#i added a cut but actually no you WILL read this whole post

[insertdisc5]

The tumblr q&a is over, but I was curious! I love all the different phrases the characters in isat/sasasa:p use--If it's something you can say, where did inspiration for "gems alive" and other phrases come from?

THANK YOU FOR ASKING BECAUSE I GET TO TALK ABOUT WORLDBUILDING AND SWEAR WORDS AND BRANDON SANDERSON

long post ahead

ok so when I was figuring out the world, I found this lecture on worldbuilding by Brandon Sanderson (go watch it, and also go read his books), and (im gonna paraphrase heavily here) one thing he mentioned is that, to make a memorable world, one thing you can do is pick a couple areas of culture, and go real deep with it. So like, pick fashion, and architecture, and interior design, and develop those a bunch, and bam! you convinced people you have a whole dang world, even though you only developed 3 areas of this world. hollow iceberg everyone thinks is a real iceberg.

he also mentioned the idea of like... getting weird with it? and develop based on a weird detail? for example, in his book The Stormlight Archives, one detail is that women have to hide their left hand at all times. ok, so what does that mean, whats taboo about a left hand? is the left hand shameful, or lewd somehow, the same way ankles were for us? what about fashion, what does women's fashion look like? and how do you live your every day life, knowing you can't show this hand, can you carry things the same way? etc

SO, for me, one of the Big Worldbuilding pillars i picked was, uh, swear words lol. or language and common expressions, more generally. i went on a whole journey where i was like... ok swear words in a LOT of languages (including french and english, both languages i speak fluently) are either sexual, or about gross bodily discharges. you know what words i mean!!!!!

and, well, i also didnt want the game to be full of those words, mostly because i think its a tightrope to use those words without seeming cringe, and also because i have a Core Memory of showing a comic to a colleague and she said "well i wouldve liked to show it to my kids, but you said fuck 12 times in there" and i didnt show my face to her for a week. family friendly family friendly family friendly

so what swear words should my characters use, that arent the same ones we use? and could those swear words actually tell us something about the world they live in? could i actually use those swear words... to show the characters come from different cultures???

and what COULD swear words be like, if theyre not about sex or body stuff? well irl they're usually about religions or belief. "oh god", "goddamnit", etc. as a sidenote, stuff like "oh my god" or "geez" arent used, because jesus christ is not canon to the ISAT universe. alright

i decided very early on i wouldnt have those in the game either, but i COULD have them be about the religions specific to this world. and for insults, i could have them be about stuff those beliefs would see as lesser.

anyway instead of talking about "gems alive" lets talk about "crab"

isabeau+mirabelle+bonnie use "crab" as a swear word because they follow a religion all around change, bettering yourself, evolving, and, the crab meme,

for those who dont get the joke, its about carcinisation, and about how a bunch of non-crab-like forms somehow evolved to a crab-like form. which would be horrible, for a religion all based around change!!! you mean we change and evolve, but theres a chance we might all become crabs??? CRAB!!!!!!!

anyway having "crab" kinda reads as 1. swear word 2. thats funny and weird (sets the tone) 3. tells you they know what crabs are (world not that different from ours, AND means they live close-ish to the coast, aka not land locked) and 4. crabs are somehow hated/feared, even if as the player you dont get why, it shows this country has its own culture (even if you dont get the crabs joke, which uuuh apparently doesnt work as well in countries that dont have this specific meme. WHATEVER!!!!)

(a few people came to me saying "heh, i get it, because crab and crap are very similar words" and um actually i did not think about that. crab is just a funny word on its own, and also i am a comedy genius without even trying)

anyway tldr: swear words as a worldbuilding tool. soon in theaters

[alanaaii]

COOKIES 'N CREAM.☆

smut. the title makes sense once you read it.

A ring at your door was the start of a romantic night for you.

You thanked the amazon delivery driver and took in the package. Connie was on the couch scrolling on tiktok with his sound on high. All you could hear was that annoying text to speech sound over and over again. (If ykyk) You walk over and begin opening the package, throwing parts of it on his lap. “what is that mama?” you smile as you pull out two blue onesies. One was clearly bigger than the other and this made connie confused. “i know that’s not for me” you throw the bigger one onto connie and keep the other one. “actually it is, we’re matching look!”

You smiled as you put the onesie to your chest. “cmon ma you know i ain’t into allat” He put the onesie on the couch. “i didn’t ask ALLAT” You mocked him. “we matching if you love me”

you always knew how to make connie do whatever you wanted, he was weak in the knees for you.

You took off your clothes and put the onesie on. It fit you nicely and definitely did it’s one on your ass. You turn to the big mirror you had in your living room and started throwing that shi. Connie was clearly amused and got up to catch it, standing behind you and putting his hand on your ass. You quickly straighten up and turn to him. “nah you don’t wanna match wimme? you not getting nun” Connie exhaled as he shook his head. "fine i'll wear the fuckin' pajamas"

You smiled as you grabbed the onesie and gave it to him. “thank you pa”. Once he was changed you screamed. “you better not post none of this shit” You laughed as you stood on your tip toes to kiss him. You began to moan into his mouth as he slithered his warm tongue into your mouth. His hand making its way down to your ass. You break the kiss, “you want to bake some cookies with me?”. Connie looked at you with his low eyes and you knew how this night was gonna end.

You felt yourself squishing your legs together to give you some kind of relief. He agreed and you two made your way to the kitchen. You went to the fridge and started taking everything you needed out. Connie wasn’t worried about the cookies, he was busy getting wine glasses and wine. “you want some?” All you could do was smile. He poured both of you some wine, his clearly more full than yours. You two sat down and downed almost the whole bottle. You insisted on making a few tiktoks with him but promised not to post them. (you was going to anyway.)

After an hour, it was time to start baking. He controlled the mixer as you added the flour, sugar and everything else. You and connie couldn’t stop looking at each other and laughing so the flour was getting everywhere. Once everything was done, you put the cookies on the baking sheet and slid them into the oven, making sure you put on a 30 minute timer. You wipe your hands off and turn to connie who was looking at you with nothing but lust. A sinister smirk covered his face as he lifted you onto the counter. “pa we have 30 minutes and-“ You were cut off by connie pressing his hungry lips onto yours.

Your legs on either side of him as you felt his third leg (👀). Your whines being muffled by connie’s tongue literally down your throat. Connie began to zip your onesie down exposing your beautiful brown breast. His hand massaging them as his other hand holds onto your waist, pulling you closer to his waist. He sits up to zip his off and lets it drop to the floor. He then pulls yours off as his hands quickly make their way to your wet cunt. A moan escaped from your lips as his warm fingers touched your aching clit making slow circular motions. Your slick making it easier for him to slide a finger in. A small gasp come from you.

“you so wet for me mama”

His low and deep voice making you clench around his fingers. You suddenly feel his fingers leave you pulsing around nothing before he replaces it with his dick. His dick was painfully hard, his tip already oozing pre. He slowly slid himself into your desperate pussy. “connn” Going back to kissing you, his strokes started slow.

Pumping himself inside of your slippery insides. He uses his free hand to give your clit some attention. Connie’s strokes began to speed up, hitting that one spot that he knows you go crazy for. You keep moaning into his mouth. As he feel you start to clench onto him, he lifts up to look at you. “so pret-pretty, fuck i’m about to cum“ So overstimulated, tears filled your eyes. Connie’s grip on your waist tightens as he came inside of you. The warm cream coating your walls white. “..fuck” was all you heard as you were coming to your own high. Your moans were loud you were pretty sure your neighbors could hear but you didn’t care, connie was putting that work in.

When you came down from your high, you heard the ringing of an alarm. You look back at connie. “Well cookies are done” You and connie just giggled as he helped you got off the counter and clean up.

Likes, reblogs and follows are always appreciated! ♡

[officialspec]

can you pleeeeease post your dm sexuality/gender hcs on here.... 🥺 i don't have a twitter but i wanna know. it's like a pandora's box to me now i'm like scratching at the door. let me in

heres the link 2 the thread (mild spoilers btw) ill post a transcript under the cut for ppl who dont have twitter

first off i think laios relationship to sex is super removed for like 50 reasons without even getting into his actual sexuality

he grew up in a place with very repressed ideas about sex and has a lot of fear about asserting his presence in situations

his special interest takes precedent over any social interactions he has and the level of closeness he feels towards people

he has a hard time figuring out his feelings towards other people both bc hes autistic and bc he has freaky deviantart fetishes that make sex in his mind a very abstract concept <- this one is me projecting mostly

that aside, i feel like gender-wise hes attracted to ppl so infrequently it may as well be entirely case-by-case

the idea of him being gay appeals to me from the 'raised with traditional values he Does Not fit into/hasnt begun to question it yet' perspective, i lauve characters who put a lot of stock into performing a role thats expected of them and fail miserably for unknown (gay) reasons

from his perspective tho i dont think he would ever really label himself anything. hes going to pride parades in the shirt+shorts Ally Fit to clap for his friends

hes also 'cis by indifference' imo... i love tmasc laios hcs it just doesnt mesh w his personal history to me. i do think hes got some kind of therian gender thing going on (not trans or nb but a secret third thing) but i cant see him changing anything abt his appearance/pronouns to accommodate that post-canon. hes just doin his thang

falin is in a similar boat for gender. i LOOVE tfem falin but the village repression thing has been bugging at me so i dont think i subscribe to it anymore (canon purist sorry) BUT if u hold that hc i am clapping and cheering regardless

instead i was propagandised to a while back and i LOVEEE the idea that being fused w a male dragon and the residual traits she has after being revived have given her a type of gender euphoria she didnt realise she was missing. a little boygirl swagger if u will

