#Neon friendship my beloved

[exy-shmexy]

What if Neil and Aaron find out they have a class in common during Neil’s second year and they reluctantly agree to team up for a group presentation because doing it together is better than doing it with unreliable strangers. Although a lot of snark is involved at first, they start warming up to each other the more time they have to spend together to work on their presentation and one evening, while it’s late and only the two of them are still awake, one of them—under the guise of exhaustion—makes a dark joke about his childhood that surprises a bark of laughter out of the other and that’s ultimately what makes them open up to one another. They find out they have more in common than they would like and this one evening marks the beginning of an unspoken friendly truce between them.

[abibliophobiaa]

Begin Again: Chapter Two

Summary: The year is 1988. After the loss of a beloved family member, you find yourself inheriting an old coffee shop. The quiet bartender at the Hideout across the street just so happens to catch your eye.

(18k+ words; eddie munson x afab!reader; sunshine!reader x grumpy!eddie vibes)

Warnings: Vignette style (sorta); Eddie’s post S4 trauma; panic attacks; nightmares; family member loss; grief; alcohol use; mild smut in later chapters so 18+; additional warnings to be added.

(AO3 Link) || Master List || PREVIOUS CH | NEXT CHAPTER

*

  Summer, 1988

  *

  Before long, spring bleeds into a balmy summer and the Fourth of July inches closer. 

While spring brought along with it new opportunities, new friendships, and new beginnings, you’re excited for warmer weather. 

Excited for colorful dresses, walks around the town, smelling the freshly cut bouquets at the florist next door, ice cream cones that melt between your fingers, and watching the sunset from your apartment windows. 

You wake with the sunrise on the third, spine cracking as you lift your arms up over your head to stretch the soreness from your limbs. 

Your alarm clock blares bright neon in the early morning sunrise, reading 4:30 where it rests on the pile of books you placed next to your bed as a makeshift side table until you can purchase new furniture and really spruce up the apartment. 

With a sigh, you slap a hand along the alarm clock and start your day. You tug on a pair of jeans, don a summery top with flowy sleeves, and drape your apron over your hips. The lights flicker on in the shop and the place illuminates, ready for a new day. 

You prep the coffee pots and turn on all the machines. Croissants are prepared and placed in the oven, along with various other treats, and you wipe down the surfaces of each table accordingly. 

The sign hanging in the window flips from ‘closed’ to ‘open’ and you assume your routine. 

Every day just like the one that came before. 

But there’s a comfort in it. An ease in which you live your new life here in Hawkins. 

It’s familiar and it’s constant, with little diversion. 

That is, until the girls start their shifts and probe you about plans for the weekend. Apparently one of their friends is planning on hosting a barbecue for the holiday with a small group of their closest companions.

And it seems they’ve invited you.

Max crosses her arms over her chest, one of her braids dancing over her shoulder as she does so. “You never get out of the shop.”

“Because I own the shop,” you remind her. 

El hands a cup of coffee to a customer and glances over to where you and Max are presently cleaning up a coffee spill. 

“It’s a holiday, just come ,” Max says. 

“I don’t even know your friend!” The exasperation in your tone rises, the mop in your hand trailing more water along the floor. 

“He’s your age, so is Robin, and we’ll be there. What’s more to know?” Max reaches down to lay a few towels onto the mess you’ve made, adding, “Plus, they are customers. I’m sure you’ve actually met them before.”

You're considering it. You’re actually considering going. “And he’s going to be just fine with me coming over to his place?” 

Max nods. “His parents are never home, so we basically have the whole place to ourselves for the day. Just come.”

“Please…come,” El says, slipping out from behind the counter. “You’ll make friends. Actual friends.”

Your brow arches at that one. “As opposed to?” El slinks backward, giving you a tight smile. 

“Your customers are not your friends,” Max says. “Well, they are. But these could be real ones. Come on. You’ve been in Hawkins for months and I don’t think I’ve seen you go anywhere even once.”

“I go places!” you reply hotly, your skin burning aflame in embarrassment. 

The Hideout, but they don’t know about it. 

“Okay, fine, so I don’t go places. I spend my afternoons in my apartment.”

“So you’ll come?” Both girls look at you expectantly. 

“Fine!”

  *

  Three months. 

Maybe more. He can’t remember the number anymore. 

The amount of time that has passed since you moved into town and effectively uprooted his life. 

His normalcy. 

Before that, it’s been easy to keep people at arms length—to stay far enough away that they don’t ask questions. 

Most people do tend to stay far away. 

No one wants to be associated with the Freak, the murderer, the man who made a deal with the devil. 

It didn’t matter then when they abolished his name from the news and he was cleared as a free man, and it certainly doesn’t matter now; people still look at him with disdain, whisper when he passes, step away from him when he gets too close in the supermarket. 

He knows, though, there’s something about you that draws him to you. 

Magnetic, you’re magnetic. That’s what it is, this feeling, this tug.

He hasn’t felt that way in a long time. This pull to another human outside of his core group (The Party), this desire to want to open up. 

It’s coupled with fear but the urge is there. 

It hasn’t been in a long, long time. 

Before that, it’s two years. 

Two years since the events of the Upside Down. 

Two years since Chrissy died in his damn trailer home. Two years since he watched her bones break like twigs against his ceiling. Two years since he found out monsters lurked beneath Hawkins. 

Two years since he watched Max fear for her life every day before that day. Two years since he became forever bound to The Party. 

It’s been two years since he heard Dustin’s screams rattle his bones as he cut that rope. 

Two years since he felt the first rip of his own flesh as those mouths full of teeth cut into his skin. Two years since he felt them attack from every angle. Two years since he laid there in hell on earth and pleaded that he’d just die. 

Two years since he felt that blinding, agonizing pain as he shook in Dustin’s arms, taking what he thought were his last breaths. 

Two years since he said goodbye.

Two years since he thought he had died. 

Two years since he wished he had.  

Two years since he woke up in that damn bed, and was poked and prodded by an endless team of doctors with wires sticking out every which way from his body. Since they tried to salvage what they could of his shredded skin. 

It’s been two years, but when he closes his eyes…it’s as if it’s only been two minutes. 

It’s why he doesn’t let anyone close. 

The last time he did so, it set into motion the week that changed everything. 

  *

  You’re not sure what to expect as you get out of your car. But what you definitely don’t expect is the large expanse of property and the gorgeous home that stands there surrounded by endless green lawn on that bright summer day. 

It looms in front of you, intimidating in nature, and not only due to the size. On the patio outside is a group of people awaiting your arrival, a group of which you haven’t met all of. 

Tray of cookies in hand, you start the slow shuffle to the side entrance where Max and El told you you were to enter by. Luckily, the fence already sits open, and the sound of chatter immediately greets your ears, mixing in with the sound of the radio spilling from a speaker and someone jumping into the pool. 

You can smell the food cooking before you see it on the grill. Steve Harrington stands in the distance waving a spatula around as he talks. You recognize Robin next, with her short hair and glowing smile. The girls are in the pool with Will, Mike, Dustin and Lucas. You know the latter portion of the group that is not currently employed by you because they frequently spent time at Sunshine Coffee, trying to get a glimpse of their friends while doing homework together. 

The most surprising, however, of all the guests at the barbecue is none other than Eddie Munson. 

He sits in a lounge chair nearest to the pool, a cigarette between his lips, his bare arms on display for the first time ever , with his hair back in another one of his low hanging ponytails. You notice first the dark ink sprawling along his arms. Some newer than the others, judging by what you know of tattoos. Your eyes catch on the scar you can still see on his left bicep, like a little sun on his skin mixed in with a swirling array of black and gray that shifts and moves as he does. Seemingly aware of the kids now waving to you in earnest, he shifts his head over his shoulder, and though his gaze is obstructed by sunglasses, you can tell he’s surprised you're there. 

I’m surprised too, you think, suddenly uncertain of where to stand, what to do, what to say. You fidget on the spot with a hand curling in your dress, tempering the urge to flee. It’s what you might normally do in a moment like this, what you’ve done long before moving to Hawkins was ever set into motion. 

There isn’t much time to think, however, before Robin’s rushing over to your side and offering to help you with your things. She’s kind and pleasant—surprisingly so. She even goes so far as to give you a tour around the Harrington home, making you aware of where you can use the bathroom, get a new drink from the fridge, or a snack from the pantry. Not that you’ll need it with all the food cooking, but you’re appreciative all the same. 

Once back outside, Steve greets you shockingly enough with a warm hug. Says he’s happy you finally showed up, as though he’s been waiting all day, and tells you food will be done in a few minutes. 

It gives you a moment to get accustomed to your surroundings. Robin remains the perfect host at your side, prattling on about what she’s doing for college. She’s heavily intent on becoming a music teacher, and studying at the local community college. When she asks if you’ve ever thought about schooling, you mutter that you’ve never really thought to try. 

Going to college meant staying in one place for a long period of time, and thus it’s never been a thought in your mind. Maybe in another life, another time, when you felt like you were ready to settle. 

But now…no. 

Now you’re content with your coffee shop, with training up the girls to do all the tasks you need to keep it afloat, and deciding how you feel about Hawkins later down the line. 

She pulls you along beside her to plop down in the lounge chair across from Eddie, her foot kicking against Eddie’s ankle to draw his attention. 

“You’ve met Eddie, haven’t you?” Robin asks, and your eyes shift to his face. It’s hard to see what he’s thinking behind those sunglasses, a mask settled across his features. 

“We’ve met,” Eddie says softly, tipping his head down towards you. 

“Hi, Eddie.” You wave his way and Robin glances between the two of you awkwardly, hands on her knees. 

“Well, there’s the pool obviously, Steve has karaoke for later if we want to do any, you know where the snacks and drinks are, and, uh, food will be ready soon,” she announces, standing tall to her feet. “I’ll leave you both to it, then! Enjoy!”

It’s…well, it’s silent. And though that’s not entirely unusual for Eddie, it’s still striking to you at the moment. His arms rest on either rest, body slouching into the chair. 

“You took the day off?” You practically wince at the small talk, but it’s the first thing that comes to mind in the endless silence that settles between you. 

“Was going to work, but Steve is big on his family get-togethers,” he tells you, taking a sip of his beer. 

So the fact you’re here makes your heart warm. 

“I…uhm, I’m glad you’re here,” you say, turning your head slightly to catch his profile. He’s looking out into the pool, mouth a thin line. You let out a slow breath. “I didn’t know you’d be here, but it’s always nice to see you.” 

He’s quiet. So quiet. 

You get the impression the sentiment isn’t returned. 

You try to not let it sour your mood. “Well, uh, I’m going to see if Robin needs any help. Want me to grab you anything?” You rise to your feet, hands swiping along your dress. “A water? Beer?”

“I’m okay, thank you,” he says, and you catch the faintest curl of his lips. 

Okay then , you think, and march off.  

  *

  You show up to the party in a summer dress. 

Of course you do. 

It’s yellow with all these little flowers all over it. Bright, just like the summer day. 

Suiting for you. 

You, who quite literally radiates the sun, even on the gloomiest of days. 

He remembers the night you slipped into the bar and tried to pretend no one saw you—that he never saw you. 

Even water logged as you were, he’s pretty sure he’s never seen anyone so pretty. 

People notice it. They’d be foolish not to. Whirl around in their seats and look your way, trying to catch a glimpse of the girl with sunshine in her heart. 

But since you’ve met, all the times he’s been around you have been on his terms, and now you’re in the middle of Steve’s patio with a beer in hand and your head tipped back in a laugh as Robin tells you a lively story. 

“You invited her?” Eddie asks, turning his head to Steve. 

“Actually Max invited her. And El,” Steve explains, spatula swirling wildly as he speaks. “She seems nice. We’ve gone to the shop a bunch. Robs and I. But she’s always so busy. This is the first time we’ve really gotten to really meet her. Why? You got a personal vendetta against baristas I should know about?”

Quite the opposite, he thinks, but he’ll never admit that to Steve. 

  *

  They immediately love you. 

Of course they do; how could they not?

You match their golden retriever energy, bodies swaying—and surprisingly so, since none of you are even tipsy—as Steve sings (incredibly off key) along to “Super Trouper,” and you and Robin try to steal the microphone every couple words. All in all, it’s a stunning display of a lack of singing talent, but the kids are loving it, and Eddie hates it because it’s like a punch to the gut. 

It’s been this way since you arrived. Your endless charisma, that light that seeps from you, the way you flit in and out of conversations with everyone at the party.

Everyone except him . 

That’s his fault, he recognizes. He’s not really made it an effort to pull you aside, offering nothing more than little comments here and there. 

He can see it on your face. The way you recognize he’s distancing himself on purpose. 

It’s easier when you’re at the bar.

There, you’re quiet. You’re unassuming. You talk between the two of you, sure, but it’s on his terms. Here, you’ve injected yourself into his world—into this group that he trusts with all the parts of himself that have changed since what happened two years ago. 

They’re a safety net. They’re the only people he feels like he can still be himself around, and you’ve breached that, you’ve entered in and made yourself a home. 

They love you, and they should , but it’s another reminder of the fact the last time he let someone close to him they died in his home. The last time he let someone get close to him, the kids were in danger, Dustin got hurt, Max almost lost her life because of Carver interrupting their plan, Robin, Steve and Nancy almost died.

He can’t let another person get hurt from knowing him. 

He can’t let you get hurt from knowing him. 

He’d never forgive himself.

It’s sometime later that you end up sitting with your dress hiked up a bit on your thighs and your feet in the pool as the kids talk around you. The sun has set in Hawkins and the sound of crickets and cicadas blends into the gentle hum of music spilling from the radio. 

Robin appears with Steve, her chin coming to hook over Eddie’s shoulder and smacks a kiss to his cheek. “Can we keep her?” Eddie groans as she shakes his shoulders, trying to get a rise out of him, and stands at Steve’s side. 

“She’s not a pet, Robin.” He tries to keep his tone neutral. Unaffected. 

“You like her,” she points out, grin turning wide and wicked. 

He shakes his head, earning a look from Steve. “Don’t even start with that. I’m not hearing it.”

She’s practically bouncing in front of him. “But it’s true. I can see it. You can't keep your eyes off of her. She’s beautiful, though, so totally understandable. How did it happen? When did it start?”

“Rob,” he warns, feeling his chest tighten. 

“Eddie, this is good . It’s really good ,” Steve says. Robin nods enthusiastically beside him. 

“And why is that?” He challenges with a narrow stare, standing to his feet. 

“You looked happy today. We can excuse this moment of assholery and chalk it up to your denial speaking, but she makes you smile. I haven’t seen you smile like that in ages,” Robin says, voice high and right with emotion. 

He knows she wants the best for him, knows she wants to see him happy , but he has the guys from Corroded Coffin, he has Uncle Wayne, he has the kids, he has her and he has Steve, and that makes him happy. 

“It could be gas.” His reply is deadpan, sunglasses obscuring the crinkle around the corner of his eyes at the look on Robin’s face that says ‘shut up, asshole.’

“Eddie,” she warns, arching a brow up at him. 

“I'm serious. Steve’s cooking can be questionable.”

“I'm going to choose to ignore that. My cooking is fine,” Steve argues, cheeks aflame. 

“So how long has this been going on?” Robin’s relentless. He supposes he should know this about her by now, but it makes his head spin all the same. 

“There is no this because all this is is that I’m her customer and she visits the bar sometimes and we talk.”

“She visits you at your job and you visit her at hers—that sounds like interest,” Steve says, a little too pleased with himself. 

“Mutual interest,” Robin agrees, beaming so bright she mirrors the summer sun. 

“Look, I’m not even going to venture there because it’s only a matter of time before she figures out why you guys are the only ones left in Hawkins who don't run away at the sight of me. I’d rather not be there when she puts two and two together and hates me anyway.” He pauses, taking a deep breath, fingers at the bridge of his nose to pinch there. “So I’ll keep her at a distance and remind myself that I think she’s annoying as all hell most days—”

Because he doesn’t know what to do with the feelings that stir otherwise. So now it’s push them down, tuck them away, sweep them under the rug. 

The sound of your ankle banging against the side of a lounger greets his ears, and his head jerks your way. Steve and Robin’s looks of amusement drop into sorrow as your eyes flash between them and him, disappointment clear on your features. He catches the way your bottom lip wobbles, how your eyes widen, shoulders dropping. There’s a small “oh” that spills from your lips, as if you’re only realizing now you have stumbled in a conversation you were never meant to hear in the first place, but he can sense your embarrassment all the same. 

You deflate, and Eddie proves himself right once again why it’s futile to get close, because he catches those first glittering tears on your bottom lashes, unshed now, but there all the same. 

And he knows you heard him. 

Let someone close… hurt them. Just as he predicted.

“I, uh, was just going to say goodbye. I have to wake up early to set up the shop.” You step forward to hug Steve and Robin. He doesn’t expect you to come close to him, but it stings all the same when you simply glance away and mutter, “Goodbye, Eddie,” before slipping away, and out of the yard. 

