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eddies-house · 2 days

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Smoke Signals

Chapter Fourteen - A Merry Little Christmas

W/C: 7.5K

Eddie x Fem reader - Grumpy!Bartender!Eddie x Shy!Reader

Have yourself a merry little Christmas…

(Cover) Phoebe Bridgers

Warnings: mentions of bad childhood, mentions of parent’s death, issues with mental health, allusion to a suicide attempt, self harm but not, just appears to be, blood, let me know if I missed anything. In all fairness this is a heavy chapter in the beginning. Oh and also, smut 👀

A/N: this took literally forever to write…only because I couldn’t write for like months lmao. But I spent all day basically fleshing most of this all out and there’s a lot of emotion put into it and not too much editing cause I already overthought everything I wrote as I wrote it, dare I say I put my whole fuckin pussy into this chapter. Next chapter will be the final one in the series 😭

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Christmas Eve was supposed to be different this year.

A senseless daydream.

It was dad’s last kick to his gut, he knows it. Eddie finally had a good thing going for him but alas the Munson’s were cursed and he could never escape. This was some kind of final revenge for not hanging around like a lost puppy though it wasn’t even his choice to leave Hawkins in the first place. It didn’t matter, life never spared Eddie a precious moment.

So he sat there, salty tears still somehow leaking out of him despite how tired he was, despite how wrong it felt. Last week his dad was the most hated man in his life. And last week he was suddenly dead. It didn’t make sense, the devastation that consumed Eddie. All he knew was that sunlight began leaking through the blinds and dotting the floor. Birds were chirping annoyingly outside and his skin started to feel like cold cuts and despite how uncomfortable it made him, he couldn’t find it in himself to get off his ass and at least put a sweatshirt on.

He had promised you breakfast, down the road at that little diner called Reggie’s. Promised to get you the biggest stack of pancakes covered in whipped cream and all kinds of sprinkles along with the best, artery clogging bacon you would ever taste. Maybe some scrambled eggs and hashbrowns.

Whatever you wanted.

He hadn’t seen you in days, not since the recent news broke. His excuse of harboring the flu was not how he wanted to start daily phone calls with you. He knew you would then mistake the stuffiness in his voice for phlegm and not his inner sorrows burrowing their way out of him. He refused your offer to bring him homemade soup and hot tea, rejected the kindness he hadn’t deserved in the first place. Told you that he just wanted to get healthy quickly and it wouldn’t do either of you any good to both be sick. He left you in charge of the bar, much to Jett’s disdain, Eddie didn’t need you to confirm that for him he just knew.

Now just standing up seemed impossible. Shifting his position on the couch to at least relieve the pressure against his tail bone wasn’t plausible. And for what? For a man that never gave an inch when Eddie gave him miles upon miles, practically handed over his life on several occasions. Pathetic, he knew. But the pain didn’t cease and he couldn’t even find it in himself to turn his head to check the time.

This was it.

This was how you were going to come face to face with the fact that Eddie was no man. Not a real one anyway, a facade if anything. He could just picture it: you would await his knock at the door and it wouldn't come. A giddy smile would spread across your face as you thought about your plans of going sledding together–he sees it so vividly in his mind. And then you would be massively disappointed when he couldn’t deliver. The creases at your eyes when you got overly excited would cease to exist at the mere idea of him. He had it coming, he just didn’t think it would be so soon.

Eddie told you he was feeling better. It was a lie. He never had the flu. He didn’t feel better. He wanted to die. And the man responsible for it wouldn’t even give a shit had he still been alive. Now he was dead and Eddie was the one suffering.

And so his neglected stomach grumbled, his incoming stubble itched though he couldn’t find a fuck to give even in his discomfort, and the whiskey bottle ran dry far too soon. His brain had been clogged with wishes and what he could’ve done, then declarations of it never being enough, a constant tug-of-war that migraines were made of.

He never stood a chance, his DNA had always been coded like a mutant, at least that’s how it felt deep in his bones. There was always something off, he never resonated with life in general how everyone else did. A flaw in the system. And he built his entire being off of it, afterall he never had any control over the way he was perceived so what option did he have?

Several.

He thought to himself.

You could have gone to school, shown up.

Could have stayed out of detention.

Gotten arrested less.

Not get arrested at all.

Could have said no. So. Many. Times.

In all honesty he wanted to blame his old man but he couldn’t stop taking the hits for him even in death. He couldn’t stop making excuses. Any normal person would feel relief but he felt nothing but remorse. For what, he couldn’t exactly piece it together. Maybe it was a hidden desire to fix him, a glimmer of hope that he could make him turn his life around like Eddie had. It would never happen, he was well aware, but a certain childish hope clung onto him, tugging on his sleeve, begging himself for reasons.

Until familiar curls similar to his own and an aura of the gentlest kind clouded his vision. He could nearly hear her voice, smooth as butter and warm as the summer sun when he was a freckled kid. Rosy cheeks and beautiful chocolatey brown button eyes to match his.

What’s the matter darlin’?

And he just sobbed. And remembered.

Morning pancakes and the blues. Muddy clothes and bubble baths laced with melodies. Kitchen table haircuts, the softest voice humming in his ears, half inch curls littering the linoleum. Dancing in the living room. Refusing to eat his broccoli until she told him they were tiny trees. Walking hand in hand to the corner store for milk and eggs, the promise of a sucker waiting for him at the cash register widening his innocent grin. Late night cereal bowls when sleep wasn’t an option and nothing did the trick except some off brand Lucky Charms and tales of dragons and fantasy lands he wished they could run away to.

Then he remembered.

Him.

Stumbling into the kitchen on those nights more often than not, spewing nonsense. Breaking the refrigerator door as he tripped while seeking another beer. That door forever being duct taped and never properly fixed as promised. Mama coaxing dad to bed before she slipped into Eddie’s tiny twin bed for the night, most nights. Dad waking up just to shut the music off in the morning so he could sleep in. Disappearing for days.

Mama unexpectedly passing and Eddie being so devastated that he didn’t eat for days and willingly waited at the door every day for pops to get home. Only he rarely did. Wayne checking in each and every day only to be on the receiving end of a temper tantrum each time. Years and years of push back. A clueless kid defending Indiana’s worst dad in the name of seeking some kind of normalcy.

“My dad has a ton of jobs.” He would beam, bright eyes and missing teeth.

The kids would snicker. Their mocking smiles would be mistaken for a token of friendliness. And Eddie would once again be disappointed come the end of the day. Because he’d realized it wasn’t normal to crawl under fences where dad couldn’t fit, to steal expensive things from “higher class pricks” as dad deemed them. Take your kid to work day had a very different definition in his book.

So Eddie steered away from telling everyone about his dad’s work antics, opted to tell them about how he got to go to the bar with his old man every Wednesday, thinking he’d surely get praise for being considered so mature. At least that’s how dad described it. It wasn’t any better and the reactions were only worse. They called his dad a drunk. They weren’t wrong but that didn’t make him feel any less enraged. “Spawn of Satan”, they called Eddie. Because in truth that’s what his dad was, he just couldn’t comprehend it at the time. Then came the christening of his formal title, a word so small but so…derogatory with the way it was spat at him.

Freak.

Spawn of Satan sounded so much worse on paper but Freak made his insides hurt. And as he recounts the events of his life up until now, he tallies everything up. Closure in some kind of fucked up way. Childish thoughts of “he was still my dad” try to take over but are quickly replaced by images of their burning house, the records going up and flames and ash coating everything he had left, everything she had left.

Suddenly there’s broken glass scattered across the floor and warm blood trickling down his arm, not by any fault of his own, just pure rage and unknown strength annihilating the poor glass he attempted to drink water with. Heartbeat in his ear, he swallows thickly and resumes his position against the kitchen cabinet–they’re going to send me back to the asylum.

All over again, even in the afterlife, dad plays his sick jokes. Gets Eddie into trouble he never sought out–he was just getting water, it was just water and now he looks like the picture perfect case for mental instability. No one’s seen him for days and–there’s knocking at the door. He swears it’s not like last time- it can’t be like last time, he didn’t mean it. This isn’t like back in Hawkins, when he was healing and the courts were making their decisions. He thought he was a goner, decided to pull the plug to save everyone the trouble, Wayne was at work, Steve was getting him groceries, everyone else was dealing with the end of the world. They shouldn’t have to worry about me. With a bottle of prescribed pills in hand.

