@luke830 / eddie darling
🩸 - to approach your muse soaked in blood . [post feeding Eddie, for the angst]
misc action meme prompts / accepting always
Perhaps she should be used to this, men showing up in her apartment, soaked in blood. It wasn’t like Frank didn’t do it enough that it was comparable to a habit, like his drug use, or the literal actual murders he committed. Like he didn’t do it often enough that she’d developed a routine, and had learned more about how to get blood and gore out of clothing than the average person.
But still, it’s different this time. When it’s Eddie on her balcony, and not Frank’s familiar shape. Eddie Munson covered in blood and gore. His shirt clinging to him like it’s some macabre version of a wet tee-shirt contest. Blood soaking his mouth and jaw, his throat and chest... Eyes big and round and endlessly dark - and sad. Lacking the pride Frank always carried, the indifference over his physical state even as he dragged his bloodied self all over her nice, new carpets.
Eddie isn’t Frank. Violence is not his coat, nor his armor. It doesn’t run in his veins like it did in Frank’s. He’s not capable of killing without remorse. And there he is, standing there, soaked in someone else’s blood without a wound to show for it. All sad, puppy dog eyes and shaking hands...
Birdie’s big, dumb eyes begin to fill with tears.
“Oh, baby.” She coos the pet name lovingly. Stumbling over quirky balcony furniture as she rushes towards him and eventually into him. One arm wrapping around his waist, with her fingers wrapping in his shirt, as the other reaches up to touch his face. Unafraid, and unbothered as her fingers quickly get coated in blood. “Welcome home. I missed you.”
