skin, leaving trails of black, viscous muck in their wake.

You nearly vomit.

The smell was horrible, a disgusting blend of food gone bad and rotting carcasses. It smelt wrong, like it shouldn't be in this state, and that it should smell pleasant and sweet — like how he used to, before...

You attempt to get away again as your limbs twist and turn against their black bonds, but the movements only make Nightmare tighten them. He breathes a sigh, your struggling doing nothing but increasing his sick pleasure.

You stop for a moment — heaving from your futile attempts at freedom — when you feel his sharp fingers gently rake through your hair, pressing strands of it to his nose every once in a while to breathe in your sweet scent, taking in slow breaths one after another.

He tenderly brings the back of his hand down the side of your face, contentedly sighing and shutting his eye as you squirm in his grasp.

He sits there for the longest time, unmoving — and when your muscles grow numb and your limbs feel heavy from struggling, Nightmare grins, the thin smile characteristically splitting his face nearly in half as his eye narrows in contentedness, not unlike the crescent moon.

You're tired now.

You feel him pressing his teeth affectionately against the back of your head, like a kiss, as the tentacles loosen, and— He's spun you around so that you're facing him, kneeling in his sharp, bony lap, your faces inches apart. The tentacles promptly tighten around you as soon as Nightmare moves, squelching and dripping as they coil around your body.

You look at him for only a moment, though it was all you needed.

There's a look of mania in his eye, blown wide — a sadistic sort of love that could only be satisfied by painful screams and tearful eyes.

By suffering.

You pointedly avoid Nightmare's piercing gaze as your eyes look everywhere but him, heaving heavy breaths as you press a hand to your mouth the keep the bile inside you.

He grips your shoulders tightly, leaving small indentations on the surface of your skin where his sharp fingertips lay as he stares into you, practically looking through you, his teal eye light a soulless imitation of a beating SOUL as it glowed like the moon on a dark summer's night. He stares at you for what feels like an eternity, shakily breathing as his whole body shudders to accommodate the slow, laborious breaths he took one after another.

That gentle rumbling grows even louder, impossibly so, just about shaking the bed you both lay on.

Sitting like this feels even worse than just now, what with Nightmare's fingertips digging into you and all eight of his limbs wrapped securely around you, making it hard to breathe.

...

Alright.

You're going to push against him, free yourself, and jump out of that window you saw.

Again.

After all, how high could you possibly be?

You take in a breath before you shove him away, freeing yourself from his surprisingly limp grasp and bolting for the window, adrenaline once again nulling the pain of your aching limbs and broken leg.

Pushing open the great panes of glass with such force you nearly fall out, you see...

Nothing.

Of course, there were black blobs, likely the rest of the building, but the rest was hidden by... Fog, glowing dimly under the light of the moon.

There was no ground.

You draw back slightly when pain erupts from your leg, clenching your hands and letting out a scream of pain as you vomit.

You can't escape in any way other than death.

The bed behind you creaks as Nightmare brings his weight off of it, his footsteps growing louder and louder.

"You would have never escaped my arms if I had so wished, darling."

You feel a bony finger find its way under your chin, gently turning your head and tilting it up, forcing you to stare into Nightmare's eye.

"What kind of lover would I be if I didn't let you breathe?"

His smile was gentle, even empathetic, but his eyelight, SOUL-shaped as it was, was full of a sort of... Madness, an insanity so inconceivable that no one should even be able to get a taste of it, but... There he was, staring at you with an adoration in his eyes as his expression turned fond, eye socket going half-lidded as he grinned wide.

"You're never leaving."

His voice was inappropriately warm and loving, the sort of voice you would use to say the words I love you.

Letting go of your chin and looking out to the fog, he absentmindedly added,

You're dead if you fall."

He chuckles at this, the low sound echoing through the quiet air.

As soon as the words register, you just.. Stare off into the distance, Nightmare turning to you with a sadistic grin on his face.

"I just love it when you're in pain."

Saying this, he bends down to your height, cupping your head in an inky-black hand and drawing a finger across your cheek as the tentacles wound around your limbs.

...

You've had enough.

You square your shoulders as Nightmare brings his hand away from you, tears streaming down your cheeks and falling into nothingness.

You shove him harshly.

Nightmare definitely wasn't expecting that, judging by how much he was set aback — tentacles slipping off your skin as he stumbles on his feet, all eight of his limbs worked hard to get him balanced again.

He looks up at you slowly, eye socket narrowed and grin having vanished.

"You wanna act like that?"

His bony lip curled, brow bones lowering with irritation.

"Fine."

He turns on his heel, tentacles trailing behind him as he briskly walks to the great double doors. He slams them shut loudly, the sound echoing through the empty room you stood in.

You hear the sound of keys turning, no doubt Nightmare locking your only exit.

His footsteps fade away until it's dead silent.

× × ×

It had been days since Nightmare locked those doors — days since he had taken away your friends, taken away your family, taken away your freedom. You hadn't had anything to eat since then, the only thing entering your body being water, supplied by what you hoped was an infinite fountain in the bathroom.

The only thing you did other than figure out how to walk with that piece of wood on your leg and stare longingly out the window was scrub at your clothes in a futile attempt to get the horrid smell off. It never went away, no matter the amount of soap and the intensity you scrubbed at it with. At least there was sort of a crutch you could use to walk, a roughly hewn piece of wood level with your elbows that you found leaning against the chair.

It's when you're looking out the window that you hear hurried footsteps growing louder, urging you to get up from your chair, pulling away from the view — the sound growing closer... Closer...

The sound of locks being rapidly undone fills the room as you back into the corner, your form shrinking defensively as the great double doors burst open and you see a skeleton, just like Dream, stumble into view.

Terror was all you felt. He (you assumed) does not look friendly. Black streaks of what you guessed were tears running down his bony cheeks, eye sockets devoid of any light, the black sockets widening when they met yours — oh! There's a pinprick of white light in the left socket, the tiny light flickering in and out of existence as it almost struggled to keep itself alight. He was wearing an unzipped blue jacket with a fur hood, a black turtleneck beneath it. A mangled red thing floated in front of where his SOUL would be in his ribcage, the thing glitching and warping every now and then. Shorts covered his legs until his knees, pure white except for the streak of black running down their sides.

He steadies himself, grinning widely as his eyes narrow, full of amusement. He raises a brow bone, head (and body) tilting to one side, a bony hand adorned with a black fingerless glove coming up to cradle his chin.

"what do we have here...?" His low, pondering voice is full of mirth, its cheerfulness unexpected to be found in a place like this.

You're shaking as his face scrunches in concentration, probably deciding whether or not to kill you.

"a... human?" His tone is confused, no doubt about the fact that Nightmare, the big scary bad guy, keeping a random human in (what is basically) his attic.

Your voice wasn't used to talking, having not been used for far too long.

"I'm... Yeah." It hurts to force the words out as you avert your eyes, choosing instead to stare intensely at the floor as the skeleton stands up straight from the corner of your vision. He walks towards you, his strides long and sure, extending a hand for you to take and leaving it hanging in the air.

Silence.

Then,

"don't you know how to greet a new pal?"

Hesitantly, you bring a hand up to his, shrieking and nearly fainting when a loud fart noise erupted from where they contacted.

He laughs, throwing his head up and grinning wide as the low baritone fills the room and vibrates your bones.

Wiping away the black tears, he looks back at you when his laughter subsides.

"heheh... the old whoopee-cushion-in-the-hand trick. it's always funny."

He tilts his head again.

"a human, huh? that's hilarious. i'm—"

"KILLER!"

Undoubtedly, that was Nightmare's voice, full of rage.

There's a loud stomping as his feet climb up the stairs, growing louder every second. The skeleton's, who you now knew as Killer, eyes widen in alarm, panic evident on his features.

When Nightmare finally reaches the entrance to the room, he's furious. His eye is narrowed, nearly closed, his white teeth set in a hard frown, displeasure written all over his features. His tentacles were spread behind him, writhing, making him look much bigger than he actually was.

It's nearly impossible to not run and jump out the window right there and then.

But the moment he lays his eye on you, he visibly relaxes, shoulders drooping and brow bones unfurrowing just a little, the tentacles appearing to soften as their movements stilled. He stares at you for a few moments too long before begrudgingly dragging his eye back to Killer, the irritated expression appearing once more.

"Leave. Now." Killer comically salutes at Nightmare's order, sweat beading down his forehead as he makes a break for it, the suspicious sound of someone falling down stairs echoing through the stairwell.

Nightmare's tentacles gently close the doors as he makes his way to you, steps confident, hands behind his back.

When he reaches for you, he tilts your head up to meet his eyes and presses his white teeth to your forehead, dripping the black sludge all over you. The rumbling starts anew from within his hollow ribcage, the warm sound loud enough to echo through yours. He brushes a hand down the side of your face, tender and loving, before he pulls you into a crushing hug, tentacles encircling you, pressing the air — and your cries — out of your lungs.

Petting your hair, he says, "You have no idea how much I've missed you, my love."

He shudders as you shake in his arms, pulling you even closer — as if you weren't close enough — and trembling, his shoulders rising up and down with each shaky breath he took.

After too long, he releases you, bending down to your height.

The tentacles feel your skin as he stares lovingly into your eyes, analyzing the faraway look in them with hands behind his back. As he does so, that SOUL-shaped eyelight comes back, beating and alive.

"Shall you eat? I believe your punishment has been sufficient."

The thought of food makes you salivate as you try to remember the last thing you ate, struggling. It has been far too long since you had eaten.

Upon seeing the look on your face, he grins thinly with a lidded eye, tilting his head a little and raising a brow bone.

"Hungry, doll?"

You look at him for a second before nodding your head frantically.

He pulls away, tentacles reluctantly leaving your form as he walks to the door, chuckling as he looks over his shoulder at you, saying,

"I'll be back, darling."

His tentacles unwillingly leave the room just before the door closes with a click, locking them.

You wait patiently at the little table in your room, busying yourself with studying the intricate engravings in the black glass, the swirls reminding you of how those black apples looked like, winding and twisting into infinity.

The door's locks click open one after another before eventually the doors themselves open slowly, drawing your attention to them as Nightmare emerges holding two hotdogs.

"I... Apologise for the quality of your food. This was the only thing those fools could prepare quickly."

He scowls at nothing in particular.

You practically fall out of your chair in your haste, snatching a hot dog from Nightmare's hand and shoving it down your throat.

It was absolutely heavenly, the flavour exploding in your mouth as you swallow bite after bite.

It's gone in a minute.