The knocking turning urgent, conclusions are drawn up in a scattered, tormented mind–surely they’d rip up his contract, the agreement in which he had been assured a promising life anywhere but Indiana. A life he’d always longed for anyway.

Be careful what you wish for.

That goddamn voice taunts him.

The door shakes, manhandled from the other side and he’s forced to confront the final moments before he’s permanently put away. “One slip up…” They had said. It didn’t matter if he told them it was an accident, nothing mattered if it was anyone else’s word against him. Literally anyone. As long as it appeared that he was a danger to himself, he was a danger to society. They were probably waiting for this moment: lock up the problem child and throw away the key.

Cause he was nothing if not a problem. First and foremost.

Heart beating out of his chest, breath caught in his throat, he could practically hear the sirens whether they be from an ambulance or police car or both, they were coming–

“Eddie?”

It all stopped.

“Eddie?!”

There was no accurate way to describe the sob that clawed its way out of his throat, a tortured cry. The scene before you had been pulled straight out of a horror movie: your beloved Eddie covered in blood, palms pressed into his eyes, stuttered breathing in between sobs.

Upon approaching him he attempted to scoot himself away, glass shards sinking into his hands, a gasp filling the room and you were certain you needed to find someone else to–

“Please don’t make me go back!”

You couldn’t form words.

“I-it was an accident, I-I promise.” His eyes brimmed with a fear you never could have imagined coming close to witnessing in this lifetime. “Just–I just got some water-I didn’t mean to break it, I s-swear. Please d-don’t let them take me.”

Glass crunched under your boots, a slow approach as you crouch in front of the shattered man with the saddest eyes you’d ever seen. With a shaky breath and careful movements, a silent request to assess his arm and hands is made. You’re sure your wide eyes can’t be comforting in the slightest though the shock still pulses through you.

“I’m sorry.”

“Shh.” You soothe.

Forehead pressed to his in a moment of solace, you offer a nudge, nose to nose. A wordless commitment. Softness he didn’t know he needed, tender touches of your fingertips to his wet cheek as if to promise a remedy for his aching heart, that you weren’t planning on going anywhere. You weren’t leaving him like he convinced himself you would or god forbid turn him over to the authorities like he feared.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”

–

Glass has been carefully swept three times over, though you were considering a fourth for good measure. Shards had been plucked from Eddie’s poor hands, your tweezers doing the job just fine after being doused in some cheap vodka he had. Gauze from a first aid kit you thankfully had in the car had been wrapped around the largest gash in his forearm, not large enough for stitches but large enough to wince at. He sat there the whole time, staring at the ceiling, the floor, anywhere but your face.

The silence was heavy, a dense fog that hung low throughout his house. Someone had to break it but both parties were finding difficulties in voicing the reality of what just occurred. If either spoke it would make it real. Right now it was hazy, a question of “are we dreaming or did I just walk in on a suicide attempt?” hung in the air.

He said it was an accident, and you believed him. There was just so much unanswered and it’s the only thing that came to mind. Anxious fingers tapped against his own thigh, occasionally twisting his rings round and round while gnawing on his lower lip. It then dawned on you that he was the most human out of anyone you’d ever met.

He felt on a deeper level than most.

At the touch of your gentle hand against his, his surprised eyes, parted lips, and hesitance to reciprocate hint that he hadn’t anticipated you sticking around this long after you’d found him. In the standard of fight or flight, he froze. Realistically he may have been sitting on his tattered couch while you tended to his wounds, both physical and emotional whether he cares to admit or not, but mentally he checked out the second he found himself surrounded by glass and tears.

“Bambi–”

“You don’t need to say anything.”

You were trying to keep it together. His croaking voice made that hard. But in all seriousness it wasn’t fair to throw yourself a pity party in light of Eddie’s current stability. And you’d reject the idea of throwing him a pity party, wouldn’t even touch the idea, but you would offer him all the empathy your soul had collected in a lifetime. Even not knowing the culprit of his now dried up tears and stinging hands, you’d go to war for him. Maybe that was dare you even think it, love. But that’s a crisis for another time.

“Dad died.”

Somehow the silence became even greater, a gigantic void of confusing thoughts and complicated quick conclusions. Conclusions you backtracked on immediately. It wasn’t your decision to declare how he should feel about a man who in your eyes and through his words put him through hell no matter how strong your sense of justice grew.

“Oh, Eddie, I’m so–” A soft beginning to a sympathetic apology short lived.

“It’s fucked.” His voice cracked, stoic face crumbling no matter how hard he tried to rebuild the tough exterior. “I shouldn’t–” There’s a pause, an intake of shaky breath. “I shouldn’t feel bad.”

“You’re allowed to.”

“No, no he ruined fucking–everything.”

“And you’re still allowed to mourn. Even for as shitty of a person as he was, you were still his son and that meant something to you.”

You wished you could erase the flash of pain that glazed over his eyes; something that tells you he knew every word you spoke to be true but couldn’t quite bring himself to be at peace with it yet. Dust collected on the coffee table in his eternity of reflection, a melancholy aura blanketing the dark cabin as wind whistled through the chimney like spirits demanding attention.

“How’d you know?” He finally asked, timid.

“Hm?”

“I left everyone hanging, they all think I’m out with the flu, how did you pick the exact moment I…”

“Needed someone?”

Eddie nodded, hesitantly, like those weren’t the exact words he would pick himself but they seemed to convey what was necessary.

“Wayne called me.” You sigh. “Said he got my number from Steve. Everyone wanted to jump on the first plane over y’know?” At this a trace of a fraction of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth but he did his best to contain it. “But it’s Christmas, flights are booked, and even then there’s a storm coming in. Wayne said he couldn’t get a hold of you.”

“So you knew?”

“No.” You assure, taking care to relax your features. “Just sounded really worried, didn’t want to air everything out. He wanted me to check in. I guess he has some kind of godly intuition.” You chuckle.

Eddie retracts his hand, and you know you’ve lost him to his inner battle again. You can only imagine the bloodshed happening within, after all, you were no stranger to deconstructing your own self worth brick by brick. The traumas he had been faced with were not anything therapy could simply remove like a tumor. There were no treatments afterward to ensure everything would get better. You knew this first hand, that you could try and try to get to the root but there was never any way to truly remove it to keep it from ever festering again. It would appear, it would be when you least expected, at your worst, and it would look you in the eye and test you.

“I’ll be fine.”

Famous last words. When the host convinces themselves but could never actually believe it to be true in their lifetime.

“But right now you’re not.”

Sabotage. In his eyes.

“But I will be. Don’t let me ruin your holiday just because–”

Excuses. Deterring from the targeted enemy: grief, in the name of saving others the trouble. A tactic you’d perfected in your years of people pleasing and feeding your tendencies to deflect your sorrows with the intent to appear invisible and self destruct.

“Stop it.” You demand.

“No, Bambi. Go to Donnie’s, I’m sure they’ll understand you coming early–”

“Stop.”

Rational thoughts were shoved into a neat little box somewhere else in his mind and you only hoped you could aid in retrieving it before he threw away the key. Before he decided not even he was worthy of hearing them from himself. And as he crossed his arms, a stubborn gesture, you braced for impact against his defenses. His cruel inner monologue and haunted house of a brain.

Big eyes adorned with every brown hue under the sun dissipated into pure darkness. Cold and black, lacking any of the warmth you’d previously basked in. He was lost in an underworld he’d been promised to since birth.

“Would you listen to me?!” Eddie’s jaw clenched in utter frustration and you swear a bead of sweat trickles into his eyebrow. “I’m not–I don’t wanna be the guy to drag you down. I’m not gonna be that guy, I won’t do it. My shit is my shit.”

You weren’t going to become complicit in the reality he’d settled for, the reality in which he felt he deserved scraps and just enough attention to deter himself from going insane.

