#also i made that divider myself i'm very proud of myself

[ghost-proofbaby]

so scarlet (it was maroon)

in which eddie gets everything he dreamed of - except you. based off of "maroon" by taylor swift.

→ warnings: smut, severe angst, hurt/no comfort, 18+ minors dni

→ pairings: rockstar!eddie x fem!reader

→ wc: 11.3k+

→ a/n: don't mind me, just trying to see if tumblr will let me finally post this. this is cross-posted from ao3 (and wattpad)

ao3

"When the morning came, we were cleaning incense off your vinyl shelf 'cause we lost track of time again. Laughing with my feet in your lap, like you were my closest friend"

“You’re fucking with me,” Eddie sits up to stare at you, lit joint still dangling between his ringed fingers and the last of his latest hit lingering in a ghost of white smoke on his lips. 

“I’m not,” you laugh at his reaction, tilting your head forward just enough for where you were sprawled out on his bed to get a better view of him, “I’m scared to take cold medicine now.” 

“There’s no way you got high off of the recommended dose!” he cackles, shaking his head in disbelief, a hand coming down on your shin to ground himself. You watch his shoulders shake with laughter, how his curls come down to curtain around his reddening cheeks and his reddening eyes, how his doe eyes are pinched shut and crinkled in the corners.

A map of a million lifetimes, branching out from the corner of those eyes. A million lifetimes, a million possibilities, a million futures. And every single one of them begins and ends with Eddie. 

If you stare for too long, you’re going to say something you regret in your high, so you sit up as he had in order to snatch back the joint, “Stop babysitting. Aren’t you the one who’s always chastising me on ‘puff, puff, pass’?” 

He feigns offense, mouth wide open and face scrunched up adorably so, as you take a delicate hit. The smoke enters your mouth quickly, wasting no time as it barrels down your throat and curls into every crevice of your lungs. Your chest aches slightly at the intrusion. 

His eyes never leave yours. He watches the glaze continue to intensify over them as you slowly exhale. His thumb begins to trace gentle arches over the bare skin of your leg as his warm palm shifts upward, inching until it’s over your knee and resting on your thigh. “You’re fucking ridiculous.” 

“Learned from the best.” 

“That you did, sweetheart. That you did.” 

He holds his free hand back out for the joint, and your fingertips brush as you return it to him. 

“So what? Was it better than this kind of high?” he teases before bringing it to his lips. They’re pursed in preparation, and you only lose your concentration for a moment before remembering to answer him.

“I dunno, Munson. You’ve got some good shit here but… Dayquil might be giving you a run for your money,” you mock, tilting your head and leaning in closer to him. He’s grinning again, looking up through shy lashes before he takes his hit. 

This time he doesn’t exhale immediately into the cloudy air of the room. Instead, he takes you off guard as he shifts on the bed and pulls you closer. Soon enough he has you in his lap, draping one arm around your waist as he takes the hand not holding the joint and gingerly grabs your jaw. 

You already know the drill. You’re familiar with the process of his shotguns as his fingers tap your cheeks and you let your mouth fall slightly open, leaning to meet him halfway. He still doesn’t exhale, not until his lips have grazed over yours lightly, teasing before he finally seals the two of you together. The kiss is messy, as it always is with him; your tongue can’t differentiate between the taste of him and the taste of the smoke as he presses the kiss deeper. You’re not even sure you breathed in enough to capture any of it, but none of it feels like a waste as he’s biting your bottom lip, hands pulling your hips impossibly close. The joint is eventually discarded on one of the ashtrays on his bedside tables as you lose yourselves into each other. His nose presses itself into flat against yours between hot breaths. 

“We can’t-” you pull back, a trail of saliva chasing you before Eddie follows, capturing you in another kiss that you pull back from, “The joint-” another interruption with another desperate kiss, “The incense-”

“The incense will be fine, baby,” he insists, pouting slightly, “It’s not going to burn the house down.” 

He kisses you once more, wasting no time to fall backwards into his pillows and dragging you with him. For a moment, you’re straddling him, hovering over him, but he quickly turns and presses your back into his sheets before he’s rolling over on top of you, caging you in. You don’t mind it. You never mind him taking up your space, your breath, your mind. 

A hand comes up to rest on your neck as you take a moment to press both hands into his chest, forcing distance. His eyes snap wide open, and they’re shining like a dozen moons at once, even with his pupils blown out. 

“And if it does? It if does burn down the house?” you whisper, hands beginning to wander, one finding its way up and around the back of his neck, toying with the curls in its path. The other smooths over his shoulder, prepared to pull him back in impossibly close even without an answer. 

He’s looking down at you with all the love in all of Hawkins, in all of the world, as he smirks and answers, “Then I say let it burn.” 

"And I chose you, the one I was dancing with in New York, no shoes. Looked up at the sky and it was maroon."

Within a year of graduation, Eddie had made it very clear he wanted to get out of Hawkins. Corroded Coffin had been slowly but surely crawling their way to popularity outside of Hawkins, and when the moment was right, he came to you with an offer you couldn’t refuse. 

“Come with me. Move to New York. I know, it’s insane, but-”

“Yes.” 

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely. Was it ever really a question, Eddie?”

He was it for you, and so when he’d been prepared to beg you on his knees to move with him, it had been a no-brainer. You packed up all your belongings without second-thoughts, said goodbye to the town that never really deserved either of you, and started your life in a big city. 

The apartment was small and impossibly cramped, but the first night you two arrived, it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter if it was in the dingier part of town, or that you two were going to be penniless the next several months as you barely scraped by with rent. The moment you walked into that one-bedroom apartment, you knew it was yours, and you knew with certainty then that you had done it - you had escaped the bleary town and come out the other side. 

“Holy shit,” he sighs as he places down one of the last few boxes you’d brought with you amongst one of the several piles littering the living room. You’re sitting on top of one particularly sturdy stack of boxes, the top one serving as a seat most likely filled with your books from home. 

“Yeah,” you breath, looking around, completely stunned, “Holy shit.” 

Eddie turns in a full circle, almost as if he was drinking it all in, before he faces you once more. His face is a blank slate only for a second before the serendipity and sudden gaiety takes over his features. He’s unexpectedly running in your direction, arms wrapping around you and lifting you off the boxes as you squeal, swinging you around effortlessly. 

“We fucking did it!” he cheers over your giggles. When he finally finishes spinning you, letting your sock-clad feet find stability on the hardwood floors, he still doesn’t let you go. He only pulls you into his chest tighter, “We did it. We’re in New fucking York.” 

You smile brightly, pressing your cheek painfully against his t-shirt, nodding as you echo, “We did it.” 

The moment pauses as he pulls away as suddenly as he had picked you up, still radiating happiness.

“Hold on, wait here. I’ve got an idea.” 

He jogs over to one of the stacks of boxes at the entrance of the kitchen as you just laugh, “Not like I’ve got anywhere to run off to, Munson.” 

“You better not!” he calls over his shoulder, digging for whatever his brilliant idea was. 

You disobey him indirectly by wandering across the living room, steps slow and careful as you approach the large window offering a lackluster view. All you could see, for the most part, was the large brickwall of the neighboring apartment building. It was old and faded, scattered marks of paints from clear graffiti at random intervals. The city had clearly tried to wash away the few remnants of whatever art the random city vigilantes had covered it with, but the reminders of what once was remained. A nod to the fact that sometimes, no matter how hard you try to wash away things, their legacy lingers stubbornly. 

You don’t even hear Eddie setting up one of his old boomboxes with a favorite mixtape of the two of yours until it begins to play from the speakers, probably a bit more loud than you should have if you were attempting to be considerate neighbors. 

But neither of you cared. 

When you turn, you find Eddie approaching you steadily to the beat of the song playing. He takes a step with each beat, swaying his hips in clear exaggeration. 

He’s only several paces from you when he holds out a hand, grinning like a fool as he says, “Dance with me, sweetheart.” 

You take it, immediately. There’s not a trace of hesitation as you let the boy who held the sun in your eyes drag you across the barren living room, not even dancing to the beat but growing dizzy with love regardless. You let your own happiness mingle with his. As he spins you for the hundredth time, dipping you low and dramatically, you imagine that this is it - this is as good as it could possibly get. Because you’re with your boy, and you two are dancing to your own beat as the mixtape ends, and there couldn’t possibly be a more perfect person than him. 

He brings you back up to him as he stands up straight, and not a word is passed as lips crash together. An eager kiss, all teeth and revelations and silent promises of forever. It’s saccharine sweet as his tongue passes over your lips, begging for more closeness. Your chests are so tightly pressed together that with each breath he gasps in, you’re forced to exhale. 

“I love you,” he mutters, pulling back momentarily and staring into your eyes. His arms cradle you so carefully, as if scared that when he lets go, you’ll completely disappear from him, “I love you so goddamn much, it hurts. I can’t believe this is real.” 

“It’s real, so you better believe it, rockstar,” you reassure him, “Now shut up and kiss me.” 

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” he mutters, already so close to you that his lips brush against yours before he’s back on you, hot and heavy. 

You’re not sure how exactly it happens, or who first starts encouraging the steps taken towards the hallway, but you end up with your back against the wall as Eddie leans completely into you. You both feel drunk on each other, giddy on your current reality. After a particularly harsh tug on his hair, in sync with a yearning squeeze on your hip, he whispers ‘jump’ into your kiss. Hands find the back of your thighs, molding them into his knuckles as he carries you into the bedroom. 

The room is only filled with a few artifacts: boxes of both of your clothes, Eddie’s prized guitar propped up in one of the corners, and a mattress on the floor only covered in a comforter and no sheets yet. The afternoon light is golden as it flutters in through the open window, the sounds of the city muted by your breaths. 

He’s impossibly gentle as he lowers the two of you down onto the mattress, careful as he lets you unwrap your legs and flop back. Even with his carefulness, you find your own eagerness causing your movements to be too rough, bouncing back slightly and bumping noses with him. You both take a break to laugh. 

“Careful, you klutz,” he warns, balancing himself up on his forearms as he looks down at you in adoration. You don’t respond, instead lifting yourself to capture his lips in yours, pulling him down. Your teeth clash with his as you both continue to giggle into the open-mouthed kiss. 

He gives in, hands roaming as they slip below your tattered shirt you’d worn for the occasion of moving. His warm hands find home on your chest, squeezing softly and thumbs flicking your already pebbled nipples in order to pull gasps from you. He lets his head drop to your neck, his messy curls tickling your nose as he presses wet kisses down your jugular. Each kiss is in sync with the heavy beating of your heart. 

He stops when his path leads him down to your collarbone, sucking and nipping before releasing blooming skin to glance up at your face, twisted in euphoria. “This is real, isn’t it?”

His voice is so soft, you almost don’t hear him. But you look down at him, a boy made of contradictions - of sunshine and moonlight, of passionate and tender actions - and can only smile in serenity. 

“Yeah, it is.” 

It’s the only encouragement he needs to continue his worship, leaving no patch of supple skin unkissed. 

"The burgundy on my t-shirt when you splashed your wine into me, and how the blood rushed into my cheeks. So scarlett, it was maroon."

It could have been hours later or days when you’d finally tired yourselves out. It took an impossible amount of willpower, but eventually, you two had untangled yourselves from each other, leaving the warmth of your comforter to continue unpacking.

Or rather, you were unpacking. Eddie had taken to stretching out on the bed, back propped up on the bare wall behind him with his guitar in his lap, strumming mindlessly as he watched you begin to pull your clothes from one of the boxes. You took your time, smoothing out any wrinkles that had formed during the move, focused as you hung your shirts on hangers and put them away into their home in your new shared closet. 

Eddie pauses whatever song he had been practicing when he catches sight of a particular shirt you pull from the box. 

It’s a white t-shirt. Nothing impressive, but what piques his interest is the splotch of once-red-now-maroon painting the center of the fabric. It’s faded, feathered at the edges, but he knows the story behind that stain all too well.

“You really kept that shirt? Even after I ruined it?” he chuckles, shifting his guitar off his lap, scooting towards the edge of the bed. 

You hold it up, laughing as well, taking in the stain that refused to wash out, “Yeah. Sentimental value or whatever,” you tease, looking down at him. You take his breath away like this, in nothing but his Judas Priest shirt that barely reaches your thighs, nothing but underwear on underneath, hair in tangles from your previous activities. But you’re glowing, a glow that he’s been lucky enough to witness on multiple occasions, and it takes everything in him to keep his hands to himself, “Never really wear it, though. Guess I should get rid of it, huh?” 

“No,” he answers you far too quickly, “Never. Keep it forever. We can frame it, hang it in the hallway.” 

You know he’s not serious, but the thought still makes you smile. You’d never really get rid of it, far too attached to the memories it held, even two years later.

Another Harrington party. Another sea of almost-adults getting far too drunk, far too rowdy. You’d been to your fair share of them, but they never really got easier.

There’s an excitement in the air you can’t place. Maybe it was from graduation, still nearly six months away but on the horizon nevertheless. Or maybe it was simply from the holiday - Halloween. Whatever it was, it buzzed through the air and across your chilled skin. 

Your costume was last minute. A half-assed attempt at a pirate costume. It had been thrown together with things you could already find in your closet, for the most part - one of your more flowy white t-shirts, black jeans you’d taken scissors to the knees of in an act of temporary rebellion, heavy boots originally bought for hiking. The only real clues as to what you were had been aiming to disguise yourself as were the cheap eyepatch and doltish pirate hat you’d bought when shopping with your friends for the occasion. But you’d long forgone your eyepatch as the alcohol impaired your vision well enough without the loss of use in one of your eyes. 