You're satisfied; full, as you sigh in contentment, leaning back in your chair.

Nightmare looks at you fondly, gaze softening once he catches a glimpse of yours, the thin grin he wore growing warm upon seeing your happiness.

Placing the other hotdog on the table, he saunters to where you stood, proceeding to smooth your hair, bringing a chunk of it up to his nose and shakily taking a deep breath, basking in the scent of you. He stares at you as he does so, his piercing teal eye making you uncomfortable as his tentacles make their way around you, entwining themselves around your arms and finding their way between your fingers.

A crash comes from beyond the door, Nightmare's calm expression vanishing in an instant as an irate one replaces it.

"And that would be... Forgive me, my dear, but I must leave now."

Holding your head with a hand and brushing your cheek with his thumb, he pulls the tentacles away and turns, quietly closing the double doors and locking them securely.

He left the other hot dog.

You stare, once more, into the distance from the glass window open wide, looking at nothing in particular.

You go to the bathroom, intending to freshen up (you feel horrible), washing your face with the cool water. Looking into the ornate mirror, you see a tired reflection staring back at you, eyes bearing dark circles and your hair untidy and unkempt. You don't remember having any good sleep. It was always the hunger, pressing into your stomach and sending waves of need through you, or the nightmares you always had every night, making you wake up in a cold sweat.

Well, at least the stars were always there, blinking and twinkling back at you as you vent your frustrations, as if trying to comfort you. You'd talk to them more often than not — and when the moon was out, you'd talk to that as well.

The following morning, there was a knocking on your door.

You weren't doing much; just staring out the window as usual. A knock meant food—!

The door opens slowly, a black tentacle making its way in, then another, then another, until Nightmare was standing in your doorway, clutching a plate of what looked like stir-fried hot dog sausages with bread, as well as what you assumed was a sandwich.

Nightmare walks to where you sat on your chair, placing the plate of food on the table in front of you, kneeling to your height. When you look at him, he's just staring at you, teal eyelight boring a hole through you as you shift uncomfortably in your seat.

His black, bony hand comes up to your face, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. He sighs longingly, watching you squirm in your seat as he intrudes more and more into your personal space. He's nearly sitting on your lap now, arms on both of the armrests. he traps you in your chair with his tentacles and arms acting as the bars to your cage. You swallow, averting your gaze as he brings his face close to yours and kisses your forehead lightly, reluctantly pulling back as he heaves a long sigh, eye socket still firmly shut in euphoria.

When he pulls his body away to admire you, you see that his teal eyelight is a SOUL again, beating to the rhythm of something that wasn't there, replaced by an inky black apple. He brings his hands off the armrests as you sigh, relieved, before Nightmare immediately picks you up from the seat and sits in it himself, settling you into his lap, arms securely wrapped around your waist.

He leans his head against your shoulder as he sighs once more, staring at you, leaning more heavily.

He moves, resting his head against the top of yours, the rumbling starting once more as his tentacles wrap around your arms and he delicately laces your fingers with his.

You stay in that position for too long, and you had a feeling that he wouldn't have left if there was no shout of his name from beyond the door.

That was almost always how he left, reluctantly leaving your side as the tentacles trailed off of you, locking the doors.

You ate your food, the hot dogs criminally unseasoned, then spend the rest of the day until lunch staring out the window or scrubbing at your clothes.

The sandwich wasn't the best, but it wasn't the worst, either. Just a simple grilled cheese. A pretty filling lunch.

When evening rolls around, you shower before Nightmare enters the room once more, this time holding a plate of fried rice.

"Freshened up, I see?" He looks you up and down, seeing how the clothes he chose for you fit you. They were soft cotton, a lovely cream-coloured nightgown that fell halfway to your ankles.

He sits down in the chair, his tentacles coiling around your arms and dragging you to him, where he forces you to sit in his lap. And there he stays, for an indefinite amount of time, resting his head against the top of yours as the rumbling shook your body, tentacles and arms wrapped around you tightly.

Every minute or so, he'd bring a hand from your waist to your cheek, brushing it down the soft skin of your face gently, sighing.

Of course, there came the shouts.

The tentacles' movements stiffened, his whole body going rigid.

He attempted to ignore it before the shouts came again, louder and more urgent.

He stands up, you in his arms, and lays you gently down in the chair.

He caresses your cheek again before excusing himself.

You ate the fried rice, also criminally unseasoned, and brushed your teeth before going to bed.

And that was the routine.

Every morning, Nightmare would come in bearing your breakfast and a packed lunch. He'd hug you for a while, petting your hair and kissing you, but would leave quickly, saying he had "important business" to attend to as the shouts would grow louder and louder.

Every night, he'd come again, delivering your dinner, and would hug you in bed, whispering sweet nothings into deaf ears. He'd sleep with you sometimes, caging you against him, though you always complained of the wet and cold, of the muck that coated every inch of his body. This also meant you never really slept with him as much as he slept with you.

Nightmare was the only social interaction you had ever since being taken here, other than the stars and the moon — and though they never replied to you, it was comforting, in some strange way, to not hear them speak. It was almost as if they weren't judging you, acting simply as a listening ear. On occasion, you'd hear the melancholy melody of a song, the gentle plucking of strings soothing to your ears.

This cycle went on for a long while — you couldn't tell how long, the minutes blended into hours and the hours blended into days — until you decided to try something. That morning when he came in, placing your food on the small table, you fall to your knees, pressing tightly clenched hands firmly to your forehead, praying this would work.

You bow your head a little.

"Please, Nightmare. Let me out. Even for a moment." Your voice wavered — a shaky, miserable version of your usually sunny tone, full of pleading and a need to get out.

Nightmare takes in a breath sharply, tentacles' movements stilling as the sound of your soft voice cut through the still air. There's a long silence, before—

"That's more like it."

Looking up from beneath your lashes and through your fingers, you see Nightmare leering at you through a half-lidded eye socket, that SOUL shape having returned once more, beating fervently. His hands and tentacles were behind his back, merely appearing to be calm — but his shuddering breaths and tense shoulders gave away his intense elation, anticipating more.

"Alright then, doll." You look up at him, excitement flowing freely through your veins.

"On one condition."

He stares at you, half-lidded eye socket full of a sadistic excitement as his tentacles squirm and slither excitedly.

"Anything."

You say as you stare right back, hopeful eyes wide. He takes a hand from behind his back, and from within the muck that made up his hand, he produces a... Bracelet...?

...

Oh.

It was a pair of long chain handcuffs made out of black steel.

Nightmare grins at you, eye socket narrowing in delight at the expression on your face — a mix of shock, fear, surprise, and regret.

You stare, dumbfounded, as he fastens one cuff to his left hand, looking at you expectantly. It's barely a second before you scramble off the floor and offer your right hand to him all too willingly, his tentacles bringing you closer to him.

The cuff fastens with a click, securing you to him.

He leads you to the door, your freedom—!

And proceeds to pick you up bridal-style, carrying you effortlessly down the stone steps, your body bouncing up and down with each step he took.

The spiral stairs felt like they went on for forever, more steps always waiting whenever Nightmare turned the corner.

There was a deafening silence that blanketed the air around you, all quiet except for the sound of Nightmare's muck falling off his non-existent bones to the cold stone steps.

The smell of moss and dampness fills your nose as you wrinkled it, getting closer to the exit as you began to wriggle in Nightmare's grip.

"Okay! Nightmare—"

He stops abruptly, the chain that bound him to you making a gentle tinkling as it flew about in the air.

There's a creaking of a great door, and—!

You scramble out of Nightmare's grip as you practically bound down the black halls of the castle, forgetting about the handcuff until you're stopped short by it, the sharp, cold metal digging into your wrist and making you cry out. You cradle your wrist as Nightmare calmly walks to where you stand in pain, hands behind his back.

He watches with a disgusting pleasure as his grin widens, the tentacles' movements growing until they're sending black muck flying everywhere in ink-black droplets.

He was everything but calm, regardless of how he appeared.

"Be careful, doll."

He leans down to your height and takes the hand the cuff is fastened around, lowering the black steel and licking the abrasion, sending shivers down your spine.

He licks the bone around his mouth, his eye socket half-lidded and content — but with undertones of want, a beast-like hunger set in his teal eye light.

"You could get hurt."

You snatch your hand away from him, wiping the black saliva that coated it onto your shirt as Nightmare just laughed, maintaining full eye contact with you as his mouth opened wide and peals of laughter took silence's place in the air.

He turns on his heel and pulls harshly against the chain, making you jerk in his direction before begrudgingly walking alongside him.

Your steps echo through the empty castle halls as you stare at the great stained glass windows portraying stories of him and Dream through their life. On the left were portrayals of mostly Dream, typically him and Nightmare spending time together.

The windows slowly but surely lost Nightmare altogether, becoming images of Dream helping people or fighting them.

On the right side, Nightmare dominated the stained glass, the same images being present at the start, though his side just got darker and darker until Dream was gone. Every single one of them portrayed him destroying something, whether it be people or whole worlds, from what you could understand.

You're only pulled out of the story when you round a corner and the stained glass disappears, replaced with an ornate door.

He pushes them open, and the sight of a thousand books greets your eyes, every single one of them settled nicely into beautiful wooden bookshelves. There were soft woollen carpets on the floor, lounge chairs and coffee tables strewn about. Ladders leaned against the tall shelves, lined with silver.

You stare with eyes full of wonder while Nightmare watches you, a content smile on his face.

"You like it, doll?" He looks down at you, his hands behind his back.

You don't answer, instead choosing to run to the shelves and skim the names, choosing one to read.

#I FOUND THE EM DASH #IVE BEEN USING A MYSTERY DASH UP UNTIL NOW #killer is the comic relief tbh #what does nightmares castle even look like. im #going to disintegrate #can you tell i really like hotdogs #i dont think its hard to guess whos at the window. im not very good at subtlety #is the. is the hugging bit too long #feels like it is #cut it down a lil bit #sans x reader #dreamtale #nightmare sans #nightmare sans x reader #words on a page

[ascendingtostardust]

(x)

#DO YOU GUYS GET IT?? DO YOU UNDERSTAND??? #this is absolutely HORRIBLE for me #I’m down so astronomically bad #I love that pretty mf #idk why the words are cut off on the middle right but not the others #and that’s driving me insane #sam kiszka #my gifs

[bizaar]

Cruel Summer - Part 7

First - Previous - Next

pairings: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

summary: After breaking up, you and Eddie do your best to soldier on with your lives, but you slowly begin to discover that there is a stronger line of connection keeping you together than just history…

word count: 11k (you guys i'm sorry i tried)

warnings: swearing, mentions of violence/death (get Vecna'd), some angst, some fluff

A.N.: Babysitter!reader part seven! The shit has officially hit the fan ...