sexuality-wise i also dont think she would care to label herself, shes a lesbian by virtue of only being interested in One woman and zero other people. without marcille i do think shes still exclusively attracted to women, and i like to imagine she might experiment around a bit during her travels post-canon (pre-relationship). hearing abt it might put marcille on the news though

marcille is very simple That is a transfem lesbian. she cant get pregnant, shes obsessed w being femme and all that combined w her half-tallman struggles to be seen as 'properly feminine' by elf standards reads very transfeminine to Me. also her bookboy crush REEKS of comphet its not subtle

i think a more comfortable marcy might have the space to experiment w being elf butch like her manga boys but thats mainly self indulgence for me. utena could have saved her

senshi is gay his whole thing is abt not being able to perform dwarven masculinity to a proper standard (soft hearted, not as strong or rugged as his peers) which is like gaycoding 101. also hes a bear. homosexuality be damned by boy can work a grill

adding onto this i rly think senshi got some type of euphoria from being an elf in the changeling chapters. he was feeling himself so much i think he was using it as an outlet to have fun being a little fem and fruity without needing to justify it. do u understand

i dont have any particular opinions abt him gender-wise beyond that. his bulge is an essential part of his character design but i also saw a transmasc senshi a couple days ago that made me nod my head thoughtfully so i could go either way

chilchuck is cis and bisexual this is just canon. not even just his old man crush on senshi altho i do think thats very funny but they put his ass on a cover themed like hes in a dating sim with all the men and women in the cast and then slapped it in front of a chapter called "bicorn". i simply cant pass up that kind of overt signaling. its so fucking funny what else is there to say truly

izu to ME is a transmasc aroace lesbian (this one has the least basis in canon i just know it to be true) shes a little genderfluid with it nd uses he/she i think. i like to imagine she consistently uses masculine personal pronouns to refer to herself either way tho (boku, ore)

i think izutsumis gender/sexuality is entirely secondary in priorities to her body dysphoria. she has a lot of learning and acceptance 2 do before that kind of self discovery is on the docket and in my mind eschewing gender on some level is part of that. get sillay

shuro is cishet but at least he feels bad about it. next

kabru is a transmasc bisexual this is also practically text. his whole thing of being treated like a doll by milsiril to put in pretty dresses, plus i think it would be pretty easy for him to stealth in the west since tallmen are seen as inherently more masculine than elves

(i also think changing genders is just more common for elves. theyre androgynous enough that it wouldnt be hard and like who in their right miiiiind would be the same gender for 500 years. dwarves too)

i think he started presenting as male socially in the west but didnt need to consider medical transition until he moved to a more mixed culture where other races might see him as a woman

i dont have to explain the bisexual part. have u seen him

namari is a butch bisexual this is just canon straight up. shes not transmasc but i think the default settings for dwarven women is like 4 years of T regardless. shes a hit at all the local cruising spots despite her renfaire nerdisms i know this

and just bc im thinking abt em kiki and kaka are identical and kiki is tfem :} theyre both attracted to women but kaka is a sub so i forgive him

THATS ALL 4 NOW theres a lot of characters so i cant have thoughts abt all of them at once but i hope this was good. im right about everything forever as per usual

[writtenbymoonflower]

Hi lovely!! Firstly I want to say I love your works 🥰🥰 always happy to see someone keeping the poly!marauders tag alive! Could I request poly!marauders with fem!reader who just got her wisdom teeth out? Or some sort of procedure where they’re under anesthesia I’m not picky 😭😭 it’s always so cute to see reader all loopy and their bfs like “she’s so cute I want to eat her 😍”

Feel free to ignore this if you don’t vibe with it!! Love you loads 🎀

Thank you so much baby! I relate to this so much because in the two ish weeks I wasn't posting I actually got mine out! Love you loads as well! fem!reader x poly!marauders.

cw: surgery, pain meds, anesthesia

619 words

“C'mon, sweet thing. Let’s get you inside.” James coaxed, gently. He was basically holding you up as you stumbled over the threshold of your home, still spacey from the anesthesia and pain medicine. 

“W- we’re home!” You slurred, muffled by the gauze in the back of your mouth. You tried to struggle free from James’ grasp, but he held fast to your arm. He was far stronger than you in typical circumstances, but in your inebriated state it was like a bunny trying to tug on an elephant. 

“Easy, love.” Remus chided, placing the hand that wasn’t holding your prescriptions on your shoulder. 

“I can do it myself.” You pulled against your boyfriends’ hold again, missing Sirius' lovingly annoyed expression in your determination.

“I’m sure you can, baby.” Sirius placated. “But then you would be denying us the pleasure of helping you. Don’t be mean and let us help you, yeah?” He rubbed up and down your arm through your thick sweater. 

“I wasn’t trying to be mean.” You said, voice wobbling with misery. Remus avoided the strong urge to swat his boyfriend. 

“You’re never mean lovie,” James cut his eyes to Sirius before fixing you with an awfully kind look. “Pads is just being a git, yeah?” He encouraged you to lie down on the bed.

“He’s not a git!” You shot back. “I love him!” Sirius thought he could cry from fondness on the spot. 

“Aw, I love you too, baby.” He knelt down to stroke your hair and resisted the urge to kiss your swollen cheeks. James helped you under the covers while Remus set the bag of care supplies on the dresser. You made grabby hands at Sirius, trying to pull him on top of you. (sober you would die before being that blatant in wanting)

“Gentle, dovey. You’re fragile right now, don’t hurt yourself” Remus gently scolded. 

“B- but I wanna cuddle!” You whined. James wondered if your words right now were just your internal thoughts all the time, he kind of hoped they were. Sirius gently moved you over enough for him to crawl in, holding you to lie on your back while he wrapped his arms around you. Remus was still by the dresser, reading the instructions again and setting out your medications. James leaned up to kiss him on the cheek. 

“Thank you for doing this.” He whispered, stroking the taller boy's hair. 

“Don’t mention it. I just know when she wakes again she is going to feel awful.” Remus winced. 

“She’s a trooper, though.” James added. “Remember they had to wheel me to the car when I got mine taken out. I also sobbed the whole way home and had a death grip on Pads so much he had bruises.” He recalled from his operation. 

“Yeah, you were a big baby, huh?” Remus teased. 

“Exactly,” Sirius piped up, holding onto your now sleeping form. You were out cold, some of the meds still clearly in your system. “At least she’s a cute baby.” 

“Oi! You said I was cute!" James said furiously. 

“You were, love. You always are.” Remus said, cheeks flaming. James sighed, looking at you. 

“She’s so precious I could eat her.” He said, lovelorn. 

“Don’t think she’s gonna want that for a while, Prongs.” Sirius teased, still stroking your arms and hair.

“Get your mind out of the gutter!” James scolded, walking over to the bed and flopping down on your other side, Remus close on his tail. He kissed your head chastely, steering clear from any sore areas. You stirred in your sleep, not discontentedly, but rather reveling in their hold.

Your boyfriends didn’t know if they could survive this amount of fondness, but they weren’t complaining.

[gremlingottoosilly]

you/your anons have got me hooked on cyberstalker!König so here are some rando headcanons:

-will go through your likes on twitter and grit his teeth if he saw you liked a man/celebrities selfie, god forbid their a male friend because he will spiral into convincing himself that this is like cheating (you two have spoken once) and he has to do something about it

-if he saw you simping for someone casually he would have to step away and let his anger out in the gym because otherwise he would start weighing the pros and cons of murdering Henry Cavill or something

-has a dragons horde of items you liked/expressed interest in because he has a whole plan when he kidnaps you he would offer it as a way to calm you down. this plan is flawless obviously

-you liked a picture of cat ears and a maid outfit ONCE and he has jerked off to that mental image at least 5 times a week

-will try to get into the things you tweet about just to start a conversation but gives up halfway since he doesn't have the best attention span, tells himself that you'll just tell him about it when your together because he could listen to you for hours <3

-that is not hyperbole btw you once posted a video giggling at something your cat was doing and he has put in on in the background as he gets through his day

-has printed your selfies to cum on stare at because he can get headaches if he stares at a phone screen for so long (hes OLD your honor)

-everytime he likes a song/movie you enjoy it fully fuels his delusions that you two are soulmates

-has found your pinterest boards and already has a downpayment on a house that matches your preferred aesthetic perfectly

-kisses the screen when he sees your selfies. nothing to add to that its just something he does

-LOVED when the 'big boy' song went viral and saw you posting about loving it, again, you two are clearly soulmates

i didn't realize how long this is I am so sorry

Omg!! It's literally so perfect, you crawled in my head like a little bug and now you are munching on my brain and I would let you because you are just chill like that. Konig is an old-fashioned stalker who doesn't have time to literally stalk you, he is a busy man with a busy life, so he catches up with your socials instead!! More under the cut

He googles every term he doesn't understand, and reads recaps of whatever show you were watching, just so he could save time on actually watching it. He writes everything in a diary, every little detail because he knows a bit about internet safety from Hutch and he just knows that this precious data is far more protected in the front pocket of his vest, in a tiny and scrawny notebook. He saves every picture and prints it, just to see every tiny detail. Your favorite color, your favorite decorations. You like pink sanrio fluffy style of decor? He doesn't understand it, and don't see a point in just adding to the clutter, but he will buy you as much Hello Kitty and My Melody stuff as possible. Something minimalistic, but expensive? He understands it a bit more, and he is happy to finally use his money for something nice and not just beer. He would be grinning like a cat with the cream if you like video games -- especially the ones he likes, the violent action ones. He can't let go of the war even at home, and having a perfect game when he doesn't actually have to worry about being in danger but putting as many enemies down as possible is nice, really. You would have to explain the point of Minecraft to him though. The celebrity crush one omg!! Konig is insecure because if you like more normal, traditionally attractive male celebrities, he just knows he can't compete. However, there has to be something wrong with you if you really like Konig, so he doesn't mind - after you stop liking those celebs of course. God save you if you have some porn in your twitter likes - he would try to implement it in your sex life. Bondage? He already knows how to make really good knots. Cnc? It's basically your whole sex story already. He would never let you forget about every embarrassing little picture you liked, and he enjoys thinking of you as a perverted thing that needs some good punishment. If you do cosplay...oh boy. Even the most normal costumes are a good jerk-off material for him. Even if you cosplay male characters, he'd find a way to sexualize you -- it's not really nice of him, but this old man finally got what cosplay means and he is not letting go of this knowledge.