The hat was a cheap velvet-texture, deep maroon in color and an extravagant black feather barely holding on by the factory glue used to secure it. 

Your friends had long since abandoned you. One of them went off with a jock who had caught their eye, the other getting dragged into a very serious game of beer pong. It hadn’t bothered you too much - it had left you to your own devices, nursing a cup of whatever punch had been spiked in a dark corner of the kitchen. You watched your classmates trail in and out for their own dose of alcohol without much interest. Until he walked in. 

He was glued to the side of the host himself, Steve Harrington. You overheard a couple of scolding sentences coming from Steve’s lips, something about ‘cutting him off’ and how he needed to ‘compose himself’. It was entertaining, at the least, to watch the boy fumble with himself. 

“C’mon, you’ve got to have more whiskey around here somewhere, pretty boy!” he whined, leaning into Steve as he lost his balance momentarily. 

“No, Eddie! I mean it, you’re cut off! Now stay here or so help me God-” Steve appeared irritated, but was far more patient than you would have been as he carefully guided his friend to lean on the counter across the room from you. He left the room in a hurry, and you snickered under your breath as the predictable happened right before your eyes - once Eddie was left alone, he immediately began to pilfer for more alcohol. 

It takes him a second, to your amusement, before he reappeared from the lower cabinets he had crouched in front of, letting out a loud ‘Aha!’ with a bottle of red wine in hand. He wasted no time in digging through multiple drawers as if it were his own house before he found a corkscrew, and the entire time, your eyes continuously flickered to the entrance of the entrance, waiting until Steve returned and would catch his friend red-handed (literally). 

He never did, though. Eddie has enough time to begin struggling with the cork, curses and mutters falling from his lips as you watched on. You’re only pulled from your watchful gaze when you hear a loud pop, and hear a triumphant ‘Fuck yeah!’ from the boy. 

Maybe you thought you should intervene, considering you were clearly not as far gone as Eddie, but you weren’t quick enough. You’d walked up behind him, about to announce yourself and stop him, when he turned suddenly, a red cup in hand that was nearly overflowing with red wine. 

Eddie hadn’t expected you to be so close, hadn’t even realized he wasn’t alone in the kitchen. Immediately, the cup collided with your chest and the red wine sloshed down the front of your shirt. 

You gasped, jumping back slightly, as he cursed, “Oh, shit! Fuck, I’m so sorry.” 

Wide, brown eyes found yours, looking sincere in their apology. 

He looked around before grabbing a random kitchen towel, unfortunately also a starch white, and began to try and dab at your shirt clumsily. 

“No, no, it’s okay,” you insisted as you felt your cheeks begin to burn. He continued to attempt to rectify the matter, clearly panicked. You have to eventually grab his wrists, pulling him and the now-ruined towel away. He looked back up.

It was almost like slow motion. His eyes met yours and you felt time stop. Your fingers stay pressed into his wrist, feeling the beat of his pulse, for far longer than necessary. 

“It’s fine,” you said once more, finally prying your grip from him. You might have been a little too drunk to care, and you’re sure that sober you would be disappointed in the comfortable t-shirt now being collateral damage, but for now, it didn’t matter. 

“I had no clue you were there. I’m- Fuck, I’m drunk. I’m an idiot. Sorry,” he slurred, looking down at you. 

You shrugged, playing it off, “Shoulda announced myself sooner. Don’t be sorry, it’s a problem for sober me.”

You really had liked that shirt. It was a shame. 

“You know, if you really wanted more alcohol, they still have punch left,” you jabbed a thumb over your shoulder, in the direction of the crystal bowl on the counter you had just been leaning on.

Eddie’s face scrunched up in disgust immediately, “Ew, God no. That shit’s way too sweet.” 

You bit your lip to fight laughter, “And wine is any better?” 

“It can be, when shared with someone as pretty as yourself,” he has a shameless, flirty grin on his features, raising his eyebrows suggestively at you. You broke, laughing softly and shaking your head. 

He had a point. The punch wasn’t very good. 

“Alright, then, mister ‘you’re cut off’. I suppose I’ll join you in your antics,” you turned to the sink, dumping the remnants of your punch before turning back to him and reaching for the bottle of wine he still held. 

His hand flew out of reach, tsking immediately, “Nope. Allow me.”

It wasn’t a good idea, but you let him take your now-empty cup regardless. He put it down on the counter and focused intently on filling it, nearly emptying the wine bottle as he topped it off just as full as his own had been. 

“Jesus, you’d make a shitty bartender. You’re definitely overpouring right now.” 

“Hush,” is all he replied as he finished the task at hand, setting down the empty bottle once he poured the last few drops into his own cup, attempting to make up for what was now soaking your shirt. It had started to dry, becoming cold and uncomfortably sticky, but you were too distracted with the boy in front of you to care. “M’lady,” he finally handed back the cup, looking far too proud of himself for not making another mess. 

“Thank you,” you teased, giving a messy and exaggerated bow, careful to not spill the wine. 

Once your glass is back in your own hand, his began to fumble into the pockets of the leather jacket he wore. It led to him spilling some more of his wine onto his own shirt this time, and you considered how lucky he was that he was wearing black. 

“Here,” you gave him no choice as you gingerly took the cup from his hand, freeing him up to find whatever it was he was so desperate to find in his pockets. You take the moment to glance over his costume: he was wearing black jeans, a black t-shirt, and a black leather jacket. On his face, a pair of small, circular sunglasses were perched haph-hazardly on his nose, the lenses a barely opaque red. You noted the obnoxiously long necklace swinging against his chest, a large silver cross at the end, “What are you even supposed to be dressed up as?” 

He yanked a pack of cigarettes successfully from his pocket, grinning like a fool, “Ozzy Osbourne. Duh.”

“Duh,” you mimicked, handing him back his cup of wine before turning more serious,“From Black Sabbath, right?” 

His eyes lit up. “You know Sabbath?” 

“A little bit,” you shrugged, but that was enough for Eddie. 

He slung an arm around your shoulders, cheesy grin and all, as he rattled the pack of cigarettes against your ear. “Say, you smoke?”

You didn’t, but for him, you did. “Yeah, yeah. I could use some fresh air anyways. Lead the way, rockstar.” 

"When the silence came, we were shaking, blind and hazy. How the hell did we lose sight of us again?"

“Eddie, you have to call them back and tell them you’ll do it!”

“No! I can’t!”

“You can and you will.”

The fight had started over Eddie’s casual mention of a phone call he’d had earlier that day. It had been six months of New York, of bliss, of living in a pattern of waiting. Every day, you were both waiting; waiting for the next show Corroded Coffin would book, waiting for the next chance he’d have to send off yet another demo to another record label, waiting for the shimmers of what could be his big break. It had been comfortable while it lasted - the two of you were still wrapping your head around having your own routine. Of having something that’s yours. 

The phone call today was the end of that waiting game. 

The management of a slightly larger band, extending an offer to Corroded Coffin - they wanted them to be the opener for their next tour. It wasn’t an overly large one, it hardly spanned over three months and most of the venues were painfully small compared to what you believed Eddie should be playing, but it was an offer. Gigs, travel paid for, an opportunity for exposure right at his fingertips.

He had told them no. 

“I’d have to leave. I’d be on the fucking west coast until December. I’d miss your birthday!” Eddie continues to argue. The two of you were standing in your living room, finally filling out. Shelves had collected framed photos, small knick-knacks that partially came from you and partially came from Eddie. You finally had a couch. It wasn’t a nice one, but it was a couch and it was yours. Something that belonged to both of you.

“You’d be playing shows! Selling merch! Gaining fans! This is your chance. Who cares if you’re not here for my birthday? We can celebrate over the phone, who cares?” your voice was breaking from frustration, not understanding how Eddie isn’t more excited. Instead of the joy you had expected to find on his face when he revealed the news to you, all you could see was fear. He was petrified. You finally drop your voice, taking on a soothing tone as you step in front of your boyfriend, taking his face in shaking hands, “Eddie, I’ll have other birthdays. But this? If you don’t do this… there might not be other tours.”

You could feel tears building up, some from exasperation, but most for the boy in front of you. This was his chance. He was your entire world, and you couldn’t let it pass him by. 

He has tears mirroring in his own eyes, searching your face frantically, “I… I don’t want to be away from you. Not right now, not when we’re just figuring all this shit out.” 

“I’m not going anywhere,” you tearily laugh, “Where would I even run off to, huh? No, stop this bullshit - don’t be an idiot. You go pick up that phone right now and tell that band they have an opener, and a damn good one at that. Right now.” 

He’s frozen, leaning his cheeks into your touch, eyes fluttering closed. He just wants to live in this moment. He doesn’t want to think about the enormity of the decision in his hands - he just wants to stay here, in your arms, in the space you two had come to call home. 

When your thumb swipes one of his escaped tears from his cheek, he caves. His voice is a ghost of a whisper. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll go call them. But- But when I get back, we’re celebrating the hell out of your birthday, do you understand me? Fuck Christmas, Jesus has had, like, thousands of birthdays. When I get back, all I care about is you.” 

You believe him. You believe him with your entire being, never once worrying about him missing something as trivial as the celebration. 

“We sure will. Now go on, rockstar. Catch your big break.” 

He finally smiles for the first time since he broke the news.

At the moment, all you saw was a world full of beginnings for your boy. This was it, the moment you’d been waiting for, and you couldn’t have been happier for him. The rose-colored glasses never gave you the chance to see it was the beginning for the two of you - the beginning of the end. 

"Carnations you had thought were roses, that's us. I feel you, no matter what."

“I miss you.”

Those three months couldn’t have dragged on slower if they tried. But Eddie kept good on his word; every night, like clockwork, he called you. The two of you would take about anything and everything: he’d tell you about the latest crowd that included people who seemed to actually enjoy Corroded Coffin’s set, you’d tell him about the takeout you had for dinner after nearly burning your shared kitchen down, he’d mention the names of cities you could only dream of visiting, and you’d indulge him in theatrically stories of your latest customers from Hell at the small dinner you waitressed at. 

“I know you do. I miss you too, Eds,” you sigh over the line, curled up on his side of the bed, even though it had finally stopped smelling like him. Long gone were the scents of late night cigarettes and woodsy cologne, replaced by a nauseating sweetness of your own shampoo and perfume. You hated it, but you’d never let him know that. Not when he seemed to actually be so happy. His breakdown over the offer seemed to fickle now, as it was clear he was enjoying himself. He was living out his dream. Something neither of you had fully processed yet. 

“Hey, just two more weeks, right?” you whisper, eyes staring into the shadows across the room. Two more weeks. Fourteen days, and he was all yours once more.

It was your birthday. And it had been the most lonesome to date - a few coworkers had convinced you to go out for drinks after closing up the diner, but the entire time, you had just been anxious to get home and prepare for your phone call with Eddie. Just as the two of you had said, you had committed to somewhat celebrating over the phone. 

“Do me a favor. Go into the kitchen real quick,” his voice instructs over the line, and you perk up slightly. 

“What? Why?” 

“Just trust me, sweetheart.”

You do as he asks, making your way out of the bedroom and down the hall. The apartment is dark, and a bit cold, but you don’t pay it any mind as you make your way to the kitchen. 

“Okay, I’m in the kitchen. Now what?” 

“The drawer to the left of the fridge. Open it.”

“Our junk drawer?”

“Yes, the junk drawer,” his tone is teasing, never growing irritated with your endless questions, “Open it.”

You hadn’t really touched the drawer since Eddie left, normally only discarded random pens and junk mail filling it. But you're shocked when you find the drawer more organized than you remember it - and in the center of it is a pack of candles.

“Candles?” you ask softly, a smile playing at your lips as your free hand reaches down to grasp the package. You flip it around in your palm, heart warming at the notion, but still feeling confused, “Babe, I appreciate it, I really do, but I don’t exactly have a cake, or even a cupcake, to put these in. 

“You don’t? Damn it. If only I had thought of that,” he hums in a teasing tone, making you lower the hot phone from your ear and glare down at his caller id that illuminates the screen, “Well. What a shame. Hey, do you know the time by chance?” 

“Munson, I’m gonna kick your ass,” you mutter, turning to look at the clock over your oven, “It’s 7:59. What’s your game here?” 

He doesn’t answer, leaving you further puzzled, instead mumbling what sounds like to himself, “Three, two-”

“Why are you counting down?”

“One.” 

A loud knock echoes through the apartment, causing you to jump. 

“Okay, what the fuck is going on?” you hiss over the line, gripping the candles impossibly tight. 

“Go answer the door.”

“If you’re on the other side of it, I’m kicking you straight in the-”

“It’s not,” he interrupts, “I wish it was, sweetheart. It’s not. But just trust me, yeah? One last surprise, promise.”

You grumble your entire way to the door, still holding the package of candles as you stop in front of your front door. You pause, taking a deep breath. 

“That doesn’t sound like you’re opening the door.”

“Give me a second. Jesus, for all I know, you hired a hitman and I’m about to be brutally murdered when I open this door,” you bite back, and you can hear his guffawing laughter over the line. Your chest burns, wishing you could hear it in person instead, imaging the glee on his face in the moment. 