You silt bolt up in bed from a dead sleep, screaming and shattering the quiet calm of the morning. 

“Eddie!” you cry out, but there is no one is there to hear you.

The sound of your own voice bounces off the walls of your apartment and echoes back to you, and you sit trembling with residual fear as you do all you can to come back to yourself … It was only a dream. A terrible, terrible dream. 

You had only managed a few hours of sleep in the first place, caught in the quagmire of the dreaded closing shift made that much worse by the Hawkins Intramural Boys Basketball team — now apparent state champions — descending upon the diner to celebrate their victory.

They’d trashed the place, and it had taken you the better part of two hours to get the diner anywhere clean enough to call it a day. To his credit, Lucas Sinclair (ever the sweetheart) had begged you to let him stay and help you clean, but considering the fact that he could barely stand for how drunk he was, you’d sent him away with the rest of the Tigers and promised not to tell his mother. 

It was well past midnight by the time you got home. You hadn’t managed to do more than get out of your shoes before you’d slipped into the vice of Morpheus’s grasp, and you were dreaming by the time your head hit the pillow. 

And then your mind swam with visions of Eddie.

You still dream about him most nights in one way or another, and you imagine you will more than likely continue to do so for years to come if not for the rest of your life, but this had been a nightmare, and it had felt so real.

Something terrible had happened, not to him, but with enough proximity to put him in danger, and there was nothing you could do to save him.

I can’t save him.

Of course, as you eventually come back down, you try to rationalize the feeling by telling yourself that it’s not your job to save him, considering how he’d broken your heart, but it is an intrinsic instinct that has proven very hard to unlearn, putting yourself between Eddie and any sort of threat. 

It’s only natural to want to protect the ones you love, and you do still love him, as much as you hate to admit.

It only sends you into a downward spiral of guilt and anger and all the other nasty little emotions you don’t have the presence of mind to dredge up on some random morning in April, running on maybe three hours of sleep and already late for your next shift.

Spring Break, your mind informs you rather unhelpfully. It’s Spring Break. 

Adrenaline has made you dreadfully nauseous, and you breathe a shaky sigh as you press your hands into your eyes until you see colors. 

You suddenly have to work very hard to ignore the terrible sensation it dredges up as your dream fights to make its way to the front of your mind again. 

Lights winking on and off with enough gusto to be seizure-inducing, illuminating the scene of eyes wrenching back from their sockets and limbs twisting up unnaturally, snapping out of place… 

You’re fine, it’s fine, everything is fine… just breathe. 

Somehow you can’t quite convince yourself it’s true.

It is hard to feel anywhere even remotely in the realm of fine when you wake with the sudden and desperate screaming notion to run! 

The feeling only persists as you rise from your bed and try to go about your morning, jumping at every slightest sound.

Run! Your brain tells you, and you have no idea where it is you ought to be running to, except maybe the Forest Hills trailer park, as your irrational mind tells you that you won’t be fine until you know Eddie is fine, and you’re not about to go banging down the door of the Munson trailer just because you had a bad dream. 

That would be wildly embarrassing, even for you. 

It takes you the better part of an hour to banish the residual fear of your dream, showering away the sweat that has dried tacky on your skin, wolfing down a quick breakfast, getting dressed and ready for the day in your scratchy grease-stained work uniform, all the while trying to deafen yourself to the ubiquitous echoes of cracking bones, silently willing yourself to calm down, calm down, calm down. 

It isn’t working.

Even outside the realm of your dreams, you can’t stop thinking about Eddie. Though perhaps more importantly you can’t stop thinking about the fact that it’s spring break, which means it’s been nearly a year since you’d last seen him.

You’re having a very hard time trying to suppress the nagging feeling that wherever he is, Eddie needs you and you’re borderline obsessing over the thought that if you don’t find him, something very bad is going to happen. 

Of course, that line of thinking puts you in a rather awkward position, because you’re still not quite sure you’re physically capable of handling the concept of seeing Eddie again. This is made all the more evident considering the way you’d thrown your telephone across the room like it had jumped up and tried to bite you after having inadvertently found yourself on the phone with him last month. 

It leaves you feeling hopelessly stuck, so to try and distract yourself from the crushing sense of impending doom, you indulge yourself in a little self-harm, recalling how last year you had planned to spend Spring Break road-tripping...

 It took the two of you weeks to plan the trip, mapping out the route, everywhere you would camp, all the roadside attractions you would hit, budgeting your pooled money down to the penny. You would be flat broke by the time you got home, but you had convinced yourselves it would be worth it. 

It was never meant to be.

Beyond the fact that the heavens had decided to open up and dump what you assumed must have been all the rain for the rest of the entire year in one weeklong downpour, the van’s transmission went out the day before you were meant to leave, stranding Eddie and the band on the highway halfway between Hawkins and the next town over, as is always the way. 

So you drove an hour and a half through the torrential downpour to go and rescue him at the random interstate pay phone he'd called you from. He slid into your passenger seat, soaking wet and positively fuming, ranting and raving about the piece of shit van and his stupid friends and the whole goddamn situation as you went and collected the rest of the band, left to sit huddled in the relative warm but most importantly dry van.

Then, with Gareth, Jeff, and Adam crammed like Sardines into the back of your little Toyota, the heater cranked up and the stereo turned down, you’d all sat shivering in relative silence as you followed the tow truck back to Hawkins, taking with it the van and all the money you’d saved for your trip. 

The guys pooled their money to cover the tow, as they came to figure was only fair (with a little prompting from you). The repairs themselves came out to cost a whopping twelve hundred and sixty-seven dollars and thirty-nine cents, quite conveniently the exact amount of money you and Eddie had saved between the two of you, though that price only came to be after the mechanic overheard your hushed conversation about what you could afford — don’t you hate it when that happens? 

So, road-tripping dreams dashed to oblivion, you’d spent Spring Break sitting on Eddie’s couch. You’d assigned yourself the role of his sick nurse, making sure the cold he’d caught while waiting for you in the rain didn’t develop into pneumonia, all the while tirelessly assuring him it was fine that you didn’t get to go, that there was nothing to be sorry about, the road and all its attractions would still be there next year, and no he absolutely was not allowed to pay you back.

“Consider it back-pay for all the gas money I owe you.” You’d told him, brushing his hair back from his clammy forehead as he lay pressed into your side, coughing and sneezing miserably.

 All things considered, it hadn’t been too terrible a way to spend a week off from your last year of school, building a massive blanket fort in the living room in which to marathon movies, play board games, eat your weight in snacks, and fool around once Eddie felt a little better. 

(Funny how he always seemed to be miraculously healed of whatever ailment held him in its clutches at death’s door when sex was on the table.)

It was one last hurrah of adolescent fun, stretching the Endless Summer just a little further before having to face graduation and the impending threshold of adulthood… well, at least for one of you. 

It’s hard to believe it’s been a year since all that. One quick turn around the sun and suddenly it’s Spring Break, and Eddie needs rescuing again – or so insists your subconscious.    

You should go see him, a tiny nagging voice inside of you presses, You should go check on him.

“No, thank you,” you tell the stupid little voice as you snatch up your keys and head out the door of your apartment. 

You’ve got to go to work, and somehow getting verbally abused by the patrons of your shitty waitress job is so much more appealing than the thought of trying to make awkward small talk with Eddie after eight months of nothing. 

You can’t imagine he’d be pleased to see you, considering it all.

You can only just picture yourself standing at the bottom of the steps, trying your best not to look at him while wringing your hands and struggling to explain that you’re standing on his doorstep because of a feeling.

Boy howdy, doesn’t that just sound like the best time a girl could possibly have? 

Still, it feels a little too much like denial, deluding yourself into assuming he’s fine just because you don’t want to go see him. It does nothing to settle your nerves, and by the time you get to work, you’re just about ready to puke for how your insides have twisted themselves into a Gordian knot. 

You bid an absent hello to your co-worker and skirt around the back of the counter to stash your things, ignoring the way she berates you for how she had to finish cleaning up what you had left undone the night before.

She doesn’t like you much anymore since you’d had to tell her you wouldn’t be watching her demonic children, and she is not shy about making it known. 

Normally you would have said something to try and defend yourself, told her to blame the Hawkins Tigers, but you are understandably too preoccupied to consider doing so. 

Maybe Wayne can check on Eddie for you…

“Stop it.” You hiss at no one in particular, biting the inside of your cheek and reminding yourself for the hundredth time in the last half hour that Eddie is still a jerk and that you and Wayne have made a silent agreement not to talk about him.

 It was a very complicated way of simplifying the weird patchwork friendship you’d built up with the elder Munson in the ashes of your relationship with his nephew, but that is how you preferred it remains. 

You are not going to ruin your streak of very successfully avoiding the topic of Eddie by asking Wayne about him just because you had a bad dream. 

A really, really, really bad dream.

Of course, it’s a highly plausible scenario considering Wayne is due in today for your weekly session of catch-up. You could very easily get an indirect report on Eddie’s wellbeing if you really wanted to, but you banish the thought before it can fully form. 

You know if you ask, Wayne is just going to tell you to go see him, and you are not going to go see him. 

You tie your apron tight enough to dig uncomfortably into your sides and clock in and try every mental exercise you can think of to try to stop the constant loop of Eddie Eddie Eddie passing through your brain like a weather report scrolling along the bottom of the television screen during the morning news. 

It is unbearably slow at the diner, just like it is every day, though today there is a patent strangeness to how particularly empty the dining room is. Benny’s has never gotten much traffic to begin with, not even when Benny himself was around, but even the morning regulars seem to be missing today.

It’s wholly bizarre and does nothing to quash your nervous feeling, particularly as the first hour of your shift comes and goes without a single customer.

“Kinda slow, huh?” You hum, hoping a little conversation might aid in distracting you. 

Your coworker stands leaning against the counter, filing her lacquered nails. She gives you an uninterested look. 

“There’s some kinda commotion going on at the trailer park.” She says flatly, “Folks probably all went down to see what’s what. They’ll be here soon enough, don't you worry your pretty little head.” 

You ignore the biting sarcasm dripping from her tone and swallow hard to banish the spike of anxiety that grips your stomach and forces a knot up into your throat. 

Trouble at the trailer park. 

Oh no.

You struggle to keep your voice steady as you speak, almost too afraid to ask yet unable to keep your mouth shut. 

“What kind of commotion?” 