His soldiers think you're his wife already because he keeps your photo, a fucking collage of your photos, on his desk and a polaroid of you in his vest pocket. Poor ol' you, having stalking problems and not even knowing about it because he is too busy to actually court you.

[sakurabunart]

"In Good Company"

Something something Tame Impala lyrics inspired me for this one. Yeah this took 13 hours, and i kinda got lazy with the background and ruined half the point of this whole thing, but yeah. Im not about to not post this.

Unblurred under cut, so you can actually somewhat read the ads in the background.

[momobani]

&TEAM hyung line + fingering

MINORS DNI | smut under cut | 0.5k

a/n: i saw someone say the tags were dry and i took it personally

K

Casually has you sprawled on his lap while he watches something or games but that lil skirt you’re wearing is a lil too short and his hands keep wandering, resting on your ass or playing with your thighs until it becomes you shuffling around and he just has to ask if you want more. You don’t hesitate to say yes and he ends up teasing you over your underwear, trying to get you all nice and worked up for him, maybe even giving your ass a few playful slaps, before pulling your panties to the side and then teasing you some more just cuz he can, before letting one finger dip in and out of your now dripping hole, then adding another when you start grinding back on his hand. In conclusion, K’s a fucking tease, hope that helps.

Fuma

Actually would probably have a whole plan on exactly what he’s going to do - his very own worshipping you itinerary if you will. Elaborately would make out with you first, maybe on the couch, then test the waters and trace his fingers over your heat, just to see how much you want it already, then would move on to peeling your clothes away and spending some time with his head between you legs, his mouth working its magic before his fingers inevitably followed and gently scissored you open for him, his mouth never quite leaving the general vicinity of your cunt. Makes you cum several times and that is all before he even thinks about fucking you. He really doesn’t mind playing a long game, as long as you enjoy every moment of it.

Nicholas

Honestly, would be extreme. Has you stripped and spread open for him in front of your bedroom mirror, sitting in his lap, your back to his chest while he makes you watch him tease your clit while his other hand traces, holds and teases anywhere and everywhere on the surface of your skin, maybe even curling around your throat. You’re grinding down on his lap and into his hand but he doesn’t start fingering you until you’re almost on the verge of tears cuz you want to cum so badly and he just won’t give it to you. Switches between looking like he wants to devour you and smiling sweetly at you in the mirror. The word casual doesn’t exist in his vocabulary.

EJ

Completely spontaneous opportunity that just had to be seized. You’re just grabbing a snack in the kitchen and before you know it, his lips are on yours and his hand is down your pants just cuz. Very messy, desperate and hot. The can’t-stop-even-if-you-hear-someone-coming-down-the hallway type of desperate cuz his fingers just feel too good pumping in and out of your cunt and you beg him not to stop between kisses. Whoever was coming, goes away, and that only spurs him on to finger fuck your pussy until you’re practically mewling. Of course sweet Euijoo just has to indulge you even if it disrupts snack time.

*

a/n: thanks for reading, feedback is always appreciated and i’m open for discussion hehe, i’ve been seeing a gap in the market so to speak in terms of &team tumblr so i’m thinking of filling it up a little. i don’t usually do posts like this, but i really felt like giving it a go. i also have a multi-chapter nicholas fic that i started recently if anyone wants to check it out. stay tuned for more <3

nicho fic

momobani masterlist

[veetyuh]

I'm reminded of that "antishipping isn't purity culture because it isn't conservative christianity" post... And I think I've done some unpacking on why it triggers me so much.

I was an intersex child shoved into the role of a female, in a rural & conservative Christian environment. I've had not just purity culture shoved down my throat, but also the shame of not being able to meet the expectations put on women in that environment.

It's not just cover up, slut. That implies I had something to show off, to begin with. And men still want to ogle you and imagine what your body is like beneath that modest dress. So here, literal child. Have this shapewear to make your figure conform to that of a developing middle school female's under your clothes.

It's contradictory that way. You have to try to be unappealing to not 'tempt' men, but you still need to be appealing in the sense of conventional female attractiveness. Moreover, you must not think about men or sex at all. But you cannot be asexual — your parents demand grandchildren.

Antis do the same with their queer representation. It's the same contradictory expectations... They champion the idea of breaking societal norms through queerness (i.e. the idea of 'queer as in fuck you'), then demand that every nuclear family norm be met. Queer characters must be disruptive without actually disrupting anything. And the contradictions apply to fans, too — you're homophobic if you don't like a canon queer ship, and you're fetishistic if you like queer ships too much. (There are more, but I'd be stuck here forever if I listed them all. 😅)

There's also the obvious — fictional sins being as bad as things done in real life. There's Matthew 5, which includes so many popular verses about thought control that Christians use, and equates bad thought to bad doing.

27 “You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall not commit adultery.’ 28 But I tell you that anyone who looks at a woman lustfully has already committed adultery with her in his heart. 29 If your right eye causes you to stumble, gouge it out and throw it away. It is better for you to lose one part of your body than for your whole body to be thrown into hell. 30 And if your right hand causes you to stumble, cut it off and throw it away. It is better for you to lose one part of your body than for your whole body to go into hell.

And fuck if antis aren't cutting off their entire goddamn arm and gouging out both eyes.

It's not just purity culture they embody, though — it's the satanic panic, too. Good lord the amount of times my grandma wouldn't let me watch Ghost Hunters because she thought I was welcoming demons into the home, or her concern for me watching horror movies because I'd surely become more violent. It's the same shit, different horse.

On a more light-hearted note, they play the same game that Christian demoninations do, too. I was Baptist, and considered the Methodists okay. But the Catholics? No, keep that shit away from me. Why are you worshipping Mary? That's idolatry! How horrible, to openly spit in God's face. When I read antis' DNI lists rattling off forbidden, unredeemable fandoms, it feels the same way, haha.

But what really seals the deal for me is how they smile in your face and promise they're just looking out for you. Christians do that, too. "We want you to get better. We want to help you. You're on a dark path." While they break your bones to force you into their mold. You may not be hurting anyone on your dark path, but they'll convince you that you ARE. You're hurting yourself "spiritually," you're hurting the community, your family, by being an abomination to God. You're hurting everyone and yourself, you just need us to help you realize it. Antis feel the exact same. I block them pre-emptively because I cannot handle having that shit directed at me again.

Moreover, their insults feel the same. The childish "icky," the ad hominems. It's too reminiscent for me. Of my mom hating my icky facial hair and my classmates making fun of my masc traits when they thought I couldn't hear; you are a gross person!!1! Ew!!!

It's funny that antis are so often anti-kink, considering they're so fucking intent on giving me a golden shower and telling me it's rain. I hope they're careful not to choke on the homophobic, pedophilic pastor cock they're sucking.

[traegorn]

Hey-o! Tis the season for people to talk about how the holidays were "actually pagan" and I'm on the hunt for sources about how that's really not the case, if you have any you'd recommend!

Okay, so the problem is there are so many weird "Christmas is stolen!" bullshit memes going around, it's so hard to just give you a comprehensive list of sources. Christmas celebrations have evolved as the religion has spread, and different things come from different times...

The key here is to go for academic sources. This is a question of history, and a well supported historical research is going to tell you whether they're operating from primary, secondary or tertiary sources.

So while I can't give you a simple list, let me give you a couple of examples off the top of my head and give you tips on how to investigate any the dumb claims that get passed around.

Christmas being in December: So a lot of people go for the "Christmas is in December so it can steal from [INSERT SOLSTICE CELBRATION]" is ahistorical... because we know exactly why Christmas is in December. Because the guys who made the decision argued with each other and left behind written documentation. The two big names you need to look up are  Clement of Alexandria (who pitched January 6th) and Hippolytus of Rome (who proposed December 25th). This is around the turn of the third century, and you can find both of their writings. Some folks have questioned the authenticity of some of Hippolytus of Rome's writings, but Clement of Alexandria's seem well supported. These were internal arguments about when the birth of Christ took place within the early church, and when they settled on late December. There are reasons for this, and you can read their arguments (it largely has to do with the importance of when Jesus was conceived -- they wanted that to be an important date and then added nine months to it). Importantly though, because linear time is a thing, this means Christmas was set in December before the Christianization of the Germanic and Norse tribes... so anyone who says Christmas was set to December to correspond with Yule doesn't understand the concept of "coincidences."

The Christmas Tree: The Christmas tree was invented in 16th century Germany. That's... that's just written down all over the place. Now, there are legends about Martin Luther being the first who did it -- but I'm pretty certain that's just an embellishment that got added on. There are preceding traditions where part of an evergreen was brought into the home as a part of solstice traditions (though some will claim the Egyptians did this? Which is wild -- likely misinterpreting their use of palm fronds as the same thing), but the act of taking a whole ass tree, cutting it down, putting it in your house, and decorating it? That's 16th century Germany all the way. You can rabbit hole so many sources on that one, but honestly just pick apart the citations on the Wikipedia page. Putting a branch in your house and dragging a whole tree in are very different acts.