“Not a hitman. That’s for after we have life insurance, baby,” he drawls, and you finally muster the nerve to reach out and twist the knob. You swear you can hear chattering on the other side of the door. 

It takes you some struggling as you refuse to let go of the candles, but when you finally swing the door open, you gasp. 

There in the threshold stands your friends from Hawkins. Robin Buckley, Steve Harrington, Nancy Wheeler, and Johnathan Byers. It’s clear that Nancy and Steve are mid-argument when you open the door, but Robin stands there, proudly showcasing a birthday cake in front of her, shit-eating grin on her face. 

“Surprise!” she yells, capturing the attention of the rest of the gang that you and Eddie had left behind. Everyone faces you now, beaming, as you immediately go teary-eyed. 

“Oh my God,” you gasp out, dropping the phone and candles to the floor, in shock. Steve steps in first, chuckling as he pulls you into a hug. It’s only then that you notice the bouquet in one of his hands, cellophane crinkling from how tightly he’s holding you. He shuffles the two of you out of the way just enough so that everyone else can enter. 

“Your face! God, Munson was right, that was so worth it!” Robin barks as she steps up to the kitchen table and sits down the cake. She’s the next to hug you, yanking you out of Steve’s grasp and nearly crushing you, “Happy birthday,” she whispers happily into your ear, swaying the two of you as she continues to embrace you. You catch sight of Steve over her shoulder, wearing a look of amusement, chuckling and shaking his head. 

Jonathan is the one with half a mind to pick up your abandoned phone and candles at the sound of muffled yelling over the line. He wastes no time, putting Eddie on speaker.

“Hellooo? World’s best boyfriend here, remember me? Wow. Can’t believe you’ve already forgotten me. Guess I’ll go fuck myself.” 

You laugh as Robin finally lets you go, reaching up to swipe away the tears of jubilation.

Nancy rolls her eyes. “She’s in shock. Give her a second, Munson.” 

Jonathan continues to hold your phone as you’re passed into Nancy’s arms and then his. Each whisper their own soft ‘happy birthday’, rubbing your back gently until your focus is back on the phone.

“Edward Munson-”

“Ah! There she is! She lives! And remembers me!”

“Fuck off,” you half-sob, half-laugh. It may not have been as good as him standing there, on your doorstep and embracing you, but it was damn good, “You’re so dead when you get home.” 

“Dead? Wow. Weeks of planning only to meet my demise,” he sighs dramatically, “I suppose it’s a good way to go. At the hands of the most beautiful girl I’ve ever laid eyes on. Beat that, Harrington.” 

“Way to stay humble,” Steve chimes at the mention of his name, still grinning. He suddenly remembers the flowers in hand, suddenly thrusting them in your direction as he says, “From Eddie, by the way. He told me if we didn’t get you flowers, he’d castrate me.”

“And I meant it! That’s still on the table if you guys don’t make this her best damn birthday ever.” 

“I’m sure he would,” you sniffle, reaching out and gripping the flowers. Your heart cracks slightly, not knowing how to tell him that despite how absolutely endearing the surprise had been, it’d be impossible for them to make this your best birthday.

He wasn’t here. It could only make the top of the list if he were here. 

You feel no resentment, though, as you bring the flowers to your nose, smiling until your cheeks ache. “Red carnations. Pretty,” you hum, lost in the moment. 

There’s a beat of silence before Eddie’s voice rings out across the room.

“Carnations? Harrington, I said red roses. You’re a dead man walking.”

"And I lost you, the one I was dancing with in New York, no shoes. Looked up at the sky and it was maroon." 

Once Eddie returns home, it’s just as he promises - he almost doesn’t even make it through the door when his lips find yours at 3 AM, his suitcase thrown off somewhere to the side of your entryway. He’s too busy to care about anything else but you at the moment. 

“Fuck,” he gasps between kisses, “I fucking missed you. God, I missed you.” 

You’re silent as you nod in agreement against him, just eager to feel his touch once more. You’d waited three months too long for this moment, ever since he first left through that door for the tour. 

“Needy, baby?” he teases, just as breathless as you are when the two of you finally pull apart, him kicking the door shut behind him. Your hands are grabbing weakly at the lapels of his jacket, too eager to be embarrassed, “God, always so needy for me. Just how I fucking like you.” 

He’s always talkative, even during sex, but you have no patience for it tonight. “Shut up.”

“Aw, now that’s no way to greet your boyfriend you missed, is it, baby?” he eggs you on, looking down at you and your swollen lips with a wicked grin. 

You open your mouth to snark back, but he refuses to give you the chance before he’s picking you up, lifting you up and throwing you over his shoulder.

“Eddie!” you shriek, but laughter laces the protest. Your hands grip the back of his t-shirt as he begins to walk down the hallway, and you start to kick your feet out of defiance, but a sharp smack sounds through the quiet apartment as he playfully slaps your ass, putting an end to the kicks.

“Yeah, you better warm up those vocal chords,” he chuckles. The moment you’re back in your bedroom, he’s quick to toss you onto the mattress, finally mounted on a frame. The comforter flares around you, your head sinking into a pillow as Eddie is quick to remove his jacket and shirt, climbing up the bed between your legs, “Gonna have you chanting my name like a goddamn prayer, sweetheart.” 

He removes your pajamas as he has a thousand times before, but it still doesn’t feel fast enough. You find yourself squirming, trying to help him pull off the flannel pants and t-shirt you’d stolen from his side of the closet, but he stops all movements immediately.

He shakes his head, hovering above you, his hair like a curtain around the two of you as your top lip brushes his bottom one and his mint breath fans over your face. “Slow it down for me, yeah? Wanna enjoy this,” he murmurs. 

You obey, stilling below him save for your chest, rising and falling rapidly with waiting breaths. He finally dips down, his pick necklace tickling your collarbones as his mouth covers yours. 

A culmination of three long months is spent into the kiss. All the restless nights, long phone calls, endless yearning. You can tell that he had missed you, longed for you, just as much as you had him. 

It’s languid, the way your body reacts to each of his touches. As far as it was concerned, no time had passed. He does as he had said, taking his time, savoring each kiss he presses down your throat and over your breasts. He’s memorizing each crevice of you, every soft curve he’d dreamt of for 91 days. 

Your squirming resumes when his hot breath reaches your navel, but he doesn’t scold you, bringing his hands to your hips and pressing them down into the mattress. “Let me show you just how much I missed you. Let me take care of you, baby.” 

He’s enjoying it, the sound of your whines a better soundtrack than any of the music that had damaged his eardrums during the tour. His fingers dance over your bare skin, skimming right over the band of your underwear and tracing lines down your thighs. It’s agonizing - the waiting is terrible. 

Terribly worth it, as it turns out.

When he finally decides to speed up his teasing, bringing a finger to brush across your clothed slit, you gasp. Your hands twist into the sheets at each side of you, but he isn’t having it. 

“Now that’s not where those belong,” he mumbles, a hot breath over your panties sending shivers down your spine. He’s quick - his fingers suddenly hook into the waistband, and he’s pulling them down and off over your ankles with an eagerness finally matching your own. He throws them aimlessly to the bedroom floor, joining the rest of your discarded clothes recklessly. Neither of you care - you won’t be needing them the rest of the night. 

He settles into the mattress, a leg thrown over each of his shoulders before he grabs your hands and guides them to tangle into his hair. He’s still taking his time, sucking his way up your inner thighs and leaving flowering bruises in his wake. Once he reaches where you want him to most, where you’re aching for him so pitifully, he pauses.

He repeats his earlier words, “God, I’ve missed you.”

He takes you by surprise as he dives right in, tongue flattening and licking a long stride up, starting at your entrance. His nose bumps over your clit before his tongue begins to dance circles, painting a secret language between the two of you over the sensitive bundle of nerves. One of his hands joins him, middle finger circling your entrance slowly before he presses in. He sets a pace quickly, pumping the finger a few times, tongue working magic, before he adds a second one. They curl with intention, pressing into the spongy spot of your walls that he knew like the back of his hand. It’s the exact spot that makes your back arch off the bed.

He pulls back his mouth, fingers continuing to pump and curl vigorously as he looks up at you dreamily. He eases one of his arms over your hips, pressing down, holding you in place. 

He’s a dream. A goddamn dream. He’s finally here, looking up at you, grinning like a Devil as he watches you unravel at his hand. 

“So pretty. Always so, so beautiful, but especially like this,” he says more to himself, but you hear him, a moan falling from your lips. His mouth returns to you, lips latching onto your clit, sucking harshly. 

“Fuck,” you breathe into the still air of your apartment room, not caring if the neighbors hear but your chest too heavy to grow much louder, head fuzzy and all-consumed by him, “Eddie.”

He was right. His name falls from your mouth in pants, chanting to him as if he were your God. 

It only spurs him on, fingers working expertly as he alternates between sucking and lapping at your clit. You can hear how wet you are for him, how close you are before the knot forms in your abdomen. 

“Oh my God- Oh, fuck. Right there,” your hips buck involuntarily into his face, and he loosens his grip on your hips, letting you, “I’m gonna…G-Gonna…”

“Gonna cum for me, pretty girl?” he encourages, fingers curling harshly, “Cum on my face, baby. Do it.”

He puts his tongue back to work, You force your eyes open to catch sight of him, buried in your pussy, admiring how pretty he looked from this angle. The sight of his tousled curls, twisted tightly in your grip as you yank mercilessly, is all it takes for you to finally come undone. 

A broken prayer, repeated over and over as a warmth rushes over you. Your vision goes white, eyes tightly screwed shut, toes curling and thighs clenching over his ears. It doesn’t phase him, continuing his assault until he’s sure you’ve come down. You have to tug on his hair, more intentional this time, to pull him away from you due to how sensitive you grow. 

He rises, letting your legs fall limply against the mattress as he wears a boyish grin on his slick lips. Slowly, he makes his way up to you, back to the virtues of patience as he takes his time to finally kiss you. You can taste yourself on his tongue, a bitter sort of sweetness, as he cradles your face. 

“You good?” he gently asks against your lips. You can barely move, nodding lethargically.

“So good,” you croak, a smile breaking out. Your eyes crack open to see him looking down at you with pure adoration, “I missed you.”

You start to run your hand down his chest, reaching the zipper of his jeans before his hand stops you.

“No, not yet. We’ve got plenty of time for that. Just wanna hold you right now, baby,” he nearly pleads. You can’t deny him, not with his eyes shining like that, so you allow him to fall into place on his side of the bed before you curl up against his bare torso. 

The two of you stay that way for what feels like hours, his arms wrapped around you as he traces out constellations on your bare shoulder blades. Just outside of your solace, a bubble you’ve trapped yourselves in, you can hear the faint call of the city. Honks from cars on the street, shouts from pedestrians, the occasional siren. It’s all background noise to this moment. 

“I have something for you,” he suddenly whispers as you teeter on the edge of sleep. You hum in response, lifting your head lazily. He pats you gently, signaling for you to let him stand before he walks to his discarded jacket by the door. When he returns to your side, he's gripping a small, white box, tied with a scarlet ribbon. 

“A gift?” you ask, excitement helping wake you up as you sit up quickly, “For me?”

“For you,” he affirms, taking a seat beside you. Your knees bump as your hands fumble to take the box from him. A soft glow from one of the restaurants on your street floods between the curtains and into the room, a soft neon pink illuminating your features as you carefully unravel the red ribbon. 

As the silk falls, you hardly can contain your excitement before lifting the lid off the box. 

A necklace. 

Your eyes trace over it, already fawning with appreciation for your boy, but then you catch sight of exactly what the necklace is. 

“Your mom’s ring?” you can’t hide the emotion that shakes the timbre of your voice. It cracks into a million pieces. 

At the end of the delicate silver chain, sits his mother’s ring. The one you hadn’t even noticed missing from his barren right hand. 

“Happy birthday,” he whispers, pulling you in and pressing his lips into your temple. You’re still too stunned, too overcome with a million and one feelings all at once.

“Eddie… I- I can’t… this is-”

“I want you to have it. I think she’d want you to have it, too,” he insists, taking the box from your grasp and lifting the necklace from its cotton cushion, “I know it’s not a lot, but I just… I wanted to get you something that let you know how important you are to me. Something for you to always have as a reminder that I’ll come back to you. You’re it for me, sweetheart. This is- this is real to me. The kind of real that lasts forever.” 

You can tell he’s growing emotional, too, as his feather light touch brushes your hair to the side, bringing the necklace up around your neck and clasping it securely. When the ring falls to its new home at the base of your neck, cool against your skin, you can feel tears falling. He’s quick to swipe them away, his own watery irises peering into yours. 

“You’re everything to me,” he says this with vindication. With such assuredness it terrifies you, burrows into your bones and claims you. 

In this moment, you know he has forever stained you. There was no washing this mark he has left you off - there would forever be a piece of your heart occupied by the brown-eyed boy in front of you. 

All you can do is lean forward, hands gingerly threading through his bangs as you push them back to plant a kiss on his forehead. A crimson blush spreads across his cheeks and neck at the act of tenderness. 

When you pull back, he immediately lifts his fingers to the necklace he’s just gifted you, fingers careful but determined as they tug you back to him, kissing you with everything in him. He pours his soul, his body, and his heart into it. 

“I love you,” you exhale against his swollen lips. 

“And I love you.” 

You believe him, because he believes himself. That’s the thing about endings - no one sees them coming. 