Steve watches him as you go, eyes scouring every inch of his face, head shaking lightly. “Aren’t you going to, oh I don’t know, follow her? Make sure she’s okay? Come on, man.”

“She said goodbye,” he says, catching your fingers struggling with your door handle in your haste to leave. 

“Go,” Steve reiterates, and Eddie grumbles his way across the lawn, catching your door just as you’re about to close it. 

There’s a little huff that spills from your lips and there’s a part of him that has to temper down the thrill that jolts in his chest at the way your eyes narrow up at him expectantly. 

You’re always challenging him. 

Even now there’s a protest in your stare—on your tongue. 

But you focus your eyes ahead instead and lift your chin, trying to conceal the hurt swirling behind your eyes. 

Asshole, asshole, asshole. 

“I have to go,” you remind him. 

“I’ll, uh…I’ll see you around, okay?” 

“Yeah,” you say, and he shuts the driver's side door. 

And as he walks back to his group of friends, he scolds himself the whole way, because the best thing he could come up with in a moment of stupidity was say ‘I’ll see you around, okay?’ 

  *

  Eddie doesn’t come by for five days, and you don’t visit the Hideout for just as long. 

It’s not that you’re angry at him. No—the initial hurt is long gone. Now you’re left with this bitter emptiness. A feeling of questioning, as if every truth you had thought you’d know to be a certainty was really a lie all along. 

For weeks you were led to believe whatever this thing was growing between you and him had been real. This tangibility you could tend to, could nurture. 

Yet at the first sign of struggle, he ran away. Pushed you aside without a second thought. Said those hurtful things at the party. 

He’d run after you, sure, but only after he registered your pain. 

Only after his friends looked at him like he’d absolutely lost his mind. 

You want to believe that there’s more to the story, that there’s a reason why he said what he said and did what he did. 

But the worst part of it all, the part that twists the knife deeper in your chest, is the thought that maybe there isn’t, and maybe you trusted him too fast. Dove headlong into a dead end friendship with the one person in town you felt most free to be yourself around. 

That part hurts the most. 

  *

  Eddie feels like an idiot. 

You are an idiot, he tells himself as he stands in that flower shop near Sunshine Coffee , asking the owners for some sort of arrangement that speaks to an apology of sorts. 

“What kind of an apology?” the husband asks, looking over at Eddie wearily. His wife stands in the back, watering the flowers about the room. 

They must know you’re upset with him, and for good reason, too. It’s normal that he frequents the shop, but for the past few days he’s stayed away, not wanting to see that look of hurt across your features ever again. It’s bad enough that when he closes his eyes he can picture it. 

How your foot tripped over the edge of the lounger, the way your words tumbled from your lips, your skirt rustling about your ankles as you sped away…and sped away from him. 

Steve caught up with him the next day over the phone, trying to talk more sense into him. Trying to tell him there’s nothing wrong with opening up to a new friend, especially when that person was trying to go at his pace, respecting his boundaries, and never pushing him further than he was willing to go.

You’ve always been patient, and friendship is a two way street, where equal participation is expected from both parties.

Steve reminds him that this is a good thing. 

His government ordered therapist does, as well. Reminds him that part of healing is doing the uncomfortable things, stepping out of his comfort zone, coming out from the shadows he’s shrouded himself within. 

He’s not meant to live in solitude.

“It’s for a…I was a total asshole who took advantage of your kindness, and I deserve your rage kind of apology,” he admits, and watches as the older man regards him carefully before thinking to himself quietly. 

“You can do pink roses.”

“Aren’t roses for love?” he asks, wanting to be clear. He’s always seen them around Valentine’s Day when all the couples at Hawkins High wanted to be all mushy and show their undying devotion to one another. “I’m not trying to say I—I love her or anything. I barely know her.”

“Pink roses mean gratitude. Seeing as you took advantage of her kindness and hurt her, pink roses are a perfect way of showing that,” he explains, putting together an assortment on the countertop and tying it off with a ribbon on the front. “Do you want me to write her a card?”

“Can I…take one to go?”

“Sure thing,” he says, ringing him up and sliding a blank card across the countertop. “And word of advice, boy: that girl is wonderful, so you better do better.”

I’m trying, he thinks, slipping out of the building. 

And it starts with the little bouquet he has one of the girls deliver you later that day, with a little card affixed to the ribbon. 

The words on the letter read: Fact of the day—Eddie Munson is a giant asshole. 

Then beneath, in tinier lettering: Do you think you can forgive him, maybe? 

  *

  Steve Harrington and Robin Buckley are always a welcome sight within the walls of Sunshine Coffee. Even before the Fourth of July barbecue, you’ve particularly liked them. The two would come in, often bantering with one another, bright smiles on their faces. 

It always spoke to a close bond between the two; you don’t know them well , but that kind of bond is clear and attests to being tried and tested in the fire, and only made them stronger for it. 

You’re a little shocked to see them here now, however. 

The last time they saw you, the three of you were happy and high off of life, cheeks warm from the summer sun, arms looped around each other's necks as you sang ABBA, smelling of suntan lotion and lips stained from cherry popsicles. 

You glance over your shoulder to Will and ask him if he’s good to let you go on your lunch break, and he’s immediately nodding his reply. The three of you slip out into the street, sights set on the local ice cream parlor, because Robin reassures you ‘ice cream is the perfect lunch for a day like this.’ 

It’s sweltering out. Sweat slicks your skin, the back of your neck, your hands. That first swipe of your tongue along your chocolate and vanilla swirl has you humming in delight, sandaled feet kicking out beneath you. 

“I’m actually so shocked to see you two,” you admit, just as Robin sticks her spoon into her cup. 

“We told you there’s no getting rid of us now,” Robin says, and she’s right, but it makes you smile all the same. 

Makes you warm, and it has little to do with the heat shining down from the sun above. 

“I’m actually planning another get together,” Steve says, tongue already cherry red from his ice. “You’re invited, obviously.”

“Thanks, Steve.” You swipe your tongue along another line of rainbow sprinkles, glancing out into the street. 

You can see the now-quiet Hideout. It won’t be busy for a couple hours now. 

“So, uh, that’s actually kind of why we ambushed you at work,” Steve says, catching your wandering gaze. 

“Hmm?” Your head snaps back their way, wrist lifting to your mouth to catch the ice cream sliding down the side of your cone. 

“He really likes you, you know? We know he can make a fool of showing it, but he does,” Steve starts. 

“Who?” You’re playing coy, hiding your nervousness behind your ice cream. 

Robin’s quick to answer with, “Eddie…we just ask you to give him a second chance, okay? He’s been through a lot. And I’m sure we’re literally breaking a thousand rules of friendship right now by approaching you like this, but he’s already been so much happier since you’ve been here. You, like, challenge him and make him come out of the little shell he’s put himself into and it would really break my heart—both our hearts, really—if that stopped.”

“I planned on it,” you tell them sincerely. But you also know it has to be on his terms. 

He’s already started with his apology, and now it’s just a matter of…waiting to see what happens. 

You can’t force yourself onto someone who doesn’t want you to be prevalent in their lives. And yet, you respect his past; you understand that there are parts of him you’ve not privy to that his friends are, and the fact that they may reveal why he is the way he is at his core. 

Knowing that, being made aware of that, is something you want to happen on its own time. In the right time, and by his discretion. 

It’s his story to tell. 

So the three of you stand to your feet and walk through the town, talking about the upcoming weekend, planning things for dinner and dessert. And you plan for the future with the sun at your backs, bright and vibrant smiles as bright as the beams that dance along your skin, with nothing but hope to guide you all. 

  *

  He doesn’t come the next day. Nor does he come the day after. And soon it’s a week since you’ve seen him in the four walls of your coffee shop. Which surprises you, because he left that apology bouquet of flowers with El to give to you. 

You can only imagine his dark figure hulking as he entered that little flower shop, filling the vibrant room with a streak of black and gray. It makes the corners of your mouth lift simply thinking of it—imagining him having to order the plants and write up his little note card. 

If you beamed when you read his little fact of the day, you’d never admit it. But the girls certainly caught it, pointing and laughing at the way you lit up like a Christmas tree at the prospect of Eddie Munson getting you apology flowers. 

It’s what they babble teasingly at you, at least. All wagging fingers and pouty lips over the fact he had gone out of his way to make a gesture as he had in hopes of getting back into your good graces. 

Only, you’ve not seen him since. 

You thought maybe he would come see you— talk in person about why the way he behaved like a proper imbecile that evening. 

You’re sorely disappointed, and the sting of fresh rejection ripples and dances along your skin, cracks between your ribs and curls around your heart.

Max catches you one evening, hours before you’re set to close up for the day. Normally, it’s your job to make sure the shop closes up. You’ve always wanted to make sure the kids are ahead on their schoolwork anyway, but now with summer here, they’ve offered to stay later more often. 

Extra pay, they remind you. 

Extra help, you remind yourself. 

But on this day she glances over the glass case wherein all your freshly baked cookies lay, a fresh bar towel in her hand as she wipes the case clean and sparkly. You catch the flash of red hair before she huffs out a sigh and tosses the towel onto the countertop. 

“Just go over there,” she says, and you don’t even need her to clarify, despite the way your brows arch in feigned confusion at her words, because you know exactly where she’s referring to. She humors you all the same, nearly barking out, “To the Hideout. And don’t make that face, because we all know you go over there. Right?”

“Yeah, we’ve known,” El says, counting the tips in their ‘College Fund’ tip jar you made for them. 

“It’s…kind of obvious.” Will winces, putting a lid over a fresh latte. 

Max lets out another sigh. “The fact of the matter is, you’re moping around and he’s moping around, and if you’re going to do that, why not just—oh, I don’t know—mope together?”

You level them all with your best stern look, hands on your hips, but they only hide their giggles behind their palms. They’re enjoying this; they’re actually enjoying your struggle in this very present moment. “I think you three forget I’m technically your boss.”

“But…we’re also your friends,” El says, and Will nods in agreement, passing you a smile over his shoulder. 

“We kind of crossed over into friendship territory when you came over Steve’s,” Max reminds you, shrugging. 

“So it was a trap, then?” you tease, backing up until your shoulders press against the glass case. “You three will be good to lock up?”

“You’ve taught us everything we need to know,” Max says, and the other kids nod in agreement. 

“Fine,” you agree, raising a finger to scold them when they all smirk at you. “But if anything happens, anything at all, you come get me.”

“Go!” El lets out an exasperated giggle and you slip out the door. 

The Hideout isn’t as busy at this time, you discover. Normally you’re there past eight at night, and it's just after four thirty now. The sun still has yet to set, but there’s no light in here, except for that of the neon lights that glow blue above. 

There’s only the quietest of conversation around you. A few people spread throughout the place, an older couple in the corner, two acquaintances at the bar. And then there’s you, sliding up onto a stool and pulling out the worn copy of The Fellowship of the Ring Eddie let you borrow. 

He eyes you cautiously as you do so, as if he expects the worst. But you’ve already made up your mind; made it up long ago, if you’re being honest with yourself. “You didn’t warn me that Gandalf died.”

His mouth drops open momentarily at that, but a slow smile spreads across his lips and he props a forearm against the bar across from you. He leans into it to get closer. “That would ruin the story.”

“Yeah, but you know I loved him.” You told him as much numerous times. You were fond of him, the way he cares and loves for the fellowship. The wisdom he harbors. 

“I know,” Eddie says, sounding regretful. “Can I convince you to keep reading…under the promise that maybe things will get better?”

You huff and pout, sliding your finger into where your bookmark presently rests at the back of the book. “I don’t see how they can.” 

“Well don’t you want to know what happens next?”

“I do.”

“Then will you trust me?” He pauses, catching himself before he continues. You watch him rub a hand along the back of his neck, rings glinting in the light. “Actually—don’t answer that.”

“Why not?” You press him, mouth settling into a firm line. 

“Because I…damn it, I messed up, okay?” 

“I know, and I got your flowers. I forgive you.” You nod in earnest, already resolute in your decision to forgive him and move on from it. 

“Yeah, but it doesn’t change the fact I was still an asshole,” he says, sounding a little mournful. “You just…you didn’t hear the whole conversation.”

You try to offer him an easy smile as he walks around the bar and sits down beside you on another stool. It’s the closest you’ve been to him, you think. “Did I walk in at the wrong time?”

“Something like that.”

Your answer is simple then, “Okay…then I forgive you for that, too.”

“You shouldn’t,” he says quietly. 

You shake your head at him. “But I do.”

“Yeah, but why do you do that?”

You’re not understanding. “Why do I do what, Eddie? I’m trying to forgive you for being an ass and you’re not letting me, so are you rejecting your own apology?”

“You’re just…damn it, you’re—and it drives me crazy. That’s why I said you annoy the shit out of me.” He groans at the end of his words, palm sliding down his face. “I’m just—look, I’m not used to people being like you.”

“Like me?” You point to yourself with your thumb, head tilting to the side. 

He’s staring straight at you when he says, “Nice, sweetheart, nice.”

You ignore the little flutter that gives way at his nickname. 

“Why is that?”

“Because of all the shit that happened two years ago,” he drops an elbow onto the counter and rests his forearm along the top. He’s close enough just the slightest shift on the stool will mean his fingers brushing the sleeve of your work tee shirt. 

“I know,” you tell him. “And I’m sorry for that.”

His eyes shift to your face. A worry line forms between his brows, out of place on such a youthful face. “Oh, so you, uh, looked into it?”

“No,” you reassure him softly, resting your hand on the back of his. He flinches at first, but doesn’t make an effort to pull away. You offer him a slight squeeze and continue, “no I didn’t, Eddie.”

“Why not?” It’s as if he can’t believe you wouldn’t. 

As if he wonders why you haven’t. 

“I figured one day you’d tell me,” you reply, thumb shifting against his palm in a slow swipe before you pull away to rest against his book instead. “When you’re ready, of course.”

“Oh…o-okay.”

“Yeah, so will you let me accept your apology? This way we can start over.” 

“I’d like that,” he agrees, moving to stand to his feet as a customer taps a few dollars against the bar. 

“Go—back to work for you,” you tease, adding out in a quick rush, “and get me the second Lord of the Rings book!”

“So you are going to read?” 

“You asked me to trust you,” you remind him, watching as he starts walking to his customer. “This is me trusting you.”

  *

  Things… change after that. 

You were friends before your mild tiff, sure—but Eddie starts to change from that point on. You wonder if it’s a wish to try and maintain what he says, about trusting him, about him trying to appreciate what you’ve been to him these months. But your adventures travel outside the four walls of the Hideout and Sunshine Coffee for the first time one humid Saturday a few weeks after you restart your friendship. 

After Eddie lends you The Two Towers and you breeze through it in a week’s time, you tell him you really want your own set of the books. “You know, to mark up and stuff,” you tell him, to which he calls that, “A crime that requires jail time, unless you buy two copies so you have one to keep for rereading and one to annotate,” and you shove at him as you sit beside him in his van on the way to a thrift store just outside of Hawkins in search of a new bookshelf. 

You briefly wonder if this is the town he lives in, what with the way he navigates so smoothly, no question to what roads to take. 

You don’t press him, however. 

You’re patient with him. You want to see him grow in your presence. To pull back those layers of his rough exterior and find the gold within. You know it’s there; you’ve seen it sparkle numerous times now. Can sense it behind every secret smile he offers you. 

Your first store leaves you empty handed. You slip and out of aisles in search of the perfect piece to put in your home, but find nothing to your liking. Nothing that would even do well with a nice coat of paint or a good staining. 

The second shop has a nice carpet you end up purchasing, with Eddie’s awaiting arms there to carry it back to his car, but again no bookshelf. So it surprises you a little when you both climb back inside after Eddie shuts the back doors and says, “I could try and build you one?”

“Really?” You shift your head to look at him. He’s gone with a short sleeve shirt today. Red, the vibrant deep kind that makes your marrow sing because of how stark and stunning it is against his skin. “I couldn’t ask for you to do that. It’s too much, I—”

“I want to. How hard could it be?” 

It leads you back to your apartment, where you sneak around the back so as to not disrupt the kids that you’ve left alone for the day while you enjoy a day off. The first in months, really. Eddie watches you fumble with the key, chuckling when your trembling fingers struggle a bit. 

“Here,” he says, moving around you and filling the space beside your bodies with his own. His chest brushes your back, fingers dancing against yours as he pulls the keys from them. With a swift ‘click’ the lock slides open, and he pushes inside. “Good to know the lock still works.”

“The guy who installed it is really humble,” you tease and his eyes roll, shoving past him to inspect the apartment. “Look—I…it’s a little bit of a mess. I haven’t gotten around to fixing the place up yet. Taking care of the coffee shop comes first right now. Hence…all the stuff laying around in piles and boxes.”