Your coworker shrugs, not bothering to look up from her filing as she answers you. 

“Who knows.” She huffs, and before she can elaborate, the cook, who also happens to be your boss, pipes up from the kitchen.

“Some girl got killed or somethin’,” he calls, and you feel the blood drain from your face.

You dig your nails into your palms to try and ground yourself as you are struck with the hideous feeling of deja-vu. 

Your coworker is apparently less affected by the information. She heaves an angry sigh and throws her hands down, chunky plastic bracelets clacking loudly and sounding much too similar to snapping bones for your liking as she does.

“Now, how in the hell could you possibly know that, Earl?” 

“I got my sources, anyways, I seen them cop cars go roarin’ down the street. They only haul ass like that when there’s a body. Like when they found that Byers kid down in the quarry.” 

You suppress a shudder as once again your dream rushes to the front of your mind. You retreat from it, electing instead to hide in the memory of the night they’d thought they found Will —

—you’d been with Eddie. It was one of the first times you’d really hung out together, not a date, just one on one time in the earliest stages of whatever it was going on between you. More than a friendship, not quite a relationship, back when all you knew was that he was so strangely different than all your friends had warned you, and you had a ridiculous crush on him that you’d hoped beyond hope was mutual.

You’d seen that exact procession of cop cars go whipping past you on the road, and Eddie – who had just been very glad he wasn’t being pulled over – made a flippant comment along the lines of “guess they found that missing kid,”

He hadn’t meant anything by it, and he’d been very chagrined when you called him up later that night after learning they had in fact found Will. You couldn’t have expressly explained why you called Eddie that night, except that your parents weren’t home, it didn’t feel appropriate to be at the Henderson’s right then, and in the mire of your reeling mind, your empty house was suddenly terribly frightening. 

You suppose you called Eddie because he made you feel safe. 

“Do you want me to come over?” He’d asked, quickly and quietly, and when you sheepishly asked if you could go over to his place instead, he’d agreed to come and get you without a moment's hesitation — you could hear his keys in hand before he even hung up, promising to be there in five minutes.

That was how you’d found yourself sitting on your front steps, shivering in your pajamas while you waited for him, making the excuse that it would be easier to lie about where you’d been rather than try to explain what a random boy was doing in your house if your parents happened to come home.

 Of course, that line of thinking suggested that anyone could have stepped in to comfort you that night, and that was just patently untrue.

Even then, you only wanted Eddie, pulling up to your house and driving you back across town to spend the night glued to his side, lying in his bed, whispering back and forth conspiratorially like kids having a sleepover, like you’d known each other for years and were privy to the deepest secrets of each other’s hearts.

You were barely even friends, and yet somehow you knew, from flipping through the yellow pages to find his number to drifting off to the hushed sounds of his voice while he read aloud the first few chapters of some fantasy novel, you would never want anyone else but him.

You are vaguely aware of how you’ve been subtly pinching yourself to try not to think about how, if you were really honest with yourself, that had been the night you’d fallen in love with Eddie — it only makes your chest ache with anxiety as you remember the crushing sense of danger from your dream like suddenly the whole world is bearing down on him. 

I have to find him… 

It is an intrusive thought, new and terrifying as the notion of needing to find Eddie indicates that somehow he is missing. It is enough to move you to panic.

Behind you, your coworkers continue to bicker, but you don’t hear them. You’ve moved to stare out the window, at your car sitting lonely in the lot, watching for any kind of traffic, any sign of things to come … any sign of Eddie… 

The trailer park is not far from here, maybe half a mile at the most, and you rationalize that you could feasibly make the distance in less than five minutes if you ran.

You aren’t sure why your brain decided to deliver that information to you, only that if you were the religious type, you would have been praying to whoever might be listening that whatever trouble is happening down at the trailer park has nothing to do with Eddie. 

I have to find Eddie. Eddie, Eddie Eddie Eddie—

And then, like a part of your brain has clicked off, suddenly all you know is action. 

Somewhere in the very far distance, you think you can hear your boss calling your name, but you don’t hear him, not really. You don’t hear anything but the skipping record of your mind moving you.

You don’t think, you just go.

Out the door and practically sprinting, the hoarse shouting voice of your boss falls on deaf ears as you skirt right past your car and disappear into the woods.

You don’t care about your pride or your hurt feelings, or whether or not Eddie will be happy to see you, all of that nonsense is the furthest thing from your mind as you run. You’ve got to see him, you’ve got to find him, no matter what.

If there are cops at the trailer park, they’re going to be blocking the road, so you convince yourself that you can avoid them by going through the woods, exiting the treeline and making a break for Eddie’s bedroom window. 

Twigs snag the skirt of your dress as you move through the thicket at a pace, the crunching of leaves and detritus is thunderous under your sneakers as you go.

It is only a matter of minutes before you emerge from the first line of trees, flying across the backroad without a second thought for traffic and pushing through the last stretch of the woods until finally, the trailer park opens up before you. 

You pause a moment to catch your breath, doubled over resting on your knees and listening for a hint at whatever lies ahead. 

It’s eerily still, despite how beneath the gentle flapping of laundry on the line and the hum of generators, you can hear the buzz of movement, voices speaking, and crackling radios much closer than you’d accounted for.

You’d never been much for trouble before you met Eddie. Your experience with the Hawkins police begins and ends with distracting them so that he could slip away undetected, and it occurs to you perhaps too late that this could very easily end with you being arrested, which would be at best very inconvenient and at worst?

Your parents don't live in Hawkins anymore, so who would be there to bail you out if that happened? Claudia Henderson? Wayne? How would you make sure Eddie is okay if you’re sitting in a jail cell?   

Still, you can’t let your wariness of trouble stop you now, not after you’ve already come most of the way. 

You would always rather come running to Eddie’s rescue when he doesn’t need you than risk not being there when he does, and it is enough to refill the well of your courage. 

You bite back the same urge to run you’d felt that morning when you woke up and stay low.

Despite having not set foot on these grounds for the better part of a year, you retrace the path through the park with patent expertise, like no time has passed at all. Then again, nothing ever changes down here, and you are sure you could find your way to the Munson trailer in the dark with your eyes closed if you had to, and suddenly there you are.  

The police are there as well, much to your dismay, right on the other side of the trailer, milling about the circular drive at the center of the park, talking amongst themselves and into their radios. 

You know you’ve only got a very brief window of opportunity to slip inside unnoticed, and your heart is hammering in your chest as you rap your knuckles on the glass as sharply as you dare.

The only person you need to hear you is Eddie, though of course that would only be possible if he happens to be in his room, which you’re willing to wager he isn’t, especially with a heavy police presence right on his front step.

If he isn’t the cause of the trouble, you can be damn sure he’s standing on the porch, watching the trouble unfold.

He’s nosy like that.

Disappointingly, your knocking garners no response.

You swallow hard and push up on your toes to grip the windowpane, tugging on it. It takes a few tries before it finally slides open with more than a little resistance. 

You bite your lip against its harsh sound, metal scraping on metal, and quickly brace yourself on the pane to hoist yourself up and over before anyone can investigate and find you there.

Your world briefly goes topsy-turvy as you tumble forward into the room and land with a hard grunt and muffled utterance of “ow – fuck”, sending tapes and other knickknacks tumbling to the ground around you.

In days past when you’d done this exact thing, you would have had the benefit of the bed to break your fall, but of course, in those days you were just as likely to land on top of Eddie as an empty mattress.

As much as he liked it when you snuck over like that, he was not partial to being kicked in the head, and you’d both decided that it was better to knock over a side table and make a mess than it was to risk giving him a concussion, so you’d made the executive decision to move the bed into the position where it rests today, sans Eddie. 

You have to sit for a moment to catch your breath, because beyond the sprinting and the acrobatics you’d just engaged in, it’s been eight months of nothing but memories, and suddenly you’re in his room. 

You hadn’t accounted for how that was going to affect you — strangely it’s like no time has passed. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust against the relative dark, but it’s easy to see that the room remains unchanged since last you were here, all metal posters and discarded clothes and papers, the two guitars, the amps, the unmade bed.

It smells like weed and tobacco and dirty laundry and the pervasive undertone of something that is so wholly Eddie that you suddenly forget why you are here, sitting where you landed beneath the window. 

You look around the room, surveying the familiar mess, and, unable to help yourself, you reach out and pull a t-shirt from the overstuffed dresser drawer, sitting ajar where it had been forced unsuccessfully back into place.

You hug it to your chest and repeat one of Eddie’s five stupid jokes to yourself. 

“When is a drawer not a drawer?” He would have said, grinning ear to ear like he was about to blow your mind with the oldest joke in the book. 

“When it’s ajar…”

You can’t help the disappointment that lances through your midsection not to have found him there, because as much as you try to convince yourself that it doesn’t expressly mean something terrible has happened to him, part of you had hoped it would be that easy.

You turn the shirt over in your hands and trace the faded script spelling out the name of the band you can barely make out – you think at one point in time it must have said “Misfits” – and without really thinking, you bury your face in the fabric, breathing deep and flooding your senses with him.

 Once again, all you can think is Eddie Eddie Eddie, and before you know it you’re drunk on his smell, familiar as childhood and tugging at your heart. Like being wrapped in a security blanket, you feel a strange sense of calm wash over you, not daring to promise that anything will be okay so much as assuring you that you are on the right track.

You heave a sigh and slump back against the wall, kicking your leg out – your foot collides with something.

There is the corner of a box peeking out from beneath the bed.

Were you in your right mind, you might have thought twice about investigating, considering you know all too well what kinds of things teen boys keep stashed under their beds, what Eddie has had under his bed in days past, but you recognize your own handwriting scribbled across the side of the box and very suddenly you’ve surged forward to pull the box free before you even realize you’d moved. 

It’s all pictures, posters, polaroids, band-tees, memories, and other things you don’t expressly remember packing into that box back in late August.

It’s everything that had been Eddie in your life with the addition of everything that had been you in his, carefully tucked away, miraculously still here — not trashed or burned or even remotely destroyed.

Preserved.

You marvel as you pluck at a long polaroid strip of photos with the Starcourt Mall logo splashed across the top and fail to stifle the water laugh that bubbles up from somewhere inside you.

You turn it over in your trembling hands and see the two ticket stubs for Teen Wolf stapled to the top.

You don’t remember a moment of the movie, but you vividly remember the day, sliding into the booth to take photos, laughing and playing, and pulling at each other while the camera flashed away. 