“And I’m not gonna be the one to leave you while you’re hurting.” Finally catching his avoidant eye contact, you offer his forearm a squeeze. A plea. “Throw me out in the snow, I don’t care but I’m still gonna sit on your porch until you let me in. I don’t care what holiday it is.”

“Go.”

You try not to take it personal. It’s not personal.

“Fine.”

The last thing he hears is a slam of the door, refusing to even glance at where you previously sat adjacent to him. The room turned colder, more vacant. Even your energy had left with you, none spared for him of course, because why would he be spared anything from your healthy heart? His was black and blue, barely pumping, and he’d be damned if he was going to let you perform CPR on what he considered an already lost cause.

Do not resuscitate.

As quickly as he’d accepted the death of a budding relationship, the door swung open with aggression to interrupt his mourning, smacking the wall and no doubt breaking through some drywall. The least of his problems as he watched your determination in setting some stacked boxes on his kitchen counter before exiting again, this time leaving the door wide open.

It was eerie, the way your second exit was so open ended. Snow flurries entered and gusts of wind toyed with his curls, his cheeks already hurting a tad with the coldness. Eddie wasn’t sure what to make of it, you’d dropped off a box of what appeared to be Christmas decorations and what? Stormed off? Somehow that hurt even more than the first time, though he’d anticipated the day you would figure out how fucked up he was and retreat. He could prepare all he wanted but nothing stung more than the actual—

In you came, a box of ornaments under one arm and a small Christmas tree under the other. And you got to work, setting up the three foot tree right on his coffee table, plugging it in to the nearest outlet and initiating a soft glow of white lights, instantly engulfing the room in a newfound safeness. The tree needed fluffed and appeared to have bed head, though it still served its cheerful purpose regardless.

Eddie sat with his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, on the edge of the couch, eyes shut. An uphill battle.

“Bambi, what did I tell you–”

“You told me to go.” You nod confidently, a frown betraying you, pulling at the corners of your mouth. “And I did. You didn’t say how long or—or where to go. But I gave you time to cool off and now you’re gonna either sit and pretend Christmas isn’t a thing or you’re gonna watch the stupid little clay people on TV while I cook dinner and bake. Either one is good with me but I’m gonna be here whether you like it or not and—“

Before you can look up amidst your rambling, a ringed finger hooks itself in one of your belt loops, tugging you into a warm chest.

There he is.

Warmth restored in his irises and a semblance of a smirk threatened his lips. Pale skin rosy in all the right places and endearing eyelashes framing his shy gaze down at you. Your boy.

Lips grazed lips, noses nudged into each other, and it all just…made sense. Bambi and Eddie. There is not one without the other, not anymore. Not since you sauntered into his life, demanded a job, puked on him, made him go absolutely insane—

“I love you.”

It just fell from his tongue. A promise.

“I-are—are you s—“

“Am I serious? Is that what you’re gonna ask?” He nearly mocks your mouthful of syllables.

You nod, gulping. Not because you’re afraid, no, never. You’d just never seen such assurance in a single man.

“Bambi…” He tuts. “You don’t see how bad I’ve got it for you?”

All you can manage is to dumbly bat your eyelashes up at him, mouth hung open like a fish and fists clutching the front of his shirt unknowingly, though he doesn’t mind in the slightest if you stretch out his collar.

“Bad.” He reiterates. “So bad, that even if you don’t feel the same, even if you only like me out of pity—“

“I don’t—“

“I’m not finished.” Your attempted interruption has him thumbing at your bottom lip. “Even if you only like me out of pity, I’ll take it. And I’ll run with it. Far. Because I’m pathetic—“

“You are not.”

“I’m a pathetic man. Who is deeply in love with you, Bambi.”

“Stop saying you’re pathetic.” You challenge quietly, a delicate hand tracing the stubble of his jaw.

“Oh, but I am.” He breathes, leaving no room for argument when he presses his lips against yours as if it were his last chance.

Did he believe it was his last chance?

And without thinking, tongues collided, teeth clashed, he had backed you into the wall and there was no telling how you found yourself palming him over rough denim, a whine escaping his throat before you’d barely touched him.

A pathetic whine dare you say.

“Sorry, sorry.” You gasp, string of saliva connecting you like the invisible string you believed tied you to him all along.

“Don’t—ow! Jesus fuck.” Eddie winced, shaking his hand in the air after attempting to cup your blushing cheek. “Forgot I had fucking…glass in my hand earlier.”

You giggle, a saccharine sound, a melody in his ears that he yearned to make more of. Embarrassment traces your features, brows pulled into a worrisome look while you hold your hands close against your chest, afraid of further touch much to his dismay.

“Can you…can you do that again?” He whispers. Terrified of the consequences but brave enough to face the rejection.

Nodding, your slow hand reaches for his cheek, thumb grazing over it before trailing down his neck. His breath hitches, your hand traveling lower and lower, over his chest and down his stomach, exploring all that you’ve so desired only in your wildest wet dreams.

Lifting the hem of his shirt ever so slightly, just enough to let your fingers graze his soft skin, your main goal is to tug at that delicious happy trail. And when you do, he can’t admit to you that he nearly cums in his jeans but you’re certain you’re on the same page when you see his eyes roll back into his skull.

He can’t control himself when he ruts into you the second your palm meets him once again, beautiful, breathy sighs escaping his pouty, plump lips.

“Like that, baby?” You ask, trailing hot kisses down his throat.

“Please.” A whisper that tells you everything. “I-I never—no one’s ever—“ He tries to warn you.

“What?” You encourage, tongue tracing his earlobe. “No one’s ever taken care of you, huh?”

“Just my hand.” Eddie jokes, voice strained.

Guiding him to sit back on the couch, it protests beneath the weight of you both as you crawl into his lap. Careful fingers toy with the curls at the nape of his neck, patient lips hovering over his. Doe eyes look up at you, half in admiration, half in hesitation.

“We can stop.” You assure him, sweet kisses pressed to each corner of his lips.

“No, no.” His voice shakes, chest heaving. “I just—I don’t know exactly…what I’m doing.”

There’s an undertone of humiliation, the opposite effect you wanted to have on him. But you were confident that you could make him feel comfortable. Feel sexy and wanted.

“Let me do the work.” You whisper against his lips, slowly rolling your hips into him. “Let me take care of you.”

He nods, frantically moving to undo his zipper, only to be met with your delicate hands wrapping around his knuckles. You’re so patient with him, so gentle, so unlike what he’s ever been faced with.

“I said, let me take care of you.”

Feather light kisses pressed to his knuckles, you continue rotating your hips against his, feeling his bulge in between your legs, the friction tightening the knot within you. His eyebrows knit together, head falling back against the couch’s when you graze your fingertips just below his shirt again.

Nails gently drag down his torso, eliciting the loudest moan you’ve pulled from him so far. His injured hands only allow him to take their place in your belt loops again, assisting in setting the pace as you grind against him.

“Eddie.” You whimper.

“M’ gonna cum.” He halts your movements, only letting you hover above what was about to be sweet euphoria. “Wanna be inside of you.”

You can only gaze at him with the utmost love, entranced by his flushed appearance and his damp curls framing his face.

“Please, baby. Please, I’ve got condoms—“

You have to stop his babbling by shoving your tongue in his mouth, nodding against him with a grin.

“You bought condoms? Boy, are you prepared—“

A playful pillow is tossed into your face, a deep groan coming from your boy.

“Yes, I’m cautious, baby, please if you don’t sit on my dick right now, if I have to go one more minute not knowing what it’s like…”

“Shhh, okay, okay!!” You squeal when he attempts to get up only to fail with you pushing back. You knew damn well he was strong enough to fling you off of his lap should he choose, which only made your underwear more of a mess.

“You wanna go to the bedroom?” You tease, nuzzling into his cheek.

Without a second of hesitation, he launches you both off of the couch, palms against your ass only making you wonder how much his hands must hurt and how much adrenaline he must have not to care. Playfully, Eddie tosses you onto his bed, a pile of unkempt sheets that only seemed that much more comfortable than your own bed. You could die happily in the smell that engulfed you. Purely Eddie. Woodsy and minty. A tad smoky. And some hints of apple.