Jesus's story is copied from [INSERT RANDOM GOD]: There are so many of these, and some are just downright disrespectful to major world religions (the Krishna version of the meme especially). The answer is... just see if what the meme is saying about the god is supported by the mythology. Like I've seen ones that says Dionysus was "born of a virgin." If you know anything about the Greek gods, you're probably already laughing on the floor. Horus gets dragged into this too, because Gerald Massey was trying to pull a "White Goddess but with Dudes." But any serious research on Horus will tell you the supposed parallels aren't supported by the mythology.

So sorry, this wasn't so much sources you can use as it is how to look for them to begin with. Because there's just so, so much. This isn't even covering cases of syncretism, where pre-existing cultural traditions got continued post-Christianization. Because it's almost always the case that if a pre-Christian practice endured post Christianization, it's because people decided to keep doing it -- not because the church was trying to "steal" it. The latter means there was some mustache twirling plan behind it, when the former means (usually) the church went "Well, they're paying their tithes and saying it's for Jesus, so who gives a shit?"

I'm just going to finish this off with linking to my podcast episode on this, along with Ocean Keltoi's great Yule video on the topic. Hopefully that helps.

[satorugojjo]

I don’t think there’s a single book BookTok has promoted in the last couple years that’s turned out to be an actually good “you cannot miss this read” which now makes me and so many others I know avoid it as a whole.

A lot of BookTok books seem to be specific for very young or very new readers who haven’t cut their teeth on fanfic or haven’t been reading from a young age. The writing style is either a really profound Instagram metaphorical caption kinda overwrought and over flowery language, or it’s trying so hard to be edgy and sardonic and ends up being completely tell and almost zero show. This Is How You Lose The Time War is a PERFECT example of this - where the flowery and poetic language actually takes AWAY from a scene and distracts you from it rather than adding anything to it in the moment, and for those who do like poetic fiction this will be up their alley but if you don’t and you pick it up because of badly marketed hype when you normally wouldn’t, it’s gonna turn you off reading in general!

There’s nothing wrong with starter fiction to help get readers engaged and then find their way into actually good books, but my gripe is that it’s never ever marketed as that and as if it it’s just generically good fiction. Nothing Colleen Hoover has ever written is objectively good - the writing style is mediocre and she romanticises taboo topics which will seem spicy to the average population who doesn’t READ. And yet she takes up every bookshelf which I promise you will end up turning many readers who ARENT on booktok away from reading altogether.

YA is another genre that has declined a lot in recent years because it’s full of marketers trying to fit all the buzzword tropes into their books and getting young readers to buy it because it’s “enemies to lovers pirate cyberpunk found family” or whatever - and it feels more like focus group fiction rather than actual writing. I LOVE YA but nothing that’s been released post 2020 has had any depth, plot, character development or any style to it.

A great example is Fourth Wing by Rebecca Yarros - i tried reading 2 chapters as a sample and it was shocking to see how illogical, overdramatic, overedgy and exceptionally “this happened then this then this then that” it was. There was absolutely zero nuance and it felt so “I’m telling you all this but I’m not gonna prove any of it”. And yet it’s rated either 5 stars or 1 star. I’m sure it’s a great starter middle grade/teen book but it is definitely not deserving to be on the same pedestal as other YA books like Hunger Games or Six of Crows. I used to think that perhaps I’ve just outgrown YA but considering I can pick up YA from 2018 that I haven’t read before with no problems, it’s so specific to BOOKTOK YA.

It’s getting to the point that if I see a book that’s being overpromoted on tiktok, I’m more likely to believe the bad reviews because there hasn’t been a SINGLE book where I’ve disagreed with them, and then go find a different book in the same genre that hasn’t been on booktok - it’s getting hilarious actually that the books that are actually incredible get zero screen time and traction on booktok because they aren’t just cheap easy airport reads. Once again - nothing wrong with an easy airport CH book or YA book, but we aren’t going around parading a Lee Child book as peak literature no matter how enjoyable they are.

I don’t even have a conclusion to this entire rant - I’m sick of books like Babel getting steamrolled because it was “too sad or too hard” in favour of the latest SJM book, and getting even more sick of the decline of media literacy due to books getting easier and more spoonfeedy. When they aren’t? They mistake flowery metaphors for complexity and depth.

[da-shrimping-station]

Childish Jealousy L card

[ edit: i've read the card prologue and added my thoughts under the cut + a bit of a rant ]

my initial thoughts:

Just a shot in the dark yk,,,,

Will the card's H scene be them being a pair of high schoolers getting frisky in an empty classroom after school?

Yk, fucky wucky magic and Levi's personality aside

That's,,,,

That's pretty tame? Imo at least

Huh,,,,,

I've done and seen worse when i was in high school

childish jealousy is really a fitting name for this L card cuz that's the whole motivation for it 😭

can't believe he put the entirety of Gehenna castle to sleep and strut around like they own the place (also Foras splashing tea on the sleeping Sitri lmaoooo u bitch)

also saying that Asmodeus is in charge of regulating that particular substance,,,,,interesting

bruh Levi just Thanos snapped Minhyeok into non-existence jgjdhfjsnsndngkdn poor baby

so MC is mildly aware of what's going on

the pair go about the school day w MC being an absolute total klutz (idk if it's because of how the dream is set up or if that's how the day actually went but holy shit bestie how are you that disorganised????)

Levi acting like a disgruntled mom friend is not what i expected

o yea he also strangled a student but eeeehh 🤷‍♀️

"your heart goes thump when you're being as honest as a devil" something something,,,okayyy maybe that's when MC became more honest about their desires 🤔

and the dreamspace yeeted all the other students away

heh people really went off the rails when they saw the words "childish" and "Children's Day" on the banner without knowing the context

Children's Day was only mentioned in passing when MC was reminiscing and from the bit of research I did on the holiday, when kids turn 13, that's their last time to celebrate it cuz they're no longer children

so yea children have NOTHING to do w the event AT ALL (obviously) (i still stand by what i said in one of my reblogs re: this event when it was first announced)

so it really is just a role playing scenario in a school setting w some mild uniform kink maybe (i saw a post of part 2 and MC was turned back into an adult)

and like, they didn't even do anything when MC was their high school self 😭

eeeeyyyyy glad to know that my hunch was correct 🦐 still won't be pulling for this card but I appreciate the art and the ass hehehehe

[phoenixkaptain]

I don’t want to get into a debate on whether or not Tim’s parents were actually abusive, but I do want to state outright that it doesn’t really matter, because Tim didn’t trust his parents.

What do I mean by this? Well, the beginning of Tim in comics is A Lonely Place of Dying (I’ve talked about it ad nauseum at this point) and one thing you may see people mention is what Tim says about his parents in it.

These are both from Batman (1940-2011) #441

Alfred asks, basically, “You do have parents, don’t you?” And Tim’s body language as he talks about them is strange to me.

Tim scratches his face. This is the only time Tim touches his face in these comics. And his eyes, he stops looking at Alfred, who he’s talking to, and looks at Dick, all the while changing the subject.

Is he lying? No. He’s uncomfortable. A part of this is that this interaction takes place before Tim tells them who he is, which Tim doesn’t want them to know. This is just the first time we see any hint of uncertainty on Tim. Interesting.

More interesting is, in the same issue

“I never told them, but for years I kept having the same nightmare over and over again.”

This is pretty clear cut. He doesn’t tell his parents things. He doesn’t tell them important things. And, well, it’s probably because he doesn’t talk to them very often

These two are from Batman (1940-2011) #444

First things first, Bruce brings up the subject. This isn’t the first time, post his introduction, that we see Tim and Bruce talking. They talk in #443. But Bruce has to broach the subject.

And Tim is avoidant. He says they don’t call often, and he isn’t bothered by it, or he doesn’t appear bothered by it. He doesn’t say what they’re fighting about, nor does he actually say what they’ll do if the trip doesn’t help. He’s very offhand about the whole thing. He almost treats it like he isn’t talking about his parents, but just two people in some circumstances he happens to know about.

Tim cuts Bruce off by pointing out the computer. He doesn’t want Bruce to finish, he doesn’t want Bruce making a promise he ultimately won’t keep, he doesn’t want Bruce to focus on him.

Tim’s relationship with his parents, especialy his father, is, from what I know, always presented in this detached way. Even in Young Justice, when Tim talks to his father, he does so through a newspaper. He doesn’t make eye contact, which is a strange thing because Tim always makes eye contact.

(That’s part of why Tim is a bit unnerving in his introduction. He is always making eye contact. Always.)

Tim doesn’t trust his parents. Why doesn’t he? Because they’re busy. Busy with work, busy with fighting, busy with each other. He doesn’t tell them things. He doesn’t tell them about his nightmares, he definitely didn’t tell them about his vacation week roadtrip, and he doesn’t tell them about Bruce.

Does that make them abusive? I guess not. Not in these issues, anyway. Down the line, I think his father especially crosses the line, but at this point? They’re mutually ignoring each other. Tim talks about his parents in a detached way, as though it doesn’t effect him. And, maybe it doesn’t. This was 1989, not exactly the pinnacle of mental health awareness with proficient knowledge of how absent parents effect the children they’ve not been raising.

Or, Tim used Batman and Robin as a proxy for affection, which is why he feels so strongly towards them and why he tells Alfred they mean everything to them and why Tim is unafraid in the face of his own death but panicky in the face of Alfred’s death. Batman and Robin are just his hyperfixation, something to obsessively focus on and keep track of to keep his head above the water, something he’s been obsessed with since he was three and saw Batman for the very first time, something he says himself he’s followed since he could read to the point that he listened to news reports on the off-chance Batman and Robin might be mentioned at the age of nine.