It’s Eddie giving you bunny ears and you sticking your tongue out, followed by Eddie pretending to bite your face while you laughed, followed by Eddie kissing you, and you kissing Eddie, and Eddie kissing you… 

It’s just a little bit too much, suddenly having photographic evidence of the things you had almost convinced yourself had never actually happened after almost a year of wallowing in self-pity and denial and anger and everything in between. 

It makes you feel a little crazy.

You’re just about ready to come apart at the seams when you hear sounds coming from the front room, the screen door swinging open, heavy footsteps thumping across the floor. 

And of course, because you aren’t in your right mind, you make a leap in logic and ignore your better judgment as you decide who you think it is that just walked through the door. 

“Eddie—” you gasp.

You shove the box haphazardly back beneath the bed and scramble to your feet, absently stuffing the photo reel into your apron pocket as you crawl over the bed and throw open the door.

You fly into the living room without a second thought about who or what you are going to find there.

You are woefully unprepared.

Eddie is not there, only a handful of police officers who you have just given what might have perhaps been the worst scare of their lives had it not been for the mutilated, twisted body of what you think must have very recently been a girl, lying on the floor in front of the open door. 

You stagger and stop and freeze, unable to tear your eyes away as you immediately come to recognize her, despite her ruined state.

Red blonde ponytail tied with a green scrunchie, half wrenched out of place, heavy blue eyeshadow stained and shadowed where her lids droop down into empty eye sockets, ever so slightly crooked front teeth on display where her mouth hangs open in a silent scream. 

It's Chrissy Cunningham.

The police react to you with appropriate alarm, considering the way you’d come hurdling out of the back room and the blood-curdling scream that wrenches itself from the depths of your core, like you were some kind of banshee.

The sound tears itself from your lungs without your consent, but you don’t think you could have stopped yourself from screaming at that moment if your life depended on it.

Suddenly you can see it so clearly — the flashing lights illuminating Chrissy’s body as it rises from the ground, trancelike and trembling, her limbs twisting themselves unnaturally, snapping and cracking before her eyes wrenched themselves back into the depths of her skull. 

This is what you’d dreamt — your nightmare.

Chrissy is dead and Eddie is missing. 

+++

Dustin sits perched on the edge of his seat, eyes glued to the television. He barely hears what the reporter is saying for how loudly the blood is pounding in his ears.

There is a cold lump in his stomach.

Beside him, his mother sniffles as the anchorwoman drones on about another dead girl, and he knows what she’s going to say — it’s too much for her poor nerves, she can’t take it. 

He can’t help the way his mind strays to the terrible possibilities of the moment, what could have happened, who it could be laying dead in the Forest Hills trailer park. 

Dustin fights the urge to look out the front window, to the house across the street where you don’t live anymore. In days past he would have run across the street and pounded on your door, just to make sure you were home safe and not dead on the other end of town, but he tells himself that he’s just being paranoid.

He can almost hear you telling him not to worry about you, but how can he not worry about you when he’s made it his full-time job? 

Dustin sits and silently works out the logistics of what going to check on you would look like and very quickly decides there is no cool or casual way to go about doing that.

He’d have to haul ass all the way into town to your apartment, and even if he did there was no guarantee he’d even find you there.

He tells himself there’s no way he’s going to go check on you just because he saw something on the news. 

You're probably at work anyway — he glances reflexively at the clock on the wall — ten-thirty on a Saturday morning? Yeah, you're definitely at work.

Still, he can’t help but imagine the scenario in which he did, how touched you would be if he came riding in like a knight in shining armor. 

He imagines you smiling big and broad, brows turned up with emotion, and clasping your hands together.

“Oh, Dustin,” you would say, “You came all this way for me? You didn't have to do that, you could have just called—”

He should just call you.

Dustin leaps up from his seat, thoroughly startling his mother as he runs for the phone.

“Dusty what on earth?!” She cries, twisting around to try and see what has put a fire under his ass, “Where are you going?” 

He’s already punching in the last digits of your number as he answers.

“I gotta make a call!”

The phone rings and rings and rings. He stands and listens to the droning sound with mounting anxiety, holding his breath as he waits to see if you will answer.

He hopes beyond hope that you’re just at work, that nothing has gone terribly wrong – they said it was a high school student, but nobody ever accused the Hawkins local news of being accurate when it came to the facts. 

Disappointingly, the phone clicks over to play the message on your answering machine. Your sweet voice rings through the receiver to vibrate against Dustin’s ear, telling him to leave a message after the tone, and he heaves a dejected sigh, when…

BANG BANG BANG

Dustin’s head snaps around as suddenly there is a thunderous pounding at his front door. He slams the phone into the box hard enough to make it chime and flies across the room. 

“I’ll get it I'll get it I'll get it!” He says in a rush, fingers closing on the doorknob before his mother can even think to get up.

He wrenches the door open, half expecting to find you there, and can’t deny how summarily disappointed he is to see Max standing there, looking particularly out of breath.

Her face is flushed, eyes wide, chest and shoulders heaving as she openly pants like she’d just run a great distance.

Rode her bike was more likely the case, Dustin surmises as he glances over her shoulder to see where her bike lays on the lawn, wheels still spinning, clearly having just been thrown down.

He hardly has the opportunity to wonder what’s got her so excited before she's pushing past him to force herself inside

“I need to talk to you,” she says, stalking down the hall toward Dustin's bedroom at a pace.

He follows her, having to jog to keep up, then shuts the door, and listens as Max tells him everything — about Chrissy, about Eddie, about what she’d seen and heard last night and this morning.

It paints a terrible picture, and it horrifies Dustin to hear what Max is suggesting, but he can’t help the wave of relief that floods his body to hear the dead girl isn’t you.

He knows he ought to feel bad about it, but all he can think is Thank God it’s not you – that’s when the confusion sets in.

“Chrissy?”

“Yes.” 

“Chrissy Cunningham...”

“Yes.” 

He folds his arms over his chest and tries to make sense of it, because Chrissy and Eddie? 

“...Are you sure?”

Max furrows her brow and gives him a much more intense version of the same look you would have given him when you thought he was condescending or being sexist or a male chauvinist or whatever you would have called it.

On you it would have been mere admonishment, on Max, it warns him that he is very close to getting punched, so Dustin backs off. 

Still though, the arguable Princess of Hawkins High and the Freak? It doesn’t make sense outside of some kind of cliche Hollywood romance, not in real life though.

He can’t get his head around it. Dustin doesn’t think he’s ever even seen them in the same room – then he remembers. 

He has seen them together. Thursday afternoon. Fifth period.

He’d been on his way back from the bathroom and stopped to get a drink at the water fountain to kill a little bit more time when hushed voices drew his attention.

That’s when Dustin saw them standing together at the far end of the hall.

Eddie and Chrissy.

He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he could see Chrissy smiling shyly, and he’d been very confused not to see Eddie’s typical manic energy – it’s like he was calm, for once in his life.

If he had to describe it, Dustin would almost say that he thought they were flirting, but that can't be right... because Chrissy Cunningham? And Eddie Munson? How does that math add up?

It had been one of the stranger things Dustin had witnessed in the past few weeks, and he’d fully meant to ask Eddie about it, but with how vicious he’d been over the potentiality of postponing the Cult of Vecna, Dustin had completely forgotten it.

And now Chrissy is dead. 

And Eddie is missing.

His stomach is in knots at the thought. Like the weight of the world is suddenly bearing down on his shoulders, he sinks onto his bed.

He thinks back to the news report, to the trailer sitting in the distance behind the anchorwoman – was that Eddie’s place?

Dustin can’t remember, he’s only been there a handful of times, always in the dark, and he’d never thought to pay much attention to what the facade of the trailer looked like… it could have been Eddie’s place, but it could also have been any number of nearly identical trailers in the park.

Still, he can't shake the sick feeling that is settling in his abdomen.

Christ. Was it Eddie’s though? 

Dustin shakes his head to stop that line of thinking before it can really get going. He can’t go there, he can’t afford to let that seed of doubt plant itself in his mind.  

Everyone is going to blame him, because of course they are – there’s a dead girl in the trailer park and he’s Eddie Munson, the town Freak. 

Dustin can suddenly hear Eddie’s words in his mind, see the persecuted look he’d had on his face that day at the campus phone – I guess that’s enough in this town, huh? 

He has to do something, he has to try and help him. 

“He didn’t do it,” Dustin says immediately. 

Max scoffs.

“We don’t know that…”

It leaves him reeling and suddenly Dustin cannot believe the words coming out of his friend’s mouth. Sure, he supposes Max doesn’t know Eddie like he does, all she has to go on is the facade he puts up, that first day he’d approached them in the lunchroom way back in November.

Even so, he’d never in a million years think she’d just assume he was guilty along with everyone else.

Max should have known better than that. 

"Don't say that!" Dustin gasps.

"Well — we don't."

He’s fully aware of how he is gawping at her, his mouth hanging open, his eyes wide. It makes her uncomfortable and suddenly Max is fidgeting.

She makes a show of throwing up her hands, shrugging her shoulders.

“Dustin… come on,” She says, “I saw him–”

It’s his turn to cut her off then.

“No, you come on. Come on! You don’t know what you saw!” Dustin surprises himself by snapping.

Max’s eyes widen and she recoils, and he immediately begins to backpedal

“...Look, I know you don’t think much of him, but Eddie is –” He sighs, “When we got to school? He was the only one who was nice to us. He’s the only one who gives a shit about losers like me and Mike. Now he’s in trouble and you want to just let that go because you think you saw something? No way. We can’t just sit back and let this happen. They’re gonna tear him apart, we have to do something.”

For a long moment, nobody says anything.

Max rolls her eyes, but to her credit, she is clearly chagrined enough to hang her head in a way that could almost be construed as sheepish. 

Regardless of what she decides to do, Dustin knows he has to save Eddie, find a way to clear his name, he just doesn’t precisely know how to do that — and then something tiny in the back of his mind pipes up with your name. 

Maybe you will know what to do.

It’s like a lightbulb clicking on, and Dustin leaps up from his bed.

“Holy shit.” He says.

"What?"

He's beaming at Max when he answers.

"Lady Midnight!"

The reference goes right over her head and she stares back at him, uncomprehending. She doesn't play D&D with them, she doesn't know, but Dustin does, and more importantly, you would know.

“What – hey!” Max has to jump out of the way to avoid being trampled as Dustin goes tearing down the hall to the phone.

“Holy shit holy shit!” 

Of course, you'll know what to do, you're the purveyor of secrets and forbidden knowledge. You always had creative solutions to seemingly impossible problems.

You'll help them find Eddie, or at least help them approach the situation from a new angle with a fresh set of eyes.