"The mark they saw on my collarbone, the rust that grew between telephones, the lips I used to call home. So scarlet, it was maroon."

The next year proves you right. After that tour, Corroded Coffin became a phenomenon. A record deal falls into the boys’ laps quickly, multiple one-off shows selling out locally before the news finally comes that they are officially in the position to record their debut album. 

The two of you celebrate with cheap wine, but it’s as sweet as champagne in your contentment. 

The recording of the album is brutal. Night after night, you attempt to wait up on Eddie, eventually falling victim to drowsiness before he would wake you with his arrival from the studio in the early hours of the morning. You never minded, only happy for his warmth as he crawled right into bed with you, collapsing into you and letting the world melt away. 

Long gone are the days of struggling paycheck-to-paycheck as the boys’ can hardly keep up with printing enough shirts for their shows, merchandise selling out in the handfuls. 

You catch sight of a young girl wearing one of their shirts one day in the grocery store, and can’t help the flood of pride that overtakes your chest. Your boyfriend, your Eddie, was finally having all of his dreams come to fruition; the world was finally seeing him as the rockstar you’d nominated him as since that first night. 

You can tell that it’s tiring. Eddie is exhausted by the time the album is finished, but you can also sense the satisfaction he felt at finally completing it. When the first demo arrived, he wasted no time in electing you to be the first to listen to it. It was an entire ordeal - the two of you ordered your favorite take-out, curling up on your couch and pressing together as the same boombox that had played that mixtape on your first night in your home now plays his songs. 

Your reaction was exactly as he had expected, as he had hoped for. 

You had always been his number one cheerleader through it all. With each new song, you were gushing to him with admiration and reverence. Pointing out lyrics that tugged particularly taut on your heartstrings, praising the guitar solos and vocals he’d worked tirelessly to perfect. You don’t leave a single stone left unturned, claiming this was your new favorite album.

“Careful, sweetheart. You’re really stroking my ego here,” he warns, but his smile shines as brightly as your own. 

“Eddie, this is… this is… it’s fucking incredible!” you cheer, completely at a loss for words. You weren’t exaggerating - to hear all of his hard work paying off, to have watched him grow from covering Metallica in a stuffy garage to this left you starstruck. You were in absolute awe. 

He blushes, playing with his hair and bringing it up to hide his emotional reaction. 

The album could fail. It could become nothing more than a whisper in the night, but the fact that you liked it was all that mattered to him. 

You look at him earnestly, taking his cheeks in your warm and soothing palms, “I’m so fucking proud of you, Eds.”

And you were. You continued to be. The album was a hit. 

It climbed the charts with ease, just as you expected. Local alternative stations played it on loop. You were sure to hear it at least once during taxi rides, and had even heard it playing softly over the speakers at the gas station on the corner by your apartment complex. Eddie had been with you, and took pleasure in getting to inform the cashier that it was his song playing, his band was on the radio. 

It was New York, so the cashier couldn’t have cared less, but it made you glow with pride. 

But with a hit album came a new slew of responsibilities for the band, including a headlining tour.

The night that the band’s manager called Eddie, informing him they were set to start planning the tour, he’d run into the room, so frantic you were worried something bad had happened. 

“Holy shit!” he yells, causing you to shush him once you recovered from the scare he’d caused you. He ignores you, grabbing you off the bed, lifting you up and spinning you, just like the very first night, “Holy shit! We’re going on tour! A headlining tour! I’m going to be a goddamn rockstar!”

Once you process his news, you become just as animated in his arms, “What? No fucking way!”

“Yes fucking way!”

“Oh my God!”

“I know!”

You hear banging on the wall from the neighbors, probably shouting at the two of you to quiet down, but neither of you can contain your excitement.

“I’m going to be a goddamn rockstar, baby,” he laughs deliriously, placing you back down so that you’re face-to-face with him, “A rockstar.” 

“You’ve always been a rockstar, pretty boy,” you giggle, cheeks sore with elation, “The rest of the world is just finally getting the memo.”

The planning takes a while. Part of you is grateful, selfishly drinking in and enjoying the time you have left with him before you’re sure he’ll have to leave for an extended period. The names of cities you had never had the pleasure of becoming acquainted with once again enter conversations, talks of how far and wide the band would travel becoming Eddie’s favorite topic. 

You’re proud of him, you really are. But reality seeps its way into the crevices. 

What starts as the possibility of a brief, three month tour - something the two of you had already faced and defeated triumphantly - quickly turns into six months. And it doesn’t stop there. Six months could become eight, easily, with adding in a few pit stops to radio stations to guarantee continued radio-play. There’s talks of signings, of meet and greets, of music festivals. The more time given to planning, the more time given for the band’s popularity to grow even more. 

The entire thing expands without consideration, lifting Eddie right up with it, right out of your reach. 

The night before he’s set to leave for tour, your anxieties are getting the best of you. You had helped him pack, going over the list of necessities with him three times too many. He had everything he needed, packed tightly into a suitcase - everything except you. 

That night, you sit on your side of your shared bed, watching Eddie pace with excitement. You feel guilty that your own anticipation can’t quite match his. All you can think about is how long he’ll be gone: eight months, two hundred and forty five days. Five thousand, eight hundred and eighty hours. Over three hundred thousand minutes. You’d done the math. 

“Fuck,” he sighs, finally throwing himself down onto the bed beside you, “I still can’t believe this is happening.” 

You can’t bring up your insecurity, your fears, to him. Not when he’s so happy. Not when he’s finally getting everything he’d dreamt about for so long, worked so hard for. No, it would be selfish to share your unease at the time and distance about to spread between the two of you.

Besides, you had done it once before. Not on this scale, of course, but you convinced yourself it would work out all the same. He would call as often as he could. He’d be coming home to you. It would pass - it would work out. 

“It’s real, so you better believe it, rockstar.”

An echo of the past. A time that felt so far away from the two of you now. This time around, as you say them, you don’t feel the same joy coating your tongue. 

Your tone is supportive, so Eddie doesn’t taste any of the disdain. Later that night, as he’s kissing you, hips rolling to meet yours in a sacred promise, fingers intertwined in yours as you pant each other’s names back and forth, he still doesn’t taste it. All he tastes is euphoria. And he brings you right to it with him, over, and over, and over again. 

Euphoria tastes metallic by the end of it. 

He leaves bruises painted up and down your neck, covering your collarbones and chest like an art piece hanging in the Louvre. You can’t help but wonder how long it will take for his marks to fade, for the physical reminder that he was here and in your arms to disappear from your grasp. 

As he makes love to you, it begins to feel like a goodbye, because it is. 

He doesn’t mean for it to happen, but it does. 

The first month follows similarly to how his first tour did. Nightly phone calls, whispered love confessions and discussions of each other’s day. For a moment, you convince yourself that all of your fears and anxieties had been silly. They almost recede from your mind completely, fading with his love marks on your collarbone. 

But then it begins.

Phone calls become less frequent. Every night because every other night, until they’re eventually weekly. At some point, you only have the privilege of hearing his voice over the line monthly. It is a slow burning fire, turning everything you had built with him to ashes. Conversations that once could drag on for hours turn to ten minute discussions that end in him rushing off the phone, someone on the other end of the line demanding his attention more urgently than you did. 

You can’t even fight it. You need him, but they need him more.

You know you’ve lost him when he stops saying he loves you. It’s subtle, you don’t even believe he’s noticed, but one night’s phone call is cut particularly short, and the end arrives.

“Hey, baby, I’m sorry, but they need me for soundcheck,” he says, the line staticky with white noise, making it hard to hear him. 

He’s never felt farther away, and they’re not even on the west coast leg of the tour yet. 

“Oh,” you whisper, disappointment gripping your lungs, “Oh, that’s fine! Go, they need you.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles. You miss hearing that in person, that soft laughter in the shell of your ear over inside jokes and one too many glasses of wine. “Rockstar duties and all. We’ll talk more later?” 

“Of course. Go give ‘em, Hell,” you keep your tone light, but the tears have started to build up across your waterline, “I love you.” 

The line goes dead before you can even finish your sentence. The dial tone echoes back to you, and it doesn’t matter how hard you strain, no words of affection can be deciphered in its deafening ringing. 

That’s when you break.

The flood comes, tears racing down your cheeks as you roll over and clutch the pillow that you’re not even sure was once his. The bed no longer has a clear boundary, a side that belonged to him and a side that belonged to you. It’s all muddled together now. You’re not even sure you’d recognize the smell of his cologne now.

A heart has never broken so quietly. The sobs are there, but no sounds escape your mouth as you whimper. You had always known it would be hard, everyone had warned you, but you had always assumed you could take it, because Eddie would be by your side, hand slotted with yours as it was the two of you against the world. But now you stood in the storm, and the space beside you was eerily empty. It was all a bit much. A gaping hole forms in your chest that night, gory as it bleeds scarlet red for a boy a world away, and you know that there is not a single bandage in the world to heal it.

He doesn’t call back after that, and the hole tears larger. 

There’s a few texts here and there. But none of them ever say the three words you so desperately crave from him. You feel like strangers. 

After two months of radio silence, save for two text messages from him, you’ve made up your mind.

He never calls, so you never tell him. You gather what belongings can be called solely yours, which isn’t many, and you write a letter in your cowardice. You find an apartment on the other side of town. There’s a nice job waiting for you, something that pays better than waitressing. 

You leave your key on the kitchen counter beside a vase with wilted carnations. 

"I wake with your memory over me, that’s a real fucking legacy (it was maroon)."

Six months later, the ache never fades. He calls. When he returns from tour to find an empty apartment, cursive letter calling it quits, he calls. You almost consider changing your number at one point. 

There’s a flood of text messages. Small letters on a shining screen filled with all the words you needed to hear so many months before. All of the things he should have said, now revealed too late. 

You don’t reply, because if you reply, you’ll change your mind.

You tell yourself it’s for the best. That in order for him to achieve what he’d wanted, he couldn’t have someone back home weighing him down. You were a road bump on his path to everything he was destined to be, and this was for the best. 

At some point, he gets the message. You wish he hadn’t, selfishly so, but he does. The phone calls stop. The text messages don’t light up your phone at midnight anymore. You keep up your end of the lease on your once-shared apartment, sending checks to pay your half of the rent until the lease agreement has ended. You have no clue if he moves. Returning to that side of town would simply hurt too much. 

A new normalcy is found. It is a lonely one, but it is one all the same. Sparse phone calls are still exchanged with your friends from Hawkins, but none of them ever bring up Eddie. You’re sure they know, that he had told them, that they had witnessed the aftermath (if there had been any). They were always his friends first, though, and so when the calls dwindle, it doesn’t surprise you. 

It’s a year later when someone mentions his name to you. You had kept up well enough with Corroded Coffin, the last remnants of your past life being something you couldn’t get rid of. You knew they were thriving; they were in the talks of releasing a second album, and going back on tour soon. His name is mentioned when a coworker brings him up. 

They ask you if you want to attend the Corroded Coffin show with them next week. They have a spare ticket and would prefer to not go alone. 

You lie and say you have plans.

But the only plans you have on that bustling night are the ones spent in your apartment. Your one-bedroom apartment is in a nicer part of town, better views out of the window now. When you pull back the curtains, you don’t find a brick wall forever tainted by what once was - you can see the entrance to a music venue that’s sign currently advertises tonight’s show. 

CORRODED COFFIN, ONE NIGHT ONLY - SOLD OUT

You avoid the window at all costs as you get yourself ready for bed that night. Neighbors had already off-handedly warned you it would be a noisy night, claiming you’d feel as if you were at the show yourself based on proximity. On your way home from work, you bought earplugs. 

But the night grows older, a chill in the air as the clock strikes ten, and you can’t help it. You’ve been laying in bed for hours now, earplugs in, only feeling the faint thrumming of intense bass for less than an hour when you finally stand up. You approach the window timidly, scared of what you find. Maybe a ghostly reflection of him, standing in the street, holding up a boombox playing a mixtape of your favorite songs. 

It’s a bitter hopefulness that is full of childish dreams. 

When you stand in your window, curtains pulled back and earplugs finally disregarded on your nightstand, Eddie Munson isn’t standing on the street. All that is there is the neon glow of a red sign that shatters crimson shadows across your cheeks. 

He’s not on the street. He’s too busy on the stage inside, being the rockstar he had always been destined to be. The one he could be now that you had let him go.

All that you see as you look out the window is your own tired reflection, donning nothing but a wine-stained t-shirt and a delicate, silver chain around your neck, a ring you couldn’t bring yourself to return resting heavily between your collarbones. 

"That’s a real fucking legacy to leave."

reblogs, likes, and comments appreciated! <3

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #oooo look at me trying to post this several months later #and at 2 am no less #i'm just in a silly goofy mood and curious #will it post? will it stick? will it get me thrown in shadow jail? #time will tell! #also i made that divider myself i'm very proud of myself #formatting is bad but hey #it is what it is!

[abiiors]

Veee could you write something with matty where reader is also an artist (a way less known one) and its just pure fluff with both of them being inspired by one another?