Who knows? ¯\ _(ツ)_/¯

[lily-fics-11]

The Girl Next Door: Chapter 6 (Hazel Callahan, Bottoms)

Fic master post here

Tag list: @avocifera, @academiareid, @fictionalgap @dynsdiary @sndixz @athenalive @lamoobsessions @eloud12

(feel free to comment to be added to taglist)

The Girl Next Door

You hadn't been close with your neighbor Hazel for years. But you find her beat up in the locker room after fight club and all of that changes

Chapter 6

Isabel and Brittany question you about Hazel. Your best friends can’t help but try and push you and Hazel together, and it seems to be getting to your head. It almost seems like Hazel is treating you like more than a friend?

Word count: 4.2k

CW: Profanities, not beta read

It’s Saturday night, at Brittany’s house, with her and Isabel. Brittany is painting your nails your favorite color when she notices the beaded bracelet on your wrist.

“H?” she questions. “Why the letter H?”

“Oh. The H. It’s for Hazel, actually,” you explain, avoiding eye contact and praying your face isn’t flushed.

“Are you guys like-” Isabel starts with clear excitement but you cut her off. “No, it's not like that. Like at all. Not even a little. We were always best friends, and now we are again.”

“Ok, fine, I guess. But we had no idea you two even knew each other until like a week ago. What happened between you guys because I’ve literally never seen you two interact with each other before now? Did you do something? Did she do something? Was it the both of you? Whatever happened had to have been bad, so why are things ok all of the sudden?” Isabel looks both confused and concerned. It makes sense why your best friend would be unsure of what to make of this confusing situation. You don’t even fully understand it yourself.

You take a deep breath before coming clean. “I’ve been in love with Hazel since middle school. But right when I realized I had feelings for her, she pushed me away, and I never knew why. I was in so much pain so I forced myself to move on. Make new friends, and eventually get into a relationship. But even though I had convinced myself otherwise, I’ve been in love with her the whole time. I found her bloody in the locker room after fight club one day and I couldn’t just leave her there like that. We ended up talking and reconnecting. I eventually confronted her, so she explained everything to me. I don’t want to share stories that aren’t mine to tell, but I will say that she just thought she was doing what was best for me. She apologized and I couldn’t help but forgive her. I know that Hazel never meant to hurt me, and I love her too much to pass up the opportunity to have her back in my life. All those years it felt like a piece of me was missing, and I finally had a chance to put things back together. I don’t have her the way that I want her, but it’s so much better than not having her at all.”

“Oh, wow.” Brittany takes a deep breath. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea you had been through all of that. But are you sure that this is worth it? Hazel is a sweetheart, and she would never do anything to hurt you on purpose, but are you going to be hurting yourself?” 

You run a hand through your hair and take a moment to think about it. This is kind of insane. You could potentially do some major damage to yourself. But there is nothing you want more than Hazel. “That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

“Well if that’s the case I’m really happy for you. You guys would be so cute together.” Isabel claps enthusiastically.

You shake your head no at her. “Isabel, please, don’t get my hopes up like that. I have no reason to believe that she feels the same way about me. If anything I’ve got far more evidence for her not seeing me like that. I think she’s just happy to be friends again.”

“Hazel mentions you in the notes like all the time. Like way more than anyone else.” Brittany grins mischievously. You raise an eyebrow. “What do you mean?” 

“The notes she takes every meeting and emails to everyone. Do you not get them?” 

You wrinkle your nose and furrow your eyebrows. “I get them. I never noticed it. I'm sure you guys are exaggerating and didn’t even think about it until now.”

Brittany laughs. “We have been suspicious since the first time we saw you guys together. Do you not know what you look like when you look at her? Haven’t you seen the way that she looks at you?”

Isabel is quick to add “you guys started driving to school together even though you love your alone time, and remember that night you hung out at her house? You didn’t answer your phone for hours and that is so unlike you.”

Before you even get a chance to defend yourself Brittany throws at you what she believes to be some hard hitting evidence. “I have seen you guys fight each other. The sexual tension is so obvious. I have never seen two people pin each other to the ground so much. Especially not with that hungry look in their eyes.”

You are at a loss for words, so you close your eyes and flop backwards to lay down. Isabel pokes your leg. You don’t open your eyes but that doesn’t stop her from asking “were you there the day we were talking about celebrity crushes?”

“Nope.” You hear her giggle. “Well I didn’t make the connection until now, but you know that actress that everyone says you look like? That’s Hazel’s celebrity crush.”

You open your eyes and sit up, feeling defeated. “I’m sure it is just a coincidence.”

“You can believe what you want, but I’m still going to be shipping you guys so hard!” Isabel squeals.

------------------------------------------------------------------

Isabel and Brittany were not kidding when they said they would be rooting for you and Hazel. You appreciate their enthusiasm, but you would be mortified if Hazel noticed them giggling and watching you stand next to each other at the next fight club meeting. Isabel and Brittany’s eyes light up when you and Hazel are paired up for a fight. Your friend's stares were burning holes into the back of your head when you were on the ground straddling Hazel’s waist. This is only going to feed into their delusions. It seems useless at this point to hope they keep their eagerness in check.

It didn't take long for them to try and set you and Hazel up with each other, they took the first chance they got. You were unaware of their scheming until they approached you and Hazel at the end of fight club to see if you guys would want to get ice cream all together. “A little sweet treat before we all have to study for that math test tomorrow,” Isabel offers with a smile.

Brittany makes an excuse to take you with her in her car. “You forgot your shirt at my house, I need to give it back to you.” There was no shirt. Brittany just wanted to prepare you for what definitely isn’t a date, even though she seems to think it is. 

Brittany glances over at you while she is driving. “Do you want to fix your hair?” She asks.

You squint your eyes at her. “Uhh.. why?”

She playfully rolls her eyes. “Don’t you want to look nice for your date with Hazel?”

That makes you laugh. “Brittany, it’s not a date if she doesn’t know that it’s a date.”

“You know what I mean. I have a hair brush in the glove box. There’s also some lipstick in there if you want to use it.”

“I’m not going to try and impress a girl who doesn’t want to be impressed”

“But isn’t it worth trying?” Without answering you pull the brush and lipstick out of the glove box and flip down the mirror. 

Upon arrival, you and Brittany meet up with Hazel and Isabel before going inside. You enter first and approach the counter to order. After scanning your options you tell your friends “I can’t decide between cookies and cream and chocolate chip cookie dough.”

“Hey same!” Hazel smiles at you. 

“If neither of you can decide between them, why don’t you just get both and share?” Isabel teases. God Isabel, right in front of Hazel?

“Oh… I, uh…” you begin but Hazel cuts you off. “Sounds like a good idea, right?” she asks expectantly. You just nod and force a smile. As much as you have protested it, you would love for this to be a date. But it's not, and you need to keep your expectations in check. Once the ice cream Hazel had ordered for the two of you is ready, you pull out your wallet only for her to step in front of you and pay for the whole thing without even asking. You blush and look away, accidentally making eye contact with Brittany who mouths “date” to you. Your palm meets your forehead. You really are grateful that your friends are trying to help you out, but you are going to have to explain to them that getting your hopes up will only make things worse in the end. 

You intentionally sit next to Hazel, it will feel less romantic than being across from her. Not being able to stare longingly into her eyes is for the best. However, that didn’t keep you from questioning Hazel’s every move. Yes you were sharing food, but why did she sit so close to you? Seats nearly touching, practically shoulder to shoulder, knees brushing up against each other if moving more than an inch. Even worse, why did she put her arm around the back of your chair everytime she sat back to talk? Hazel talks a lot. If you weren't paying attention she would do it without you realizing and her arm would end up slung around your shoulders. You would sit there, absolutely mortified, while Isabel and Brittany failed to contain their excitement, though Hazel was none the wiser. You did your best to avoid looking over at her, that award winning smile and warm gaze far too easy to get lost in. 

About halfway through the bowls of ice cream Hazel excuses herself to the bathroom. 

Once Hazel is out of earshot Isabel slams her hands on the table and leans forwards. “Sooooooo…”

“So what?” You sigh. 

“Come on, you know what she means,” Brittany crosses her arms and grins.

You put your hands up in the air like you have been cornered by the police. “I can’t say that I know what you guys are talking about.”

“This date!” The two yell in unison. 

“Oh my god guys, could you please keep it down? I hate to break it to you, but if Hazel and I are on a date, then you two are on a date with each other. Just two best friends, eating some ice cream, that's all.”

“You are sharing ice cream!” Isabel exclaims, gesturing to the bowl in front of you. 

You run your hands through your hair. “Because you suggested it.”

Brittany points to Hazel’s chair. “You guys are sitting so close together.”

“Well we're sharing the ice cream.”

“She keeps putting her arm around you!” Brittany sounds exasperated. 

“You can’t ignore the way she looks at you!” Isabel pleads.

You put your hands down on the table in an attempt to further assert yourself. “If you keep getting my hopes up it's going to hurt even worse when she finally gets a girlfriend or in some other way makes it clear that she doesn't feel the same way.”

Brittany looks so disappointed. “We wouldn’t be trying to set you guys up if we didn't think there was something there.”

“I want this so bad,” slips out of your mouth as wild fantasies dance through your head. 

“Maybe it's time that you give this a chance,” Isabel timidly suggests. 

“I wouldn’t be opposed to it, but only if she took the lead,” you admit, nervously twisting your bracelet and averting your eyes. 

Isabel and Brittany’s eyes wander behind you, so with panicked eyes you sharply run your hand past your throat, signaling that this conversation is officially being cut off. 

Even though there is no way she could have known what had been discussed while she was gone, you are paranoid that Hazel somehow heard everything. You worry that the feelings left behind are written all over your face. Fortunately,  nothing goes wrong as you all finish eating.

After cleaning up you are the only one to sit back down at the table. The other girls look at you, confused. You tilt your head back and groan. “I do not want to go home and study for this test. It's going to be miserable.”