Just when you think he’s about to jump your bones, in every literal sense, you open your eyes to find him carefully adjusting the needle of his record player in the corner of the room. And then it plays. A rendition of Can’t Help Falling in Love. A folkier version, a woman singing with a twang to her voice.

“Well alright, cowboy.” You joke, an over seductive brow raising at him.

“Shut up.” He grins, crossing his arms to take his shirt off and toss it behind him.

“C’mere.” You reach over, tugging at his belt until he hovers over you. “Wanna see you.”

“You are seeing me, been here the whole time.”

Quickly, he gathers what you mean as you reverse positions, pushing him back on the bed to trail your lips along his stomach. Perfectly pretty lips follow along the scars he’d been left with years ago. The rough texture doesn’t deter you, doesn’t scare you off like he imagined. While your lips explore his scarred side, your hand delicately traces the dragon tattooed along his ribs on the opposite side. Inked skin that arose with goosebumps after each touch.

As if he hadn’t already died and gone to heaven, you stop your torment on his body to discard your own shirt, leaving you in only your bra before him. Careful to grab his hand, you drag his fingers down your chest, in between the valley of your breasts, down, down, down until you let him dip into your pants. Beneath your damp panties, collecting slick before he catches on your clit, a moan falling so desperately from your lips.

“F-feel what you do to me?”

It aches.

His finger sits pressed against your throbbing clit, teasing in a way he has no idea about yet. But he will and you’re not quite ready to relinquish that power to him…yet.

You can’t handle the confines of clothing any longer, releasing your breasts as you unhook your bra and toss it to the side. His eyes grow, lips parted in awe. And when you go to shimmy your jeans off, the friction against his hand pulls a mewl from you, something so pretty and real.

You’re completely bare, prey for him to claim although he doesn’t, he lets you have control. And then you remove his hand, only to drag yourself over his denim covered thigh, slick coating the material without much effort.

Catching his eyes, you watch as he brings his finger up to his lips, tongue wrapping around the digit with a moan of approval. That’s when you decided you couldn’t drag it on any longer.

His belt buckle clinked against itself as you worked to yank his jeans down, practically drooling for his cock, drunk on the mere idea of even seeing it. Plaid boxers ignored, you pay attention to the way it slaps against his stomach, already leaking and red. Painfully aroused.

He barely survives when you decide to lower yourself and lick a long stripe up the underside, twitching against your tongue.

“B-baby, please.” While grinding into nothing, poor boy. “Wanna cum, wanna cum so bad.”

He’s been taunted enough, breaking a sweat as he lays there, fisting the sheets in his hands. You’ve nearly brought him to tears and you’ve barely touched him.

Leaving open mouthed kisses along his reddening chest, you finally offer some relief, ripping open a condom he’d somehow grasped in his hand the entire time, rolling it onto him, and sinking down, swallowing him into your warmth. Eddie makes the prettiest sounds, small almost hiccups and gasps. Slowly, you work your hips against him, clit rolling just right against his pubic hair.

He’s big, stretches you out and hits just the right spot. Hips stuttering, he places his hands on your waist, cut hands be damned. Eddie’s close, has been this entire time, but he can’t contain himself the second you lick up a bead of sweat from his chest to his collarbone. The site is simply too pornoraphic for his inexperienced dick, hot cum filling the condom. The moan he lets out as he finishes only encourages you, gets you going faster in the limited time you now have before he softens.

Automatically you reach down to play with your clit, knowing it’ll push you over the edge though he realizes and beats you to it, a rough finger circling you in a pleasant rhythm. Overstimulated whines fall from him but he doesn’t quit giving you what you need, what you so desperately desire.

Then all at once, pleasure crashes down around you, pulsing around him, leaving you twitching and panting. The record stopped playing however long ago, the silence pulling you back into the realm of Eddie’s bedroom.

Nothing needs to be said, words aren’t on your minds. Excuses for what just occurred are nonexistent because if you’re being honest, it was sewn into the timeline no matter what. Forever embedded into the universe in every lifetime. Heavy breaths carried a symphony during the cool down, sweaty chests pressed together, sticky and salty.

Absentmindedly your foot grazed against his hairy shin, fingers dancing along his chest and arm. His bicep was toned, something you were never able to appreciate up close before but would now take all the time you wanted. You wanted to memorize every detail of his body, every freckle, hair, and birthmark. All of him.

His lazy hand let his fingers trail up and down your spine, writing letters unknown to you but etched into his brain for as long as he knew you. He held a new appreciation for intimacy, something he sourly wrote off early on but now would cherish deeply.

Girls never liked him but if he could go back in time and show younger Eddie the one girl who would ever matter to him, well he imagines younger Eddie would still be a naive dipshit about it but he could try nonetheless. Supposes he would hit him with a “it gets better, kid” and all that sappy shit. Something like “you’re gonna marry this girl”. That would be okay to jump the gun on, right?

–

Cinnamon and chocolatey aromas couldn’t completely wash away the somber haze although it was fairly close. Post sex air somewhat helped as well, though you weren’t banking on it, it wasn’t a solution, more like a deterrent that hadn’t been planned on either part.

The little plastic tree on the coffee table decorated with years old ornaments wasn’t going to heal the bruising on an ever healing heart. Christmas classics played on the TV but you knew Rudolph wasn’t going to erase a lifetime's worth of childhood trauma.

It could help though. And that’s all that mattered. If watching Christmas classics only aided in healing a millionth of the wounds, then it was worth doing. If decorating his once dark and depressing house with twinkling lights and garland only brought out a smidge of the inner child that needed help healing, then it was worth it.

While Eddie slept in, you played Santa even if just with one gift, leaving it next to the coffee table, too large to fit under the small tree. Though it didn’t start out perfect, Christmas was starting to look very familiar. Baked goods sat out on top of the stove, cinnamon rolls, croissants, the works. Eddie’s shitty little kitchen radio played Christmas tunes which you found yourself humming along to.

You’d thrown together some maple bacon, drizzling actual maple syrup on the strips in hopes that they’d candy in the oven, which they did. Hash browns sat in the skillet, slightly burned but at least there was ketchup in the fridge to cover up the burnt taste. Snow blanketed the streets outside, snowing you in although you didn’t mind one bit.

You’d called Donnie, heard the commotion over the line at her house, family members causing a ruckus in the background as she made pancakes. While you were supposed to be with everyone this morning, she assured you all was well and you could hear the smirk in her voice.

Emerging from his room, Eddie’s bed head is the first thing you greet. Curls sticking out every which way, bangs defying gravity. Lines ran down his face, imprints from the sheets and his boxers hung low on his hips. A dream.

“Merry Christmas to you too.” You giggle at the way he squints in the early morning sunlight peeking through the window.

Stretching his arms over his head, you’re forced to witness the way every muscle flexes, drool nearly falling from the corner of your mouth. It doesn’t go unnoticed but he decides it can be addressed later.

“Merry Christmas, did you get me some fucking curtains so I can actually see?” He laughs, voice husky with sleep.

“No but I can do you one better—“

“I was joking Bambi, I wasn’t actually expecting any—“

“Next to the table.”

Your grin makes him want to run directly to you and spin you around, kiss you a few dozen times, and never leave this bubble you two have created. Instead he hesitantly steps toward the previously mentioned gift, a large gift at that, wrapped thoughtfully in reindeer paper and complete with a large red bow. He felt like an asshole.

“I—no I can’t—“

“Open it.”

Eddie just stared.

“Eddie, it’s Christmas, first thing you do is open gifts!” You smile, approaching behind him.

Then he disappeared back into his room, the sound of him rummaging the only thing letting you know he hasn’t retreated just to hide from you. When he walks back out, he’s hiding something behind his back, a nervous smile tugging at his face.

“I swear—I was going to wrap it, I just—I don’t have an excuse. I just didn’t. I’m sorry.” His large brown eyes plead with you, begging for forgiveness that he didn’t need to beg for in the first place.

As if defeated, he hands you a stack of records, several that probably cost a good paycheck. And you can tell he feels it’s not even enough with the way he avoids your gaze.