When Eddie looks around, however, there’s no judgment there. Only curiosity in his dark stare as he glances around your space. You catch the mess in the sink, the boxes on the countertop beside it. There’s your unmade bed, with its burnt orange pillows and white bedspread, kicked down toward one end. To the side of that are your piles of books with your alarm clock and lamp set on them. Luckily, your clothes are unpacked and stored away in your closet, kept hidden behind a curtain you remembered to pull shut that morning. 

“Well, here’s…my place,” you raise your arms in a sweeping circle. “It’s not much, but it’s…well, it’s mine. Needs a good coat of paint, some furniture, and a little love, but it does what it needs to.” 

“I could help, you know?” he offers, giving the place another once-over. 

“Eddie, you’re already here to measure a space for a bookshelf you’re going to build with your own hands,” you laugh out, a little shocked by his offer. “I can’t ask you to do that.” 

“We could do it together, lighten the burden,” he says evenly, hands on his hips. Suddenly it strikes you as odd seeing him there. The quiet boy from across the way, now your friend offering to help you get more comfortable in your new home. “We’ll need to go to the store and pick up wood for the bookshelf anyway. Why not grab some paint while we’re there?” 

“Really?” you ask, and he nods. “I—if you’re sure. I’ll make you all the cookies, just wait.” 

He smirks. You think you like that look on him best, because one of his dimples pops when he does so. “I’ll hold you to it, sweetheart.”

  *

  You plan for the next weekend, then. 

You don a simple tee shirt made to get dirty and a pair of shorts as you climb down the back stairs and slip into the coffee shop unannounced. 

The kids seem a little intrigued by your plans two weeks in a row as you hurry to put together a coffee for your friend, but you remind them that you’re, “Simply conducting business, as usual.”

Max gives a little smirk to Will and El. “Oh, I'm sure there’s loads of business happening.”

The kids all burst into a fit of giggles as you splutter out a huff, tossing a pair of sunglasses over your eyes and calling over your shoulder for them to have a good time while you’re gone, and slip out the front door. Eddie’s there with the windows rolled down, metal music streaming from his windows, his hair free and in wild waves today. He’s gone with a ratty white tee and jeans, and he thanks you softly as you hand him his cup of coffee and whips down the road. 

“Who is this?” you ask, listening to the words spilling from the speakers. “Take a look to the sky, just before you die. It’s the last time you will. That’s…well, it’s really chilling.”

“Metallica,” he says, chuckling as you wrinkle your nose in confusion. “A metal band. One of my favorites. You can add that to your collection of random facts about me.”

“Already written down,” you say with a soft roll of your eyes at him. “What does the song mean?” 

“It’s based on the poem by Ernest Hemingway. About the Spanish Civil War. There’s basically this moment where the soldiers are surrounded on a hill and it’s their last moments before…well, before dying,” he explains, sounding a little far away. “I think the song all in all is about death, though. I mean, the part you mentioned is a thing someone does right before they die. That last look up at the sky, knowing it’s the last time they’ll see it.”

You almost want to ask him ‘ how do you know,’ but he continues quickly with, “If you like this one, I’m sure you’ll like more of their stuff. We may turn you into a metalhead, or at the very least someone with a little more refined taste, yet.” You open your mouth to give him a witty retort when he pulls in front of a hardware store and pushes his door open. You reach over to unbuckle yourself and grab the door handle, but he’s already there, offering a hand to help you down. “Okay, what color are we thinking of for the walls?”

You shrug as the two of you walk toward the store, bell jangling upon entering. “Maybe off white to match my bed?” 

That’s how you learn there are approximately a thousand different shades of white to choose from. You suddenly regret asking Eddie to come along with you, even despite it being his idea, as the two of you stand in the store and thumb through a book full of different colors to choose from, turning what you thought would be a quick trip into an hour-long stay. Each one looks only minimally different from the one before it, and each one leaves you all the more confused. 

“What about this one?” you ask, nudging Eddie with an elbow. 

“It looks just like this one,” he points out, rubbing a hand along his jaw, his coffee cup still in hand though it’s long empty now. “How about you close your eyes and just…I don’t know, poke whichever one and go with that? And while you do that, I’ll go ask that nice looking employee over there what kind of wood we think we’ll need for your bookshelf.”

The two of you rejoin some twenty minutes later with your cash at the ready as a nice cashier rings up your purchases and glances between the two of you, smiling softly. 

“Sweet that you’re building this young lady a bookshelf,” the older man says, eyes more on Eddie than you. He’s the same man who helped Eddie pick out the supplies he’d need to make you one in the first place. A pretty dark wood, with a gorgeous grain. “That young, summer love. I remember when I was your age.”

“We’re, ah, we’re friends,” Eddie clarifies with no delay, cheeks red at their highest point. 

“Just really great friends,” you tell him, thanking him as he hands you back your change. 

“My apologies then,” he says, but there’s a smirk along his lips that makes you believe his words were definitely intentional. “Have a great rest of your day, you two! Stay safe out there; it’s a hot one.”

It’s certainly getting warmer here, you think to yourself, sliding your money back into your little purse. 

Still, you pick your paint up off the counter and watch as Eddie palms the handle of the shopping cart, spirit bright as you wish him a wonderful day and head out the front door. 

And if your heart races a little bit, well there’s no point in pondering that. 

  *

  The room is ready in no time for painting. Summer sun seeps through your open windows, air filtering in through the screens. You took down the curtains to keep them from getting messy and helped Eddie pull all your furniture into the center of the room to try and prevent any spills. 

It doesn’t take long before you’re helping lay out tarps around the space to protect your floors, laughing when Eddie struggles a bit getting them to unfurl fully before draping them around the room. There are tins full of rollers and paint strewn about the floor, ready for usage, and music drifting from your record player hidden within your closet. A little Dean Martin, one of your grandfather's favorites, croons in your tiny space, bringing joy to your heart. 

And then there’s Eddie, with his hair back in a low bun, taping around your windows and cabinets to ensure you don’t go over any of the areas you intend to keep as they are with the off white you had chosen. 

“What’s your favorite song?” It’s a random question he asks as the song changes and “Everybody Loves Somebody” plays. “If you had to pick one, what would it be? The one you can play over and over and never get bored of.”

You’re mid-emptying your dish drain into your kitchen cabinets when you pause to think about it. The question catches you off guard, but you’re always excited when Eddie asks questions to get to know you better. And right now, in this moment where it’s just the two of you in your home, seems like the perfect time to do so. 

“Uhm…” You trail off, running a towel over the inside of a still-wet bowl. “‘Lay All Your Love on Me.’ I could probably listen to it forever.”

He’s throwing another one of those smirks your way and you stick your tongue out at him, earning a low chuckle. “Sorry, okay, ‘Lay All Your Love on Me.’ It is a good song.”

“So you do listen to ABBA,” you tease.

“I can appreciate their songs, sure. Especially since Steve and Robin listen to them all the time,” he says, coming to join you in the kitchen, tossing the painter’s tape into your kitchen drawer for safe keeping. 

You shove your bowl up in its proper cabinet, draping the towel over your shoulder. “What about you? What song can Eddie Munson listen to on repeat for the rest of his life?” 

He seems a little caught off by your question. Face morphing from momentary shock to thoughtfulness, brows pinching together, mouth taut. “If I had to pick just one, I would probably go with ‘The Trooper’ by Iron Maiden,” he says at last. 

“They’re the ones who sang ‘For Whom the Bell Tolls,’ right?” you ask. 

“No that’s Metallica, but you’re learning, Young Padawan,” he replies, pulling out a fresh paint brush and holding it aloft. “Are you ready to paint?”

It’s easy to work with him in the confines of your apartment. The two of you mingle here and there amongst yourselves, but there’s a comfort in the silence that stretches out between you. It’s not the kind that needs to be full of conversation, because it’s more the feeling in your heart simply having him there. 

The gentle brushes of your arms when you both reach to wet your rollers, the accidental splash of pale color you accidentally get on his arm when you do so, the gentle caress of his laugh that tickles the hair along your neck when he says ‘it’s okay.’ It goes on like that for hours, the two of you working in tandem, the sounds of Dean Martin and brush strokes intermingling with Eddie’s commentary, on his praise of how your work is coming out, his guidance on the hardest to reach areas. 

You pause only to eat some pizza, kindly brought up by Will, who asks if you two need any help before he heads out for the afternoon. You thank him and offer him a slice to go, but wish him a nice rest of his day to rest and relax. And then you’re alone once more with Eddie, commenting on how this pizza isn’t like your pizza back home. 

“Better?” he asks, picking a pepperoni off his slice and dropping it onto his tongue. 

“Definitely better,” you hum delightfully. 

“Where is ‘back home?’” 

It’s your turn to smirk, shrugging. “That’s a long story, and we have work to do, my friend. Now eat up.”

It’s not long before you’re both sitting in the middle of the room, paint brushes laying in little cups, rollers in their tins, your hands supporting your upper bodies as you look up at your work. The room looks perfect. So much brighter than it was before, even despite the slowly setting sun over Hawkins. It’s a beautiful cotton candy confection; oranges, pinks and lavender visible through your window. You stare ahead and Eddie does too, chests heavy from exertion, sweat slicking skin, basking in companionable silence. 

You jolt briefly as the pad of a finger brushes along your jaw, settling when you shift and realize it’s only him, staring at you with a look unnamable behind his eyes. “You got a little paint…right here,” he says, answering the question already stewing in your mind before you can even voice the words. 

You glance down to where his hand rests against your skin, and then back up to his face, trying to hide the shaky breath that struggles to escape. It’s a short moment, but does little to quell the rapid turn of your insides as they do a flip within you, cut even shorter when a knock at the door sends Eddie jumping to his feet to glance through the peephole. 

You suspect it’s someone you know, because he opens the door and greets El on the other side, her small wave and ‘hello’ greeting your ears soon after. “I just wanted to let you know I finished closing up. Money is all counted, and Max helped me set up for tomorrow.”

You climb to your feet, coming to step around Eddie and curl your hand around the door. “Thank you, sweetie. I’ll see you tomorrow. Thanks for helping out today.”

“Anytime!” she says, and you close the door behind her, leaving you alone once more with your dark haired friend. 

The two of you clean up in silence, that brief moment of touch long forgotten as he helps you get rid of all the paint supplies and tosses them into a garbage bag. Your furniture and other things will have to stay where they are for now to keep dry, with a promise that he’ll come help you once more. 

“Well…it looks amazing,” you say, doing a slow spin about the room as he finishes washing his hands in the kitchen sink, admiring your work. “Thank you again for helping, seriously. I wouldn’t have been able to do it without you.” 

You watch his hand reach around him to fumble with his car keys in his back pocket. “It’s no problem. I should go though; I have to stop somewhere before heading home. Little bit of a drive, you know?”

“Oh—y eah, of course!” Your head nods rapidly, stepping backward a bit so he can move to the door. “Can’t exactly keep you here all night.”

“Goodnight,” he says, palm curling around the door handle. 

“Goodnight,” you reply softly, hand coming up in a little wave. 

You shut the door with a sigh and trail back over to your closet and lift the record, flipping it back over to the first side. The stylus settles where you want it and the familiar beginning notes of “Everybody Loves Somebody” fills your apartment. 

Everybody loves somebody sometime. Everybody falls in love somehow...

You smile as you ready for bed, brushing a finger along the picture resting in a box for safe keeping of your grandfather, placed there lovingly by Eddie. Your fingers press against your lips and rest along his smiling face, voice quiet as you whisper, “I had the best day…”

  *

  Chance tells you he’ll be at your apartment by six, but he shows up early in a freshly ironed button up and a pair of slacks, hair perfectly styled on his head. 

Chance buys you flowers and sets them in your awaiting arms as you approach that night. 

Chance opens the door for you when you walk up to Enzo’s. 

Chance compliments you on your features, tells you how good you look, brushes a kiss against your temple. 

He stares at you the whole night through the candlelight glow, fingers dancing along yours ever so slightly. 

He buys an expensive bottle of wine and makes sure you order whatever you want. You settle on pasta, and he orders a steak. Comments on the fact you didn’t need to be shy and order something cheaper. But you smile and bat your eyelashes, answering his questions as enthusiastically as you can. 

It should be perfect. In all reality, it really should be. 

It’s just…not fluid. 

He talks about his work. About handing out tickets, arrests, the parties he’s broken up where underage kids got a little too rowdy. And you talk about your shop, your workers, your quirky customers. But it all feels very surface level, all very forced. 

Stilted. 

It’s not even to say he isn’t nice, because he is. 

Maybe a little arrogant, what with the way he talks highly of himself and his achievements fresh out of high school only a couple years ago now, but you can write that off as him being excited and overly eager to spend time with you. 

He’s just…not for you, and you can tell very early on into the date he’s not. 

So as he drives you home and walks you to your apartment door, you press your fingers against the center of his chest when he leans down to kiss you and whispers how beautiful you are near your skin. Because while he’s nice and he’s perfectly fine, there’s no denying the fact he doesn’t rouse those feelings that a friend of yours does. 

There’s no spark, no flame, nothing to kindle a connection with. 

“Thank you for tonight, Chance,” you whisper, and lean forward to kiss his cheek. 

He nods, resolute, and wishes you a goodnight at your door. Tells you he’ll see you around. You trudge up your stairs and slip inside your apartment, readying yourself for bed. You scrub the remainder of your makeup off from the evening, slip out of the dress you had worn to look nice at the fancy restaurant. It spills from your body into a messy puddle on the floor, and you toss it into the nearby hamper as you yawn, making your way across the room to where the lights from the Hideout dance and pulse against your skin. You press your fingers against the glass briefly, longingly, and shut the light on your book pile near your bed, dousing the room in darkness. 

  *

  “So Eddie plays at this bar with his band from time to time. They used to play at the Hideout, but when Eddie moved out of town, he found this new spot, and instead of their five drunk people that used to be in majority of their crowds, they actually have a little bit of a following now,” Robin explains, leading you into the dark bar behind her. Steve’s there as well, but he’s standing off in the distance with some other guys dressed in dark colors, heads nodding as they talk. “Over there with Steve are…Jeff and Gareth. They’re Eddie’s band mates. And then there’s Kevin—he’s the one up on stage. He’s another. And Eddie…well, Eddie is probably in the back mentally preparing himself or something. He’s very passionate, like, very passionate about his music.”

You nod silently, finding yourself a little overwhelmed in the dark room. Not only is it in an unfamiliar town, but there’s a sea of swirling faces around you, melding together in the dim red lights dangling above. It’s definitely a younger crowd than that of the Hideout, and a lot more upscale. It seems like the kind of place people gravitate to, bodies pushing into yours as you try to force your way through the crowd behind Robin, her hand a vice around yours as she leads you to the bar. 

She orders you both a round of tequila shots that you down swiftly, head darting around the area in search of the familiar head of wavy brown hair. He’s still nowhere to be found, however. “I can see if the guys know where he is.”

“I—I can wait,” you rush out, raising your voice above the music. “They’ll be starting soon anyway.”

“I’m sure he’d be happy to see you anyway,” she yells back, earning a glare from a woman standing close to the bar. She places an order for your next round of drinks and helps you back over to where Steve and Eddie’s band mates are. 

Steve immediately raises an arm and tugs you into the crook of his elbow. “This is our newest friend,” he says, and tells them your name. Jeff and Gareth nod their heads, looking to you and then to each other, where they pass one another a quick look. It’s so brief you think you’ve mistaken it, and instead hold your hand up in a quick wave. “You’re probably looking for Ed, right? Here, let me show you around.”

Steve Harrington is kind and caring, first and foremost. You don’t know the full nature of his friendship with Eddie, but you know enough that you can tell they’re close. That whatever happened two years ago, from the brief snippets you’ve heard of it brought up in conversation, became a sort of catalyst for what they are to one another now. And because of that, because of the friendship between Eddie and yourself, that kindness and immediate love has been extended to you. You find yourself grateful for it as he leads you down a dark hallway, passing a break room you assume is for the workers of the actual bar, before he raps his knuckles on a room furthest in the back. 

Eddie’s there a moment later. Dark hair loose about his shoulders, a lightning bolt earring dangling in one ear, tight jeans fitted to his thighs, Corroded Coffin written across his black tee shirt in white letters. He’s foregone his leather jacket, his bat tattoos, and another tattoo you’ve not seen before on the inside of a scarred bicep flashing before your eyes as he steps backwards into the room. You realize he only goes without when he’s outside of Hawkins, and you only briefly get a chance to wonder why before he’s gesturing for you two to come inside. 

“I actually am going to check up on Robin. Make sure she’s not ordering too many drinks for them,” he says, pointing to you. “You know how Robs gets.”

“Oh I know,” Eddie says, but it’s accompanied by a fond chuckle, likely full of memories filled with Robin’s escapades. 

You’ve only hung out with her a handful of times and can easily admit she’s a lot of fun. She’s also quite a bit more ambitious in social settings than even you are. You love that about her, though. 