“Well how much have you studied so far?” Hazel questions.

“Not enough,” you sigh. Hazel steps towards you and takes your hand. You can’t even imagine how unfortunate the look on your face is right now. She pulls you up to your feet. “Just think,” she tries to encourage you,”by this time tomorrow it will be over, right?”

“Yeah, I guess you are right.” You concede, expecting her to let go of your hand at that point, but she doesn't. Hazel holds your hand all the way to the car, and doesn’t let go until she has opened up the passenger side door and you have made yourself comfortable.

You can hardly believe it, but maybe Isabel and Brittany are onto something? Like this is absolutely mind boggling and insane. Is this even possible, or a mere delusion? Furthermore, are you actually starting to get your hopes up? You are playing a dangerous game, but you reap what you sow.

------------------------------------------------------------------

Last night you studied like your life depended on it, and it was exhausting. In the morning you hit the snooze button as many times as you can without the risk of being late, sacrificing a part of your morning routine each time you slammed on the button to make the blaring noise stop. In the end you walked out the door without a stitch of makeup in the sweatpants and sweatshirt you wore to bed.

You meet Hazel in your driveway. When you unlock the car’s doors she gets in right away. You open the door but stop to groan and pout. “I really don’t want to do this,” you whine to Hazel and she smiles and shakes her head. “Oh neither do I.”

“Then why don’t we just skip? We could stay home and binge watch something,” you suggest, half serious and half not. 

Hazel sighs. “I literally couldn’t want anything more.” Your breath hitches. “But, we both studied so much that it would be a waste to miss the test. Not to mention that your mom would kill the both of us if she found out that we skipped school.” Hazel leans over the center console and reaches her hand towards you. You take it and let her pull you into the car. You are very aware of how you keep finding your hand in hers. Are you unhappy about this test? Obviously. Are you slightly exaggerating because it means Hazel might hold your hand? That’s not even a question. 

You hesitate to start the car, so Hazel gently places her hand on your thigh. She tilts her head to the side, carefully observing you with a dreamy look in her eyes. Her hand placement was more than enough to snap you out of your mood. But the way she was looking at you? That just might make you risk it all. You fight off the urge to lean over and steal a kiss from the girl you love. 

When you turn the key in the ignition you are expecting Hazel to pull away, so you are pleasantly surprised when she doesn’t. Previously, you would have shied away from moments like these, but Isabel and Brittany have really gotten inside of your head. 

“If you want you can come hang out at my place after school. We can watch an old movie.” Hazel proposes. 

You look over and meet her gaze and a smile spreads across your face. “I would love that.”

------------------------------------------------------------------

Hazel catches up with you on the way out of class after your test, putting her arm around your shoulders, causing a shock to your system. Though it’s a pleasant surprise, it isn’t easy to play it cool.

“So, how do you think you did?” Hazel smiles at you, looking at your… lips? You look down at your feet because you fear internal combustion, though still able to feel Hazel’s lingering gaze. 

You are so nervous that you stutter when you answer her question. “I-I um think I actually d-did well. How about you?”

“I’m going to be honest, I was a little distracted. I was thinking about, well, things. But I still think I managed to pull it off.” Despite her claims of having been distracted, she sounds rather excited and you can’t miss the opportunity to see that look on her face, so your eyes wander back up to meet hers. That cute goofy smile is more than enough to put all the stress from this test behind you. In all honesty, Hazel could erase just about anything from your mind. You know that your own expression must be mirroring hers. “Well I’m glad that you made it through okay.”

Hazel nods at you. “I’ve got to go but I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah of course.” 

Hazel pulls away from you, running her hand down your arm. The light graze of her fingertips momentarily lingers on your hand before finally drifting away and waving as she walks off. Hazel continues to look back at you until she stumbles into someone and has to turn her attention ahead of her.

------------------------------------------------------------------

When you get to Hazel’s house Mrs. Callahan is delighted to see you, and invites you to sit down with her. Hazel rolls her eyes and leans against the doorway with her arms crossed. You smirk as an image of what Hazel would look like doing THE lean crosses your mind. When you sit down next to Mrs. Callahan she slides a magazine over to you. 

“I want you to have this. You don’t have to look at it now, but there is a spread that starts on page 17, it’s from one of my favorite designers and every outfit would look absolutely amazing on you! Check it out when you get the chance and definitely keep this in mind the next time you want to do some shopping.” Mrs. Callahan is beaming at you. Hazel has always been a tomboy so she loved talking about fashion with you and would join you and your mom on shopping trips.

You thank her and then Hazel clears her throat, so you start to get up.

“Can I ask you a quick question?” Mrs. Callahan asks.

“Of course.”

She leans and whispers, just low enough for Hazel not to be able to hear, “you’ve put that ex girlfriend of yours behind you, correct?”

Your eyes widen, taken off guard by the personal question. “Oh yeah, she's no longer a part of my life,” you explain, doing your best to keep your voice down because it’s clear she wants this conversation to be private.

Mrs. Callahan looks satisfied and you can only assume that your mother had divulged the details of your tumultuous relationship. She continues with her hushed tone “you deserve much better than the way that girl treated you, honey. I don’t think you will have to look too far to find the right girl for you.” 

“We should head upstairs,” Hazel calls over impatiently. 

“I’m actually heading out now. I won’t be back until pretty late.” Mrs. Callahan informs you. Hazel grumbles a goodbye and you wave before she walks out the door.

“I’m going to put my stuff in my room, I’ll be right back,” she tells you before disappearing up the stairs.

After entering the living room a feeling of nostalgia washes over you. There are so many memories here of blanket forts, movie nights, and playing games. After leaving your things in the corner you sit down all the way to the side of the couch, right up against the arm rest. It’s not long before Hazel appears in front of you, “Do you know what you want to watch?” You suggest a movie and Hazel thinks it’s a great idea. 

She takes a seat in the center of the couch, as if to give you some space, while also testing the waters of trying to get close to you. You aren’t quite sure how you feel about this yet, but decide to live in the moment. While looking at the tv, out of the corner of your eye, you see that Hazel is watching you. She looks a little dazed, eyes soft, biting her lip. When you look over to her she quickly snaps her head towards the tv.

The movie is lighthearted but anytime you and Hazel look at each other the eye contact is intense. Whether you are laughing at a joke or reciting a quote in unison you kept getting caught up in the moment. The part of the movie you were reacting to would pass, but you would still be gazing into her beautiful eyes, and she would be staring right back. Then, the two of you would realize what you were doing and regain your composure. 

You start to feel cold so you get up to get the sweatshirt you have in your backpack. 

“Where are you going?” Hazel questions, and you peer over your shoulder at her. There is disappointment in her eyes, seeing you walk away.

“Just grabbing my sweatshirt,” you reassure her.

“Are you cold?” She asks, looking concerned, and you nod your head. 

“I’ve got a blanket right here, if you want to use that instead,” Hazel offers, gesturing to a blanket hanging over the back of the couch. 

“Uh, sure. Thanks.” You take your spot back on the couch and Hazel passes you the blanket. 

“I think I’m actually cold too, would you mind sharing?” She inquires, fixing her hair even though it looks fine. 

You blink rapidly, a little taken back. “No, not at all.”

“Is it ok if I, uh, sit a little closer? It would be easier to share,” Hazel asks, looking down and fidgeting with one of her rings. 

You nod your head at her once again, feeling nervously excited. Hazel slides over and when she said close she meant close, she left no space between the two of you. Shaky hands drape the blanket across your laps. You feel your heart pounding in every part of your body. Isabel and Brittany’s idealistic thinking has infected your brain. Should you make a move to see how she reacts or wait and see if she does? You decide to wait and see if she takes any initiative. You meant it when you said you wanted 

Hazel doesn’t leave you waiting for long. She rests her arm behind you, on the back of the couch, like she is inviting you into her. You obviously take the bait. There was no space to close between you but you lean your weight into her and rest your head on her shoulder. Hazel then wraps her arm around your waist, holding you against her. It all feels like a dream, breathing in her scent, feeling the warmth of her body next to yours. You are buzzing from the way her hand is firmly planted on your waist. Her voice is like a melody and her laugh is like a warm hug. You savor every moment with her.

After the movie is over, and you are getting ready to go, Hazel puts her hand on your arm. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but what did my mom whisper to you earlier?”

“Oh, she just asked about my ex.”

“She asked you about what?”

“My ex.”

“Sorry, I heard you the first time, I just can’t believe she would bring that up, I told her not to.” Hazel sighs.

“What do you mean that you told her not to? Have you been discussing my love life Hazel Callahan?” You laugh at her. You aren’t mad, just intrigued.

“Your mom had told my mom about your break up, so she came to me to try and get more information. She was really worried about whether or not you were ok. I told her that I wasn’t totally sure, because we hadn’t talked much about it. But she knows that I wanted us to be, uh, friends again, so she was very hopeful that you were in the right place for us to start a- I mean start over. My mom would bring you up from time to time over the years, hoping we would be friends again. When I explained to her that it was hard to tell whether or not you were also in, uh, the right place for that, she told me that we are meant to be, I guess friends, so the opportunity would present itself.”

You smile, feeling a flush across your face, knowing that Hazel has always intended to get you back in her life. 

“Well, I am doing ok. I know a lot has happened between us, but I have a feeling that things are going to work out the way they are supposed to.”

[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. 

  *

[nostalgebraist]

Here are some fun / amusing / potentially-interesting facts about the process of writing and plotting Almost Nowhere, if anyone's curious.

Major spoilers for the whole of Almost Nowhere under the cut.

(There's really no way to spoiler-censor this material without rendering it incomprehensible. If you haven't read the book, do that first before reading this post.)

(1)

A large fraction of the book's eventual plot emerged from my attempts to patch a single, in-some-sense trivial continuity error I made while writing the very first chapter.