"Dustin, where are you going?" Max calls, her voice lilting with annoyance as she follows him back down the hall.

He doesn’t answer. He’s already halfway through dialing your number again before he remembers that you aren’t home, and he hangs up with an aggravated growl.

More frustrating, he doesn’t know the number for Benny’s off the top of his head.

Adrenaline surges through his body.

“Mom, where are the yellow pages?” He shouts.

His mother, still glued to the television, twists around and gives him a funny look, then her face brightens as she regards Max, like she hadn’t even realized she was there.

“What– oh, hello Max.” She says wetly. 

Max shuffles on her feet and gives an awkward wave, and Dustin makes a harsh sound of annoyance.

They don’t have time for this. 

“Mom! The yellow pages!”

His mother furrows her brow and immediately gets huffy with him.

“Don’t shout, Dusty! They’re right there in the kitchen drawer, for goodness sake!”

Dustin rounds the corner of the kitchen island and rips the drawer open with enough force to tear it off its slide.

Pens, paperclips, rubber bands, and other pieces of clutter go scattering across the linoleum along with the yellow tome listing every registered number in Roane county.

Dustin drops to his knees and begins flipping through the pages like a man possessed while Max stands looking on in a mix of horror and confusion like she is witnessing him have a complete and total breakdown. 

“Who could you possibly be calling?” She demands.

Dustin looks up at her and says your name incredulously like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

It does nothing but deepen the confusion spread across Max’s face, so Dustin goes on to explain.

“She’s probably already at work, so I need to number for Benny’s–”

Max shakes her head.

“She's not there.”

“Well I already tried her at home, and she didn’t answer–”

“No, Dustin, you don’t understand.” Max insists, “I just saw her, she’s at Eddie’s.”

The gravity of her tone is jarring and Dustin immediately forgets the phonebook as he looks up at Max. Suddenly his mind is spinning at Mach-five trying to process all the information that has been fed into it in the last two minutes.

“...What?” He splutters.

First Eddie and Chrissy, somehow together, now you, apparently at the trailer park, at Eddie's place where by all accounts he should be and you should not? Where Chrissy is dead? He can't make heads or tails of it.

“What’s she doing there?”

Max hesitates and bites her lip like she’s not entirely sure she ought to say – Dustin has to prompt her to get her to finally spit it out, and when she does, he feels like he’s going to faint.   

“Honestly? I’m pretty sure she was getting arrested.”

+++

You’re dragged out of the trailer by your elbow, like a naughty child who needs to be disciplined.

It’s then that you finally see Wayne, standing off to the side being interviewed by a number of officers.

You’re half frantic as you call out to him – for help or just relief that he’s there, you can’t quite be sure, but it does nothing to help the crazed energy of the moment. 

“Wayne!”

His eyes widen in alarm to see you, and he makes like he means to move forward, do something to help you, but the officers stop him before he can start.

“Hey– hey leave her be!” He shouts. 

It’s startling. In all the time you’ve known him, you’ve never once heard Wayne raise his voice. 

Chief Powell follows you out, positively fuming as he crosses the small strip of grass that serves as the front lawn. He thrusts an accusatory finger at you as he addresses Wayne.

“Mr. Munson, I do believe you previously told us that nobody was in the house.” 

Wayne nods.

“Yessir, that’s correct,”  

“Explain to me, then, why this girl just came running out of the back bedroom like a bat out of hell?”

All eyes are on you then. You struggle against the hands that hold you and feel your heart palpitate – it’s a very good question, you hate to admit, one you don’t have a great answer for.

Somehow, it seemed like a good idea at the time, just doesn’t seem like it’s going to cut it. 

The Chief is waiting for an answer, and Wayne finally has to just shake his head, because of course, he doesn’t know why you were in Eddie’s room either. 

Powell reels on you then, and your stomach bottoms out. He gives the officers restraining you a harsh look and they release you.

You stagger, struggling to stay upright on your feet and tug on your dress to straighten it. You brush your knuckles across your nose and avert your eyes, shrinking under the Police Chief’s hard gaze.

After what feels like an excruciatingly long time, he finally speaks.

“How long have you been hiding in there?” He demands.

You shrug your shoulders in a way that is perhaps too flippant for the gravity of the situation you have found yourself in.

“Like two minutes.” You sniff, “And I wasn’t hiding, I just came in through the window.”

He gives you an incredulous look. 

“Why?”

“I was looking for…” you trail off and glance over at Wayne, staring at you with his features screwed up in patent confusion.

You begin to fidget with your fingers, twisting at the cheap silver ring you’ve since started wearing to make up for the one you’d packed up with the box of everything else sitting under Eddie's bed.

You clear your throat to try and sound a little less like a whiney child.

“I was looking for Eddie…”

“Eddie Munson?”

You nod.  

Powell stares at you a little longer before he sighs and shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger as he rocks back on his heels.   

“So you don’t know what happened in there?”

You shake your head and try not to glance at the crumpled figure of Chrissy you can still see lying in the doorway. 

Powell sighs again, rests his hands on his hips, casting his gaze down to his feet before looking back up at you.

"And I don't suppose you would know where Eddie is?"

Again you shake your head.

The police chief levels you with another hard stare, like he’s working something over in his head, trying to decide or understand, you can’t be sure. For a long moment, it is all you can do but focus on trying to remember how to breathe as you wait to see if he’s going to put cuffs on you. 

He doesn’t. 

Instead he turns and stalks back across the grass towards Wayne.

“Do you know this girl?” Powell asks.

“Yessir,” Wayne says quickly, then proceeds to rattle off basic information about you, including but not limited to your name and an explanation about how you’re a friend of his nephew’s who he sort of looks after you since your folks moved away.

For some odd reason, your stomach goes tight and fluttery to hear Wayne refer to you as Eddie’s friend.

That’s how he’d addressed you when you’d first met.

“So, you’re a friend of Ed’s, huh?” He’d said. 

You’re suddenly wracked with guilt – this is not how you imagined this scenario going at all.

You’d imagined you were going to be this big hero, swooping in to pull Eddie out of a trouble you’d only known about through some kind of bizarre clairvoyance.

Instead, turns out you’re a stupid fucking idiot who should have taken a moment to think before you went climbing in through windows.    

You force yourself not to look away this time when Powell looks back at you – he stares, you fidget, and then he returns his attention to Wayne. 

You don’t hear what he says, as he’s dropped his voice to a low tenor and you can’t see his face to try and read his lips. 

You watch as Wayne puts up his hands defensively.  

“Listen to me,” He says quietly, “She’s a good girl. I promise you she didn’t have nothin’ to do with this.” and the guilt you feel becomes all-encompassing. 

Stupid girl, more like.    

It’s another few excruciating minutes of back and forth before the tension finally breaks. You are, however, not turned loose, much like you'd expected to be. 

After it’s established that you’re not an immediate threat, standing there in your torn up sneakers and waitress uniform, you’re set to lean against one of the various cop cars parked on the lawn. 

You know Eddie, so they’ve got to interview you, much to your chagrin. 

This is exactly what you’d been trying to avoid by climbing in through the window. 

Great job. 

It’s Officer Callahan, in all his insipid glory, who comes sauntering up to you shortly after, hands resting on his gun belt in a way you suppose is meant to be intimidating. 

It doesn’t come across.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” He starts, fishing his pad of paper from his belt and making a point to loudly click his pen. He uses it to point at you, “You know, you’re in a lot of trouble, Missy.” 

You stare back at him and hope he feels every bit of disdain you hold for him.

Callahan sucks his teeth. “So, what were you doing hiding in the bedroom like that?”

You heave a frustrated sigh. 

“I already told you, I wasn’t hiding. I climbed in through the window to find Eddie.” 

“Right, so you said.” He huffs, glancing up at you from his pad briefly before doing a halfway comical doubletake.

Something like recognition flashes across his face and you have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes because of course this dingus wouldn't recognize you.

You'd always wondered how Clark Kent could get away with disguising himself with a change of clothes, turns out most people are just patently stupid, Officer Callahan included.

“Oh, wait a minute, I know you – you’re Munson’s little girlfriend.”

Bingo. 

Bizarrely, it sets your teeth on edge and your mouth is moving before your brain can catch up.   

“I’m not his girlfriend,” You say perhaps too quickly. 

It draws the attention of everyone within earshot, Chief Powell and Wayne included. 

You shrink under their gaze and kick yourself for how you realize too late that it sounded like a renouncement of Eddie. It was only a knee-jerk reaction, an intrusive thought built up to defend yourself from the random waves of grief that still hit you now and then. You hadn’t meant to say it out loud.   

Officer Callahan side-eyes you and snorts with humorless laughter. 

“Coulda fooled me,” he scoffs. 

You would argue, except suddenly you’re thinking about all the times you’ve been with Eddie when he’s been pulled over and hassled by the Hawkins police. By Officer Callahan and then still Officer Powell specifically.

He’s technically right – just not regarding the current state of affairs – because you had been Eddie’s girlfriend during all those previous incidents.  

Still, you cross your arms over your chest and avert your gaze. 

“Not that it’s any of your business…” You start, confident at first before you second guess yourself and a misplaced sheepishness creeps into your voice, “...but we broke up,”

Officer Callahan scoffs and the reaction leaves you indignant. 

Rude.    

“Okay, so I get it now. You break his heart, and he’s pissed but won’t take it out on you, so he takes it out on poor Chrissy in there, huh?”

Callahan gestures to the open trailer door with his pen, and you can’t help but get a little stuck staring at the body still laying there – you start to wonder why they haven’t covered her up yet, but then he snaps to draw your attention back.

“That sound about right?”

You furrow your brow.  

“…It sounds like you’ve been watching a lot of true crime documentaries.”

He glares at you. 

“It’s motive.”

“It’s bullshit.”

Officer Callahan’s eyebrows jump up from where they’d been previously hidden beneath the thick rim of his glasses.

The brusque nature of your answer seems to stagger him a bit. You’ve never had so much bite behind you in all the times you’ve interacted, electing instead to try and kill them with kindness so as not to get Eddie into any more trouble. 

It leaves him stammering for a response.  

“Hey now—” He begins, thrusting an accusatory finger at you like he means to lecture you.  

“No.” You insist, and when he puts his hands on his hips and glares, you hug your arms tighter around your midsection and double down, “No – he broke up with me, okay? So no motive. Eddie didn’t do this,”

“How do you know?”  

“Because I know him,” 

Callahan rolls his eyes, missing the hateful look you throw his way as he does.

Somehow you know nothing you say is going to matter when it comes to Eddie. They’ve already decided his guilt.   

