So I was casually counting the Eddie merch I’ve bought online and. Well.
Poetic Betty Corroded Coffin your shirt
Poetic Betty Eddie Daria shirt
Poetic Betty “Dream Boy” Eddie shirt
Black Milk “The Piggyback” Dress (it’s got pockets)
Plain White Primark Hellfire Tee
Plain Black Primark Hellfire Tee
Raglan Primark Hellfire Tee
Black and Grey 3/4 sleeve Raglan from a local con someone was selling them
Hellfire Xmas Jumper
Poetic Betty “All I Want for Xmas is Eddie in ST5” Sweatshirt
“Munson 1965” Sweater from Etsy
Guitar Pick Necklace from Etsy
Smol Eddie from @mardyart
Big Eddie from SaberGhatz on Instagram
Eddie Acrylic charm from SaberGhatz
2x Heart Shaped Eddie pins from SaberGhatz
Eddie Funko Pop
I don’t have a problem. Nope. Not me.
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Coward ||| Chan & Reader
Summary: you and your best friend that have been conjoined at the hip since you were little got into an argument 3 weeks prior, and you can do little to escape it
Genres: Angst, but a happy ending with fluff
Warnings: consequences of and therefore inferences to a big argument (actual events left vague), one explicit insult, poor language (2x f**k)
Word Count: 2,099
Theme: Not a song, but this edit inspired the fic
AN: guess how long I’ve had this here in my drafts? September 9, 2019. finally got round to writing it, even though I knew exactly what would happen this is my brain’s bs I don’t write angst super often so, I hope you enjoy!
High school/non-idol AU
~~~
With a sigh you let your chin fall onto your arms. You stared at your own muffled reflection in the glass as you sat on the windowsill, brain in a haze. The cicadas were chirping away below your hunched body, their chorus at its opening hook, and they would continue long through the night—much like the chaos next door.
You supposed, through the thicket of your thoughts, that you should be grateful that the swathes of bodies were just chatting loudly to themselves, instead of screeching to some awful trap beat like they’d been doing the week before. The speakers were playing full blast however, and it didn’t help a single bit that it was one of your favourite songs.
In fact, that was part of the reason why you felt so heavy.
Had things been normal, you would have been there, dancing and smiling and joking with anyone who would listen.
But you weren’t.
He hadn’t invited you.
Your best friend. Didn’t invite you—his best friend—to his birthday party.
Over something so petty too.
You could barely recall the intricacies of the argument. All you could remember was his terse scowl, his soft eyes going from sweet to sour in a second, and the words that cracked like a whip and branded you. Your best friend was so gentle, with a heart of gold—you had seen him at his worst once before, what you’d thought was his worst, and even then you couldn’t imagine he could even contain the spite that then flew from his lips. Even if there had been warning for what could come, nothing further still could have prepared you for it.
He’d become a sort of cold vicious, insults thrown carelessly that then cut deep as if they’d been heated in a bare flame.
“How can you be such a fucking coward, Y/N?” had been the one that had twisted as it was pulled out. It still snuck up on you, pounced when you thought you’d calmed down, and then left you reeling in unsettled hurt all over again.
It never made you cry though. Not during the day. As night crept over the horizon however, it was a different story, and the cicadas’ call became a tepid siren.
You let the warm night air hold you, as if it would work as a suitable replacement, though you knew it would never come close. Breathing in the night air, you sank deeper into the arms of your jumper. It smelt of comfort, of home, of happiness, and the loose hairs there tickled your nose.
It was as if your reactions were on a set delay, as it took you several seconds to realise that it was dog hair that was on your sleeves, and that scent was from the person that had taken the comfort away from you.
‘He doesn’t want you anymore,’ you had to remind yourself, ‘you shouldn’t spare a thought on him.’
But there you were, moping nevertheless, your thoughts practically consumed by him.
You couldn’t blame yourself entirely for it, because even as soon as you tried to lift your head away from the memories embroidered in your sleeves, you were still hit by the realisation that you were sat by your bedroom window—the very one that he’d clambered through unprompted years before.
He’d been so desperate to escape being forced to tolerate his uncle’s ramblings about roadworks and his pitch to him to get him to come and work at his business instead of music. “Silly songwriting,” had been what his uncle had referred to it as, and your best friend always got a kick out of impersonating the man’s wily poshness.
You used to chuckle every time your brain procured the memory randomly for you. Now, it just stung.
He’d always wanted to do music, and he refused to give in no matter what anyone told him. His parents had always been supportive, and you figured that was partly why he was so determined with it, though the sentiment wasn’t shared with his extended relatives that often visited. You’d always thought he was brave for standing up to them, it was something that you’d always wanted to do to your own for other reasons, but never found the words to.
You caught yourself in the loop, shaking your head miserably at yourself and the situation before you. How were you supposed to move on when everything around you seeped with him? The caps you shared were slung on the bedposts, the mess of homework scattered upon your desk, the guitar in the corner easing gradually out of tune. Even the night itself was his time. How were you supposed to hide away from the night when you’d spent pretty much every other one before with him.
The ember heat of anger rose in your throat, your thoughts spiking at the distaste of how no one seemed to take the jagged loss of a best friend seriously, at least to enough to help you.
The heat grew wilder then; it was never directed at him.
With the sun set below the horizon you felt your lower lip quiver and you loathed its tenderness. You’d watched the sunset with him so many times, you could conjure the exact shades of gold and crimson in your head, it was just a hindrance that you couldn’t paint it without his messy dark curls in the corner.