“Um, it’s probably stupid, it’s just, they’re records that made me think of you. I dunno, it’s dumb, music is just—“

“I love you.” You interrupt.

Without another word you grab the records from him to momentarily set them on the table. Before he knows it you're smashing your lips against his, passion being poured into every breath he takes against you. Your hands cup his cheeks, still slightly stubbly but cute. He wraps his large hands around your wrists, hissing at the slight sting but continuing.

“You’re not just saying that—“

“I. Love. You.” You enunciate each word with a peck. “Point blank. No exceptions. You’re stuck with me old man.”

“Old man? We’re like the same age—“

You’ll never forget the amusement on his face but what attracts your attention next are the records. A huge stack of them. All genres. Some Elvis, ones that hadn’t made it in your collection yet, a few that seemed more his taste, metal. It was a universal language and it was his preferred way of feeling. That much you could gather.

“Um, yeah, if you don’t like them I can just…”

“Don’t like them?” You scoff. “I love them.”

You hold them close to your chest, as if they were books and you were in high school. You suppose you could be what with the way butterflies erupted in your stomach. He made you feel like you were in high school, gave you a sense of youth that had been skipped over previously.

And he was blushing.

“Well, uh, I just thought you know…music does a lot for me. I picked some out that I knew you’d like. Also put some that I like in there, I dunno why, you don’t have to listen to them.”

“Oh, we are listening to them. Right after you open your gift.”

More blushing.

Eddie takes a few glances at the gift, as if it were there to test him. Like Pandora’s box or something. Then he crouches down beside it, hesitantly reaching out to peel back the paper. A giddy grin rests on your face, records still clutched in your hold. His face says it all once he’s torn through enough paper. It’s a guitar case, that much he can tell, eyes nearly popping out of his head. Then he opens the case, revealing a cherry red electric something that you couldn’t memorize the name of but all you knew was that he had his eyes on it for months before you even entered the picture. At least that’s what the guy at the thrift shop said.

“No fucking way.” He smiles, half laughs. Then repeats himself. Over and over.

“Do you like it?”

Instead of receiving verbal confirmation, you’re nearly tackled, strong arms wrapping around you and swinging you around. Laughter erupts from deep within you, Eddie setting you down just to kiss you deeply and with so much care you figure you’ll faint.

“I love it, I love you.”

Later that morning, frosting coats his lips then transfers to yours in a quick kiss across his tiny dining table. The bacon is devoured, mostly on his account, and those claymation Christmas classics elicit laughter like no other. Deep belly laughs from the man whose legs you sit in between. His shirt rests comfortably on your torso.

He calls Wayne, puts it on speaker, and effortless banter occurs between you three. Wayne tells his boy to behave, wishes him a Merry Christmas, apologizes that times have been so shitty and that his flight had been canceled. Thanks you for being there to ground his boy, tells you how much Eddie’s friends have gone on and on about you two, that he can’t wait to meet you.

Then you call up your family back home, more than likely all crammed in the same house, doing puzzles, arguing over stupid things, throwing wrapping paper everywhere. You miss it. But you wouldn’t trade your place right now for anything. Eddie timidly and adorably chimes in, says hi. Makes small talk with mom and grandma. Grandma begs him to take a look at her station wagon when he makes his way over with you for a visit some day. No question about it, he’s going and that’s final, according to her. He doesn’t seem to mind though, a shy smile pulling at his lips.

Lastly you call up the gang. Nancy answers, says everyone’s at their house as usual. Shouting between Dustin, Steve, and Mike is heard in the background. Something about a broken sled. Robin takes the call hostage, telling you both about the juicy gossip amongst the group.

“And then Max—you haven’t met Max yet, Bambi, but Max left Lucas a—shit you haven’t met Lucas yet either. This would all make so much more sense then.”

There’s talk of a summer trip, something fun everyone can join in on. Kind of like summer camp except Nancy would of course be the ring leader by default. She would more than likely assign the adults as camp counselors unofficially. Eddie’s face lights up, tells her about the perfect campsite not far from his house. Beautiful in the summertime. Then looks at you, shares a dimpled grin and runs his thumb over your knee.

Loved ones called and bellies full, Eddie plays around with his new guitar, and softly in the background, Muddy Waters plays. One of the records he’d gifted you.

~end~

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tags - @gravedigginbbydoll @ohauggieo @spicysix @lunatictardis @ali-r3n @batkin028 @mrsjellymunson @witchwolflea @emma77645 @emxxblog @eddiesxangel @angietherose @lottie-90 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @pullingattheroots @avalon-wolf @vintagehellfire @cryingglightningg @foreveranexpatsposts @winchester-angel @mmunson86 @witchwolflea @kurdtbean @micheledawn1975 @tlclick73 @erinekc @hazydespair @whenshelanded @corrodedcoffincumslut @ms1oftheboys @lma1986 @uglypastels @aysheashea @dashingdeb16

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #smoke signals #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fluff #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x female reader #eddie Munson series #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fic

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todayisafridaynight · 1 year

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Funny you mention that, I'm actually planning to go a step further and have proper relationships sections! So every character relationship in the infobox (and then some) can be covered with the depth they deserve.

Of course, that kind of thing can go off the rails fast and become a breeding ground for speculation, so they'll focus solely on the progression of the relationship from the perspective of the character whose article it is, and require a citation for every claim made. (I'd personally like to move towards citing every claim we make period, but it'd probably be best to start with baby steps.)

So I've had that cooking for a while (Jo is coincidentally the character I decided to start with, since he has very few relationships but they're all complex enough for a stress test). I probably shouldn't approach it with the intent to "correct misunderstandings," but I would like to think fans might have an easier time creating in-character fanworks with all of that information in one place. At the very least, you wouldn't necessarily have to go back through all the RGGO stories as a refresher lol.

I've never wanted to address Mine's orientation per se--not that that's quite what you were talking about I think, this is purely as an aside--because a lot of it's considered semantics and I just can't cite it directly in the way I can cite his feelings for Daigo. But on a personal level, I'm honestly surprised at the number of dudebros I've seen who'd be willing to accept he's bi, but being gay is a bridge too far on account of him dating women.

But the point of what he was talking about in the finale is that those relationships weren't at all fulfilling for him, right? Through a purely speculative lens, Jo claiming to be unable to remember Ikumi's name reminds me of that somehow. Like, if that's actually true, you remember every single minute detail of New Year's down to the locker numbers, where Ikumi gave birth, what Arakawa's face looked like, but you can't remember the name of the mother of your child? Alright, man. That's so normal. There's no trauma and/or comphet-adjacence there.

Speaking of--yeah, Masato's card unfortunately comes with no story, so it's not just bad luck. Character stories were discontinued with Kawara and Bessho, I think over a year ago now. On one hand I'm kind of thankful because they've been making it increasingly difficult to actually pull newly-released cards, but on the other hand, it's a huge part of what made cards worth trying for in the first place.

I do get it in terms of sheer volume though; it's mainly Yokoyama and Takeuchi themselves writing everything, and for scale, if I take solely my own translations of all of Mine's events and stories, it'd equal roughly 27.5k words. I can understand putting out that novella-length volume of content--ridiculously HQ content at that--every month isn't feasible when you're also writing for console entries on top of that.

You definitely shouldn't be putting yourself down in comparison though haha, I adore your work precisely because you've got such an excellent grasp on the characters and I always look forward to anything you put out!

Very, very true about Mine and his dad! I think if I were to summarize my findings from the papers (with regard to Mine specifically), Mine has this line in the finale about his hatred of people like Kiryu who "live solely by the principles of giri-ninjo, moral obligation and human feeling." Obviously not translated that way in-game because it's pretty lofty, but there is significance to it as I see it.

Focusing on the ninjo aspect, the papers define the term as "knowing how to [depend and presume upon another’s benevolence] properly and how to respond to the call [to depend and presume] in others." The "dependency need" component is thought develop as a baby first bonds with its parent.

Although it's commonly associated with child and parent, it applies to many forms of dependence, "such as between lovers, friends, husband and wife, teacher and student, employer and employee." It should also be noted it's not strictly hierarchical--superiors depend on their subordinates just as much.