Steve leaves the two of you to it, door clicking shut and leaving you alone with the man. He drapes himself over the small couch situated in the far corner of the room, all long limbs over the top of the couch, one foot hooking over his thigh. You catch the barest hint of pale skin and lean muscle as he does so, catching your stare drifting before he says anything about it and focusing in on his eyes instead. 

“This place is crazy,” you say, a little breathlessly. 

“Definitely beats the Hideout, huh?” 

“Definitely,” you agree, flopping down next to him when he pats the couch near his hip. 

You were shocked when he brought up the show to you initially. Told you in passing at the bar about the show coming up mid-July, as if you’d talked about the fact Eddie plays in a band prior to that evening. 

You want to press him further for not opening up about it sooner, but you suppose you should have picked up on the signs. His random strumming when you sat in the car together and his music played in the background, the tapping of his fingers, the random humming of songs and scribble of lyrics in a notepad when he thought you weren’t looking. 

“I’m happy you invited me,” you tell him honestly. 

“Of course, sweetheart,” he replies, his fingers spread along the top of the couch tapping your shoulder in a tune unknown. “I’m almost done with your bookshelf, by the way. Got my uncle to help with it, actually.”

“Oh no, don’t tell me that,” you whine, cupping your hand over your face. 

“He wanted to help,” he reassures you, pushing at your wrist so he can see you. You shove at him jokingly, his laugh a rumble in your ears. “I’ve been keeping it at his place. Should be done probably by next weekend, if you want me to come to the apartment.”

You nod. “Next weekend is perfect. Maybe I’ll make us dinner. Like a little…celebration. We painted my apartment, replaced that hideous rug, and you built me a bookshelf. That place is actually starting to look like my place.” You pause, immediately rethinking your words, spluttering out, “Only if you want to, of course.”

“Sounds good to me,” he says, staring into your eyes just as a knock sounds from the door. A voice calls Eddie’s name from the other side, vaguely familiar to you, and Eddie shouts back, “Come in!”

Gareth appears with his longer hair flopping about his head, pausing when he catches you sitting on the couch beside his band mate. “Sorry. We just go on in five. Wanted to make sure you were ready.”

You shift away from Eddie on the couch, wiping your hands on your shorts as you stand to your full height. “I’ll let you guys get ready. I’ll see you out there.”

“See you out there,” he says, ignoring the way Gareth’s lip twitches upward when you duck around the boy and slip out of the room. 

You wade through the sea of bodies once you’re back in the main area, catching sight of Steve’s floppy head of hair first before you see Robin hopping up and down beside him. They’ve managed to secure a little table and chairs, high enough over most heads that you’ll be able to see the stage. Robin hands you a margarita as you sit down, the drink chilling against your throat as you take your first sip gratefully. 

She passes you a knowing grin, murmuring, “Where’d you run along to?” 

“Stop instigating,” you huff out, but you giggle all the same, grinning when she pulls you into a hug. “But if you must know, I went to go check up on Eddie.”

Steve turns to look at the two of you then, explaining, “Robs snuck another shot while you were gone.”

“My friend over here has to catch up!” She jostles your shoulders a bit, and you hug her tighter. 

“Your friend here has to work tomorrow, hon,” you remind her, running a hand down the back of her head when she pouts. “But I’ll have one more with you, okay? And then it’s off to bed for me.”

“Compromise,” Steve says, nodding enthusiastically. 

Robin seems okay with that, plopping down onto the stool beside you as Corroded Coffin comes out onto the stage and gets into position. You briefly scan the band, their outfits all an array of black and white, with Eddie catching your eye the most. Him with his hair back, his band tee on display, ripped jeans tight against his thighs. And when they begin, you can only watch, completely enraptured, by the way his fingers move along his electric guitar. He moves like he was born to move on stage, head moving to and fro as he dives into the music—as if he’s one with it. 

“He’s really good, isn’t he?” Robin asks low in your ear, sliding your shot of tequila in front of you. 

You quickly swallow it down, following it up with your lime wedge. Your heart rackets against your ribcage as his fingers dash along the strings, movements precise and practiced, like the instrument is another part of his body, blending seamlessly into the rest of him. 

“Yeah,” you mutter quietly, sipping the remainder of your margarita to chill your nerves that dance and hum with life beneath your skin, “he is.”

The fact you’re even here now means the world to you. This part of him he’s willingly choosing to share, something so deeply and uniquely his, that only his friends are privy to. It’s not lost on you, the meaningfulness of the evening. Being able to be there for him, in support of him. 

You won’t take that for granted…this little glimpse of Eddie that you know has been entrusted to you for safe keeping. 

  *

  It’s a day like any other. And by that, the girls are once again stirring the pot and trying to get a rise out of you and see what they can say to get information about the happenings of your personal life. 

You should expect it by now, you suppose. 

“Eddie’s been coming around more and more,” Max points out that afternoon as you and the girls close up shop. 

El remains from a safe distance, as always, listening in on the conversation. 

“Don’t think I forgot about what you girls did with the whole Fourth of July situation,” you warn them, brandishing your broom like a weapon. 

“What do you mean?” El asks, and as much as you want to pretend she’s playing coy, you know he’s genuinely innocent. 

“So you two aren’t trying to instigate anything between Eddie and I?” you press, looking in Max’s direction as she whistles to herself, suddenly highly intrigued by a spot on the ceiling. 

“I know nothing about that at all,” Max says, holding out the dust pan so you can flick your collected dirt into it. “But if something were to happen, that would be pretty cool.”

You scoff disbelievingly. “There’s nothing going on with us, though. We’re friends; really good friends these days, honestly, but just friends.”

“Are you aware you just said friends three times in that explanation?” She seems way too happy with herself. “Seems excessive if you say you’re just friends.”

But you were. 

You are. 

There’s never been an indication as to anything that would suggest otherwise. He’s never given you any idea that his feelings are outside the boundaries of platonic friendship. Plus it’s only been five months since you’ve known him, and even less since you’ve been spending time with him.

You chalk it up to the girls wanting to have their fun and play it off once more like it means nothing—like there’s not a hidden part of you that does like Eddie more than you’ve let on, and finish cleaning up the coffee shop. 

  *

  Eddie arrives as expected with your bookshelf at the ready. It’s beautiful. All dark brown wood with the prettiest natural grain, almost like it’s come from the forest itself. He helps you place your collection in their proper places on the shelves, taking a step back to admire your new set of Tolkien books, lovingly suggested by him. A little influence of his own self injected into your life. 

You’ve settled on spaghetti, the smell of fresh sauce filling your apartment as Eddie takes in the place, now a lot different than when he saw it last. You've unpacked more of your kitchen, trying to ensure the place feels more like home. There’s a warmth to it now that you feel it lacked before. That, paired with your citrusy candle burning on the tabletop, and you feel your grandfather would be smiling down from wherever he is now. 

You talk about the banalities of life as you finish up the cooking. His work, the building of your bookshelf, the minute updates to your apartment. You tell him about the kids and then business, how it’s prospering more than you could ever imagine. You’re making actual money now; enough where you could earn a decent living in Hawkins, though that part you leave out. 

It brings him once more to the question you know he had intended to ask you last time he sat in this same space. His question to you is, “Where was home before here?” 

As you told him before, it’s a long and winding tale. It’s like the stories in Middle Earth you’ve been reading about, these constant travelers, unable to settle for long in one place. So you settle for that, the abbreviated version, the simpler tale. 

“My family moved a bunch when I was younger,” you explain, shoveling some spaghetti down onto his place and yours. He pours you a glass of wine as you move to sit, eyes not once leaving your face as you continue. “So, I, uh…bounced around a lot. You know, from school to school. It was kind of always that way for as long as I remember. As a kid I hated it. Never really staying in one place meant not really having a solid group of friends or people I could build any sense of community with.” 

“I understand that,” he says, twirling the noodles around his fork. 

“As I got older, though, I learned there were positives to that arrangement. I could get to know new people, experience new things, try new foods, learn new cultures,” you explain, memories of the various places you’ve lived. Warmer, tropical places; bustling cities; beach side apartments; quiet towns. “I had friends in…many places all of a sudden. I learned to sort of just seize the moment for what it is and make the most of it.”

“So how’d you end up here? In Hawkins out of all places?” 

You swallow a bit of your noodles and down some of your wine. “My grandfather always wanted to see me slow down. I loved coming here as a kid, honestly. I have so many memories of this shop, just running in here and smelling his fresh cookies. The coffee. He’d sometimes sneak me some before my parents would let me have it. I’d spend my summers here with him, pretending to work for him, just…watching him. And he had such a, uh, joy for helping people. So when he died and gave me this place, I thought it was only right to uphold his name here.”

He nods, eyes soft as he regards you across the kitchen table. “Do you think you’ll stay?” 

“Ah…that’s hard. My whole life I’ve sort of been running, I guess. Leaving before I could get too attached. I want to say I will, I just—”

“Don’t know any differently,” he says, and it sounds like he understands. “Running gets tiring, though. Trust me.”

“It does,” you admit, biting your lip. 

You want to stop, you do. There’s just this fear that accompanies it. Of opening up enough to let people in and form a true community. Laying yourself bare to those who can nurture and also hurt you if you let them. But you’re trying. Sitting there, in that moment, with Eddie staring at you like he is, you find that you’re trying. 

“If it helps your case in staying,” he says, climbing to his feet to toss his dish in the sink, “I’d be happy…you know, if you did. Steve and Robin would, too. The kids.”

Your heart warms as he says so, moving about your kitchen like he’s been doing so forever. He works in silence, even despite your protests as you tell him you’ll clean up, but he’s not having it. Instead he forces you to go pop on a record. Not ABBA, for the love of God (his words). You settle instead on Mötley Crüe, which he says is only marginally better, but he quiets after that. You can only hear the sound of a sponge against dishes and plates as he works, his arms shifting as he works. You try to keep from looking, but he’s all honed muscle and dark ink swirling across skin. 

He goes to turn the sink off and starts to walk your way when the sound of a thump and a skitter of claws and wings meets your ears, loud enough over the music that it makes you jump out of your chair. 

But Eddie’s reaction has your blood running cold. The way he lets out a strangled cry and stumbles backward into your counters, dropping down onto his bottom on the floor, hands around his kneecaps. 

He’s not breathing. 

You can hear the rasp of lungs that won’t fill, of his struggle as he turns in on himself, hand clutching at his chest. 

You drop onto the tiles in front of him, gently crawling across the floor so as to not spook him further. He’s gasping like he’s in pain and you reach out to brush your fingers over the bats along the back of his forearm, along the curve of wings, trying to get him to look at you. 

“Eddie?” You whisper his name, and his eyes shift just enough to meet yours. 

Horror rounds those dark swirls of anguish, full of something you can’t quite see within them. Flashes of memory you’re not privy to. But you know it haunts him all the same, you can tell from what he’s told you, what his friends have, the events that no one speaks of and only alludes to. 

“Eddie, it’s me,” you try again, watching his teeth clench. You want to reach up and smooth the tension from there, but instead keep your fingers connected where they lay against his skin. “It was just a bat or an animal or something. Hit the window. Silly little thing. I just washed the windows, sometimes they get confused. I’ve got you, I promise.”

You move even closer, sliding to hands up along his shoulders, up and down his arm until his focus trails to that instead of his shuddering breaths. “You’re having a panic attack,” you say out loud, though you’re sure he already knows that. “Do you want me to leave? I want whatever you want right now, okay?”

“N-no,” he heaves out, his expression fearful as he finally fully looks at you. His hand clasps around yours where it rests against his arm. 

He’s pale. 

He's so pale. 

“Okay, yeah, I’m here,” you reassure him, his hand loosening so your palms can continue sliding up and down his arms slowly. “Try and match your breathing to mine. Slow inhales and exhales. I’m not going anywhere.”

You sit like that for a few minutes. Your legs bent so they can curve around Eddie’s broken form, your hands along his skin, his forehead against his knees as he gets a hold of his bearings. 

He matches your breathing, slow inhales for five seconds, and then an exhale for just as long. Over and over again until he’s breathing normally once again, until the tension radiating from his form dissolves into a slower simmer. 

You part from him only for a second to grab him some ice water, dropping back down to the floor to press the glass into his awaiting palm. He thanks you through a rasp as he sips eagerly, hands still shaking in doing so. 

“Do you need me to do anything? Do you need anything?” you ask him, thumb still stroking his skin even now. 

“This is fine,” he says. “Thank you. I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“You’re sorry? Eddie, I’m your friend. That means if you need me, I’m there for you,” you remind him, stilling in your movements. “That means the good, bad, and the ugly.”

He gives your hand another squeeze before standing to his feet. He drops a palm in front of your face and pulls you up with him. Your form teeters a bit, but he catches you before you can slam into him. 

“I…that hasn’t happened in a while,” he says, still sounding a little regretful. “I just—ah, I’m sorry.”

“No apologies.”

His features soften a bit at your mock scowl. It soothes your heart to hear him laugh. “Thank you again for talking me through it.”

You want to say ‘anytime’ or ‘always,’ but those words don’t seem fitting when it’s clear he’s still struggling. But you don’t get a chance to say anything at all, because he’s brushing the topic aside in favor of pulling out the VHS he brought of Star Wars: A New Hope, and dragging your old electronics from your closet to set them up for your viewing party. 

And as the opening theme song plays and Eddie’s face illuminates beside yours in the dark, you can’t help but to question just what happened to him in March of 1986?  

  *

  July 30, 1988 dawns warm and bright. Today’s adventures involve a night out at the local Fun Fair. A grandiose carnival full of lights, candy, food, rides, and games galore. Everywhere you look there are new sights to see, from the Ferris Wheel at the very rear, to the chair swings that spin high above the rest of the crowd, feet kicking as people laugh and trill from above. You see vendors passing out cotton candy as you go, boys passing their dates oversized stuffed animals after showing off their heroic prowess that normally you’d scoff at, but find yourself grinning over instead. Your heart swells because it just screams summer and you’re surrounded by the people who’ve become so very important to you in almost half a year’s time.

You wear a yellow summer dress, littered with pink flowers that match the neon lights glowing as far as the eye can see. The world is doused in color and life, children giggling as they pass excitedly from where you’re tightly pressing against Eddie as you walk behind Robin and Steve, who are already in search of the Gravitron. 

The kids have already run up ahead. Mike and El go to make out in the photo booth—a fact you only know because Dustin practically taunted them into submission for being disgusting—and Lucas and Max to go try their own hand at some games. Will remains at Robin’s side, telling her stories about his studies at high school, while you simply let Eddie lead the way for now.

It’s been two weeks since his panic attack in your kitchen, and he seems more or less his typical self. At least from what you can tell in the months he’s been a constant in your life. He’s happy. Happier now, according to Steve one evening in passing as the four of you play Charades in his backyard over a couple of beers and burgers. It’s not the first time you’ve been told as such, and yet there’s something that sparks to life and cracks like lightning behind your ribs at the idea Eddie is opening up once more.

“Come this way,” Eddie whispers near your ear, stealing you away from the group to lead you down a side strip of the fun fair. 

People grumble as you pass, your body colliding with another here and there as Eddie drags you behind him, soft mutters of “sorry” spilling from your lips. You’re bumping against his shoulder when he stops. You laugh out, “Bumper cars, really?”

“Get in,” he chuckles, and you’re practically racing him to clamber inside one. It’s a flurry of tangling limbs as you go about it, hands reaching between hands to try and buckle yourselves in before the hustle and bustle of moving vehicles begins at the sound of a buzzer. Your hands move to the steering wheel, his voice high and tight as he says, “I’m driving, sweetheart.”

“I’ve seen you drive,” you tell him, pushing at his elbows with your own to keep him from moving you away from the wheel. “Plus there are kids here. We don’t want to hurt anyone.”

One of which slams into you both from behind, and just so happens to be a grinning Max and Lucas, looking a little too devious for your liking. 

Eddie whips his head around and shouts, “The Party doesn’t attack other Party members.”

“Maybe if you two would stop flirting you’d have seen us coming,” she drawls, and they are driving away, leaving the two of you giggling in her wake.

Lucas yells over his shoulder, “Sorry, Eddie!”

You turn to look at the very disgruntled metalhead with a smirk, elbow digging into his ribs lightly. “You can drive.” 

You like to think you don’t have many regrets in your twenty-two years of life. You’ve always been one to try something once, maybe twice. But this? Letting Eddie drive the bumper car, with revenge behind his eyes intent to be dealt to Max, rank up there alongside those few that do make your list. Because he’s a dizzying swirling mess, whipping arms, screeching tires if this thing had wheels. And yet you’re laughing, ribs aching from the burn from the force, as he slams into Lucas and Max over and over and over again until she’s cursing at him from across cars and an attendant reminds you this is a kid friendly ride and that all fighting should be taken off the premises. 