Feel free to ignore ofc!!🫶🫶🫶

muse - matty x reader

a/n: this took a very different direction than originally planned and got slightly existential sorry about that 💀💀 but i hope you like it regardless <33

divider by @/cafekitsune

cw: mentions of smut, talks of death, general fluff and sappiness.

the artist flicks through the feature.

her name is printed in big letters on the cover of the monthly issue, her face--smiling and excited--next to the centrepiece of her latest art collection: cupid and psyche. the painting is stunning, a riot of bold colours and patterns but the at the centre is a man, his face hidden, his jet black curls tousled. his body is relaxed, she thinks there's an air of carefreeness about him.

and she'd know that for sure, after all that day is etched into her memory.

when she feels a familiar pair of arms wrap around her, she smiles.

"you're rather proud of the feature, aren't you?" matty's voice holds a little teasing note. she's stared at the feature for close to thirty minutes now, discreetly pinching herself in the same spot on her arm. (it sports a tiny, barely-there bruise now)

"good," matty nuzzles his face into her neck, softly kissing the skin, "you should be. the exhibit was fucking gorgeous."

"mmm, because you were the centrepiece?" fondly, she teases back, but the memory flashes in front of her eyes--the bustling art gallery, matty in a corner, wearing a plain hoodie and jeans and a cap hiding half of his face, absolutely brimming with pride.

she remembers the journalists asking about the man in all the paintings, the one whose face no one can see. "he's my muse," she says every time, "this collection is dedicated to him."

"someone's going to connect the dots," matty walks around her, settling himself next to her on the sofa. instantly, they rearrange themselves into a tangle--her legs on his lap, his arm around her, her head on his shoulders, his head on hers. "if they looked carefully, they'll make the connection."

"matty, we have been each other's muse for years and no one's found out. i don't think they're going to start now. besides," she snorts, "i think the art world thinks i've made you up in my mind. won't be the first time an artist's gone insane."

matty laughs. "maybe you have. you always say i'm too good to be true."

when she can't think of a retort, she sticks her tongue out, shrieking away when he smothers her in kisses.

"seriously though, it's fun writing about you. singing about you. and i love seeing myself through your eyes." suddenly matty sounds all sober and serious. she thinks his voice even wavers slightly at the end. he blinks quickly though, and just like that the brightness in his eyes is gone.

"love it when you write about me too," she teases, "love being called a gemini and a sexy girl, such poetry."

"oi! i put my heart into that! it's a precious memory for me."

"the memory of us fucking in the new bath for the first time?"

matty giggles like a teenager, hiding his face in her hair. it's fun to rile him up like this, so she continues, poking him in the ribs. "or waking up the next day with a head cold because we stayed in the cold water for so long hmm?"

"you took care of me though, and so i think you deserve to have a song written about you. or a whole album works too i think." then matty tuts. "actually, no. don't wanna tell anyone it's about you, that'll ruin the magic."

"ruin the magic?"

"of being your muse and having you as mine. i think a hundred years from now, when people would see your art as the artwork of this generation, and my music as the tune of our times--"

"tune of our times..."

"yeah, quit laughing at me!" matty flicks her nose, quickly kissing it after. "so when my music becomes the tune of our times, i think people will see it then. they will make the connections."

secretly, she loves the idea--that their love might transcend time and space through their art. that decades from now their names might be whispered together, even though they aren't just yet.

"of course, we'll be buried together by then. same grave by the way, very romeo and juliet of us."

"that's morbid!" she laughs sharply, "what will the epitaph say?"

matty hums for a bit, thinking, his eyes flutter shut for a second or two almost like he needs to focus on the half formed thought until it's a complete sentence. then he excitedly clears his throat and gently holds her face between his hands.

"here lie the artist and the muse; inspiring each other in death as they did in life."

#✉️ #♤: matty blurbs #matty healy #matty healy x reader

[flanaganfilm]

Hey Mike! I'm really sorry to hear about your experience on Hill House. I do a lot of work in VFX in pre/prod/post and I know that sort of production that feels like a sinking ship day in and day out. I do hope you have found some catharsis now that it's over.

The show shook me. Changed me. Made me reckon with myself as a storyteller and as a person. All for the better, I assure you.

I hope to one day tell such an impactful story of my own, either through one of my short films, or through the novel series I'm writing/illustrating. Which brings me to my question: How do you navigate the complexities of having authored a work that did so much harm to yourself but also did a lot of good for others? What lessons do you hope aspiring storytellers like myself take from your difficult experience? Thanks :)

Thank you for saying this.

It's true, HILL HOUSE was a very negative experience to make - but I will always be profoundly proud of the finished product. It's some of my favorite work. I may never again face down something as challenging as episode 6, and I love the impact it has on a lot of its viewers.

There's a weird thing that happens when you finish a project - it really ceases to be yours in any way at all. It belongs immediately to the audience, and they're given an experience that you will never have. When HILL HOUSE came out, I didn't watch it - I'd seen it hundreds of times by that point, but at the same time, I've NEVER seen it.

Every frame of it is informed by my experience making it, or my intentions, or the compromises we made here, or the line we cut there that I wish we'd kept, or a bad day on set, or a problematic actor, or a visual effect we never quite got right (there are a LOT of those in HILL HOUSE, some of them still make me wince.) So I'm never able to WATCH the show. It's a tradeoff we make all the time - if you're lucky enough to make a movie, or a TV show, that's the price of it - you'll never be able to watch it.

But, I get to see how it affects other people. More than anything else I've made, HILL HOUSE seems to have the largest and most passionate fanbase. (BLY is a close second, though that's a whole other blog entry - I could write a book about the complicated, fascinating experience of the BLY fandom).

But with HILL HOUSE, I'd hear a lot from people who lost loved ones, who navigate complicated family dynamics, and who have wrestled with depression or grief. It means the world to me. It's a strange divide, as I'll never see the show that they saw - but I am so grateful that it touched them the way it did.

I'm just about at the point where I think I'm capable of sitting down and truly watching HILL HOUSE. It takes years sometimes. I've watched a lot of my early work, like HUSH or GERALD'S GAME, and finally had the experience of really SEEING it. But HILL HOUSE has always felt a little too raw, and my memories still overpower my ability to separate myself from it. Maybe that's changed. Maybe I'll give it a shot this year. Half a decade seems like enough time.

But yes, it is complicated and strange with all of them. I so badly want to watch MIDNIGHT MASS, the project that was the most personal to me - but it flew off into the world just like they all do. I spent a decade working on it, and felt it flowing through me every day - like it was a part of me. But the moment the show was done and released into the world, it wasn't mine anymore, just like all the others. I remember feeling almost knocked over when it departed, for some reason I thought that one would always feel like a part of me... but no. They're like children, they all have to go live their own lives, and they don't belong to you. Not really.

#the haunting of hill house #the haunting of bly manor #midnight mass

[hellothere-generalangsty]

It's way past my bedtime ans my cat is sleeping-purring next to me but I thought I'd post the process of the @ailani-reillata Ailaniversary art I made today just to talk a bit more about it

Disclaimer: doing traditional art is cool until you need to scan it or post a picture of it 😂 also kinda long post below so ofc no obligation at all to read it!

Phase one: Sketching the Idea

My inspiration for the posture was a Yara Flor comic strip I found on Pinterest. Yara looks over her shoulder and her hair falls on the side of her face, and I loved the way it framed her face and thought it would look great with Ailani's hair.

I drew a little doodle on the page to help me visualize how the hair would be divided, and focused on 3 main parts (the lines, the bubbles, the empty space) which would - supposedly- help me during the lineart stage. Below are images of the final sketch.

I was hesitant on adding details to her arms, such as the folds of a dress, but I was so anxious about ruining the drawing I abandonzd that idea. I was considering adding her tattoos and was still not decided at this stage of the drawing.

Phase 2: Line-ing the Art

Is that even a real word? Idk, I'm too tired to English properly so we will say it is. Following the sketching phase was naturalle the lineart phase, which is one of my favorite stage when drawing. I bought new inking pens too so I was able to test them out, and it went quite well!

As you can see, the ribbons, outline of the skin and facial features have been done with my new pens, and i was quite happy with the result! It gives a more natural look to the whole drawing in my opinion.

At this stage I decided not to add her arm tattoos and consider this version of Ailani as the one you would find in the early chapters of Begged and Borrowed Time, so before she would get her tattoos.

Phase 2.5: Line-ing the Hair

This stage has it's own part because it was really fun to do! The inspiration for the way I draw hair comes from @/ssavaart (aka Scott Christian Sava on Youtube). I've been following him for a while now and I'm trying to push my art beyond my comfort zone and try new stuff thanks to him, and having fun with drawing hair is one of these things!

Look how beautiful these curls are. I'm not trying to toot my own horn or anything, but I'm really proud of the drawing at this stage 😂 it's the perfect moment where the inking went well and I have not yet ridked myself with the watercolours - so I always take a long sight (and tons of pictures) to celebrate reaching this stage without incidents.

Phase 3: Watercolours

Here comes the difficult part. It always makes me nervous because I always fear ruining my drawing and all the efforts I put into it by doing the watercolours. But I love the medium too much and if I want to get better I need to practice. So, testing the waters, I finally dive head first into this crucial stage.

The watercolouring goes well, I'm overall satisfied enough to take some pictures and even try to scan it, with the hope that the scanned rendering will be better than the usual "photographing and editing" I do with my phone.

Spoiler alert: the scan was NOT better than the pictures, and no amount of editing could change that. (Or maybe I am just very bad at editing.) So, back to my "photographing and editing" habits, I somehow managed to get a good enough result:

I still feel unsatisfied as I find these digital versions do not properly render the visuals I have on paper, IRL. With the digital versionsw the hair is either so dark we don't see the details, or too bright, the colours are too warm and light... And while Ailani looks light-skinned, the paper version has these visible brown tones that I struggled to find on the digital version, even when editing the pictures. The closest I got is the tone you see on the first picture, but the image is not lighted enough so the overall quality of the picture is a bit lessened by that.

Still, I won't complain too much, because overall it was a very fun drawing to do, I enjoyed every stage of it and I would love to do another piece like this! But for now I will go to sleep because it is Way Past My Bedtime 😂

If you've made it this far, thank you for your attention, feel free to let me know which stage is your favorite and what you liked most (or disliked most) about this drawing!

I for one really had fun doing Ailani's lips, as well as filling her hair, and colouring her eyes! 😊

#ailani #ailani art #I'm tagging just in case you wanna see more but again no obligation to read all of that or anything! #this post is mostly here to show the early stages coz I was so prouf of how smoothly it went!! #until the colours #it's always the colours 😂 #but I hope you enjoyed the drawing anyway #I've actually been working on it last weekend but couldn't finish it until this saturday because of my exams week #which is over btw which means i finally has time to read Begged And Borrowed Time!! #and I'm really excited about that!! #so yeah that's all for me now is time to sleep because it's like 4:19am right now and I am huu tired 😂 #once again happy Ailaniversary 💕💙 #also yes we can't see my signature on the drawings I cut it out by accident when i cropped the pictures and was too lazy to retake pics etc #please pretend like you see my name signed next to her hair x)

[unluckyxse7enart]

So this is from 2021, but I was on a Sanders Sides kick and had a fun idea - Sidesonas!! Seven Sides, if you will /j

I started out by making my own emblem designs, reassigned the canon colors based on associations with each theme, and then designed the sides from there! In order of the emblem keys, red is intrusive thoughts; dark blue is logic; light blue is creativity; lavender is morality; green is deceit; and yellow is anxiety!

I initially was going to draw a lot more of these guys at the time, but stalled once I discovered.... I did not match the colors to my own skin and hair tones very well orz.... So how I'll handle that going forward is tbd, but I'm very proud of the results otherwise and would love to play with this concept again! Honestly I may even oc-ify them, the objecthead alternates in particular just sounds like fun to work with...

In-depth design notes under the cut:

Intrusive thoughts:

Ironically, despite the placement on the key, Intrusive Thought's emblem was actually the very last design I came up with! It's a Rorschach-inspired blot mirroring Anxiety's emblem, to tie the two in since for me they're heavily connected concepts.

Red was a given color as for me, most such thoughts are, well, violent.

Designwise, the sona leans heavily into my more goth/guro/yami kawaii style tastes!! Pretty straightforward given my fashion and art tends to be influenced at times in this way

Logic:

For me, logic functions a lot on questions and answers, if=then statements. The question mark thus felt fitting, and an exclamation point for that 'aha!' moment felt like a good closure to it

I have to say it, Sanders's dark blue IS a very good logic color. Can't say any of the others vibed as well to me so I just stuck with it.

Ironically, this sona looks the least like me - not necessarily to divide it from me further, but just because I like leaning into that straight, angular look for such character types. I've worn that hairstyle in the past though and found it incredibly functional at the time, so it was 'logical' to use it here

Creativity:

Ironically this emblem gave me troubles - fortunately my partner suggested 'brainstorming' as the angle to use, and it all fell into place from there!

Since I used cloudy imagery, but wanted to keep the vibes bright and promising, I used light blue here!

This sona's design was Also a challenge - my creativity is broad, varied, and expresses myself in so many ways (True to the canon sides, intrusive thoughts also got a good chunk of some other ways my creativity has been channeled) - I settled on my tendency towards sleek elegance, as in outfits and in fashion/character design, this tends to be where I lean innately. I added touches of an oc I most associate with my creativity, Masafumi, and it felt complete!

Morality:

Morality for me is not an easy topic to navigate, and can be a double-edged sword in my experience - so I made the emblem to reflect that. Sanders Sides covers the good aspects of morality well, but I wanted to capture more how it can be weaponized as the focus - and how that's what has been internalized for me.