So ninjo is a concept with a history of being considered "specifically as Japanese" in a way Westerners wouldn't understand. (It isn't actually, of course--everyone experiences this form of dependence--however, if I recall correctly, Japanese people were found to be significantly more likely to recognize and admit to it than Westerners.)

By opposing ninjo, a Japanese ideal of dependence, Mine implicitly aligns himself with "the Western ideal of personal independence," which is described as an ideal in which "one might just as well depend upon oneself or become independent, since there is nobody else to depend upon."

This is absolutely rooted in his being an orphan. His "dependency need" was at one point fulfilled by his dad's presence in his life, and once he lost him, he spent the rest of his life fluctuating between searching for someone else who would fulfill it and trying to be someone who doesn't experience "dependency need."

In contrast to Japanese society, where "parental dependency is fostered and its behavior pattern institutionalized into the social structure," the idealized version of Western society values an individual's success over their background. One example is the American myth of the "self-made man," which Mine describes himself as in the original Y3. As an orphan, his rejection of Japanese society in favor of Western society would make sense in that regard as well.

Growing up with no one to depend on and often facing loss and betrayal when he tried to, Mine avoids relying on or trusting others for most of his life. He is independent not because it comes naturally to him, but because of how dependence has hurt him in the past--i.e., "one might just as well depend upon oneself or become independent, since there is nobody else to depend upon."

However, Mine does accept and directly acknowledge the concept at the heart of ninjo when he admits in the finale, "People yearn to trust others. And to be trusted in return." That also coincides with him choosing to end things according to his code of honor as a yakuza, and literally taking the game's main representative of Western culture down with him. It's so perfect within this framework that I have no idea if Yokoyama even knew what he was doing, but He Sure Did It.

But it absolutely works with what you said, and I think it's fairly self-evident because you were able to pick up on it even if you didn't have the exact terminology in mind; Mine once his dependency need fulfilled where Jo never did, and it's made all the difference. I'm a very, very heavily Westernized South Asian still living in South Asia, and I imagine there's less overlap between SAsian culture and EAsian culture, but I've always thought "family values" such as those discussed are more or less ubiquitous in Asian cultures. For what it's worth, I relate strongly to Mine here.

(Also, in case anyone one day accuses me of copying Mine's future personality section from Tumblr, a fair amount of this is from my draft of that. I'm trying my best to make it sound less insane because it's going on a wiki, but y'know.)

Rewinding a little bit, I wanted to point out that Mine being bullied for being an orphan in that specific scene is more or less an invention of Y3R's localization. Kind of an understandable one, because he certainly did face it and Y3R's script was written without ever consulting a Japanese translation, but an invention nonetheless; in that scene, he was being bullied for being poor, not being an orphan.

But I don't think that affects the validity of your point at all, since--and it might not be totally intentional, since Mine wasn't always supposed to be the main antagonist--all the time you spend working with the Morning Glory kids through their problems effectively shows what he may have gone through. Except that he, also like Jo I suppose, had no adults in his life to help him navigate those same problems.

It's hear-twrenching listening to Masato talk about his disability even as an adult, the role internalized ableism played in creating that rift can't be overstated. Brings to mind the image of Arakawa at a complete loss how to respond when Masato was hitting his legs; perhaps if he'd been better-equipped to get through to him as a parent in the way Ichi was able to at the end, things might have turned out different. I think Arakawa displays a lot more emotional maturity and awareness than most characters, but he's not always able or willing to communicate that.

Once again, I absolutely love how your comparison post turned out! I wouldn't have minded being @'d (not that I mind not being @'d) at all haha, I'm not very active so I love getting notifications. Just a huge fan of your presentation, super clean and easy to follow in my opinion. There are a few points I'd love to discuss further, but I know my asks tend to be way too long for what they are haha, so I'll wait. But yeah, just as the Venn diagram of Mine and Jo overlaps, so does the Venn diagram of Mine and Jo fans. Happy to have you in the middle!

I'm glad you got as much out of the books as I did! That's exactly why I think they works super well for them, and I was hoping you'd catch the added Art Appreciator similarity. Also worth noting the art history books appear to be in Polish? I guess you wouldn't need to understand the language if you were more about admiring the art itself (my own art history books are in English and I ignore the text in every single one), but it's kind of funny to have all these thick Tomes you probably can't read.

Also very true. I feel like Hijikata and DS Ryuji aren't quite even since Saigo does exist haha, though he doesn't have as much screen time as Hijikata. There are a few opportunities Mine seems to lose out to Ryuji or others (Ryuji being chosen over him as an RGGO protagonist when Mine was in the running and frankly fit the criteria better, for example), but it is what it is.

Yokoyama did mention the love for the first three games' rivals makes casting for spinoffs really easy though, so I do have hope for more actual Mine! I'd like to see a Dead Souls 2 (he has a pretty good excuse to be cyborg-ified, given the probable state of his body after the fall lmao), or maybe even an Ishin 2, since the events that led to Hijikata and the others' deaths in real life were avoided in Ishin.

I know Yokoyama's talked about a "Y0.5" with Ryuji and Mine, a French Revolution spinoff (???), a Romance of the Three Kingdoms spinoff, and a Sengoku-era Hattori Hanzo spinoff featuring 8 protagonists and the same "all-star" approach to casting as Ishin. Someone else pitched a spinoff for when the yakuza first came into existence, too. And, at one point, before Ichi existed, they were considering continuing the series with Gaiden-type games featuring various characters (though I think going forward, further Gaidens would depend on the success of Gaiden.) So there are lots of possibilities! I really do hope he gets to be a protagonist or playable character one day, since he fits the mold perfectly IMO.

I'm happy you appreciate my offering haha! I hope you'll let us know what you think of Princess Toyotomi and Hero SP whenever you get to them. That is unfortunately how I found out about Toru :') I adore the leads and their relationship myself, so I never would've thought Pure would go there! But I suppose it does check out for Tsutsumi's career.

Good Morning Show is honestly driving me insane because I'm positive I watched it but can't find it at the same address anymore??? I had to watch it with clearly machine translated subs, but it was as chaotic as it looks. Godspeed!

Oh, I also wanted to weigh in on the "Masato's care" line since that was originally supposed to be part of the response (and since the topic of localization is super interesting to me, as someone who not only translates works but translates RGGS' works and has needed to become intimately familiar with the official localization style).

It's an odd choice, because on top of what Anon said, everything from the context to the grammatical construction of the original Japanese sentence should clearly convey that what he's apologizing for is not taking sole responsibility for Masato's care and having Ichiban attend to him on top of his regular duties. He's not apologizing for Masato's care itself being a burden.

Honestly kind of baffling because not two scenes earlier, they convey the exact same sentiment perfectly--"Sorry to bother you with something so personal." [JP] / "I'm sorry to keep asking you to help me with something so personal." [EN]. It's like, to me, talented localization teams should absolutely be celebrated, but they should also be completely "invisible" in the moment. They're not invisible in that moment because it's their biases coming through rather the character or even the writer's biases.

I don't necessarily mean bias in terms of internalizing ableist ideas (it's hard to say it plays no part, given it's a disabled character being discussed, but what I mean is there's not at all enough to go on to conclude it was a malicious or even a conscious decision). I also mean in the sense of getting "locked into" a certain way of thinking about disabled characters and their care, and multiple different teams (base translation, dub editors, and sub editors) going over that line and not thinking twice.

Because like, it's true that in fiction (and unfortunately real life) you do see parents who feel it's a burden, but that doesn't mean Arakawa has to be that way. It kind of undermines RGG Studio's efforts to employ rigorous sensitivity checks starting this "generation" of games (starring Yagami and Ichiban, I mean) when things slip through the cracks like that.

And it's not the only area it happens; there are a number of places where there's this "tunnel vision" surrounding certain ideas that comes to the forefront. One of the things that leads to is instances of "pigeonholing" characters into pre-existing molds while not giving enough consideration to who the characters actually are in this particular work.