Your body bumps his as you split away from the other couple, trying not to linger on Max’s words. Trying to not think about the way they made something like excitement bubble up into hope. 

Where you’re standing now, your hands brush every few steps. The gentle thrill of fingers against fingers, the sides of palms kissing, wrists knocking in the spaces between you. But he doesn’t stray from your side, instead pulls you closer when someone bumps into your arm in passing and you wince, nearly arm in arm now.

“Chair swings?” he asks, the blue of the neon lights flashing in his eyes as he looks down at you. He points upward and you can see them in all their splendor dangling from up above. Your head tips back briefly to take them in, a slow swallow sliding down your throat. Sensing your hesitance, you feel his hand lightly brush your arm. “We don’t have to.”

“No—no, I want to.”

It’s how you find yourself in a chair beside Eddie, him looking like he’s ready to take on the world, lighter than you’ve ever seen him before. Whereas you? You’re gripping onto the metal of the chair so hard you’re certain your knuckles strain from the effort, heart hammering away in your chest. Because you wanted to see him happy, you wanted it so badly, but there’s the matter of your own fear welling up. The feeling of being high above the ground, of flying, of soaring like you’re about to be. 

Eddie’s hand stretches over the spaces between you and you glance down, brow arching instinctively. He brushes his fingers with yours and waits for you to twine them with his, your fear dissipating knowing he’s there to tether you. 

“I’ve got you,” he says, and you trust him. “I promise.”

They’re your words to him in your kitchen. 

Your breath hitches, lips spreading into a slow smile.

Maybe you keep your eyes closed the whole ride. Maybe you simply listen to the sounds of others' joy around you. Maybe you pray every second you’re up there for the ride to be over. But as time goes by, with his palm resting warm and solid in your own, you open your eyes and glance out over the crowd. They’re small, they’re so small and you’re infinite—at this moment at least. And to your right, when you blink, Eddie’s there…just as he promises. 

Running seems tiring like this, when you’re high above the world, free from it all.

Back on the ground, he leads you to the endless rows of games where the two of you fail miserably over and over again to secure any prize. But you can’t fault his persistence all the same, the way his tongue sticks between his lips as you stand before the ring toss and he loses over and over and over again. 

“Eddie, come on…there’s more games this way,” you tell him, tugging at the fabric of his shirt. 

You glance over to the attendant, as if he’ll have pity on the poor man’s soul, intent on trying to win just one game. He doesn’t though, and asks for another fee to play again. 

All in all, Eddie ends up following you over to play a game of balloon darts, and you find he’s actually much better at this one. So much so he wins you a teddy bear definitely too big for your bed back home, and shoves it into your awaiting arms for safe keeping. Your fingers brush against the plush of its soft head, grinning down at the chocolate brown eyes that mimic Eddie’s. 

“Teddy, meet Eddie,” you say, mostly to yourself, but Eddie reaches over to squeeze the arm of the bear all the same. “What do we think about grabbing some funnel cake and going on the Ferris Wheel? I know it’s not my baking, but it's practically a rite of passage for these kinds of things.”

You feel like a teenager all over again with the boy you find yourself giddy around, climbing onto the bench for the ride. With the way he tucks Teddy into the space near his hip to keep the bear in place and shifts you closer so he can reach over to rip parts of the sweet treat from the plate between the two of you. Hawkins grows smaller and smaller beneath you, the fear of the free fall long gone from your mind when he pins you in place with his stare, doughy sweetness flooding your tastebuds. And as you pause at the very top, a bit of powder spills over onto his chin, mingling with the scar that creeps along his skin there. 

You lift a thumb hesitantly, explaining what you’re doing before you do so to not spook him. “You got powder…just there,” you explain, brushing your thumb across his chin, then further along the slightest bit of puckered skin. 

He releases a shaky breath, but doesn’t pull away from your touch. In fact, he leans into it, as you tentatively slide it along the bottom of his jaw. 

“Does it hurt?” you ask quietly.

He shakes his head. “Not anymore. Not now.”

Words hang in the spaces between you. You keep your hand against his skin and glance up to the sky, counting the stars in the sky, counting them like little blessings. Tiny secrets. 

Of all the days you’ve spent here so far, this one has to be your favorite. 

A reason in your ever growing list of ‘whys’ in your constant questioning of whether or not you wish to stay.

  *

  “So,” Robin says, fingers carding through a stack of vinyls. The way she says it immediately signals to you that she’s up to no good, though that’s hardly surprising since she and Steve are some of the biggest instigators you know. 

Your white shoes tap against the carpet covered floors, tongues still cherry red from the ices you consumed with your friend before heading to the local music store. You tug at your tank top, trying to let the air filtering from the fan positioned in the corner of the room chill your skin. 

It’s a scorcher today, and while most people seem to have gotten the memo to stay inside, you and Robin spent the day thrifting for new fall clothes for you and walking around town. 

You’re confident this will be your last stop though before heading back to your apartment to watch a movie with her. 

“You and a certain friend of ours seem to be getting pretty cozy lately,” she says, peeking up at you innocently through her lashes. 

You flip through a stack, pulling a Blondie record from the bunch to potentially add to your collection. “We’re friends. Friends…hang out.”

“Friends that go on the ferris wheel together and share dessert,” Robin says, raising a brow. You shake your head, snorting lightly before moving to another bin of records. 

“I share food with you and Steve all the time,” you point out. “You and the kids are meddling lately.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

You chuckle. “Of course you don’t.”

“You have to admit, it would be so cute—”

“Robin!” you warn, smiling wide at her. 

“You dingus, you’re smiling because you like him so much. You can’t even fool me—” You rush around the bins between the two of you to clap your hand over her mouth, bursting out into louder girlish laughter as the two of you meet eyes. 

“Let’s just get out of here,” you tell her, holding your record close to your chest. “Can’t take you anywhere.”

You both leave the store arm in arm, faces to the sun, world at your fingertips. 

Gramps, you think , I’m starting to feel like this could be home, and that both terrifies me and excites me. Wish you were here…

  *

  It’s August 17th and Eddie is finally twenty-three. His Uncle Wayne wakes him with a cup of coffee brewed to his liking, and an omelet with all his favorite things. There’s a card on the kitchen table and a cheery balloon with a weight attached to it that sits beside it, Happy Birthday written in sprawling letters. 

When he was younger, he’d probably have protested when Wayne reached down to curl a palm around the side of his head and kissed his head of waves, but now he’s only happy he’s still here to spend birthdays with him. 

And judging by the smile on Wayne’s face, he feels the same. “You have any plans today, son?” he asks, sliding his Garfield mug before him, swirling a sugar inside. 

“Just seeing Steve,” he says. 

“Good kid, that one,” his uncle agrees, and it’s how Eddie finds himself walking toward Sunshine Coffee with Steve, wondering why the hell they were there now when the place closes at this time anyway.

The lights are out; he can see the dimness of the room from where they’re standing, but Steve’s telling him to hurry up because they have to meet up with Robin for game night and they’re about to be late. 

“I don’t understand why we needed to stop here anyway?” Eddie huffs out, long legs carrying him as swiftly as possible. 

“We need to pick up dessert. Your little lady friend baked a whole bunch and said we could come get them when ready,” he replies, tugging Eddie closer by his arm. 

He’s about to curse Steve for pulling his arm like he is, but they’re opening the door and a light flickers on and all Eddie can do is stand in the doorway mute for likely the first time in his life as he takes in the scene around him. 

The coffee shop has been completely transformed. The tables all moved together to make one giant seating area. Streamers of all colors hang from the ceilings, a banner that says Happy Birthday dangles from the front register counters. Music spills from a loudspeaker further into the room. And all about the room are the people who mean the most to him. From his Corroded Coffin friends, Hopper and Joyce, Jonathan and Nancy, the kids, Robin, his Uncle ( who gives him a knowing smile), Steve to his left…and then there’s you. 

Standing with a cake in the middle of the room, his name written out across the white frosting in a bright red, with your makeshift attempt at drawing his guitar on the side. 

Everyone’s shouting happy birthday, and when he looks over to Steve, he only gives him a nod and he’s stepping further into the room. It’s overwhelming, the fullness that floods his heart. The way the kids all step forward, wanting a chance to wish him happy birthday, to hug him. His friends do the same, each offering him well wishes and a pat on the back or a tight squeeze. Over and over again until his head spins, because he’s not used to this sort of affection. 

Not used to being celebrated—not like this. 

His Uncle steps forward as the crowd clears, reaching forward to bring his nephew close to his chest. “Why didn’t you tell me about this, pops?” 

“I was held under strict guidance from that young lady over there to keep it a secret,” he explains, throwing a thumb over his shoulder to where you’re standing, head tilted back in laughter as Max and Dustin wave their hands wildly before you, clearly deep in some sort of tale. “You know, you’ve never introduced me to her before.”

“She’s a good friend,” he says, calling your name above the crowd. Your head immediately darts his way, before turning to the kids to excuse yourself. He tries to quell the rapid flutter in his chest as you draw nearer, as your skirt dances about your thighs, as your infectious curl smiles when you approach him. “I wanted to introduce you to someone.”

“Formally, at least,” Wayne says, passing you a little wink. “Seeing as we spoke a couple weeks back.”

You waste no time in reaching forward and hugging the man, shocking both Wayne and Eddie, but Eddie supposes it’s really not that shocking at all. You’ve always been warm. You ooze life and make people feel like they can be open, without any worry as to what you might think of them. It’s one of the things he admires most about you, so he simply smiles as Wayne shares in that embrace with you and pulls back after a while with a giant smile, murmuring something so quietly to you Eddie doesn’t quite catch it. 

Your reply is a nod and you settle back at Eddie’s side, glancing up at him through your lashes as you wrap his side in a hug. The first hug you’ve given him. “Happy Birthday, Eddie.”

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he says sincerely, glancing at his Uncle. “Uncle Wayne…this is…” He tells him your name, and then does the reverse, finally introducing the two of you. But it’s as if you’ve known each other for years as the two of you split away from him and talk over the coffee pot, showing him how to work it. 

He doesn’t miss the way he misses your warmth soon after it's gone.

Steve appears to his right, arms folded across his chest. “It’s okay to admit you like her, you know? Also, in case you were wondering, it was her idea to do this in the first place. We promised you wouldn’t get mad at her. We thought it was a good idea.”

“I’m not mad,” Eddie promises, and chooses not to acknowledge that first part. 

Because he’s not even yet had a chance to process the feeling bursting from beneath his ribcage whenever you’re near. The way his stomach dips, chest tightens, palms start to sweat. He’s never really had many opportunities throughout his teenage years, always too weird, too loud, too much for most girls. Sure, he’s kissed a few here and there, maybe had a make out at the Hideout here and there in a dark corner. 

But nothing like this, nothing of this nature. And he especially never expected it happening after the Upside Down. 

For so long he’s seen himself as some beast. As some monster that lurks in the shadows. 

Now…well, you’re different, he supposes. You draw those parts of him forward. You make him step forward and into the open, pulling him from the shadows he prefers to hide in. 

He’s not quite sure what to do about that yet. So for now he slips into conversation with the kids about DnD. He listens to Hopper and Joyce regale him with stories he’s not yet even heard about Robin and Steve. When they later gather around to have cake, he ties his hair back and tugs you to his side so you can sit beside him when you place the cake down before him, candles flickering against the faces of those across from him. 

He feels loved. 

He feels undeniably and truly loved.

He inhales and wishes for this year to be the best one yet, and exhales hopeful that it will be. 

  *

  The end of summer finds you sitting in the back of Eddie’s van with Eddie, Steve and Robin. Eddie’s gutted the thing, all his usual things cleaned out for now, and placed a makeshift bed of blankets beneath. Pillows are strewn about the place, creating the perfect outdoor movie watching atmosphere. 

Robin and you have been left to your own devices as the guys collect your various drink and snack orders, staring out the mouth of the van up at the twinkling stars in the sky. 

You don’t have those back home. The sky is always too congested, always obscured and blocking out their pretty light. Tonight, however, the sky is full with an endless sea of them. 

“That one, right there,” Eddie says all of a sudden, popping up beside you on the back of the vehicle, “is Aquila…then look up, up, up— yeah, right there. That’s Cygnus.”

You turn to look at him, and the stars reflect in his eyes. You can hear Robin and Steve talking to your left, sure, but Eddie’s swallowing up all the air in the space. 

All the attention. 

“Are there any others?” You tip your head back up to the sky, feeling a flutter when Eddie’s fingers curl around your wrist and he unfurls your pointer finger. 

“Okay, so a little bit to the right of Aquila is Hercules.” He drags your hand to the right, outlining the square-like shape in the center and the spindly, broken limbs from the four points. “Right to the left of that… is Lyra.”

He drags your finger to the left and points out the other small constellation, his breath dancing along your bare shoulder, making your breath come out in short puffs. His fingers unfurl from around your wrist and you shift a bit on your bottom, further away from Steve and Robin, your bent knee and leg hanging over the edge of the van bracketing Eddie in place. 

He’s wearing a Metallica tank top tonight, and those dark jeans he favors, hair loose and wavy in the humid September air. He’s smiling at you, you realize, bright and open in the dimly lit space. 

“How do you know so many constellations?” you probe, head tipping to the side. 

You watch as his eyes drift back to the sky. With Steve and Robin so caught up in their own conversations and murmuring their need to go to the bathroom before the movie starts, Eddie regales you with a story about his parents. That his father had been in and out of jail his whole life, and that his mother always struggled because of it, seeking comfort in alcohol and other substances. At a young age, she actually ended up dropping him off at his Uncle Wayne’s house here in Hawkins and…never came back for him. It breaks your heart as he tells you. The idea that she could just leave the child she grew and loved within her own body at one time. 

He tells you about those beginning years, learning to navigate each other's new spaces. The way his Uncle became a constant, when he’d been so used to people coming and going in and out of his life before that. 

“My uncle and I got close. Like…ah, really close,” he admits softly, with the shyness of a young boy, shocking for the twenty-three year old man sitting before you. “That involved learning new things together. So there was a time where we’d sit outside and just look up at the stars with a book and see what we could find.”

“Your Uncle Wayne is really special,” you tell him, your voice soft even on your own ears. “I’m really happy you have him. He was…so wonderful when I met him.”

“Yeah, he’s…” He leans back onto his hands, chest parallel with the sky. From here you can see the soft outline of his face, the line of his nose, his jaw, the bump of his throat, the chains that rest in the hollow. “He’s really important to me. We’ve been through a lot together.”

You swallow thickly, the importance of this moment not lost on you. “Thank you for sharing that with me, Eddie.”

His palm slides across the van floor and you’re about to ask him what he’s doing when those fingertips brush your own. They just rest there, not seeking or holding, simply touching . Simply sharing in the closeness of proximity. You follow the trail of his forearm down to where your fingers lay, index tapping against his thumb, when Robin announces boisterously that the movie is about to begin. 

Your group slides further into the mouth of the van. You settle down on Eddie’s right so you’re closest to the wall, hidden away from the rest of the group, your knees close to your chest as you watch the opening scenes spill across the screen, showing two young boys moving into a Santa Carla, California. 

The Lost Boys is interesting enough and moves swiftly. The premise of vampires always seemed intriguing anyway, these creatures of the night not bound by the innate human morality code. 

And as you get further into the movie and Michael finds himself drawn into David’s motorcycle gang because of his growing interest in Star, you lean over to Eddie and mutter, “You should be a vampire for Halloween. You dress like these guys on a daily basis.”

“Are you making fun of my clothing choices?” he asks, tugging at your forearm so you thump bodily against his shoulder. 

“I’m just saying, it would be an easy costume,” you chuckle, just as Michael is offered some sort of wine that you most definitely know isn’t actually wine. 

“Would you drink a random chalice like that?” he asks you. The sound of Star telling Michael not to do it greets your ears. 

“Absolutely not,” you say, chuckling. “You know that boy is about to become a vampire. Easy.” 

“You two!” Steve hisses loudly, making you jump from where you rest beside Eddie. “Stop with the chit-chatting! There’s a movie playing!”

A group of people in cars around you “shhh'' Steve, his hands lifting in exasperation. “I’m trying to get them to shut up and you’re all trying to get me to shut up? Come on, people, be grateful here!”

“Steven,” you raise your head from up where you’re hidden by Eddie, snorting when Eddie shoves your shoulder lightly. “Quiet down, there’s a movie playing!”

“This,” he says, pointing a finger between the two of you, “is a scary thing.”

None of you are able to ask what he means by that, because a worker with a flashlight comes by and gives you a final warning that numerous people have made noise complaints, and one more will result in your request for removal from the premises. 

You’re giggling to yourself, shoulder against Eddie’s with your hand over your mouth as they walk away. His face presses near to your ear, his own laughing warm against your skin, as he whispers, “Thank you.”

Your head pops up in confusion, eyes clashing with his. “What for?” 

“Just thank you,” he says, and there’s a poignant sincerity there that makes your chest ache with sudden sticky fondness.