A knock came from the front door, ad you found yourself counting its beats.
Three, no sharps, just drawled pauses in between.
You immediately questioned yourself on as to why it mattered. But you knew exactly why.
Wishing one of your parents was home to go and answer it would not fix the problem no matter how much you yearned it to, and so you convinced yourself to trundle down the stairs to see who it was. It was probably only a delivery guy after all. Hopefully they wouldn’t try and talk to you unnecessarily.
Biting the inside of your cheek and settling your shaking lips into a firm scowl you swung open the door with a warning glare already in your eye.
To your surprise, it was no person holding a stack of pizza or a parcel of any kind, just a boy you knew too well, with his fallen-tipped eyes all downtrodden.
“Chan, what the fuck are you doing here?” you snapped, your hand itching to slam the door straight back in his face. The only thing that stopped you was his bitten lips. You hated how you knew him so well and that it left you vulnerable.
He drew a smile upon his face, but it was too tight-lipped to be convincing. You wondered if he thought you a fool to try and lie, but still you left the door open. “Too many people,” he finally managed, one fist curling in the cradle of the other’s palm.
“It’s your party!” you snarled, your heart’s leniency not transferring across to your words. You watched his lips hammer shut as his sad eyes glanced away, explanations or excuses—how were you to tell—pooling behind his barricade.
You let him stew, the vengeful spirit seeking some joy in his utter discomfort and you didn’t have it in you to hold it back quite yet. The weeks he’d left you in turmoil etched across your mind, the insecurities he’d played on that he couldn’t use the ignorance-card for in the slightest too. You weren’t ready to forgive him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to tag a ‘never’ no matter how much you tried.
His response broke through the blockade of his silence. “I realised that I messed up Y/N, and it’s not my party if you’re not there and,” his gaze came back to yours and you indulged him, meeting his eyes and how they glistened, “and I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”
The vengeful sprite vanished from your shoulder, and you were left without a clue as to what to do. You wanted to forgive him, and he seemed genuine. He’d never pulled a stunt like this before, and you’d known him ever since you were little.
But neither could you put his words to bed, and the actions that followed. You’d been to every single one of his birthday parties, you’d been such a staple to him that this wasn’t actually the first time you strictly speaking hadn’t been invited—because there was no way you wouldn’t have been at his side to begin with.
But this was a first, and it hurt.
You took in the sight of the boy that you’d refused to even look at for the past three weeks. He looked exactly how you’d left him, only emptier. His shadow grew in the flitting light of the dying day sky, much like the ones beneath his eyes had already done. He was closed in on himself, the subtle confidence he always oozed nowhere to be found. You couldn’t picture his high tone catching laughter tumbling from his lips like this. Neither could you hear those sharp edged words on them.
“I’m sorry, Y/N, I didn’t mean it, it all just happened and... and this doesn’t fix it—I made you cry, and I hate that I did! It... it’s my responsibility. I accept that it’s my fault, and I’m sorry, I really am—”
You stepped from your doorway and took him into your arms. Three weeks was too long of a time to be from them after all, and you couldn’t stand the way the tears threatened to spill over both your eyes and his.
He held onto you as soon as you fit against him as perfectly as you always did, hands clutching at your jumper while he nestled his head into your hair. Your tears dampened the collar of his sweater as you sighed, a staggered breath that only just pulled you back from crying entirely. You focused on him, just like you had done before, only this time it was less painful.
You realised he smelt different than before, and it soon occurred to you that it was your scent that was missing. It surprised you to discover just how much of your perfume ended up all over him. It wasn’t like you were super affectionate and cuddly friends either. Your lips twitched into a smile without a single thought discarded.
The two of you stayed like that for a while, swaying before your wide open door as Chan slowly regained his stability. All the midges were probably fleeing inside but this once you didn’t mind. You had your comfort back, and even though things weren’t perfect, you could begin to move forward as things should.
“You better make it up to me,” you ordered, a feeble laugh filtering through.
He sniffed and its stunned you just how close to crying he’d been. “I know, I will, I promise.”
Rubbing his back soothingly, you eased him into swinging gently with the song. It earnt you a warbled laugh, but it meant his usual self was returning. “Do you want to play Mario Kart and see how long it takes for someone to notice?”
You pulled away gently hearing him chuckle awkwardly. Peering up you saw his pink tinged cheeks and wet eyes that he half-covered-half-wiped with his hand. He was the same old Chan you’d known for years after all. “Sounds perfect!”
You smiled, helping him wipe his tears with the side of your finger which caused him to sheepishly smile and repeat ‘I’m ok, I’m ok...!’
Unsure how to handle the next part, you ended up leading him inside his second home with an awkward shimmy of your arms. It was meant to be a dance move, but it didn’t look much like one and it barely fit the theme of the song pummelling across the air. It didn’t matter to you though, it was really a test of the waters, and fortunately: it worked.
Your restored best friend giggled shyly as he followed, steadying his breath as he watched you shuffle through your front door.
He would make all his words up to you, he vowed he would. They’d all been misplaced, all been resentments with himself that he’d sprung weakly on the first other he found, and of course that was going to be you.
He was going to make it right, never let you down, help you with whatever you asked—no excuses—and maybe let you win a few times at Mario Kart.
And maybe one day he would finally work up the courage to tell you the truth.
~~~
AN: i wrote a thing! go brain!
[edited: may 31]
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