The Mooncrash section of that chapter ends with this sentence (emphasis added):

All parties were used to stillness, now, for the Mooncrash was nearly four years old.

And a few paragraphs later, in the opening of the Academy section, we get this (emphasis added again):

For (as everyone knows) the Shroud is upon us and while it tolerates the Academy — as it presently is, as it has been for the last eight years, a chrysalis, preparing itself step by minuscule step [...]

So: The Mooncrash is 4 years old. The Academy crash is at least 8 years old, and indeed older.

Yet the Mooncrash is also as old as the crash system itself! It was made by humans, during the period between the discovery of the anomalings and the mass-crashing of the human race. (This is only shown in the second chapter, but I had it in mind before then.)

How long has the human race been crashed, then? At most 4 years, and at least 8 years? How could that possibly be?

It would have been easy enough to just edit the chapter, but that's not how I do things. Restrictions, famously, breed creativity. I enjoy attempting to solve puzzles I have inadvertently created for myself, and many of my best ideas have been produced through this process.

It would also have been simple and easy to merely say: "OK, I guess time elapses at different subjective rates, in different crashes."

Amusingly, I ended up doing that anyway! But for some reason, this avenue didn't occur to me at first. By the time I started asking myself whether to include this kind of effect, I already had a different solution in mind.

I spent a lot of time beating my head against the figurative wall, trying to resolve the 4-vs-8-year issue. The early parts of my AN notes are full of this stuff.

----

At some early point, I came up with the idea that the anomalings/shades would deal with troublesome crashes by "rebasing" them, rewriting their histories.

I didn't intend, initially, for this idea to take over the plot as much as it eventually did. It was just a fun idea that underscored the huge power differential between the anomalings and their captives, and felt in line with the Cartesian/Wachowskian themes of transcending a "fake"/illusory world, radically doubting one's own perceptions and memories, etc.

But, having stipulated that "rebases" were a thing, I hit upon the idea that they could be used to modify the total quantity of past (subjective) time inside a crash -- turning 8 years into 4, or vice versa, or whatever.

So, I could fix the problem by stipulating that one -- or both -- of the problematic crashes had already been rebased, in this way.

But why? And by whom?

----

Now, at this early stage, I also had the idea in mind that the character "Anne" would eventually escape from her crash, and that she would have a hand in various major events in the story -- including some events that had already occurred, relative to the "present" of the textual PoV.

But I didn't know, yet, what these interventions actually were.

(I put "Anne" in quotes, here, because in the very early stages I casually assumed that only the PoV Anne introduced in Chapter 1 would be a major character, and that her sisters were merely background material for her personal narrative, like the tower itself. Of course, in the process of thinking through the details of things, I realized that this assumption was needless and indeed counterproductive.)

As often happens when I'm plotting a story, I found that two unknowns slotted neatly into one another, each one providing a potential solution to the problem posed by the other.

We need something for "Anne" to do in the past. Something consequential, something that shows off her newfound agency -- but also something that obscures her role from view. Ideally, something kind of weird, esoteric, "advanced"; something that feels buried inside the deep, dark center of the backstory, which the reader will only "excavate" at the end of a long, strange journey.

And we need someone to rebase the Mooncrash.

That answers the "who?" question. But again -- why?

Well, it was already in the plan that Azad would join forces with Michael, when Michael went in search of his lost Anne. That Anne would meet Azad, as a result, and that it would be Azad who persuades her to return to Michael's crash.

I didn't, at the time, have much else planned for the Anne-Azad connection.

As originally conceived, the "Azad convinces Anne to return" scene was about Azad's uncertain loyalties, and about Anne's lack of exposure to other human beings (and to the power of words, as deployed by human beings with access to real human culture). That is, it merely served specific, separate purposes in the sub-stories of these two characters. There was no intent to set up, or develop, a thread connecting these sub-stories, making Azad a major character in Anne's arc and vice versa.

But that seems like kind of a shame, doesn't it? Why go to the trouble of preparing these characters, and bringing them into contact, if I didn't have anything for them to do together?

Anne and Azad.

We need someone to rebase the Mooncrash.

We need Anne to learn about real human culture, somehow, before she leaves. I knew that, already, though I didn't have a mechanism in mind.

(I also knew, by this point, that causing Azad's appointment as translator was another one of "Anne's" consequential moves. I had conceived of this, at first, as a relatively impersonal act, done only for its historical significance. Indeed, that would have been enough -- but the more the merrier, theme/motivation-wise.)

Problems paired up, interlocked, and became each others' solutions.

(1b)

As is obvious from the above, I didn't have the scenario planned out in very much detail when I wrote the first chapter.

At the time, the story had been gestating in my head for a while, but only as a bunch of vague inklings and intentions.

The proximate cause of writing-the-first-chapter was a sudden and unexpected burst of inspiration. I was riding the bus to a social event, and suddenly my mind was awash with crisp, never-before-glimpsed details about Anne and her tower, the Mooncrash, the Academy, Cordelia's blue dress -- all the stuff of Chapter 1. It felt like a crucial message was being beamed into my brain, VALIS-style, from the Muse / Higher Power.

I had an urge to bail on the social event, turn around, ride back home, and start writing immediately -- what if the magic went away, as suddenly as it had arrived? I resisted that urge and made a perfunctory appearance at the event, but then went back home and wrote as much as I could before falling asleep.

So, when I was writing that chapter, stuff like "four years" and "eight years" wasn't based on any single coherent picture, just vibes and vague inklings.

(I think 4 years probably sounded like the right amount of time for G&A to have been in the Mooncrash, character-wise. Meanwhile, Hector's ascension from the Academy had to be long enough ago that there would be no direct overlap between Hector and any of the current students. The "Bad Old Days" had to feel like something you'd only hear about in rumors, or from authority figures who probably weren't telling the full story.)

(2)

Like TNC before it, Almost Nowhere was originally conceived as relatively simple and straightforward story, only to become something much weirder and more complicated as I fleshed out the details.

As I said above, I only had a very vague "plan" at the outset of the writing process. But I kinda knew where I was going with it, in very broad strokes.

The original arc, insofar as it existed at all, was something like:

The bilateral / anomaling tension is introduced.

The bilateral PoV characters come to an understanding of their situation.

Many of the bilateral PoV characters join up with Hector Stein, who is already trying to defeat the anomalings and free humanity from the crashes.

Azad temporarily sides with the anomalings, and Anne temporarily returns to her captive state. But both them "come around" eventually.

Anne eventually triumphs over Michael, delivers a dramatic monologue castigating him for imprisoning her (etc.), and mounts a successful escape.

Shortly after Anne's escape, some (TBD!) resolution to the main conflict is achieved. Whatever it is, it is proposed/spearheaded by the bilateral faction (and specifically Anne herself), and it somehow exemplifies "the bilateral way of thinking/being."

The humbled anomalings conclude that "the bilateral way of thinking/being" has its advantages, both practically and morally.

So the story, as originally conceived, was much more straightforwardly about the "good" PoV humans fighting back against aliens.

It unabashedly took the bilateral side in the conflict, and it ended with a "beauty of our weapons" sort of moment in which the bilaterals are both victorious and righteous, and in which these two kinds of success are closely linked and almost merged.

I have to imagine that, even in counterfactual worlds where some things went differently, I never would have stuck to this version of the story all the way through.

Because, one way or the other, I would have eventually realized that.. like... this version of the story kind of sucks, right?

I mean, why go to the trouble of introducing these aliens, and trying to make them interesting, only to say "nah, actually these guys were just wrong, it's us and our existing 'ordinary' pre-conceptions that are right, and that's what the story was about all along"?

It would have been "inventing a guy to be mad at," as the saying goes.

Not a great foundation for a story. And the least interesting possible direction to go in, given this kind of setup.

It also presents a seemingly unresolvable tension, for the writer, about how to portray the distinctively "bilateral" nature of the bilateral side in the conflict.

If "bilateral" is as broad a category as the anomalings say it is -- if you and I and all of us, whatever other qualities we possess, participate equally in this sin -- then it's hard to strike a note of emotional triumph around the quality of "bilaterality" that doesn't feel wrong, vacuous, or bloodlessly abstract.

"Woo, yeah, humans are great!" I mean, are they? All of them? You don't get to say "well, only the good ones," here, or "in their ideals if not always their acts," or anything like that. Everyone is included in the relevant category, except for the guys-who-aren't that were invented for this specific story.

It's difficult to make this land properly, in the same way it would be difficult to write a story that inspires "carbon-based life pride" or "having-DNA pride" or the like in its reader.

So this version of the story was dead on arrival. And indeed, by the time I was thinking through the stuff chronicled in (1) above, this version of the story felt like a provisional placeholder, at best, in my mind.

Nonetheless, there are various echoes of it in the story I eventually landed on.

For example, in the original version of "Anne's" escape -- conceived in a much more straightforwardly positive way -- I had Anne reading "real" books in secret, drawing moral strength from them, and then including a bunch of literary quotes in her big dramatic monologue to Michael. (I took inspiration, here, from John the Savage reading Shakespeare in Brave New World.)

And I had the idea that "Anne," being an autodidact, would read omnivorously without making culture-bound distinctions familiar to you and me; that her selection of quotes, in the monologue, would put low culture alongside high culture, infamous books alongside famous ones, etc.; and as a particular case, that it'd be fun if -- before going on to quote Shakespeare and co. -- she began the whole thing by quoting Ayn Rand.

And that one idea stuck, even if the rest of it didn't.

(Or, consider how the idea of "a powerful move in the conflict that exemplifies the bilateral way of thinking/being" actually crops up multiple times in the finished story, right up to its last scenes. One can see traces of it in the "trick" that obsesses Michael, in the use of autobiographical writing to build up nostalgium, and in Annabel's improved crash design.)