I can't honestly recall the thought process on lavender - might just have been purple was the last color to assign - but since purple is a warm and cool color mixed together, it felt right for the complexity of morality.

This sona is a (former) girl scout! That time in my life was probably the best setting for where my own practice of morality was showcased. I'm happy to say this is not where most (if any) negative experiences stemmed from, but it was where I tried to exemplify being a good, moral person the most, so the sona reflects that!

Deceit:

Had fun designing this one - the emblem is a scowling eye or mocking tongue, depending how you look at it. Both felt fitting for what my deceit often hides - namely, variations of contempt and/or a lack of respect.

If memory serves, I went for a rather artificial mint green to lean into the core of this sona's theme - an imitation of something natural (fake plants vs real ones for example).

This sona leans into more comfortable, girly looks I've worn on rare occasions - both in reference to my complicated relations to gender (and how my presentation doesn't reflect it well); and to seem as nonthreatening, polite, and soft as possible. In other words, this sona isn't so cartoonishly evil as Janus Sanders, but could be considered just as devious in their own way.

Anxiety:

Emblem took some time to sort out, but the eye imagery felt too perfect even if it was on the nose

yellow is often a happy, exciting color, but I also associate it with shock or alarm due to its bright, eye-catching tints so I applied it here

Frankly I just pulled from my high school years for this sona's look lmao. Not much to say other than it was so hard to settle on which social aversion headgear item I've used to maintain for the final design. I went for the hat since it both blocks eyesight and would hide my hair but the mask and glasses are still good alternatives imo

#art #fanart #digital art #sanders sides #sidesonas #sonas #sona #sidesona #gore cw #for intrusive thought lmao #character design #design concept #ocs #yeah why not lol #ts sides #tss #logic #intrusive thought #anxiety #deceit #morality

[angeflrs]

Flufftober — Day 09: Scrunchy Leaves.

Pairing: Max Goof / Yakko Warner.

Fandoms: Animaniacs, A Goofy Movie (Disney).

Word Count: 774.

Version Español: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50488909/chapters/128117884#workskin

It was early autumn when they met.

Although the weather was still warm, the wind was changing from a cool breeze to a cold current that would soon blow away the leaves of the trees until they were bare. Even so, Max still didn't feel the need to put on a jacket.

He embraced the cold currents, holding his sketchbook tighter and waiting for it to pass, so he could continue drawing pencil lines with barely a shudder.

It had been almost half an hour since he sat at the foot of the tree on the highest hill in the park, where he had a pretty nice view of the front of the park. It was also where he had the most breeze, but again, he didn't mind that. His skateboard, his means of transportation, on the ground next to him.

It had been quiet since he arrived, the only sound in the area being the laughter and shouts of the children on the playground behind him and the rustling of leaves. "I know you are there."

Max didn't look up, focused on his notebook and the lines that made up the entrance to the park in his drawing.

The answer came not long after, right above his head. “How did you know I was here?”

Max smiled and looked up, where he knew he would find someone. A boy (he wasn't sure if he was a cat or a rabbit) was looking at him with a slight frown, sitting on a particularly thick branch. “I'm a CoonHound, I have very good hearing.” He paused. “Also, you have a little wheeze when you breathe.”

The boy's beady eyes somehow made a gesture that could only be alarm. "What? Really…? Oh, you’re bothering me.” he finally concluded on his own, his eyes narrowing now.

Max chuckled. “A little, maybe.” He looked up again and asked. “Why are you up there anyway?”

The boy shrugged. “I just wanted to have a moment to myself.”

Max's brow furrowed this time. Taking a moment to think. “Oh. Do you need me to go?”

"No, it's okay. I like your drawing, you have skill.” The boy in the tree said, pointing to Max's sketch. That put a smile on Max's face again.

“Thank you, it's more than anything practical. Although I only draw when I want to clear my mind.”

“Does that often happen?” The boy tilted his head, his long black ears moving in time.

Max sighed, resting his head on the tree trunk as his neck began to tense up. “More than I would like”

There was a noise and a crunch. A second later, the boy landed next to Max and sat down next to him. Max could see it better now, but he still couldn't guess what class it was. Not that it mattered that much. "Hey look at this." He said smiling.

He took his hand out from behind his back, he was wearing white gloves, the same as the ones Max's dad had. In his fist he held a completely orange leaf, at first glance it looked completely dry, and he was sure it would break into pieces if he squeezed it just a little.

“It's cute” Max replied. It was a beautiful autumn leaf.

“It's the first autumn leaf, I caught it just as it came loose from the branch.” The boy explained, clearly proud of himself.

“How do you know it's the first one?” Max asked him, curiosity painting his words.

The boy smiled more. “I can feel it, just like groundhogs feel when winter ends.”

Max smiled back, almost laughing. “Did you know that the first autumn leaf is lucky?”

"It is?" The boy tilted his head, arching an eyebrow (although he didn't have one, rather it was the arch that divided the white of his face from the black on the rest of his head).

Max shrugged. “Who knows, I just made it up.”

“How do you know it's lucky, then?” The boy asked, laughing softly in amusement.

His eyes met Max's green eyes. "Could be it. If you put enough faith in that, It will become lucky.”

The boy paused. “You are mysterious, have any told you?”

Shrugging his shoulders, Max answered him. “Only when I'm in the right mood.”

“And what happens when you're not in the mysterious mood?”

Max tilted his head. “Basically the opposite and add hereditary clumsiness.”

The boy hummed and seemed to consider something, before giving Max a smile that was definitely different than before. "You are interesting…"

“My name is Max.”

“My name is Yakko.”

#yakko x max #max goof #yakko warner #yax #max x yakko #fanfic #ao3fic #fan fic #animanics 2020 #fluff #flufftober 2023 #flufftober

[beatupcorpse]

look I made that AU for me and my need of my monkey brothers bcuz this fandom has me completely starved. I JUST WANT BONDING AND PAIN TIMES

the title refers to -SWK's- greatest fear, which is to fail MK so badly that this is how things end up, the kid the Lady's new weapon.

i already said it and kinda showed it in my post but MK takes the hit instead of SWK and immediately this is bad this is terrible he attacking right out of the bat. his hits actually hurt. SWK realizes this is full power MK.

since we know that the possessed are still aware of everything, on MK's sight, getting himself trapped like this just kinda leaves him defeated and becomes the perfect vessel for LBD. doesnt help that he is terrified of this demon

This whole situation is a bit different from possessed!SWK who could hold back punches and fight off his possession even if just a lil bit at first. MK won't get that. He is the perfect weapon for LBD basically. doesn't take much energy to control, equal to SWK in power and cannot hold back. DISASTER

Even worse! His friends don't want to hurt him in the first place! w SWK it was easy because fuck the guy amiright, but this is MK! their friend! Mei's bestie!!!! Dadsy's son!!!!!!!!!!!! it hurts to see MK and be met with souless eyes and murderous intentions

haha.... haaaaaaa...this means that when Mac teams up with them....he and SWK get to have moments oh god I can't let my shipper brain take hold. is FIEN, WE JUST GET MORE DIVORCE ARGUMENTS but also perhaps maybe they are very in sync as they talk about the plan? Mei would probably make fun of em. ok thats it thats all Im giving myself .... and the rest of the time they spent together

aND MAN!! SWK IS JUST SO FILLED WITH GUILT!! probably super numb and serious now. trying to make a plan. muttering to himself. Mei forces him out of his bubble and demands him to act like he is part of the team and share ideas or else they (and MK) are TOAST. and he has to SUCK IT UP AND LISTEN. FOR ONCE!!!!!

we get a "you're right pony girl" "I HAVE A NAME" to light up the mood anyway

bcuz at the end of the day, the team would have to be divided just like in the show, just that instead of MK is SWK. Lucky for Mac tho, in this au he doesn't have to fight MK alone, now he has SWK to take half of the hits. its his time to suffer as he tries to defend himself against his own power, take the staff and try his hardest to not hurt the kid.

whenever he does land a hit on him!! man that feels terrible. LBD taunts him about it. careful there, u wouldn't want to take out ur own student. SWK could maybe win if he put his all, he is the monkey kiing after all. but he would rather take a beating and hear her laugh her head off.

Im not talkin much about Mac bcuz I think he would be taken out of the competition so fast. sad sight. he still tried tho. hes bleeding but not dead he is fine i promise. he is happy to just let SWK take it from there

btw don't think too hard about the staff and how its in MK's hands and not stabbed into the ground just shhhhshshshs. wireless charging the mecha (i actually dont remember if thats what it was doing)

but fuck the staff man. IS DESPERATION TIME! SWK starts talking to MK. he apologizes for everything. he begs. "MK. forget everything Ive told you, listen to me now: you cannot give up"

MK seems to stutter in his next attack. SWK blocks it and keeps talking

"Don't give up on me and especially don't give up on yourself. fight it out kid. I believe in you"

The blue glow of MK's eyes weakens. the sounds of LBD struggling increase the more SWK talks to him. she tries to shut him up. MK now has SWK on a chokehold. Still, the annoying ass monkey won't shut up.

The grip in his neck tightens but he continues

"You have such great friends. You need to keep on fighting for them. They miss you too."

"You're something special bud and not because you are the monkie kid."

His expression starts to change

"I'm proud to be your mentor. Please come back"

and MK snaps out of it.

-

from there I feel like itd be pretty much the same. as u can see the au is not terrible different. is just different enough for me to get SWK being honest and sweet to MK and MK to listen everything he needed to hear. and also pain. I could span on many lil things but is very late and im basically ripping this off my chest so its just out here

oh and also

I get a real hug between them in this AU

#ghost talk #rotten art #worDS ARE ART!! #juvenile monkey

[xenodidelphis]

Wanted to share my phone's lock and home screen with those that may appreciate it! I'm very proud of it, as I put together all the widgets myself.

Details under the cut!

I can very easily change the color of everything, but it is usually either green or yellow. Mostly yellow.

I usually keep the banner reflective of whatever game run I'm currently doing. Not a fan of the Brotherhood personally, but as it is a Minutemen/Brotherhood run, I do what I must.

The vault boy head changes moods when the whatever I am playing starts/stops.

HP is my steps count- 16 isn't bad for a couple minutes after midnight.

AP is my battery %, and it has the indication of it is charging or not.

RADS is the Air Quality Index for my location divided by 100 to look more appropriate for the label. It also pops up a warning indicator if the AQI is over 100.

WTHR has both the temp and an indication for whatever conditions it is outside. The scale is out of 100, because any more than that is just too much in upstate NY.

All of the widgets were made with KWGT/KLCK. I would love to credit whomever made the Brotherhood/Minutemen logo, but I can't find the original for the life of me through reverse searching it. If anyone knows HMU, because I want to give credit where due!

#fallout #lockscreen #fallout 4 #fallout new vegas #fonv #fallout 3 #my art #rad art #i have no idea what else to tag this as #homescreen

[do-u-ever-just]

Long rant about literally nothing but I'm proud of myself so whatever

I have been struggling to get anything done around my apartment for MONTHS. Yes, I can do laundry and dishes and take out my trash. But that's because if I don't it has instant ramifications. (I don't have clean clothes for work. I don't have room in my kitchen to make food. I get flies. etc.)

But things like scrubbing my bathroom clean. Vacuuming and mopping my dirty floors. Unclogging my clogged sink I've kind of just been dealing with (also for weeks) was tasks completely beyond me.

I had a rather hard morning fighting off a panic attack the whole time, but when I was settled after trying to calm down, I really wanted to get stuff done.

Now the biggest thing about doing any of these things is not really the tasks themselves, but the time it takes to do them. I always worry if I waste time doing things I need to, I won't have enough time to do the things I like. I only get 2 days off, I usually spend the time sleeping and trying to get better so I can go back to work for 5 days and start the cycle again. All while my apartment crumbles around me.

I normally work pretty well on a rewards based system. So today, I rewarded myself with time.

I made a list of the tasks I needed to get done, and divided it into 2 sections. There was a list of things that wouldn't take me very long, in the 1 hour section. And a list of things that are harder and would take me longer in the 2 hours section. If I complete a task, I get the allotted amount of time to myself that task correlates to.

There are no rules. If I complete two tasks in a row in the 1 hour list, I get 2 hours. If I complete a 2 hour task and a one hour task, I get 3 hours. If I feel I can do more in under 3 hours, I'll just take the 2 hours.

And it's been working SO well for me.

I decided I wanted time to watch a movie so I tackled something on the 2 hour list. I unclogged my sink. GREAT! Except now my sink is a mess and smells really bad, so I scrubbed that and my toilet. Another task complete. Well now my trash is full of dirty paper towels and also smells. But if I'm going to take out the trash, I better empty my fridge of old food too. 2 more tasks done. I just earnt myself like 5 hours of rest.

I mean, by then it'll be like eight at night and I probably won't be able to, so I set an alarm for 3 hours and I'll do another task then.

So far my sheets have been changed, my sink is finally unclogged AND clean. My laundry is hanging up dry. I no longer have flies developing in my bins. I still have a lot to do but seeing how far I've come and believing I can finish it all over the weekend while still knowing I got all the time I wanted to do the things I wanted is really putting my mind at ease.

Stupid, round-about away of getting my brain to work and being able to do anything of note and responsibility, but at least it's all getting done.

#personal beef

[simbib]

It's finally time!!!