You take that moment to shift closer to his side, your back against the side of his chest, his arm coming to drape around your shoulder. He’s warmth and comfort, protection from the chill of the soon to be fall air. And if you lean closer to him as the movie goes on, as Star and Michael explore the intimacies of their relationship in the background, he only pulls you closer, thumb brushing along your skin, gooseflesh jumping to life. 

“To keep you warm,” he explains, cheeks growing darker, as he looks down at your cuddled up forms.

“Of course,” you reply, trying to hide your wry smile.  

So while spring marked a new beginning, summer brought along with it warmth and the stirrings of something more. 

You’re excited to find out what that something more is. 

  *

[respectthepetty]

I feel like it's been awhile since we've had a good example of a purple pair... would you say this is being overshadowed by pink = love as a narrative color choice?

Also, what are some of your favorite purple pair / pink = love moments?

Anon, I'm tickled pink due to your amazing questions, so let me give you some answers!

Would you say [purple pairs] are being overshadowed by pink = love as a narrative color choice?

No.

Purple Pairs normally come from couples being color coded red and blue. When those two colors are combined, they make purple. For example, Oh! My Assistant showed the gay man as red, the "straight" man as blue

And the bisexual man as purple since he is "between" straight and gay.

But if the people aren't color coded red and blue, it doesn't make a lot of sense to use purple to show them coming together, and in 2023, a majority of the shows I watched had a black x white color-coded pair, not a red x blue, so purple wouldn't be the obvious choice for love.

Also, sometimes it's difficult to distinguish colors.

Are we looking at pink, purple, or blue?

Or is it bisexual lighting?

In the first photo from Kiseki: Dear to Me, to me, it's pink with purple in the background, but in the second photo from KinnPorsche, I'd argue it's purple since I can see the red and blue lighting components, but . . . colors are a spectrum. They bleed into one another so where one stops and another begins is blurry, and sometimes hard to decipher.

Which naturally flows well into your second ask:

Top Ten - Favorite Purple Pair/Pink=Love Moments

given in no particular order

Run for Love - My School President

Tinn was a Blue Boy. Gun was a Red Rascal. And yet when they went on their run, their colors morphed into pink and purple. They were learning more about each other with each passing episodes, but the colors clearly showed that the love was going to get them through no matter what obstacles they ran into.

Love is Intense - The Sign

Both couples got this treatment in the show. When they kissed at the beginning, it was a soft pink, but once their love escalated to sex either fictional or real, the pink intensified. It is such an amazing narrative using lighting that it earned FOUR nominations for my upcoming 2024 Colors Awards.

Love is Soft - Never Let Me Go

Palm and Nueng flipped the dynamic we saw in The Sign, but Cinematographer Rath, who is behind Moonlight Chicken, Only Friends, Last Twilight and many more beloved BLs was the one in charge here, so it's not surprising. The boys started off with a vibrant purple that slowly transitioned into a soft pink throughout the series to show their differences melting until there was nothing left but each other and the loved they shared.

Love Games - Dead Friend Forever

Even though this show filled my Macau x Porchay shipper heart after manifesting for two years that Barcode and Ta from KinnPorsche kiss, it also broke me in less than two seconds with this scene. The lovers kissed in an arcade under the pink neon light, but did the red creeping in over Phee signal they would be tied together forever like their bracelets made of red thread suggested or that danger was awaiting both of them? I never feel sure, but I do know this moment is evidence that they did love each other, once, and it was real for both of them.

Love Blooms - Be My Favorite

This actually won the 2023 Colors Award for Best Pink, and it's all thanks to that pink wisteria. Going through this list, most of the love is shown through lighting or clothing, but this show made it clear through a plant that symbolizes friendship, love, and longevity which perfectly aligned with the themes of the show and this couple's relationship. It earned that award!

Signs of Love - Semantic Error

This is visual rhetoric at its finest, and it was THE moment. We got the pink and purple neon sign that read, "Lovely pink. Love Me. Kiss Me" boxing in a boy who was running away from love as his pursuer attempted to make it clear that he loved him after they kissed. Sang Woo didn't stand a chance, and all signs pointed out that he was already in love with Jae Young too. Amazing, right?

Love, Meta - Middleman's Love & Last Twilight

These aren't "love" moments per se, but they were amazing nonetheless because they were a little nod to what pink represents. Middleman's Love saw our lead's love life color his world and everything in it pink, and when he asked his boyfriend why, the simple response was because they were in love. Then, Last Twilight gave a small ode to pink milk which was once a staple in BL series and put the "love" in Boys Love.

Anti Love - Love is Better the Second Time Around

After an ex-love told Hiro he was still very much in love with Hiro, Hiro immediately ran off to propose to his girlfriend during the cheesiest proposal dinner possible. Thankfully, she rejected him, but this scene was meta without saying it was meta unlike Middleman's Love and Last Twilight. It leaned all the way into what the pink represented then bashed it like it was a piñata at a six-year old's birthday party. It was glorious.

Between Love and Like - Deep Night

These two have liked each other since the first episode, but this moment visually presented what it feels like to realize it actually might be something more. They themselves aren't pink, but they are caught in the pink with the blinding light of realization (or love?) right behind them. Do they just like each other? Are they just caught up in the moment? Or might they actually love each other?

Open Your Heart to Love - Dangerous Romance

Ending where we began, this list finishes with a Blue Boy and Red Rascal but instead of purple and pink windbreakers, we got matching pink shirts and purple water. After failing to impress a girl, Kanghan had to change his clothes and was forced to wear a pink "Open House. Open Heart" shirt. Unlike Kanghan, who looked miserable in his new outfit, Sailom was more than excited to get a free shirt out of their adventure. It's not Semantic Error, but the visual rhetoric is clear - Kanghan had already opened his house to Sailom, so why not his heart as well? And once Kanghan was finally ready to make his love clear, the bath he shared with Sailom was magically a blend of their colors, and we finally got purple.

Regardless of how people felt about the show, it understood the color assignment, and I loved it.

Bonus - Purple is the New Pink - Wandee Goodday

Hopefully, you noticed throughout this list how often pink and purple reside in the same scene, and how we see purple more often when the pairs are color coded red and blue. But Wandee Goodday is giving us an actual purple color-coded character in the form of the main character Wandee, so instead of seeing the normal pink for love in this behind-the-scene image, we see Yak being engulfed in Wandee's purple, which means he is probably realizing in this exact moment not just that he loves Wandee, but just how intense that love really is.

But it should be obvious how much Yak loves Wandee if he is willing to be the little bunny wunny for his big cat.

So, all in all, thanks for the ask and for coming with me on this pink (and purple) adventure.

[charlidos]

I keep writing Viggorli fanfiction in my head, sometimes with a little help from Viggo's poetry. I think Viggo uses his art and poetry to express himself, but of course no one but him can know what he was thinking when writing it. But I can imagine. And I wish to imagine he wrote some of them thinking of Orlando. I'm sure my imaginations and theories are only new to me.

As with the O+H painting, the poems which are dated from the time frame of filming LotR (1999-2002) can reasonably be considered to be quite influenced by everything Viggo experienced while in New Zealand. He spent 18 months+ there, after all. For this reason, I read his poem Communion imagining he was also under the heavy influence of love for his elf boy. And to me, it reads like a very romantic but also very wistful poem. So this story would be labeled "friends to lovers, angst".

In my view, at least two sort of objective facts, support my not-very objective theory that Orlando is the unamed object of desire, namely Viggo's choice of words:

"Bloom of compassion" - the most obvious (too obvious even? - or hiding in plain sight?) - it's a common enough word, sure, but in this context, during this period of Viggo's life, is it really a coincidence? It seems to stand out like a neon sign: BLOOM. It's difficult to unsee.

"Anglican doorway" - "Anglican" mostly refers to "Church of England" or the Anglican communion as a whole. But it can also be another way of saying that something is English. And so it can be read as "English doorway", if you wish. Regardless, it certainly leads your thoughts towards England. Furthermore, Orlando was brought up in the Church of England (and born in Canterbury, the place of origin for the church, no less), while Viggo has no known connection to any religion really. It's perhaps not as obvious as bloom, but it's still quite a significant choice of word. Again, in this context, at this time, when we know Viggo spent so much of his time with Orlando.

Here's my interpretation of Viggo's Communion:

we've left shore somehow become the friends of early theory close enough to speak desire and pain of absence of mistakes we'd make given the chance.

The two are described as friends, who have become closer, intimate in words and thoughts. Sharing secrets, fears, feelings. Bordering on something more.

each smile returned makes harder avoiding dreams that see us lying in the early evening curtain shadows, skin safe against skin. bloom of compassion respect for moments eyes lock turns forever into one more veil that falls away

He seems to be having thoughts of them becoming lovers, the veil of "just friends" falling away. But it seems to be still just a dream, a hope. It's such a beautiful image: the two of them, together, intimate, safe. And that "bloom of compassion", maybe V just wanted to get the word in...

this after seeing you last night, first time smelling you with permission: shoulders to wonder openly at as carefully kissed as those arms waited impossibly on. they've held me now and your breath down my back sent away the night air that had me shaking in the unlit anglican doorway.

But seems they've already been intimate, maybe just a first kiss, a lingering touch, holding each other. The "smelling you with permission" implies he's smelled O without permission before. Sneaking a little sniff when in close contact. Inhaling the sweet scent of a beloved friend. If we accept "anglican" as a reference to O, then what is this unlit doorway? Is it just an image of being allowed inside O's private space? And why is it unlit? As in Orlando being from that church, but not believing in its god? Or an opening into this other person which is difficult to find, maybe not fully opened to him.

are we ruined for finding our faces fit and want to know more about morning? is friendship cancelled if we can't call each other anymore in amnesia, invite ourselves to last glances under suspicious clocks telling us when we've had enough?

A worry that sex will ruin their friendship, implying it's not clear what their relationship should be, even after crossing that line. I love that phrase "finding our faces fit", it's both funny and beautiful; finding that when they kiss, they felt a sense of belonging. And that they probably don't want to stop. I'm not sure if he also worries about other people seeing, finding out, being in the public eye. And he worries that they won't be able to talk like they did before, as friends.

your steady hands cradling my grateful skull: were you taking in my face to save an image you've rarely allowed yourself after leaving that cold alcove? am i a photograph you gaze at in moments of weakness?

Again, he seems to feel this relationship only exists in private, in bed. Maybe implying that O regards it as a weakness, these feelings. This part could also be read as if it's him looking back, when the relationship is over, or changed, distanced, wondering if O thinks of him.

you ordered me off my knees into your arms. wasn't to beg that i knelt; only to see you once from below.

The image of V on his knees could both be a sexual thing, but it could also be about worship; that he wants to be on his knees to adore O. But it's also a part of the poem's religious theme; you usually kneal while taking the communion. You kneal to pray.

tried to say something that filled my mouth and longed to rest in your ear. don't dare write it down for fear it'll become words, just words.

The relationship seems fragile, filled with fear of loss. Like he can't say everything he wants to, afraid it'll lead to it ending. There's so much desire and longing, but also so much despair of the relationship being so brittle, that it can fall apart at any time.

Once I read it this way, like with that painting, I can't see anything else. Maybe it's just coincidences, maybe it's just something from inside Viggo's brain (and not connected to reality), maybe it can be read in many other ways. But since my brain is warped, I can only read it like this.

[heinzpilsner]

I lied to you, bwahahaha!

I keep thinking about tSR (from Aang's perspective this time though)

And when I think, I type in my notes, simple as that.

You know, another component people (me including) kinda tend to overlook about this episode is that Aang didn't just argue with Katara and Zuko about their morals.

He was put by Katara into the position to argue because she suddenly went to him and asked to borrow Appa for their revenge trip. And after Aang refused, they decided to take him anyway.

And... It wasn't a right thing to do. At all.

Katara's right to revenge in general is one issue (which I'm not going to discuss here).

But they had no right of using Aang's personal animal companion to commit something Aang openly disapproved, no matter how upset his refusal made them.

It would make Aang their unwilling accomplice, and besides - for him, it wasn't just like giving them his vehicle to commit crimes (which would be bad in itself): it'd feel like letting them to kinda corrupt his unintelligent friend and put him into unnecessary danger, I suppose.

(Not to mention the unnecessary danger for Aang's intelligent friends!)

I saw some people criticizing Aang for not respecting Katara's moral beliefs in this situation, but... It's Katara who went to Aang with her request for his cooperation, not the other way around. Hence, it's Katara who first implicitly asked from him to discard his pacifistic values for her sake. Basically, she suddenly (really suddenly, if you think about it from Aang's perspective) put him into a "It's me or your morals now, Aang? Choose wisely!" situation, and when he wasn't eager to give her the answer she wanted on the spot, she resented him and just turned to leave ("I knew you wouldn't understand"). To treat your close friend in such a way is pretty unfair, no matter how much you're hurting at the moment. And of course Aang felt the need to explain his views to Katara after this - because he valued their friendship and was concerned for her.

(I'm not stating here that Aang's behaviour was perfect, or that his relationship with Katara in general couldn't benefit from him being more attentive to her feelings and values. That's not my point. I'm just trying to explain Aang's exact position here.)

And after that, Katara and Zuko treat Aang as if he's not their friend anymore or something. As if he's some equivalent of a pirate, and to steal something that belongs to him is a right thing to do just because they want.

Aang was actually extremely understanding and (yes) forgiving in this conflict. Zuko had no right to be so dismissive and sarcastic when you look at the situation from this angle.

I mean, hello Zuko, it's Aang's beloved bison you're stealing here for your risky, non-urgent and morally problematic mission that can psychologically harm Aang's beloved girl as well? And he isn't even angry at you for this? You could be a little more grateful, you know.

(Do you value Aang's friendship at all, Zuko, or your heart can accommodate only one important person for you at any given moment, eh?)

Again, I'm trying to be objective here. From Katara's or Zuko's perspective, the situation looks completely different (with a big neon 'lost mothers trauma' sign all over it). But this post is not about their perspective.

Something like this.

(I can always change my mind on the topic after noticing some new facts though, you know. My opinion on anything isn't set in stone. It can be such a bummer sometimes, haha. I keep ignoring my notifications, anyway.)

[flaim-ita]

Odd numbers for a Geats character of your choice!

You know I have to go with Ace

1 - My first impression of them

Love at first sight. I’m a Tsukasa fan so it goes without saying that I was THRILLED to have a new asshole boy for the first time in nearly 15 years. And then ep 1 his and I was fully cursed forever. He was so confident and cool and I just KNEW he was going to have something so very wrong with him

3 - A song that reminds me of them

Outside of canon Geats ones I guess the only one I can think of might be Black Sorrow from Alien Stage https://youtu.be/v0Rl9Au21lI

5 - My favorite ship of them

Ot4. I was obviously a mark for this one of course I am a Decade fan but they are all so mentally ill and I want the series to end with the four together or looking for each other, depending

7 - A quote of them that you remember

“My mother has done no wrong. I’ll prove it” the poor man is setting himself up for failure. Plus like wow. On a scale of Ace to Steven Universe what is your stance on blaming your abused mother for all war crimes and suffering ever?

9 - Your least favorite outfit of them

Ace wears this ridiculously oversized everything for Zombie arc and I cannot stop bullying it. But his worst suit is LazerBoost it’s too bulky and Mk II is sexier.

11 - What’s the first thing you think about when thinking about the character?

I want to ruin him. If he’s lucky, his cule will get the pieces to put back together.

13 - Your favorite friendship they have

Ace slowly going from forcing Tsumuri to be his sister to them clearly being genuinely open and honest with each other in the latest ep gives me Life.

15 - Worst storyline they had

I don’t have a single complaint about Ace like genuinely at all. But if I had to choose and acknowledging that I know why (making it easier on his beloved friends to fight him if he plays the villain mode up, also Keiwa basically just called him a sin to be rectified), I do wish he’d told the others what was being done to his mother.

17 - What do you think their first word was?

Mama. In every life, the first word he parses out, and usually much faster than most children, is whatever form of mother is easiest to say.

19 - The most random ship you've seen people have with them

Someone on Ao3 has written Ace x Hideyoshi Kan and I want to study their brain. I do not however want to read the fic.

21 - When do you think they were at their happiest?

Neon’s birthday. When Keiwa said “Ace is Ace”. I think in that moment Ace felt close to true happiness for the first time in centuries and it crashed as soon as it rose.

23 - Future headcanon

When everything is over, Ace keeps his hollow wishes. What he does not keep is his true one. His mother is dead, and he isn’t sure if he will finally forget, after this life. What he does know is none of the others can go home, and he built one especially for a DGP built family.

The Star of the Star of the Stars lives with popular breakout streamer Neon, who speaks openly about abuse and mental health issues in careful video essays but also chats and dances and is bright during actual streams. They live with three more mysterious individuals, Keiwa and Michinaga, who sometimes appear on streams, and Ace’s mysterious “Nee-San.”