For me Jo actually got the brunt of it (or perhaps I was just most sensitive to it), from marketing to localization. Marketing-wise, the very first time we saw him in English-language trailers, it was literally for one second after either the word "BAD" or a synonym flashed on-screen. A far cry from Tsutsumi's one-on-one interview where he explicitly says Jo is doing everything in service of a deeper motive, his English voice actor was not interviewed at all, while most major characters' English voice actors were.

Localization-wise, there's one thing that perfectly encapsulates (if you'll allow me to be dramatic for a moment) "What Went Wrong." It's what they decided to call Jo's fighting style. The fact it went from Shame Style to something as trite as Vile Blade genuinely haunts me to this day. Just the sheer flanderization in taking a name that lays bare the core of his character and motivations, a name that conveys perfectly how he sees himself as inhuman and irredeemable, and then turning it inside-out to suggest he IS inhuman and irredeemable? That's insane to me.

Of course, I'm not really able to gauge whether/how that kind of thing actually affected the reception or general understanding of him as a character since I haven't participated in the fandom at all for years, but I do wonder if it has.

Having pages dedicated to relationships and including how each character perceives their relationships sounds like a fair idea (I've always been a fan about how on Masato's page, Yumeno is regarded as his 'girlfriend' while on her page he's only her 'customer'. It's a small detail all things considered, but it's a great way to emphasize how much impact one party can have on another and can deepen the significance of relationships and interactions)! And having citations at the ready is always a good idea to help clear up misinformation or just to simply provide tidbits people are curious about, though obviously with a franchise as big as RGG (including RGGO content), it's very easy to understand if it would take significant time to have absolutely everything accounted for. It's what makes the time dedicated to this kind of work all the more respectable, really!

When it comes to Mine- or any character honestly- and their orientation, for the sake of sharing information clearly, I think it'd be better just to focus on what's provided opposed to trying to find a concrete label for it, so I can't say I'm all too upset at the lack of a solid 'confirmation' and I am grateful for the material given that lets us work towards one conclusion and another.

It is surprising to me that people are more open to Mine being bisexual though (I usually see people try to ignore the fact bisexuality is an option. It's a weird win I guess..). But as you've pointed out, I personally believe Mine's case was more about a case of comphet behavior, as the line where he alludes to his past relations with women it's from a segment where he's specifically highlighting how he wasn't happy abiding by what should have made him happy. I still don't know how people observed the full scene but decided to block out the very next line where he says he was unsatisfied and just walked away with 'Mine likes women'. ☠️

Onto Jo though, the state of his memory about Masato's birth really is jarring when you point it out. It's one thing to just chalk it up to a sprinkle of misogyny and not finding Ikumi important (though at least RGG was nice enough to give her files a proper name), but really thinking about it, it's incredibly bizarre he doesn't remember at all. Not considering the actual nine months they had to live together for Ikumi to have Masato, I'd assume they'd have to live together a little longer than that then- and still nothing...? But everything else about that night... Definitely something to raise an eyebrow about lmao

That's unfortunate about the RGGO stories though! But like you said, it's totally understandable as to why they had to discontinue them (but also of course, they were a big attraction to me personally to play the game and card hunt), especially when it's only two people already having to juggle other projects. But thank you for the encouragement with my own personal projects: I try not to be too hard on myself since that certainly won't do anything, and it certainly helps to know that I'm on the right track with what I'm doing! I really do love these characters (and I'm also terribly aware they're a bit unpopular all things considered), so I always want to do what I can to do them justice for myself and other fans!

Highlighting Mine's preference towards the West has really been a great experience- it's something I've only noticed on small scales (i.e. his foreign car and of course his English), but bringing it to light like this has really helped validate and further my understanding of him! That being said, Mine most definitely has adopted the American mentality of stressing independence and not relying on others, and it's undoubtedly come as a result of his upbringing. Ergo, analyzing Mine in relation to his connection not just with American philosophy but also giri-ninjo is definitely worthwhile, and from the sounds of it absolutely significant to understanding his character and his motives (it's certainly something I'm already taking notes on for the future)!

Moreover, I've always been a fan of Mine and his ability to acknowledge the inherit need to have companionship, or at the very least his subconscious need for bonds. In that, it's clear Mine's pursuit of independence was a way to protect himself (I might dare to say he lets down his guard fairly easily all things considered, though I won't ignore his caution towards Daigo and Kanda when initially meeting them. Moreover, it's just clear that when he feels betrayed, despite convincing himself he's a lone wolf, he feels that pain significantly- much greater than someone who sincerely believes themselves to be independent should). Just as you've said, Mine's suicide and taking Richardson with him is really a solid and magnificent way to round off his character through the lens of him putting to rest his solitary philosophy. Going further with gameplay interwoven with story telling, the time-consuming Dad Simulator bits of Y3 really do help highlight how much the kids of Morning Glory- and in that case orphans in general- rely on adults like Kiryu to navigate life. And evidently, that experience ties back into Mine and his frustrations with not just people like Kiryu who help others without expecting a reward, but also how the less fortunate are able to receive that help where as Mine wasn't offered that.

On that note, I feel like I remember learning that the 'orphan' bit was an inclusion, but I guess I forgot that detail along the way. Nevertheless, I'm just about to start eating drywall over the translation differences at this point- even if my point isn't moot, I still can't help but feel an anxiety that I'm going to greatly misinterpret something (and I can certainly get back to this point later when it comes to the likes of Jo's in the west). At the very least, it's a better incentive to brush up on my Japanese. I'll take what I can though: I'm glad that what I've said it still valid in some parts!

The case of Masato's something that's always going to intrigue my mind (I owe myself a chance to properly sit down and analyze him). There's so many aspects at play that could have affected how he turned out as an adult, and family is undoubtedly a major factor contributing to that outcome. To expand on that, it's inarguable that Arakawa was doing the most he could for Masato as not only a young, single father who had a complicated relationship with his own parents, but also having to operate as a ruthless yakuza to the rest of Kamurocho meant not only was he busy, but he needed to uphold an image and make sure his son wasn't too involved with that life. In this, it seems apparent that Arakawa's conditions to be a parent weren't exactly ideal, and as a result it's fair to assume he potentially 'under performed' in some aspects due to these circumstances, so to say (we see he keeps himself active in Masato's life when he's an adult, so it's not as though I'm proposing it's a case of neglect. It's unfortunate we really don't get more of the Arakawa Family's family life to better understand their circumstances).

Thank you for your compliments on my comparison post! I didn't want to come off as bothersome, but I'll make sure to tag you in any future posts I make that are inspired by you ^^ Honestly, I thought my post was a bit messy on some parts, but I'm thrilled to hear it was comprehensive- and of course, I've love to hear your input on any points in the future if you ever feel like sharing them!

The topic of RGG spinoffs has been a topic between a friend and I every now and then (though I never would have expected a French Revolution game????), so it's astounding to hear about the various ideas that have been floating around (I would be excited the most for a game about Hanzo though- I remember obsessing over him while I was in middle school for whatever reason lmao)! In any case, spinoffs would be a great way to utilize one-off characters: it might not be mainline or technically canon, but being able to see the characters again is never something I can complain about so long as the game's fun and the story's engaging!

I'll make sure to keep you posted on how I feel about Princess Toyotomi and Hero SP: I have an insatiable need to share everything on my mind, so I'll undoubtedly talk about them and whatever thoughts I have! Again, I have to apologize about spoiling the end like that- I really didn't expect them to go that way either when I first saw it honestly! But I can't say it was a terrible ending- unfortunate, but I wasn't super mad about it.

Now returning to the state of RGG's translations, that is especially weird in that situation in particular when they have a similar line in the same (or about the same, anyway) scene? As you've said, it might have been an unfortunate case of penning in something based off of independent thought, though it's still unfortunate because it did have the potential to alter not just the scene itself, but Arakawa's character as well (and of course, we would have hoped RGG wold improve when it comes to sensitive topics at this point).

