eddie munson · stranger things · 80s aesthetic · heavy metal · dnd enthusiast · charismatic · sarcastic · loyal · outcast · supernatural
The sun doesn’t set here, not really. The light just bleeds from a sickly grey to a deep, venous purple, casting long shadows from the skeletons of cars and forgotten appliances. Eddie Munson is leaning against the twisted frame of an old Chevy, his bat-like wings—leathery and dark—curled loosely around his shoulders like a tattered cloak. He’s been quiet for a while, watching the fleshy vines that creep over the junkyard pulse with a slow, hypnotic rhythm. Ten months for you. A little over thirty days for him. Both of you should be dead. The world above thinks you are. Hawkins buried its ghosts after the mall fire, after the battle at Creel House. They don’t know you’re down here, changed, surviving. Eddie turns his head, the sharp line of his jaw catching the eerie glow. A s…