What they don’t see: Ace is empty. Perhaps he forever will be. But having a family helps.

Even if it’s not who he spent so long searching for.

25 - When do you think they acted the most ooc

Ace rescuing Giroli like 2 days before Fox Hunt was hilarious timing but not necessarily OOC. Although it’s the only time his actions felt off from the reality of the story, it’s minor and movies are filmed super early.

As for proper OOC, when he’s all “I don’t care” about Michinaga. It makes sense, he finds Michinaga far too pathetic now to be a real rival, but it still feels odd.

27 - If they could meet a character from another show/movie/etc, who would be the most fun for them to meet?

I want him to meet Tsukasa because I miss Tsukasa desperately and I think they’d vibe together.

Also for non Toku I have this distinct image in my head of a Steven Universe crossover where not only have multiple Aces been friends with Rose, he then meets Steven and is kind of like “oh yeah of course there were things wrong with your mother but at the end of the day I think she wanted to be a good person, more than I did at the times, and we don’t necessarily have a right to judge what worlds our mothers definitely hoped would be better to us than to them.“

29 - How do you think they would be as a parent?

Ace seemed unsurprised that past and future people could not have kids so I do believe every Ace has had fertility issues, as a half breed himself. Any kids he did have, they didn’t live very long.

Ace is a doting father but he is distant and hyper vigilant. By the time the baby is two months he has had them checked for every possible disease and condition. He will always make sure the baby is clean and fed and cared for, but it takes longer to bond. After all, it never stops hurting when he loses a child.

When he does bond, it’s even more obvious. He is convinced his child is the most wonderful person in the universe, takes her with him when it’s safe, and cherished every moment.

If it’s Ukiyo Ace, the child survives.

[neon-u-dumb-shxtty-child]

Neon and J would spent half of their time stargazing.

Easy.

I'm talking it's such a big part of their friendship that they both put money together for a high quality telescope.

They use it at least twice a week.

Bro :,))

C!Neon and c!J star gazing my beloveds

They like the stars, and gazing at them through a telescope is such a nice thing to pass the time by

That’s cute , I likey :D

[scattered-winter]

YES. While I personally love the ships, I am ultimately really happy with the show’s decision to go no romance. With the exception of Jean Paul x Antonio. Those two should have had a casual on screen kiss in my opinion.

I’m really glad there isnt any forced romantic subplot with Carmen that could have left a bad taste in my mouth. Its refreshing to not have romance shoved down my throat, and it puts the familial friendship of Team Red on full display.

-Anon 1

I actually have pretty mixed feelings about those two!! on the one hand, it would've been nice to see a sweet little canon moment between them, but on the other........I still remember my first time watching this show as a closeted queer teen who was still very unsure of my place in the world and still unsure if I was a mistake or not. and seeing these two characters who were very obviously in love but having it not be a big deal was honestly life changing for me. they were just so....natural and casual about it. there was no big neon sign pointing at them and going "these two are gay!! come get your representation!" it was just. normal. the same way a friendship or cishet relationship may have been portrayed. and I think queer media needs more of that tbh. representation is good, obviously. but I think we tend to forget that normalization is also good. besides, the sweet little moments we want to see between characters is what fanon is for ;)

and YES TEAM RED MY BELOVED <333 they are so explicitly a family (especially at the end of the last episode....UGH <3) and that's an integral part to the show!! I really love seeing how team red and vile (especially the faculty) are set up as foils to each other. they are both groups of found family, both born from necessity/chance; if carmen hadn't been staking out that donut shop, she never would have met zack and ivy, and if they hadn't decided to help her, they never would have become a team. in that same vein, I'm assuming that vile's faculty was chosen according to each operative's individual skills, as we saw when the faculty was searching for shadowsan's replacement. this would mean that each individual faculty member was chosen by the previous faculty, so they would have essentially been thrown in with a group of other operatives and forced to work together. obviously they become acquaintances during their time as faculty together, but the key thing that makes the vile faculty so completely different from team red is that the love and trust that carmen and her friends share with each other is notably absent among vile. and I think that's pretty fucking significant.

it's clear how much team red trusts and loves each other, and it's also clear how the faculty strictly regards each other as coworkers first and friends second (if at all.) even during "team bonding" activities like the halloween episode, it's still very clear that the faculty is only hanging out with each other out of obligation, not because they actually want to. in contrast, carmen and her friends not only go on missions together all the time, but they consistently go to restaurants and do other fun things together—and they like it.

throughout the course of the show we're shown two families: team red and the faculty. they're so similar in so many ways but at the same time they couldn't be more different. and in the end, one triumphs, and the other is splintered apart.

it could also be argued that the faculty were never family in the first place, or at the very least, were already splintering apart long before carmen and her allies dealt the final blow. from the strict, professional ways they dealt with each other to professor maelstrom's clear plan to leave coach brunt to die alone, even to the way they all split up and tried to escape in their own ways during the fall of vile—it's very clear that there was no love or even friendship between them, and the only trust was between coworkers working toward a common goal. and to contrast against team red again, the entire ground crew trusts player with their lives time and time again, and carmen trusts shadowsan, zack, and ivy, and vice versa. honestly there is so much good analysis I can get out of this but my favorite tidbit is that the love and trust in team red is, ultimately, what gave them an edge over vile.

[bananasher1337]

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sup bozo's it's asher, cassandra, cameron, whatever else, your local quirked up gay arsonist catboy with a bit of swag it/he/neon/hym, yes i am transgender, deal with it, sob harder [bisexual nonbinary+ many other labels, i say gay trans for simplicity] here's my pronouns.page btw, full list of pronouns, names and terms neurodivergent swag (autism level is catastrophic) /ref mainly fandom trash, occasionally may post original crap once in a while. rbs >>> likes !! i tag content warnings like cw [thing] !! for full list of basically everything you need to know, here's the asher manual [my carrd]

asks open please ask about my headcanons or oc's or something, i am Begging,,, i want Attention. requests are open too but you won't get more than some 5 minute mspaint stuff. i try to keep things organized and have consistent tags for my posts more crap under the cut!

INTERESTS! eddsworld, pico's school, friday night funkin, happy tree friends, my little pony: friendship is magic (grimdark/creepypasta my beloved) [i also interact with g5 content on occasion], pokemon, cookie run: kingdom, my hero academia KINLIST! ( i love doubles btw ) ★ cassandra, nene, darnell, cyril, alucard [pico's school] ★ tord, edd [eddsworld] ★ boyfriend, sunday [friday night funkin'] ★ pinkie pie, scootaloo, [mlp: fim] ★ kirishima, kaminari [bnha]

[erigold13261]

SaShiSu being Nova’s kids (kinda) my beloved… Also I love how Satoru reacts so much to Nova’s praise… oh no… does that mean Satoru never got that praise… Also Nova not stopping Shoko’s smoking… I love them so much…

Satoru's praise from before (family/mentors) was always probably either back-handed compliments that ended in what blue did wrong and needs to improve, or were the bare minimum true compliments that always had strings attached to being said.

The difference with Nova's compliments is that he's not giving a compliment unless it is absolutely true in his mind (even then, sometimes they just don't say the compliment which is why they kinda needed prompting from autism Satoru to actually compliment blue), but it is also the idea that Nova does the reverse of what Satoru's family did and gives the CONSTRUCTIVE criticism first, and THEN gives the compliment.

Which I'm pretty sure there are studies that say ending on a good note is better because people remember stuff at the end easier. So like if you end with all the negativity then that is all someone remembers from the interaction (also when you say something positive and then say "but" like I'm sure Satoru's family did a lot, then you are basically dismissing all the compliments from before in favor of the negative aspects of the conversation).

Neon's way of complimenting people is the sandwhich method, where you start off with good things to say, then add int he criticism/improvement areas, then end on a compliment again (though a lot of those compliments are superficial and don't mean as much as they could, they are just there to be a filler for the negative).

Nova starts with the criticism and then adds the compliments (if they remember). But those compliments are absolutely true. Both the compliments and criticism are not sugarcoated (very rarely they will be), but come from a more logical mindset. If Nova didn't think Satoru did something that needed praise, then they wouldn't have said anything (which is a very Gojo clan mindset, the only difference is that Nova has a lot less high standards for everyone who isn't himself, but can still be pretty high which puts importance on Nova's words as you know they are true and deserved.

And the Gojo clan starts off with half assed/forced compliments (sometimes none) and then goes straight into the criticism. They only think the utmost perfection is what deserves compliments and praise, so since Satoru's hollow purple was messy, not refined, loose, and just not up to their standards, they wouldn't even really give praise to it (probably the most like "Finally!" since blue was struggling with blues powers a bit). So any praise/compliments from the Gojo clan is a lot less meaningful.

Enough of Satoru's (earned) praise though! Let's go onto Shoko!

Nova's not gonna stop Shoko from smoking. He doesn't think he has a say in what it does (because he's not its REAL parent, just a parental figure), so he lets it make its own choices (which is also compounded by their friendship with Neon who has told Nova about his time as a teen doing hard substances and alcohol, so Shoko only smoking cigarettes is not that alarming in Nova's eyes... orb).

He's definitely gonna offer candy if he has some as a supplement to smoking, and probably try to make smoking inconvenient (like telling Shoko to smoke outside, though he is willing to let it smoke inside if it could be dangerous like at night or during a storm). But he's not gonna like take away the cigarettes and hide/destroy them.

Nova is letting these teens just live out like they are adults making their own choices, but is also being there as an option for them to turn to as a parental figure if they need one.

So yea, forced parental figure Nova! :D

[edwardskhakipants]

Forks, Washington. August 2004.

Esme and Carlisle stood in the middle of their grand living room, waiting for their five vampire children to arrive. Alice arrived first—prompt as usual. She settled herself gracefully onto the tufted sofa Esme had recently acquired, only to be immediately jostled by Emmett who heaved himself onto the cushions. A breath caught in Esme’s throat—she had lost many pieces from her beloved collection by that action—but it looked like this one was still in one piece. For the moment. Jasper took Edward’s normal spot in the only armchair, forcing Edward to wedge himself between Alice and Emmett.

“What?” Rosalie grumbled as she perched on the armrest of the couch beside Emmett, “Are we having another one of those How to Respect the Telepath in Your Life meetings again?”

“No,” Edward answered, fully aware of the intent of this meeting since it hatched in Carlisle's mind two days prior. “But there’s never a bad time to bring that up. Christ, Emmett, if you’re going to have a song stuck in your head for over seventy-two hours, the least you can do is learn the correct lyrics.”

Emmett’s eyebrows knit together, asking his brother a silent question.

“It’s ‘mulatto, an albino, a mosquito, my libido,’” Edward answered.

Emmett’s brow furrowed doubtfully.

“No.” Edward shook his head, answering Emmett’s thoughts. “Why would he eat a beetle?”

Emmett grinned playfully and tilted his head towards Edward.

Edward wasn’t amused. “You know what it means.”

A silly grin plastered on his face, Emmett elbowed Edward in the ribs, silently egging him on.  

Edward’s eyes darted to Carlisle, then Esme, and he shifted in his seat. “Sexual desire,” he muttered.  

Emmett howled with laughter and clapped his hands once, “Wow, Eddie! You’re just going to say that in front of Esme!?” Edward scowled as Emmett’s bouts of laughter echoed through the room.

Esme ran a hand through her youngest’s ginger hair. “Boys,” she warned, and Emmett sucked in his laughter.

“Our meeting today has to do with all of you,” Carlisle began.

“We simply wanted to go over the rules of attending school with you kids before you start your second year at Forks High School,” Esme explained, unfolding and re-folding her hands in front of her. “There are already whispers, and we don’t want those whispers to turn into rumors.”

“I thought the only whispers about us at school were whether or not Edward liked girls,” Rosalie said, earning an eye-roll from Edward.

“No,” Alice chirped,” Some kids think we’re a cult.”

Jasper leaned back heavily in his chair. “We haven’t heard that one since the Seventies.”

“Kids are getting more creative these days.” Emmett nodded appreciatively.

Esme held up one, delicate finger. “Which is why it is best to take preventative action.”

Carlisle took the floor. “We thought a few reminders would be helpful before you started your first day of your second year,” Carlisle said. “We don’t want another incident like the one we had at the end of last year.”

Every head in the room turned towards Emmett.

“What?” Emmett threw up his hands in exasperation, “The water gun fight was the senior prank—I wasn’t the one who brought them to the school. Hell, I wasn’t even the only student who got suspended!”

“That’s true,” Carlisle agreed, “but you were the only student to shout, ‘Sit down, kids! Daddy’s gotta tinkle,’ and shoot the stream of the gun from your crotch.”

Jasper snickered—the sound was immediately silenced by a single raised eyebrow from Esme.

“I still don’t see the problem,” Emmett continued, “That’s not necessarily a vampire thing.”

Edward—who often mistook himself as the third vampire parent rather than the youngest son—sighed, “Yes, but it brings unnecessary attention to the family. Which is the first rule: do not bring attention to yourself.”

Esme ran her fingers through her son’s hair once more, “Yes, darling, you are especially good at keeping to yourself.” Edward’s eyes widened, despite Esme’s gentle touch, already aware of where her point was headed. “So much so, that I have been given the names of several child therapists to help my son through his depression. One was recommended for his exceptional work on spotting and treating the early signs of sociopathic behavior.”

Esme grabbed her son’s chin and forced him to look at her. “You have to talk to other people.”

Knocked off his high horse, Edward flinched back from Esme’s hand. “Friendship with humans never bodes well for us.”

“We’re not asking you to create lifelong friendships with humans,” Carlisle clarified, “We are simply asking you to be likable.”

“A nearly impossible feat for Edward.” Rosalie grinned. The comment went unnoticed, save Edward’s slight flinch. But the quick, little tick was satisfying enough for Rose.

“Look at your father,” Esme gestured towards Carlisle, “At every hospital he works at, he goes out of his way to ensure he is well-liked among his colleagues. He forces down countless lunches and coffees, solely to make sure they’re comfortable around him.”

Carlisle took over. “And your mother, a beloved member of her gardening club and a prized member of the PTA.”

“And neither of us have rumors started about us, and do you know why?”

All five teenagers grumbled the ingrained response. “Humans don’t want to spread rumors about people they like.”

“Exactly.” Esme nodded.

“I try!” Alice whined, “But Edward never lets me talk to any humans.”

“That’s because every, single thing that is about to come out of your mouth is incriminating. You might as well walk around with a neon sign that says, ‘I’m a psychic vampire’.”

Alice scoffed, “Is not!”

“You wanted to tell Nihal Howard not to audition for the musical.”

“And he broke his leg on opening night,” Alice challenged.  

“You were going to tell Christiana Ward that pink was not her color.”

“And she lost prom queen to Ashley Kirby.”

Jasper put a comforting hand on his wife’s knee. “Maybe try not to meddle so much, darlin’. Natural relationships, first.”

“They would have been!” Alice wailed, “I would have played it cool and casual and made friends and you all would have seen it! But everyone’s hurt and I have no friends at all because Edward won’t let me try!”

Edward rolled his eyes.

Carlisle suppressed a heavy sigh. “You have to let your sister try, Edward.”

Edward’s mouth fell open. “You cannot seriously be siding with her on this!”

But Carlisle stood his ground. He and Edward stared at one another for a few seconds, engaged in a silent conversation. In the end, Carlisle tilted his chin and Edward slumped back. Victorious, Alice used both pointer fingers to jab Edward in the side several dozen times at vampire speed.

Rosalie flipped her golden locks over her shoulder. “I don’t know how you all struggle so much. I have no issues with becoming well-liked at school while remaining inconspicuous.”

“Oh yeah, you’re so inconspicuous,” Edward grumbled, now extra-petty that he had been called out two times in one meeting. “You dress like you're on your way to brunch at your second husband’s country club in Beverly Hills and you make out with your foster brother. The perfect picture of discretion in Forks High School.”

“At least I don’t dress like a sad, old man.” Rosalie grimaced, disappointed in her comeback. The light, humorous insults that were required in family situations were Emmett’s forte; Rosalie’s insults were meant to emotionally cripple a person.

Edward sat up in his seat on the couch and turned to face Rosalie. “I think you missed the main takeaway in that you make out with your foster brother.” Edward turned back. “I can read your minds, and I still don’t understand what made either of you think it was okay to bring your relationship to school?!”

Emmett smiled, unperturbed. “It’s hot.”

“It’s disturbing,” Edward disagreed.

Esme frowned, “You kids don’t really do that, do you?”

“Would it help if Jasper and I became an official couple too?” Alice suggested.     Jasper perked up at the idea of being able to hold hands with Alice in public again.

“No!” Edward yelled at the same time Emmett and Rosalie muttered their acquiesce.

“It wouldn’t seem as weird if there were two couples,” Emmett agreed.

Edward dug his fingers through his hair. “Oh my god!”