“Oh, you know him?” Callahan huffs sarcastically, “Okay, fine … since you know him, when’s the last time you saw him?”

Shit. 

You bite the inside of your lip and fidget under his condescending gaze, knowing well enough that your answer is going to do nothing to help your case. 

“… August.” You mumble. 

He chokes a little and shakes his head, blinking rapidly like you’d said something outrageous… and honestly, it was a little outrageous, but you didn’t appreciate the attitude he had about it. 

“Aug- August?” He splutters, “August.”

You breathe out slowly and nod. 

“Yeah…” 

“You’re telling me you haven’t seen him in eight months and you’re trying to — you’ve been broken up … for eight. Months. And you just come running at the first sign of trouble? You expect me to believe that?”

“I do.”

“Why?” 

You stick him to the spot with a dour look. 

“You don’t know much about the human heart do you, Officer Callahan?”

Behind him, you see Chief Powell cough to try and cover the laughter threatening to burst out of him.

He clears his throat when Callahan twists around to glare at him, and you take the opportunity to steal a glance at Wayne. 

He’s like a caged animal, fidgeting, pacing – you assume he must have been the one to put in the 911 call. You can’t even imagine what he must have thought coming home and finding Chrissy like that in his living room, and now he’s got to worry about vouching for you?

Your heart thumps in your chest when your eyes meet and for lack of anything better to do, you offer him a subtle wave. 

He shakes his head – not the time. 

“So, how do I know you’re not just covering for Munson again?” Callahan says, bringing you back to the annoying moment you have found yourself in.

Your eyebrows jump and you feign innocence, gesturing to yourself like you could never imagine doing that two years ago at a party after they’d busted Eddie for possession and you’d made a scene to draw their attention so he could run away. You would never.  

Officer Callahan narrows his eyes and crosses his arms,

“How do I know you’re not involved?”

In spite of yourself, your heart leaps into your throat. It’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever heard, but suddenly your brain is screaming – this is it, this is how we get arrested. 

Luckily, Wayne immediately jumps up from the porch and tries to come to your rescue.

“Hey, no. She’s not—” He begins, but Officer Callahan cuts him off with a wave of his hand and a roll of his eyes. 

“Thank you, Mr. Munson, if we have any further questions for you we will let you know.” He sighs when what he really means is “go away”.

You clench your fist and resist the urge to knock that smug look off his face when he turns back to face you, looking very much like he’s caught you red-handed and is so pleased to have figured it out. 

“So, here’s what I think happened.” Callahan begins,

This should be good.

“You said that Munson kid broke up with you? Okay, fine. So maybe he does, and he gets a new little girlfriend. And you’re jealous. You come to confront him, find her here, things go a little too far, bada-bing-bada-boom, poor Chrissy ends up dead."

You're fully aware of how you're gawping at him.

"I'm sorry, what?"

He continues.

"And since you’re apparently such a good little girl you don’t want to ruin your reputation, so you take steps to make it look like he did it–”

You have to suppress the shudder that threatens to tear through your body at the concept of Officer Callahan referring to you as a “good girl”, even if it is done so under the guise of mocking Wayne.

Luckily your disgust is overwhelmed by the patent hilarity of what he is suggesting: you killed Chrissy and are trying to frame Eddie… yep… way too much true crime in Officer Callahan’s diet.

“Did you even see her?” You ask, “Look at me. How the hell do you suppose I did that?”

Callahan opens his mouth to respond and comes up short. 

“...Forensics will get back to us on the cause of death after the autopsy…” 

“Okay, fine. Riddle me this, Dick Tracy, if I was trying to frame Eddie, why would I be sitting here telling you he didn’t do it?”

Officer Callahan pulls a face.

“How do you know who Dick Tracy is?”

Then it’s your turn to pull a face. You’ve never missed Jim Hopper more than you do at this moment. 

“Can you do me a favor and try to be a little less condescending while you’re accusing me of murder?”

Another cough from the chief of police to cover another laugh, it turns the tips of Officer Callahan’s pink.  

“Alright, smart ass, you got an alibi? Because things aren’t looking so great for you right now. You’ve. Got. Motive,”

Each word is punctuated by his sharp prodding fingers poking you in the shoulder. You breathe out hard through your nose and swallow the rage boiling up from the pit of your stomach.

Trespassing is one thing, mouthing off is another, but you don’t need to be charged with assaulting an officer. 

What follows is a rapid-fire back-and-forth volley of questions and answers, each one more charged than the last as you count the seconds ticking past, time wasted when you could be out there looking for Eddie. 

“Where were you last night?” 

“Benny’s.” 

“Why?” 

“I work there.” You huff, tugging at the skirt of your uniform. 

Officer Callahan gives you a dismissive look, like he wants to argue but expressly cannot because you’re still wearing your nametag and your goddamn apron. He clears his throat and shifts on his feet.    

“Can anyone confirm your presence there?”

It feels incredibly stupid to say, but only because of your crazy stupid luck – yes, there are in fact many people who can confirm your presence at the diner last night.  

“The Hawkins Tigers.”

He gives you an incredulous look.

“The Basketball team?” 

You nod, and very quickly you can feel him losing steam. Every single one of your answers thus far seems to have flummoxed Officer Callahan beyond his ability to comprehend.

He turns from you and crosses the grass to hold a hushed conference with Chief Powell. You watch them, struggling to try and read their lips as you stuff your hands in your apron pocket – you brush the sharp edge of the forgotten polaroid strip stashed there and curl your fingers around it.

You have to find Eddie.    

They make you sit and wait another twenty minutes finally – finally – you hear the words that set you free. 

“She’s just a dumb kid, send her home,” 

You would protest the notion if you weren’t feeling so summarily stupid for this whole endeavor, but you’re just happy that the interrogation is finally ending.

With Powell’s prompting, another officer steps up to escort you out of the trailer park, much to Callahan’s chagrin. You can hear him begin to argue against it.

“Chief, I don’t think it’s such a good idea turning her loose.” He says, “I mean look at her. She probably knows exactly where Munson is hiding.” 

“...No,” Powell says after considering it for a moment, “I don’t think so.” 

Callahan shakes his head, 

“I just think–”

Then the chief cuts him off.  

“Maybe don’t think about it so much. She’s not going anywhere, right?” He says it loud enough for you to hear. 

It’s not a question so much as an order, and he makes a point to stare at you, clearly waiting for your answer. You glance at Wayne, who at this point has moved to sit atop the nearby picnic table, chain-smoking to try and calm his nerves – he glances at you, then looks away.

You don't blame him.

Somehow, this suddenly feels like it’s all your fault, like it all traces back to that terrible night in August. You should have fought a little harder for Eddie, you shouldn’t have stayed away.

You turn your attention back to the officers, then finally you take one last parting glance at what you can see of poor Chrissy, still lying uncovered in the doorway.

There is a cold lump forming in the pit of your stomach, under the hard gaze of so many people, that same sense of impending doom slowly crushing down on you. 

Somehow you manage to shrug. 

“Of course not.” You say, “Where am I gonna go?“

To find Eddie, before anyone else can. 

The officer escorts you off of the trailer park grounds and sends you on your way down the road and around the bend.

You scuff your feet in the dirt as you walk, the sounds from the trailer park steadily fading into the distance. You run your thumb over the sharp edge of the polaroid strip in your pocket until it hurts, using the unpleasant sensation to keep you grounded as your brain spins.

Where in the hell are you meant to start looking? Who might even know where he is? You don't know where Hellfire meets these days, or where the band practices, you don't know even who his friends are anymore. Adam and Gareth maybe? Jeff was always borderline with Eddie, you wouldn't be surprised to hear if they'd had a falling out. Maybe Dustin knows something, he's in Hellfire now, along with Mike and Lucas... but you can't imagine Lucas is even going to know his own name after last night so that rules him out...

It's an insurmountable task, finding Eddie, like trying to find a needle in a haystack that is gunning for said needle, but you don't have the option not to try.

Who else is going to do it if not you? You have to find him first.

A shrill whistle draws your attention and your head snaps up to the person jogging up the path to meet you.

Wayne. 

You slow to a stop to let him catch up with you, half wondering how the cops ever let him follow you – surely that is a conflict of interest, letting witnesses speak to each other, but you barely have the time to give him a proper greeting.  

“You haven't seen him, then?” Wayne asks quickly, his voice is hushed and tight. “You don't know where he is?”

The way he says it makes your chest hurt, like he'd spent a great deal of time and energy hanging all his hopes on the possibility that you might know where Eddie was, that he might even be with you.

Hadn't you been doing the same?

You shake your head, and it breaks your heart a little to have to disappoint him like that.

“No... but I’ll find him.” You say, your insides are knotted and squirming with anxiety — you don’t know how you’re going to find him, you just know that it’s going to be you who does.

It has to be you.

Relief passes over Wayne in a tangible wave as his shoulders drop and he stands a little taller.

You can’t imagine what he must be going through, what it must have been like to come home and discover that waiting for you in your doorway. You suddenly feel very stupid for how precious you’d been all day about having a nightmare while Wayne was living one. 

You know perhaps better than anyone that Eddie is all he has – he can’t afford to lose him any more than you can.  

Wayne sniffs and clears his throat, casting a wary look over his shoulder like he’s worried someone might be listening. 

“Good — good.” He hums, like he’s trying to convince himself that it’s going to be alright, then he leans into you and drops his voice, “When you do, I want you two to go. Just… go. Take him and get out of town.” 

It startles you. You don’t know what you’d expected him to say, but it certainly wasn’t that. You know you must be frowning for the way he doubles down. 

He fishes his wallet from his back pocket and flips it open, pulling a stack of bills from the fold and closing it in your hand. He squeezes your fingers tightly around the money.

“I don’t care where you go,” He says, shaking his head, “California, Timbuktu — it doesn’t matter, send me a postcard when you get there — you just find him and get him as far away from here as possible, you hear?”

It is too much to ask, you know he must know this – he’s asking you to leave your life behind, your apartment, your job, everyone you know.

For all the time you’ve known him, everything he’s ever done for you, Wayne has never asked you for anything, but he’s asking you now — that much you understand – he’s asking you to choose Eddie, in spite of everything. 

It’s an easy decision to make. 

You close your fingers over the money and nod, gritting your teeth to keep yourself steady as you watch Wayne’s eyes shine with tears.

“I will.” 

He breathes a shaky sigh and blinks back the emotion, banishing it as quickly as it arrives.

You’ve never seen him like this — he is so afraid, and whether it is in response to the horror of what has already happened, in his home, to his family, or the uncertainty of what is going to happen, you cannot be sure. 