And onto a point I've been weirdly excited to get to, the case of Jo and how the west seemed to handle him. Maybe it's because of America's tendency to make marketing more 'aggressive' (my personal favorite case is making Kirby appear angrier in ads? Because rage and cute-pink-puffball makes sense to me), so opposed to a more grey portrayal they went with something more blunt. Though, it's incredibly strange that Jo seemed to receive such a 'particular' treatment when it came to marketing? My only theory is that they just really wanted Jo's 'reveal' in the Coin Locker Baby chapter to be all the more impactful, but it's just messy honestly.

More importantly, the change of his style's name is also really unfortunate to me. As you've said, it strips interesting aspects of his character away, and a major aspect of his character is evidently guilt. I can't fathom trying to construct his character to be violent without reason, it really undermines what makes him so compelling.

Though, I guess if it's anything, from what I've seen this change in presentation has done little to impact people's perception of him (but maybe that's because I haven't really seen anyone else in the west talk about him...)

#long post #fave #snap chats #preemptive apology for how eUgh my response may be #im a little tired but i also didnt want to wait to respond to this- especially when it has points im really interested in #definitely bookmarking this one to look back at for mine #ah im sure i wanted to say some things else but i cant remember them now #one quick note on mine's psyche tho is that I Too found it relatable (and im also SEAsian- funny how things turn out huh lmao)#of course maybe its because /im/ american so im quite literally in the culture #but my family's a little complicated so instead of the people around me i feel on my own because of them if that makes sense #basically im able to understand mine feeling some resentment or shut out from a culture supposedly about togetherness #its hard for me to explain rn ohhh i wish my brain worked at this hour #in any case thank you again for writing in ! as always its incredibly insightful and a great way to get me thinking #but speaking of thinking i guess i should start my morning- ive got to think about childhood psychology later #then im freee....

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ajdrawshq · 5 months

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Is there any non-spoilery way you could talk about how isat isn't just about timeloops? because like I do want to check the game out eventually for sure if only because indie fun times but I'm busy for a while before I get the time and tbh I'm just not as curious because I don't know how it's gonna break that formula (also ngl no colors makes me lose 50% interest because I like. looking at colors. lots.)

UHM OK WELL UM. hm. how DO i do this without spoiling anything. im very not good at describing things especially things i Really enjoy so how do i put this . hold on i might need to look at some reviews so i know how to words. ok

as a disclaimer i havent fully interacted with a lot of (if any??) media that has timeloops so i cant say for certain what it does differently from similar media that makes it stand out from others. at the same time ive never seen something that is so directly About Timeloops in this way even if i consider stuff ive heard about in passing but i could be wrong (madoka n utena come to mind ?). ill try to think abt the things that arent Just timeloop related plus the stuff u mentioned and hope that helps it feel more interesting and less generic?

i think one of the main things i can say is that it Really makes you feel what the protagonist is feeling. more than anything ive ever watched or played or whatever . and thats saying a LOT given how much i empathize with protags in games. and its not even just an empathy thing here. both the story progression and the gameplay work in such a way that you experience pretty much everything the same way they do, while still having their own personal stuff u can learn about of course

on that note tho. that is actually something to be careful of for a few reasons. i know ur generally pretty good with darker content so i doubt thatll be a problem for u here (its not that bad tbh but there is IS a warning when u open the game/look at the steam page and it aint lying) but. due to the nature of timeloops. it CAN get tiring and this is very much intended. and this helps a lot w the story and themes in a way that its. like. think how kh days does repetition on purpose. its a lot like that (although i had way easier of a time getting thru isat than days? i cant remember how u feel abt days' gameplay but i think it was positive ? either way getting thru isat was way more bearable than days imo). it does do a good job at balancing this with a couple mechanics that mean u dont have to repeat everything all the time (i had like. Very few actual full loops by the time i finished) and theres ALWAYS new things happening, even if ur super thorough with everything. its pretty easy to do things at whatever pace u feel like and if u wanna focus on the main story only to make it easier it wouldnt take too much away from the experience (tho i do encourage talking to the npcs at least a few times), and theres always a goal to work towards. also dialogue skipping and the banana peel are ur best friends

sort of adding onto that. it really, really helps that u are sharing the experience with the protagonist. not only does that help u relate to them (even if u dont share as many traits w them as i do akvdjsn) but theyre probably the most beloved character in the game and for good reason!! its really fun to see their interactions with the rest of the main cast and the npcs, and watch them all develop in different ways throughout the game. and my goodness all of the characters are beautifully written - at first ur kinda thinking ok its a ragtag group of sillies in an rpg whats new. but their personalities and relationships and hobbies and problems and everything about them is just so well done.. they feel so natural. human even. every conversation feels real to me. one of the main themes of the game is the concept of change, and each of them represent and approach it differently, both positively and negatively. its hard not to fall in love with them as individuals and as a group because they just have so much going on, even the ones i didnt expect to like at all!!

the worldbuilding is also a fun spin on fantasy rpg worlds. it mostly revolves around the area u play in bc well. of course it does. but its vv interesting to learn about all the different cultures within the world and how they interact with and build on the themes of the game. theres all sorts of queer stuff going on and its all handled like a love letter to people who relate, and i can feel it even with what i dont relate to at all!! the way "magic" works and the ways people use it in battle and everyday life is super cool too, makes the whole thing feel a lot more believable and realistic :3 i dont wanna talk abt any specifics bc its more fun to learn abt this stuff ingame

OH AND THE TEXT.. EFFECTS?.. idk what to call that but the way dialogue (both internal and external) is written and programmed is funky as hell (affectionate). it was weird at first bc oftentimes (mostly for humor) its like. almost the way i type actually?? which feels strange in a legit game but it Works. it works so well and adds tone and vibes and a Voice in a way u usually cant get in a game without any voice acting. deltarune is also good at that but this one does it differently enough for me to consider it unique

HAVE I MENTIONED THE ART STYLE i love the art style . its so charming and expressive especially all the talking sprites n battle portraits. simultaneously silly n adorable while fully capable of being serious. and creepy. anyway look at the sillies i love them n their designs dearly (especially Siffrin (1st on the left) and Mirabelle (2nd on the left))

also on that note, the lack of colors....... i both totally understand being put off by that (i also love looking at colors n this part made me feel weird abt it when i was thinking abt getting it at first) and personally enjoy it? without saying anything spoilery (bc its really not), its just another part of the worldbuilding and themes that i now find really fun :3 should be noted that i usually have an anti blue light filter so it mightve been easier to look at w the yellowish tint going on. maybe it even looks better that way ? kinda reminded me of old films now that i think abt it.. neat!!

as a last thing i couldnt quite insert somewhere else. it is equal parts a comedy and a tragedy, and it is so, so effective at accomplishing this. the humor is fantastic and adds to the games' and characters' personality, every tragic moment is . for lack of a better word or phrase. absolutely fucking delicious. and i adore how well it can shift from one to the other gradually or in an instant, or just be both at once!!!! yippee!!!!!!!

aaand thats all i can say. i have no idea if that cleared anything up BUT i encourage u to give it a try bc i do think youd like it in the end. u probably wouldnt finish it as fast as i did but that might be a good thing jfbskndj but yeah!!!! in stars and time!!!!!! its good and i love it!!!!!!!!

#this started as me actually answering ur question n evolved into me gushing abt whatever i could get away with without revealing anything;;#literally started shaking as soon as u sent this i got so excited skgcjsbksns #(guy whos still reeling from writing several essays in 72 hour timeframe voice) i need to write an essay length post on this #i think i said a few words way too often here but im too tired to think abt that. head empty #also as a side note it works perfectly on my shitty computer that has trouble running 3ds emulator stuff so i can guarantee ur good there #theres SO MUCH i wish i could say but its either spoilers or hints too much at things that could lessen the experience. alas #it does have its flaws as all games do but its so worth it. so so worth it. im considering 100%ing it bc i just cant be done with it yet #OH its also on itchio if youd rather get it there #if ur not willing to put money into it bc u dont wanna waste it i will legit let u sign into my steam accoutn and download i am so serious #there IS a demo. but i actually recommend not playing it first. this will make things easier in the long run #ANYWAY!!!!!!! THANK U FOR THE ASK!!!!!!!!!! <3 <3 <3 #ask #mortellanarts

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