Xmas has finally come and gone, and the time is here to FINALLY share my giant project with you all.

BEHOLD

THE FRUITS OF 200h OF LABOR

FULLY CUSTOM DICE BOXES!!!

Every single box was made completely from scratch, from flat sheets of balsa to the fully assembled beauties you see.

Each box was a gift and is hand bound in brown pleather to resemble a tome with custom covers based on the interests of my friends.

The boxes open from the center with two hinges, and both the right and left halves are equally deep so the boxes lay flat on a surface when opened. The interiors are lined with felt and have one large tray on the interior left hand side to roll the dice, and have six partitioned cubbies on the right hand side to store your dice in.

Since the boxes are equally deep on both halves, the dice would fall out if not protected, so the right hand side of the boxes each have a unique, inset wooden divider door that pressure fits on top of the dice cubbies, keeping them firmly shut when travelling or when the boxes are not in use. And, since the rolling tray is hollow, it can be used to store pens and paper or dice towers as well!

Most of the partition doors are secured to the inside of the box with a hinge made out of a folded over ribbon that is glued into a carved out hollow on the inside left edge of the doors. They also have magnets installed along the inside right edge that connect with small studs inside the dice trays to confirm they stay firmly shut. One of the doors has different fabric hinges, but those fell apart a bit quickly so I had to find a more secure way to attach them.

I'm immensely proud of how all these turned out. They came out almost exactly how I imagined them. I've learned so much while working on them, both about my own capabilities and tenacity but also just on the general construction of the boxes. The next one I make will be so much easier, and will probably be even better!

My only regret is that I gave all of them away- and didn't make one for myself!!

The creation of these boxes was inspired hugely by this amazing video by Kobold's Craft on youtube (with my own spin!):

I've added more details and more pictures of each box under the cut if you want to take a look 😃

1) The Tyranid Box

This box was made for one of my oldest friends. He's got a huge warhammer 40k army full of tyranids, so I themed his box to match his army! His was overall the easiest to create, because the vision was very clear to me from the start.

2) The Ork Box

This box was made for another close friend, who is my fellow DM for our shared TTRPG group. He recently was inspired by my Tyranid friend to start a warhammer army, and since he didn't really have a paint scheme figured out for his army I winged it a little. This was the 2nd most challenging design, as the Orks by nature are very crude and don't really care much for beauty. How do you show their chaotic nature while creating something beautiful? But I think it worked out well!

3) The Tarot Box

This box also came together quite nicely, and was gifted to a friend I reconnected with when I moved to my new city. He usually plays casters and elves in DnD, so I wanted the book to feel like an oracle/high fantasy/tarot inspired fancy spell-caster's tome, while maintaining his playful nature by making the interior Portal themed. The cover for this box took me by FAR the longest, as the hand stitching was very complex.

4) The Music Box

This one was another clear yet challenging design. This is one for my DnD crew, and I knew he liked audio engineering and music, so the cover was clear cut. The interior door was also an easy one, but when it was done I felt it was much too plain... when I shared my predicament with a coworker, she suggested that since he played a bard, I should add some arcane symbols on the door! It was just what was needed to tie this box together, and I'm really happy with the end result!

5) The Druid Box

This one was probably the most difficult to design, mostly because this was designed based on the character this DnD friend was playing at the time (and is playing still). The character is an elf druid who is high all the time and let me tell you the urge to make the cut out on the inside a marijuana leaf was astronomical. But I wanted the box to be a bit more versatile so I went with some puppy paw prints instead, since he has a dog!

6) The Faerie Box

While all the boxes were mostly assembled at the same time, any box that I needed to do some experimentation on I did it with this box. This one was given to a friend I made in my new city. I'm really happy with this one, and they were happy to receive it as well!

And there you have it!

That was my huge project! I'm glad I came across that dice box video by Kobold's Craft since it provided me with the method to the madness.

I poured my heart and soul (and blood and tears and. lots of blood. i cut myself often) into these books and everyone was super happy with them.

I learned so much and I can't wait to make some more- with all the knowledge that I gained from these!

The time breakdown is roughly as follows: - 60h to cut, glue, sand, stain and assemble the boxes - 50h to hand sew the embroidery on all the boxes - 20h to add the felt interiors - 20h to paint all the boxes - 30h to design, carve, sand, stain, paint, cure and assemble the cubby doors - 20h of research, design, purchasing and various other things I needed to do lol

I'm thinking of making a tutorial video on how to make these... 🤔

Stay tuned! Happy new year!!

#SIMBIB #stuff i make because i'm bored #dice box #dnd #dungeons and dragons #dice tray #5e #custom #craft #art #diy #unique #dice #storage #spell tome #tome #Youtube

[blushinggray]

navigation 🧭

hello. for anyone new here:

i'm michelle (aka hokshi), she/her, 25+

lover of himbos

simp for tsunderes

appreciator of dilfs

addicted to slow burn

(and slave to kirishima natsuya)

here you'll find my anime-related interests, as well as my spontaneous, low pressure, unbeta'ed drabbles. i mainly write [male character] x fem!reader, and about half the time, it contains mature content. so pls be aware of that and manage your own boundaries. i am very casual about what/how i post here, so i'm putting a lot of trust into you to care take of yourself

most of my writing that i actually put my soul into is on AO3, so if you're looking for slow burning, emotional tension with a sexy ending, you'll likely find smth more fitting over there

but since i've accumulated enough writing on this blog now as well, i figured it was time for a directory, so here ya go:

🔞 — nsfw 💖 — personal fave/rec 

— drabbles —

BNHA

bakugou katsuki:

choking 🔞 baby boy thirsting at the gym bakugou pole dancing 🔞 fantasizing 🔞 moon viewing tsundere dad!baku + art 💖 ph!baku x stand up comedian!reader basketball player!baku 💖 domestic thoughts "come see me"

kirishima eijirou:

pwp 🔞 reverse somno 🔞💖 at the beach with a himbo + song rec 💖 the last to know bunny boy bj 🔞 cum buckets 🔞ish

sero hanta:

pierced/tatted fuckboi!sero change of plans (a fuckboi!sero series) 💖🔞

general:

kink headcanons 🔞ish

JJK

itadori yuji:

pick your poison (yuji/sukuna twins!au) 🔞ish nothing but ass on the brain 🔞 glass slipper type beat

//

— fic trivia —

some extra headcanons, rough visuals, or fun facts from some of my fic universes, which can also be found in my #fic trivia tag

HQ

from "Love Unlimited" (hinata x atsumu x reader) - sequel/aftermath headcanons

BNHA

from "Good for Me" (a tattoo artist!bkg x tattoo artist!reader au) - sketch of bkg's tattoos - extra au headcanons

Free!

from "Within the Chaos" (a single dad!natsuya au) - fanart i commissioned of natsuya & yumeko - headcanons of having "the talk" with teenager!yumeko

//

— other info —

this is a side blog, so i follow/like from a different account

i mostly write for myself/my own enjoyment, so i don't take requests. but i do enjoy hearing suggestions if you want to share some inspo!

for non-anon asks, i usually answer privately (although sometimes i press a wrong button or tumblr goofs smth and it ends up getting published). but sometimes, if it's smth i wanna share/document on my blog, i will publish/tag it as #ask

i really enjoy meeting/talking to new people tho! so if you ever want to share your love of your faves, talk about writing, recommend me fics/artists, or even just send me memes (related to my fics or otherwise), you are so very welcome to visit my DMs/ask box!

— if you'd like to support me —

i have a ko-fi, where if you're feeling generous, you can leave me a tip! i always deeply appreciate it!

you can also purchase a special extra story from a bakugou fic i wrote a while ago, which i'm actually quite proud of

when i'm feeling up to it, i occasionally open up commissions! ranging from 2k~5k words, depending on the price. please message me first about what you'd like before purchasing though! depending on your request, i may or may not be the right person for the job, so i would really appreciate communicating and coming to an agreement beforehand!

if we come to an agreement, you can purchase the commission through the ko-fi link above (for those with paypal), or if you live in the US, you can also send it to me through venmo!

if you made it all the way down to the bottom, thank you so very much for visiting my blog and taking an interest in my writing 💖🌹 i hope you have a great time

divider images by @/firefly-graphics

#this was probably long overdue lmao #if you found me through tumblr instead of ao3 you're prob wondering why this blog is so disorganized #pls don't hold it against me #i promise u i have more pride in my writing than my ability to make aesthetic posts or an organized tag system 🥴 #mine #uhhhh #info

[eldritch-thrumming]

I'm a cis het female, but I'm always trying to learn and be an ally. My lesbian niece is a Gaylor, so I'm at least passingly familiar with some of the ways people thought her music was queer coded.

But I'm interested in why you personally feel betrayed by Taylor.

(It might seem obvious from someone with your subject position, but I'm confused as an outsider. A debunked theory doesn't seem to be enough... Has she been actively homophobic? Tried googling and it was a shitshow.)

gonna preface this by saying sorry to my mutuals and followers who hate t*ylor sw*ft--i already lost like ten followers for posting about this lol

for anyone curious, this is the nyt article i'm referencing and this is the response planted in cnn.

if you're at all familiar with the online fandom, then you know that there's a stark divide between fans that consider themselves "hetlors" and fans that consider themselves "gaylors." the gaylor camp is focused on queer readings of her music, uncovering what they consider to be queer flagging, and making references and connections between taylor and other gay artists. the hetlor camp is focused on spreading violent homophobia in gaylor's comments. i personally consider myself a part of the gaylor community because of my interest in doing queer readings of mainstream media, even though i personally don't believe that t*ylor sw*ft herself is gay and i don't really care one way or another--her personal identity doesn't affect the way i choose to interpret and read her music.

HOWEVER, it's important to point out that t*ylor has made many, many, many overt references to queer artists and queer culture--whether she's gay or not, it's dishonest and a rejection of her work to deny that she's made these references. here are some examples:

the song "ivy." many fans have speculated about the references of the album evermore to the themes of dickinson's poetry, specifically the song "ivy." this has been a long-time fan theory, doubly fueled by the fact that evermore dropped on dickinson's birthday. t*ylor seems to have confirmed this theory by allowing the use of the song in the show dickinson, when emily and sue reunite after a big fight and the publication of one of emily's poems (i don't watch the show, so sorry abt some narrative details here lol).

2. dedicating a performance to loie fuller. during the rep tour, taylor dedicated her performance of the song "dress"--largely consider one of her queerest songs--to fuller, a gay choreographer and dancer.

3. on the eras tour, she plays dusty springfield's "you don't own me" directly before she comes on stage. springfield was pretty openly bisexual for the 1960s and made quite a few statements about being with women. in 1990, she released her thirteenth studio album titled reputation, with black and white cover art. there are also some 1989 tv/dusty springfield color references in the cds.

4. she references the lakes poets. she published the song "the lakes" as a bonus track on folklore, which is a clear reference to the lakes poets, especially wordsworth, who was gay.

5. she made herself the gay sheriff of gay town.

6. she posted a picture to her own insta with a friendship bracelet that very clearly said "PROUD" with the colors of the bi flag. she wears the bi flag in her hair in the YNTCD music video where, again, she makes herself the gay sheriff of gay town.

7. she explicitly states "gay pride makes me, me" in the making of the ME! music video (i want to say this is in the Miss Americana documentary, but i honestly don't remember)

8. she has used the phrase "hairpin drop" in two separate songs. the phrasing first appears in "rwylm," a bonus track on evermore, where she sings "i swear you could hear a hairpin drop"--"dropping hairpins" is a historical phrase in the queer community that means dropping hints that you're a part of the community. now this one i've always been iffy on, but i think the intention is undeniable when we get to the midnights 3am track "the great war" where she returns to this phrasing. the lyrics in "the great war" is "finger on my hairpin trigger"--there's no way this is a mistake with the way that the fandom went so crazy over the phrasing in "rwylm." she herself has repeatedly referenced the online community and she's very aware of the conversations her fans are having--there's no way she didn't know we were talking about this. using the phrasing a second time by changing the traditional phrase ("hair trigger" and "you could hear a pin drop" are the traditional phrases) is undeniably intentional.

ok so. these are JUST the references that have been overt, explicit, and very clearly intentionally reference queer culture, queer history, and established queer flagging.

what's really important here is that the nyt article outlines these references, which are confirmed, among others made in taylor swift's public performances and published artwork, including lyrics and album ephemera. no where in the article does the author speculate on individual muses of any song or posit an opinion about her personal relationships. the article is focused on the gay fans and the ways we have built a community with each other through lyrical analysis and interpretation.

the important thing to note about t*ylor sw*ft is that she very rarely makes explicit public statements about anything published about her or any rumors about her in the press. that's why there was so much uproar about tree paine (her publicist) directly addressing the rumors that deuxmoi is perpetuating about a marriage to joe alwyn--because it's not normal. instead, she tends to speak more covertly through showing up places with people (for example, she went to dinner with sophie turner after the news of their divorce broke), making references through her style (wearing the color of a current era or the next era coming up), releasing new music (she addressed the matty healy scandal by releasing a song with ice spice and having her join the tour for one night!).

so with that being said, unless and until taylor or tree comments openly about either of these articles, we have to understand the cnn response as her opinion and coming from her camp. (i currently think this came from her father, as he's been very heavy handed in her pr lately.)