The Munsons have already lost so much. 

You have to find Eddie, if only so that you never have to see this look on Wayne’s face again.

His hand comes up to grip you by the shoulder then, and your spine stiffens under the directness of his gaze.

“Don’t leave him.” he says quietly. “Promise me you won’t leave him.”

You shake your head in defiance of the thought.

Never, you want to say, you would never leave him.

Why else would you still be here after everything that happened? But of course, he knows this, so you push forward and throw your arms around Wayne’s neck, startling him with the act of hugging him. 

“I promise.” You say against his shoulder. 

He hesitates, tensing ever so slightly. After a moment he pats you awkwardly on the back, and you take it as your signal to let the moment end.  

Eddie always said the Munsons weren’t huggers. 

Wayne sniffs and wipes his knuckles beneath his nose — he coughs.

“Okay,” he says gruffly, “Get going.”

Wayne nods towards the road and you follow his gaze. You know what he means; find Eddie, get out of town, don’t come back, and you can’t decide if the feeling welling up too big in your chest is fear or determination.

Your mind begins to work on its own, drawing a map of all the possible places you might find Eddie.

You can do this, you’re fine, it’s going to be fine.  

When you turn, Wayne has already started back down the road, and you’re hit with the sudden and overwhelming urge to call out, to say something to somehow make things okay.

You wonder briefly if you're ever going to see him again.  

“Wayne —” you call, he turns and glances back at you with big, watery eyes, “…I’m gonna find him.” 

“I know, Sweetheart.” He huffs, “I'm counting on it.” 

So, no pressure, right?

Taglist: @harrys-tittie @r-a-d-i-0-n-0-w-h-e-r-e @itsrainingbisexualfrogs @thicksexxualtensionaltension @ganseysgff @scoopsr0binn @peanutbutter-y-jams @audhd-dragonautagonaut  @clilxlxx  @alexandriaemily20 @averagestudent03 @but-vanessa @cosmictime45 @timelordfreya @forever-war @munsonzzgf @chervbs @irisabrams

#cruel summer #cruel summer fic #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x female reader #hilarious how i said i was going to cut this down and only ended up cutting 6000 words #oh well #all this is doing is getting me really excited to get to the fluff #because i'm fully planning a second sister fic to this one that is all the sweetness

[sealsapocalypticmusic]

Tomorrow/later today brings good news for people who like The Silt Verses and 8 minute long narrative folk songs

#seal's apocalyptic rambles #tsv #sealapocalyptic says music related words #could I have cut it down? maybe. will I? No! #I have in my heart like a. fanfic academic paper about the folk music tradition of the followers of the trawlerman #maybe i'll write it someday #because I've spent a lot of time thinking about my tsv songs #and the recurring phrases/interconnectedness and how that its probably reflective #of the natural evolution of folk songs and you could connect them together #return to the river is explicitly. to me. an evangelism song that is new and drawing on those old tradtions #and yet recontextualizing them in a way that makes them fundementally more #idk palatable outside the context of people already in the faith yk? #anyway it's the fabled promised bride song I've been talking about #for a million years at this point

[the-kipsabian]

watching old stuff (like, beginning of aew) and this is kips first match of tv/dynamite. the fact that he can hang with the fucking elite says so much of the level of talent he actually has

the crowd is chanting "this is awesome" while hes in the ring, having winning offense against matt jackson

hes being put on notice here. he makes people take a double take. he doing well in a tag match against the elite. he had a banger before with hangman. he won the first ever singles match in aew history

so fucking by god tell me why is kip sabian still overlook, under rated as all hell and not given opportunities to prove himself when back FOUR YEARS AGO he was this fucking good and now hes even better

#fuck it im tagging it im tired im angry fucking hell #kip sabian #IM SO FUCKING TIRED OF THIS CONVERSATION GOD GET TK ON THE PHONE I WILL YELL AT HIM #like. what fucking gives. what the fuck #i get it he got dealt with few bad cards (jh. miro. injury with long recovery. personal stuff) but still #they completely fucking halted his progress after his initial return. discarded a character with HUGE potential #after he lost to oc all of it went to hell and down the drain and now they just arent using him #do you understand what this does to a fan. like do you get it at all #do you know how fucking irrationally upset and scared i am that aew will just not only cut him from programming but also let him go #because they dont think hes a draw. cause they arent giving him a chance. not even a single one. maybe once in a blue moon #but its not enough. they dont understand what they are missing. and its making me sad and upset and angry #when hes tried so fucking hard and worked so fucking hard and always been so fucking good but they dont see it #god sorry this match got to me but i fucking mean every fucking word god #box thoughts

[black-and-yellow]

No Costume Required.

#imagine he crawls out of you from the shadows doing that one-droopy-eye face #I'd start weeping #bnha #mha comic #ua staff #nemuri kayama #hizashi yamada #present mic #ua teachers #This is my impression of Present Mic nervous rapping as he walks through McKamey Manor alone #ahem #'they broke my glasses they bruised my thighs. Think I got some blood in my eyes #didn't sign for this I swear now they're cutting my hair I see this liquid everywhere. #now they're feeding me roaches. Stuff them down my throat this feeling encroaches on me. Check it. My vision is so blurry #This is probably worse than scurvy. #Now they got me disbelieving. Am I dead or alive #faces that I see out of my blurry eyes #tell me I'm gone #I'm super petrified. #got that safe word on my side. #I shout that word like it's my last hope. Got straight blanked now I'm feeling low #I can't die here I gotta go #back home I got 20 kids yknow #Russ McKamey please let me go. If it ends here I know it's ending real slow'. #word #thank you.

[thatumbrellaoni]

finally finally FINALLY starting this AU

wip

#bakura ryou #yami bakura #ryou bakura #dark bakura #tendershipping #word of god #thats me the purple thing btw being a little shit to ryou because Im very happy I finally sat my ass down to draw #do you see how beautifully I drew bakuras head in that panel #hes bald but hes beautiful #half of that will be cut off and the rest covered in hair #basically you wont even see that beautiful sphere with an ear #such is my plight

[distort-opia]

the fact that joker needs batman more than he needs joker is a very interesting factor of batjokes, makes me bitter as fuck (pardon my language), but still, a very interesting part of their relationship.

never have i thought that batman and joker's relationship would hit so close to home for me. in one of your posts ive seen someone mention that joker loves but hates batman for that exact reason and man. why did they make joker so damn relatable.

Yeah, it's definitely a conflict on Joker's part, which tends to get a bit overlooked in fandom. Joker is obsessed with, and in love, with Batman -- but he doesn't always like it. He's been trying to kill the guy and telling him he hates him, almost as frequently as he's told him he loves him. But yeah, both me and @lankylordoflevity have discussed this somewhere in my asks before.

But you know, while Joker does undoubtedly need Bruce more... his love for Bruce is a lifeline in many ways. His obsession with Batman gave him a purpose, kept him alive after he fell into the acid vat; his love is everything he has that matters, but it's so all-encompassing because he's got absolutely nothing else. Joker doesn't have a family, or any kind of moral rules, or anything that important to him. While Joker is conflicted about his dependence on Batman's existence, at the end of the day, to him... this love gives much more than it takes away.

But Bruce stands to lose so much. His inability to let Joker go has caused so much harm already. He's made some very questionable choices over time, among which him nearly killing Jason at the end of UtRH to save Joker's life is probably the biggest. His relationship with Jason suffered as a result; all of his relationships suffer from it, one way or another. After being shot in the spine, Barbara had to hear that Batman was seen laughing together with the man who shot her. Over the years, she had to watch Bruce go out of his way to save Joker's life, even when she asked him not to, even when it wouldn't have contradicted Bruce's rules to let Joker die. His relationship with Joker was a big obstacle even in his relationship with Selina; that's kind of the plot of Batman/Catwoman. And this is something Snyder saw too -- how difficult this pattern of Bruce's is to overlook, and how hard the Batfamily avoids addressing it. Death of the Family is literally about the impact of Bruce's selfish and reckless actions regarding Joker on the Family, and the understandable rift that follows when they can't help but realize Joker wasn't wrong. Because the reality is, Bruce has saved Joker's life so many times and in such ridiculous conditions at this point that it's baffling. And what Joker keeps doing after is more murder, more destruction, and worst of all: he keeps being a danger to all the people Bruce loves. Yet Bruce can't find it in him to genuinely let him die.

I guess, what I mean is, Bruce is the one to suffer the biggest consequences for his side of things. Hundreds of deaths, untold destruction, the eternal possibility of Joker crossing another line and killing more of his Family. Joker may need Batman more because he's got nothing else... but how many more excuses can Bruce come up with, to himself and to others, for the fact he keeps risking so much to keep Joker alive? In the end, what's crazier? Needing someone so badly that loving them is barely a choice, or choosing someone again and again no matter the costs while claiming you don't love them?

Don't know if that helps with the bitterness, Anon. Kind of ended up going off with my own thoughts about this. But for me a fascinating part of Batjokes is Bruce's own side of things, that often gets dismissed as him not reciprocating, or him being less invested. Joker is loud and vocal about his love, and it's easy to take him on his word; when actually, Joker would be the first to balk at the idea of a relationship that involved anything other than violence. Bruce is vocal about his hatred for Joker and his wish that Joker would die, but his actions contradict that time and time again; when he's the one to reach out and the one to keep Joker alive, even when Joker himself is trying his damndest to die. As the villain, if someone else murders him, or if Bruce snaps and kills him, Joker... wins. It's what he wants. But Bruce loses when he keeps Joker alive, and he'd lose himself if he finally murdered Joker.

One way or the other, Bruce always loses.

#asks #joker #batjokes #batjokes meta #my meta #Bruce can only 'win' by rehabilitating Joker. or not even #he can only win by HELPING Joker and in the process making him stop killing #and also it needs saying that. in many ways Bruce perpetually saving Joker IS a consequence of Joker's plot armor #and the fact DC needs to keep him alive so they can keep telling stories #but you know what. even then I feel like they could've cut down on the sheer amount of times Bruce had to save Joker #at the cost of others #I get that it's a compelling moral dilemma since we're talking about his nemesis and everything #but overusing it this way led to THIS. to decades of Bruce choosing to keep Joker alive #and Doylist perspective aside. from a purely Watsonian standpoint. how the hell can you explain it at this point #other than through an emotional attachment #it's such a cliche but I am hesitant about the word 'love' for it #both on Bruce's and Joker's side #because it's just so. fucking insane #what they have encompasses half the spectrum of human emotion. maybe more