“...maybe not, kids,” Esme intervened, but was ultimately ignored.

“So should we come out today like it happened over the summer, or make a little show out of it?” Alice asked Rosalie.

Rosalie waved a hand in the air. “Oh, it’s way more fun if you play up the theatrics.”

“A little more realistic, too,” Emmett agreed.

Alice looked to Jasper for his opinion. “It might be better if we were discreet about it,” she said. “Like we knew it was wrong, but we wouldn’t let anything stand in the way of our love.”

Jasper scooted forward to the edge of his seat. “Or we could let it be quiet and drawn out. Let others see our mutual pining, and root for us to be together.”

Gazing deep into the golden eyes of her soulmate, Alice sighed, “I love that.”

“If people wanted us to get together, it would normalize Emmett and Rosalie’s relationship.”

“Or Rosalie and Emmett could stop,” Edward suggested, bitterly. “That would be normal, too.”

“Oh, Edward,” Alice patted his shoulder, “You’ll find love someday, too.”

“That is not at all what bothers me about the situation.”

Carlisle made the decision for everyone. “Rosalie and Emmett, break up at school. Alice and Jasper, remain friends and siblings.”

Disappointment filtered into the room through Jasper.  

“I heard that,” Edward grumbled at someone’s thoughts.

“You were supposed to,” Rosalie shot back.

“We are also initiating a new rule,” Esme brought the room back to the conversation at hand, “No more correcting your teachers.”

A chorus of complaints rang from the couch.

Esme clicked her tongue, “I’m tired of defending you all from entirely preventable issues. I have emails from curious teachers wondering why my foster daughter is taking French 101, when she already appears to be fluent.” Esme looked at Rosalie, who immediately tucked her bottom lip between her teeth. “Or why my son, at the tender age of sixteen, could not only deadlift three hundred pounds in his first weightlifting class, but also give his coach tips on improving his posture.”

Emmett glanced over at Edward before he realized Esme was, in fact, addressing him. “What!?”

Jasper snorted. The sound was a mistake, for it brought Esme’s wrath onto him. “And not to mention the emails from not one, not two, but three teachers warning me that my foster son has an intimate understanding of the mechanics of a point fifty-eight caliber rifle-musket.” Esme held out her hands, almost pleadingly, “How does that subject keep coming up, Jasper?”

A noncommittal grunt was the only answer Jasper had for that question.

“No more,” she commanded. “You can get good grades but keep your extra knowledge on any subject to yourself. Whatever your teacher teaches is all you know. Understand?”

“But what if we—” Edward started.

“Understand?” Esme repeated.

The five teenage vampires understood, even if they didn’t want to. 

“I believe that all five of you will graduate from Forks High School!” Esme cheered.

The kids stared back, unable to muster the zeal Esme had over the prospect.

“Meeting adjourned!” Carlisle announced, and faster than fast vampire speed, the kids bolted from their seats. 

Esme was able to get in a few more reminders as her children flitted around the house and filed out to the silver Volvo.  “Remember to buy lunch with cash and not your credit cards. Emmett, please do not joke about being mauled by a bear. Do not address your teachers by their first names—I don’t care if you’re older than they are, Edward. Alice, please wear something a bit more causal, pet.”

When the house was finally empty, Carlisle pulled Esme backwards into his chest and began massaging her temples. The gesture wasn’t needed, but any touch from her husband was always welcome.

“Do you think they’ll listen?” she asked her husband.

“Not a chance.”

[sword-dad-fukuzawa]

2021 watchlist review

So, just to finish putting 2021 behind me, here are the top anime I watched last year in no particular order. Also, I felt like talking about them. Long post ahead.

Full Metal Alchemist (both Brotherhood and 2003)

I loved both, but they're very different anime. '03 is a war story; FMAB is a battle anime that features war. If I had to make a value judgement, I'd say I enjoyed '03 better (though I did watch it before FMAB) but FMAB has more rewatch value, if only because '03 needs to be watched more or less in order and starting from the beginning makes it better.

I liked the way '03 characterized Mustang and Kimblee better out of the two; FMAB had the more satisfying and better paced ending. Also, FMAB has Ling Yao. I will always love FMAB for simply having Ling Yao. '03 wins in the "making me feel things category" because I really loved how they handled the origin of the homunculi and the story it tried to tell about human arrogance; FMAB wins best romance because I will never get over Mustang and Hawkeye, especially in the episode where they fight Envy for the last time. Jean Havoc remains my beloved no matter the adaptation.

I'd say FMA is one of those anime that was just, as a whole, extremely well-written and animated. I continue to have very mixed feelings about Roy Mustang.

Mars Red

I love this anime a normal amount, I swear. This is totally not my favorite anime of this year hands fucking down, no sir. I totally do not think about all of the characters from it daily.

.../s

MDZS Season 3

NO THOUGHTS ONLY HOW MUCH I LOVE a. WangXian, b. Xue Yang, c. the way they adapted Lan Xichen and Jin Guangyao. I am very sad about how it's over, and I'm also very sad about how dirty they did Jiang Cheng, but everything else about it is glorious.

Interspecies Reviewers

I'M STONE COLD SEROUS WHEN I SAY INTERSPECIES REVIEWERS BEATS A LOT OF NON-ECCHI ANIME OUT OF THE PARK. If you're okay with seeing tits during a slice of life fantasy anime that talks frankly about sex and BDSM and is also genuinely hilarious, go watch it. It's so good.

Dr. Stone

I am very much a raging science nerd and let me tell you, this has got to be my favorite of all the ways science gets portrayed in anime. Dr. Stone is so obviously a love letter to STEM--it shows science as something hopeful and exciting, and the people who love it as all sorts of folk. It's hilarious, heartwarming, and incredibly entertaining. I binged this one in a few days.

AND SCIENCE PORTRAYAL ASIDE? THE FRIENDSHIPS N THS ANIME SOMEHOW MAKE "uwu power of friendship deus ex machina" CONVINCING. I love it.

Jujutsu Kaisen

I usually try to stay away from anime that gets a lot of hype, but man, Kaisen lives up to it. The animation is great, the characters are genuinely so loveable, and sometimes I look at Team Gojo and think that this is what Team Seven could have been. It's a little bit too big brain for me sometimes, especially the power system, but it's lovely all the same.

Hakata Tonkatsu Ramens

Got recommended this by @electrick-indigo! It's, like, what if you took found family and then did found family in a setting where murder is just...a thing that happens regularly. I adore the main character, and he's gnc as fuck. Plus the whole anime has the vibes of BSD in its earlier arcs, which I love and adore.

Promare

COMFORT MOVIE COMFORT MOVIE COMFORT MOVIE

It's a surprisingly nuanced look at societal oppression wrapped up in pretty neon colors and mecha battles. And gay. There's so much gay. I adore this movie.

Umibe no Etranger

It's an extremely good movie about two queer dudes falling in love, and the manga sequel "L'etranger du Zephyr" is just as good. I am just...very attached to Mio and Shun. They do a good job of realistically portraying queer romance and the way relationships can evolve over time, particularly in the sequel. No complaints about this one.

Heaven's Official Blessing

It's very soft and is my favorite brand of supernatural mystery solving. Like, In/Spectre wishes it had romance and mystery this good.

The Way of the Househusband

It's hilarious and a really good pick-me-up.

Dragon Pilot

Ah yes, a cute anime about girls that pilot dragons by getting vored. It does not make more sense in context. Watch it anyway because all the characters are so endearing.

Horimiya

A romance anime that I really enjoyed! It's just teenagers being cute and in love!

Fuse: Memories of a Hunter Girl

This one is an interesting story about furries and a girl with a bazooka. It feels a little bit like a fever dream, in retrospect.

[sp-ud]

digital version of the ranboo sketches i posted a day or two ago. close ups along with the certain details explained under the read more.

Basic ranboo design. he has a vest because it makes more sense with the widening arms i gave him. and it looks more stylish imo. i thought it made sense for enderman to have big ole hands to pick up blocks the way they do.

The horn is from his ender-half, the tail is from his ??? half. While he may visually may look like a near perfect 50/50 split, I personally hc that the be mostly ender on the outside, and most ??? On the inside.

The earring is his and tubbo's equivalent of a wedding ring, made of gold with a dangling diamond. the friendship bracelet is actually a gift from michael. the red and green are for ranboo, the blue for tubbo, and the pink for michael.

Tommy is the one who taught michael how to make these bracelets, he hasnt stopped since. how michael makes them with hands that are 80% hooves is a mystery.

Just a slightly more relaxed dressed ranboo. I also just wanted to figure out how a braid would work with him.

The locket that usually hides under his shirt. The ender engraving reads "beloved ranboo". The reason 'ranboo' is written so weirdly is based on my personal theory about him being made in a lab.

It currently has a photo of Michael on one side, and tubbo on the other. But underneath those photos are the original photos. Which I actually still don't know what to make em.

His eyes. Not much to say here other than that I personally hc him to have vision problems because I'm projecting because he has two different kinds of eyes that probably conflict with each other.

Finally his mouth. This is about as unhinged as it gets for him. I just realized it would make more sense with how I've designed him for his mouth to be neon green but it's too late to fix that lmao.

The "outer" set of "teeth" is from his enderman side, which is why they're smaller on the right. The "inner" set of teeth are from the other side which is why they're duller on the ender half.

The tear scars have just built up over the years. I'm thinking when he first joined the dsmp, he wore a mask to hide them, but post-doomsday he started taking it off more before he just stopped wearing it all together.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

We come to a close.

“Here’s your cake!!” Lilia announced, splaying his arms toward a towering mass of sponge cake and frosting.

A thin layer of dark fondant flecked with violet dust coated each tier, and rings of neon green buttercream were piped all around. Several white candles were stuck into the cake, each bearing an eerie emerald flame. The topmost layer was crowned by a single piece of white chocolate in the shape of a lightning bolt.

“I had it commissioned from the Royal Chef and his kitchen staff.” Malleus nodded with satisfaction at the final design of the cake. “It is befitting a celebration as important as this.”

“Go on, Sebek. Close your eyes, make a wish, and blow our the candles,” Silver coaxed, nudging his friend toward the cake.

“Do not rush me, Silver!! I am thinking!!” Sebek folded his arms and gazed deep into the dancing flames upon his candles. Wax slowly trickled down its sides as he considered his options. “I--”

“You need to keep your wish to yourself, or else it will not come true,” Silver interjected.

“What? That’s silly. Human customs are so strange. Why would you NOT want to make your intentions known to the world??!”

“That is just how it is.”

“HMPH! Very well.” Sebek closed his eyes, inhaled sharply, and--

“No wishing for Malleus’s health and safety again,” Lilia chimed in from his perch on a nearby table. “You already wished for that last year... as well as the year before that, and the year before that...”

“No, I believe Sebek did wish for something slightly different one of those years,” Malleus pointed out. “... He wished to have the power to ensure that I was healthy and safe.”

“My point still stands! You should use your birthday wish for yourself, Sebek,” Lilia advised. “Now, go on! Make your wish~”

“So many conditions! You would think a human custom would not be this difficult to follow...!” Sebek expelled the breath he had been holding and sucked in a new one.

In his mind’s eye, he could picture the flames on his cake gently swaying back and forth, illuminating the faces of his beloved Diasomnia family. Malleus’s regal features, Lilia’s pointed grin, Silver’s gallant gaze. And in that instant, he knew what he desired most.

I wish to make many new friends at Night Raven College, and to improve upon my existing friendships.

Sebek smiled to himself and blew, extinguishing the candles at once.

Lilia erupted into wild applause, accompanied by Malleus’s (comparatively) relaxed clapping.

“Congratulations. You’re one year older.” Silver plucked a candle out from the cake and passed Sebek a glance. “... Did you make a wish you were happy with?”

“I should certainly hope so--but only time will tell!!” Sebek beamed, pointing a finger upward. “But let us not concern ourselves with trivial matters like wants and wishes! A birthday feast awaits us--so let us dine to our heart’s content!!”

[officialleehadan]

Glacier Eyes

Hello darlings! It's blowing a gale here, but I can smell spring on the wind, and it always makes me smile.

Today's story was brought to you by Brandon! Darling, I hope you had the happiest of birthdays! Many happy returns!

Prompt: HGE - Mismatched

+++

There was a stranger in camp.

Well, there were a lot of strangers in camp, but this one raised the hair on the back of Brandon’s neck in a way that no one but Blaec ever did.

She was Asian, but try as he might, Brandon couldn’t figure out if she was Chinese, Japanese, or Tibetan. Her hair was a thick cascade of inky black, and her eyes, the one time he met them, were the same shade as a deep glacier’s heart.

And when the sun hit her face, he saw the ghost of scales under her skin.

A dragon. One of several Blaec said were coming, but she was the first one Brandon had managed to pick out from all the other arrivals. The camp was already full to bursting, and so one more new face shouldn’t have caught his attention so completely, but well, when there was a dragon in the room, human instinct tended to kick in. After all, when you were used to being the baddest predator in the room, the discovery that you weren’t was… well, Brandon just hoped he was handling it reasonably well.

And since the dragon was clearly a friend of Blaec’s, and had clearly come to help, he found a quiet moment and went to introduce himself. She was sitting on the edge of camp, apparently taking in the controlled chaos of the camp. There was a sense of undefinable age about her that Brandon associated with the other, very old immortals he had met. There was always a scent of brimstone around Blaec, but this dragon seemed to be surrounded by a very slight chill that rolled off her skin and smelled like heavy snow.

When she passed by, fires and candles flared up, and settled again. Brandon wasn’t sure what to make of that, either.

“Thank you for coming,” he told her, two mugs of cocoa, made by two of the Wolves, in his hands. “My name is Brandon. I work for Blaec. Cocoa?”

She considered him, and Brandon felt like her glacier eyes were taking in everything about him, flaying him down to the bone to see how he ticked. All at once, she smiled, and took the paper cup he proffered.

“If he takes your council, you do not serve,” she told him, words lilting here and there, as undefinable as her origins. “You are observant. You know what I am.”

“Hard to miss, when you make the back of my brain light up in panic neon whenever you look at me,” Brandon admitted with a wry grin. “The only other person who hits my brain like that is Blaec.”

“It is rare to note a dragon who did not intend to be notable,” she murmured, but her lips curled in a faint smile as she nodded to the bench across from her and took a slow sip of the cocoa. “I am Hoshi.”

“You’re the one who heled us find Rhys,” Brandon realized when he recognized the name. “And the one Blaec called last night. He said you were across the ocean. How did you get here so fast?”

“Magic has more uses than the raising of a nightmarish army,” Hoshi said, apparently amused by his curiosity. Then again, Blaec had said something about her Hoarding knowledge, so maybe she liked it when people were curious around her. “Portals are magically expensive, but there are occasions when alacrity is more important than expense, and I could well afford the cost.”

“Thank you,” Brandon said sincerely. It was a little dangerous; he knew better than to offer the suggestion of a debt to an immortal being, but dragons took their manners seriously. Thanks were not a light matter. “These necromancers… they’ll kill a lot of people if they manage to Raise their army, and I don’t even know what the addition of a demon will do for them. We need all the help we can get.”

“There are others of my kind on their way,” Hoshi said after another sip of her cocoa. “We Others know when to lay old enmities aside to manage a threat to the world, and a demon is always a threat to the world.”

“I didn’t even know demons were real until I read about the Russia incursion.”

“They are rare in our world,” Hoshi admitted, apparently willing to share the information freely, and interested enough in the discussion to answer his questions. “They find Others difficult to tempt into a Deal, and there are beings of fire in this world who do not care for their presence, my own kind among them. How did Blaec come to Treasure you?”

“He what?” Brandon squawked, since that was entirely new to him, and Blaec had said nothing at all about that. “He’s married!”

Hoshi blinked at him, something catlike in her glacier eyes, before she started to laugh. Brandon saw Thori look over and saw his eyes go wide, but he didn’t come over.

“Evelene is his Great Treasure,” she corrected him when she managed to stop laughing. “His beloved mate. She is Treasured, but to Treasure another is not always romantic in nature. Indeed, it is more often for friends than for lovers. It is a mark of care. Treasures are the jewels that we carry in our hearts. Those we love so well that they are crucial to our joy.”

“Blaec thinks of me like that?” Brandon said, utterly stunned by the very concept. He knew Blaec liked him, but he didn’t know the dragon felt thatstrongly. “He never said a word.”

“All the same,” Hoshi said, still chuckling to herself. “Treasure you are, and Treasured you are. By Dragon Law, and the laws of many other Others, you are protected by the first and oldest of my kind, which makes you interesting. So tell me, young human. How came you here, to this place, in this company? For I imagine it is a story well worth the telling.”

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HGE - Mismatched

What do you get when you put a dragon, his mermaid, a dark elf, a half-dwarf, and a firebird into a zombie apocalypse?

A very frustrated human, who really isn’t sure how he ended up in this situation to begin with.

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