(3)

I came up with the Mirzakhani Mechanism relatively late, in between writing Chapter 13 and writing Chapters 14-15 (in which the MM is introduced).

The MM was a product of looking back at the sci-fi elements that already existed in the story, like crashes and rebases, and trying to invent some single underlying explanation that covered all of them in a relatively parsimonious way.

This basically "worked," I think -- it certainly worked better than I had been expecting, after playing the dangerous game of "write a bunch of weird stuff and hope you'll be able to explain it all later." (I remember talking to one reader who was shocked that I hadn't had the MM in mind from the very beginning, which was flattering.)

It also had unintended consequences that kinda took over the story, but largely in a good way.

Earlier, I had planned to have the post-rebase crash timelines "screened off" from the outside world somehow, so that rebasing a crash wouldn't mess up the timeline of the outside world. But, once I'd fixed the idea that "rebasing is an MM event" in place, I realized that this wasn't consistent with the way MM events were meant to work. Instead, the exposition in Ch. 15 directly implies the stuff about rebases that Grant realizes much later in Ch. 41.

Once I'd noticed this, it was obvious that it was extremely important, and I re-incorporated it into the broader plot.

On a related note, I eventually decided that the account of the anomalings "going backward in time to our era" in Ch. 15 didn't really make sense. This meant I needed a different, more viable way anomalings and bilaterals to exist at the same point in time.

This line of thought, along with several others (like "what happened to all the nonhuman organisms?" and "which parts of the MM multiverse are real?"), eventually led me to invent Everywhere-Heaven and the beasts.

That happened right at the start of 2022, between Chapters 21 and 22.

It quickly became clear that the E-H/beasts stuff could be put to a lot of valuable use in story's third act, which was largely a worrying blank space in my head (even at this point!). From thereon out, I worked on fleshing out the third act behind the scenes while writing the second.

Not coincidentally, Chapter 22 contains a ton of E-H-related foreshadowing, and also some hints that human scientists (like Aidan in Ch. 15) had never fully understood the anomalings.

The use of Maryam Mirzakhani, a real (and recently deceased) mathematician, was a weird choice and arguably one in poor taste. All I can really say in defense of it is that it came to me suddenly, and had a number of properties that fit the vibe of the part of the story in which it appeared, and I have a policy of "going with my gut" when it suggests such things to me.

I felt similarly about this choice and another thing introduced in Ch. 15, the nuclear attack intended to kill scientists. Both of these things underscored the fact that the story took place in an alternate reality. And both felt sort of "edgy," "too dark," "too close to the real world" compared to the tone of the story so far. But I wanted to take the story to new places in the coming acts -- "darker," "more real" places -- and something felt right about introducing these elements at this exact point, as signposts providing an indication of where things were headed.

(4)

The phrase "NOWHERE TO HIDE" was originally "NO MERCY," in my notes.

And the abbreviation "NM" for "NO MERCY" was used throughout my notes for Nowhere-To-Hide related stuff, e.g. "NM Annes."

This wasn't the product of much thought, just the first thing that came to mind that had roughly the correct vibe. I almost immediately concluded that I'd have to replace "NO MERCY" with something else in the work itself, since it would seem like an Undertale reference that I didn't intend to make.

"Moon" was originally just a placeholder name -- a shorthand for "the 'NM Anne' who rebased the Mooncrash." But I liked the idea of actually using it, once it had occurred to me.

The corresponding placeholder name for A11 was "Ling," as in "linguist" (but also an actual name).

(5)

I went through 3 different outlines of the third act.

Really, there was a first outline, which was really bad, and then there were two slightly-different versions of a very different outline that mostly corresponds to the finished draft.

The first, bad outline was amusingly titled "notes-satisfying-ending.txt", because I explicitly used this post about "satisfying endings" as a guideline while writing it.

(To be clear, I don't think the linked post was to blame for the badness of that first outline. I didn't ultimately find the post very helpful as writing advice, but the "satisfying ending" outline wasn't even a "satisfying ending" in the post's own terms, and was also bad in unrelated ways.)

I don't want to go into much detail about the bad outline. It was really bad, and also really different from what eventually occurred. It's honestly a pretty embarrassing document.

A lot of the key ideas were there (E-H, etc.), and the very end of the story was roughly the same. But it had a ton of needless flaws that I later corrected. Various existing character arcs and motivations were dropped and never picked up, or suddenly diverted in some new and unfruitful direction; way too much time was spent on getting characters and objects from point A to point B, or otherwise sort of rambling about in a way that didn't matter in the end; it included a lot of whimsical "fun ideas" that weren't necessary and would have added clutter to an already very full canvas; etc.

I never got to the point of building a chapter-by-chapter version of this outline, but I'm sure it would have much longer than the existing third act, also.

The existing third act is pretty long, but it was actually the result of an aggressive pruning and tightening process.

If the "satisfying-ending" outline had a single greatest flaw, it was terrible pacing. Lots of slack, lots of empty space, and when big things did happen, they came out of nowhere, not really prompted by what came immediately before them.

The next draft of the ending resulted from taking the raw materials of "satisfying-ending," purging all the dross, re-thinking all the obviously flawed stuff, and then trying to rearrange the pieces in front of me in a way that was maximally "tight" and interconnected, with questions and tensions introduced and then resolved in a rapid-fire manner, and without any major thread "sitting around in the background" long enough to feel stale, or get forgotten.

That outline was in a file called "notes-good-end.txt."

Much later, I tightened up the plan even further, merging some things that were originally in separate chapters. This was in a file called "notes-true-end.txt", and -- true to its name -- was the version reflected in the book itself.

So there was "satisfying-ending," which sucked; "good-end," which was good; and "true-end," which was slightly better.

(I realize the multiplicity of the ending, and the account of deliberate "tightening" etc., is in apparent tension with my recent account of working by direct inspiration.

There are a few things I can say about this tension.

For one, it really is true that the third act of AN was more deliberately reasoned-out, and less directly-inspired, than some of the earlier stuff. This is kind of inevitable: you don't get to do anything after an ending, that's what an ending is, and so you have to deliberately try to make the final act of a story fully work as a thing unto itself, rather than writing checks in the hope of cashing them at some later point.

And separately, I do think the final version of the ending feels "more real," "more true to the work" than the satisfying-ending draft.

I think I was aware, even while composing "satisfying-ending," that it felt off and wrong in some ways. But it was only after going through the exercise of creating a complete ending -- some sort of complete ending -- that I was able to look back and say "OK, this fits, but this doesn't fit," and distill something that actually felt right.)

[casinoroyale]

Hi everyone!! Theseus cquackity viceduo zombur revivebur here.

This blog has seen several hiatuses (my bad seriously my bad), and bouts of irregular posting. So I'm sure people who regularly check it have noticed that we (Fiona @quackbur and I) haven't been posting daily anymore and haven't for a bit now. So below the cut I'm gonna talk more about that, and our plans for this blog going forward

For starters, I love roleplaying on this blog so much, as does my cohost Fiona @quackbur. Fiona has done so, so much writing for this and I feel kind of bad for taking her credit over the past two or so years, so props to her for being such a good sport and for everything she's done. This blog wouldn't exist without the shared passion she had for it.

To get sappy, I love the friends I've made in bedrockverse, they remain some of my best and closest companions. I would not trade the times I've spent with them for the world. Beau, Holly & co, Met & Co, and Thunderbottles are some of the loveliest, most supportive, and insanely talented people I have ever had the pleasure of writing with and meeting.

This includes people who aren't part of the bedrockverse that I've written with!! Shoutout to Javi anonymous-jey casino-duckling, TGM the-g-m duckofthelaw, and AD anonymous-dentist therealnoodleman. It was so much fun bringing all the quackverses together, and I respect all of you so much as writers.

AND that also includes EVERYONE who has interacted with her!!!!!!!!!! Everyone who has sent asks (thank you so much, sorry we're terrible at replying), reblogged threads, commented, posted/liveblogged, DREW FAN ART (BLOWS OUR MINDS. THERE'S BEEN SO MUCH INCREDIBLE ART CREATED, WE CANNOT THANK ALL OF YOU ENOUGH), even just liked a thread, thank you. Seriously, it has meant a lot to us to be part of this community, and have so many people enjoy this blog. Insert Pitbull image happy you enjoyed.

So, going forward it would make us really happy if you all pictured casinoroyale as happy. He has songbird-sunrise, goofygoop, and a nation full of citizens that she loves. She babysits for tubbolul and latenightmining, and terrorizes rp!emduo not infrequently. All we really wanted was to bring c!quackity to a happy place and I feel we've done that. Of course he still has shit days, as a ptsd baddie, but the good days are more common. And if we never get to it (though I hope someday we do, maybe in the form of a collaborative one-shot or fic) know that casinoroyale and songbird-sunrise DO eventually get [REDACTED]. And one of them DOES get [REDACTED]. That was always the plan! Yay! [REDACTED]!

Not to say that we don't have more arcs planned for this blog, because we do! I just don't know when/if/how they'll ever get written, especially because a lot of my friends have moved on from their rp blogs as well. But I really do still feel happy with where he's at and happy with everything I've done. This is a project I'm really, really proud of and I will always look back on fondly.

None of this means that I'm not interested in c!Quackity or DSMP as a whole anymore, either. Actually that couldn't be further from the truth. But now I'd like to be able to focus on fics, and other forms of writing, which I've been doing more recently :D actually, you can read a short one shot I posted for exile's anniversary HERE

If you've made it this far into this long, sappy post, THANKS!!!!!! The TLDR; this blog is on an indefinite hiatus, and won't be returning to its formal glory, and that's okay. We had a really good run. Now, off we go to other things