if you actually read the nyt article, there's literally nothing wrong with it. so to frame this opinion piece as "dismaying," "invasive," and "inappropriate" is capitalizing on established homophobic tropes about the queer community. why is it "dismaying" to be mistaken for a gay person? why is it invasive to read someone's work and say "hmm, there's a blatant queer reference here, i wonder if she's trying to tell us something." "i wonder if this person is gay" is a morally neutral statement. this response in cnn has given her straight fans license to go after her gay fans even harder than they did before. some of my mutuals and friends have been getting death threats, one has been doxxed previously and i'm worried it will happen again, and our comments are being inundated with slurs.

the reason i feel personally betrayed by taylor is because she has repeatedly capitalized off of my community as outlined above (and again, these are only the references that have been confirmed--there are plenty more ("dear reader," "paris," "hits different," "cowboy like me," "dress," "seven," "this is me trying," "high infidelity," "maroon," i could literally go on and on) and then allows the media and her fans to drag us through the mud and frame our community as aggressive, invasive, and repeatedly sexualize us by insisting that our sexuality and community is solely about who we fuck. if i get called gross, disgusting, or invasive one more time for stating that "bet i could still melt your world, argumentative antithetical dream girl" is gay, i will literally fucking lose it.

you cannot repeatedly and routinely reference openly gay artists in your work and then become "dismayed" when your gay fans recognize those references and begin to make connections. if you're a real ally, you would see nothing wrong with being perceived as gay. because there's nothing wrong with being gay! she has built her career off of autobiographical, confessional style writing and the interactions of fans speculating on who songs might be about. i'm old enough to remember the liner notes that revealed who each song was about! you can't foster that type of relationship with your fans and then turn around and get upset with them for caring about this stuff and recognizing patterns.

so i'm just kind of over it. and i'm over her being a billionaire climate criminal who emits 1900x the global average of carbon in tons and getting away with it. i'm over her remaining silent on palestine and allowing her film to be shown in israel. she cannot simultaneously be a mastermind genius business woman and also a billionaire bound by contracts and lyrical phrasing that she has no control over. the fandom sucks and she sucks for not defending us despite using her "allyship" for monetary gain, regardless of her personal identity. the gay community has taken enough hits from her and her fans, i'm done and i'm out.

ETA: i know this reads as angry in some places and that's because i am angry, but totally not at you, anon. i know you were asking this question in good faith, i'm just still in my feelings about this and dodging so much hate on tiktok.

[maturemenoftvandfilms]

I think what I want to say to all of your anons that berate you with questions and hateful claims is that we all go through it... Some form of shock at our own likes and dislikes, and some of us end up sticking to our guns about who and what we find attractive and think it's liberating to share who and what that is while some think that by suppressing it they're somehow helping... Neither one is right. We are just experiencing our world for what it is. On the one hand, I'm sure we all wish those politicians and celebs that are assholes weren't (because honestly who would want to be with them eww lol can't stand the high maintenance part) but some of us also consider that it's not the end of the world and might even find it funny or a turn on to make those same types feel awkward or aware that there's a whole group of gay men who lust after them. It's not inherently bad, but it also sucks to be judged about it considering we're all kind of in the same boat. I mean, I've read some of your supporters say really deeply stupid things like "Democrats or liberals are not as attractive as Republicans or conservatives" LOL WTF. I know what they are TRYING to say, but it's definitely not anything to do with political affiliation or ideology. That has nothing to do with biological makeup or appearances. We're all psychologically attuned to loving or lusting after something or someone or a certain type based on our experiences and very personal internal needs, like wanting to be subjugated, dominated, or to be the subjugator or be the dominant ones, it's ridiculous to try to put it in one lane or the other when we actually mean the same thing. Ultimately we are all gay, some more in control and some more prone to give up that control, men and should enjoy being gay men, no matter what branch of that tree we thrive on. I wish we could show love to each other in our community when we are both liberal in our thoughts AND conservative..... no matter the reason. We live with each other anyway, why divide ourselves into groups further just because one side has an extreme view to the other? I don't get why we fight so much. If this was the 70s throigh the early 90s, we'd be fighting the same fight. We would be united agaibst HIV and AIDS and the doctrines of the religious right trying to make monsters of us for contracting a virus that to this day has no cure. The internet has just made us and our sexual preferences so polarized.

I'll admit: This anon stays anon because he wants to express love and kindness, and that does not seem to be the preferred topic of the day. In the end, Trans, Republican, Alex Jones lovers, Effeminate, Masc, Leather, Daddy, Boy, etc. We should help each other. Take each other seriously but not too seriously, and realize we just love certain aspects of masculinity and femininity that bring us joy and pleasure.

Honestly, I found as many things to be proud of about myself just following your blog as I did about hating our community. We should not be so extreme in our reactions. You honestly seem very reasonable, and all you are doing is putting your inner most thoughts out for the world to see, and I can appreciate that, @maturemenoftvandfilms - I love that too. :)

I wish everyone the best, and I wish we could see where we are different is interesting and not a point for conflict. We have enough of that to face in the world as gay or bisexual men. Let's be honest with each other and inclusive even if it's about people we ourselves would not think of as "sexy" or "attractive" because some people are just playing a role.

I'd like to thank you. I was feeling angry and hateful these past few weeks and you've brighten my day.

[lifewithmai]

The Beauty of a Student's Chaos: A Reflective Essay on My Senior High School Experience

Angela Palma - November 22, 2023

Chaos. It describes complete disorder and confusion, and it is the word that describes my senior high school experience, a word that is a part of my life. In the past decade of studying, chaos has never left my side. We see chaos everywhere, and as I became more aware of my surroundings, I noticed that chaos is actively present, especially in my academic life. And today, I am not here to tell you that chaos is neither bad nor good, but I am here to tell you my story and how chaos helped me become the person I am today.

Spending the last two years as a junior high school student has been a very serene journey for me. Being in the comfort of our home, focusing on my studies, and focusing on myself has helped me become a very independent person because I have helped myself stand and overcome challenges without asking for help when I know I can solve them alone. As I began my first year of senior high school, or grade 11, the recollection of chaos and what it feels like to be in this environment gave me a sense of nostalgia. On my first day back to face-to-face classes, everyone was feeling a mix of emotions, and I was excited, but I didn't expect anything. I quickly made a lot of new friends until I was separated into a new section called Gabiela Silang. People often refer to our section as trash because it is a new section that has been divided from the original two or because our section has the most late students and guidance visits, which were mostly brought on by my boy classmates. And to be completely honest, our section is not the best or worst. It is in the eyes of other people how they perceive us, but we know each other in the way we have spent an entire year together. Being in Silang marked the beginning of my journey, giving me unforgettable memories and helping me start my journey of self-discovery. 

My first year as a student here at Perpetual Help brought me great experiences and opportunities. With the help of the people and the positive environment it offered, it made me a person the 13-year-old me would never know I had become. A few of the many things I learned upon being here were to be confident and strengthen my sense of leadership. I never imagined that my school offers not just great learning, advocacy, and adaptation but endless fun too. One of the best memories I have is experiencing solo reporting, debate, roleplay, research defense, groupings, volleyball tryouts, and events like the celebration of Buwan ng Wika, English and Science Month, Foundation Day, Teachers Day, intramurals, and mental health awareness. This academic year also gave me the best teachers, who helped me learn and learn to enjoy learning. With that, I consistently achieved academic achievements that made both me and my family proud. 

Now, in my final year as a senior high school student, I hope that this new chapter will be as memorable and enjoyable as it was last year. Even though there will always be challenges, the good times never fail to show themselves to us. It is expected now that we are graduating students that this school year is not going to be as easy as it was before. Yet it is this way that will help us to be prepared and ready to dive into the last 4 years of studying in college until we finally go towards achieving our dream life. 

Today marks my fourth month of being a Grade 12 student. So far, the section Onyx that I'm currently in is the best section. It is indeed not perfect, but it has the most laid-back people and environment so far. There are people who don't get along, but there are many others who will help you in terms of individual or team work. Our current adviser and subject teachers are also among my favorites because they make a lesson so understandable without putting too much pressure on it but instead making it more fun and enjoyable. I'm sure there are more opportunities coming our way, like the ongoing work immersion and our upcoming ballroom competition, which I hope will be a success. 

Reflecting back on my senior high school life, it has yet to be finished, and when it is, I hope that when I and other people read this paper, they will appreciate one thing. And it is the word "chaos". Because chaos is good and bad, because chaos brings us memories. And lastly, without all the chaos, together with these people, I don't think my senior high school would be much more of a memory than it is today, and I know these memories will always be a reminder of the students we once were. 

#senior high school #private school #reflective essay #school life

[roachyreads]

Book #4 of 2022

"The Way of Kings" by Brandon Sanderson

Spoiler-free Summary:

This is the first book in a series called the Stormlight Archives. It follows the stories of many different people in a world called Roshar, made up of many different kingdoms, including Jah Keved, Alethkar, & Shinovar. Through his amazing writing, Sanderson tells the tale of Kaladin, a once-soldier who finds himself a slave; Shallah, a desperate girl striving to become a scholar to save her family's kingdom, and many others. After the murder of King Gavilar, the world breaks into chaos, leaving the plethora of characters clueless in a war that may be a lot more than it seems on the surface.

Full thoughts below the cut :) And watch out, this one was a DOOZY so I have a lot to say!

(Tell me about your favorite book here!: https://bit.ly/3s1QWh0 )

- Before I start off with my comments, I want to say that this is the longest book that I have EVER read. Holy shit. I never thought my attention span would stay focused long enough to read a book with over 1200 pages. I'm pretty proud of myself!

- The first comment that comes to mind is that Brandon Sanderson is a GENIUS storyteller and world-builder. Roshar is a whole different world, with it's own social customs, norms, and even natural properties to the world. The idea of the highstorms coming from the East (and that being pretty much the ONLY thing they know about the highstorms), is so interesting to me, and really peaked my curiosity. Societal aspects that Sanderson included, such as the social class hierarchy around eye color or the gender-divided labor, was INCREDIBLY interesting to a sociologist such as myself. Everything about this world captures your attention, and leaves a curious reader thirsty for so much more lore (And Sanderson HAS it to give~!)

- I will say, though, because of all the world-building, it took a while to get hooked onto this book. The first third of it is very slow, and I practically had to have the fandom wiki open constantly in order to recall details about names, places, or important notes. This isn't necessarily a complaint persay (I was kind of expecting it with a book this long), but still took me aback a little bit.

- I had a hard time choosing my favorite characters. I felt really drawn to Jasnah Kholin, because of her wits and intelligence. Similarly, I really found myself liking Dalinar as well - not only do I like reading about inner workings of politics, but reading about this man practically unravelling in his own head was really engaging, to say the least. I think overall, though, Rock is my favorite. Somethin' about that big ole loveable guy that just makes my heart warm.

- I hate Elhokar though. Spineless young king? Yuck.

- This book also has a ton of twists and turns. Sadeas's betrayal was HUGE and severely unexpected, it had me reeling until the very end of the book. - Also, as a side note for anyone potentially wanting to read this book: it is /graphic/. And I mean Read About a Slave's Head Getting Bashed in with a Rock in the First Chapter" kind of graphic. Not for the light-hearted, but violence and gore do not bug me as much - thus, they are a welcome theme in my book. (Lesser so the slavery. I'm glad Sanderson focused heavily on anti-slavery rhetoric throughout.

- I REALLY enjoyed that there were illustrations ever so often from Shallan's/Navani's sketchbooks. It really helped put some of these abstract creatures - such as skyeels and cremlings - into perspective.

- Speaking of creatures, this book is RICH with creative fictional flora, animals, and even....spirits??? manifestations of energy/emotions?? Even after reading this one, I'm still not sure how to describe spren. I look forward to learning more about them in the coming books.

- Without putting TOO much more stuff in this post, I can not express enough how much this book pulled me in. I fully expected to go into this and lose interest halfway through - but now I am obsessed with the lore and the world building, the storyline and the coming plot. Sanderson really knows how to write in such a way that keeps you on the edge of your seat and makes you never want to stop reading!

- One of the only reasons this book didn't get a 10/10 is because of the amount of cross-reference I had to do with the wiki. It was hard to keep up with so many names, races, events, beings, etc, and my ADHD-having ass could NOT remember any of it. Thankfully, though, the wiki is pretty well fleshed out and true to the text... just watch out for spoilers if you end up following me down this beautiful, creative path ;) Thx Brandon, for a wonderful read!

- (And thank you to my truly amazing coworker Emily for lending me the first and second books. I'm sorry my cat ripped the fuckin pages out the night that I brought it home but I promise this new copy is so much better - and has that new-book smell!)

BEST /|\(^-A-^)/|\ ~ROACHY

#books #book review #book blog #book tumblr #booklr #literary fiction #fantasy fiction #fursona #furry #sfw furry #anthro #2022 reads #book reccs #book recs wanted #looking for book reccs #goodreads

[pinkpantherjam]

"Bakit kase ang tataas ng pangarap mo, hindi mo ba naiintindihan ang sitwasyon natin?"

When i talk about Jobs, studies, and dreams, I hear these exact same words from mama. She was supportive in some aspects and I know that no parent will ever decline supporting their children in terms of getting a degree, finishing studies, and the pursuit of a better life. I've always wanted to have flying colors in school, and what I mean by that are not the medals, recognitions, nor being on top of the rest in my class. What i mean is being able to study freely without having to worry who will send me off to college, who would fund my needs, or just simply studying smoothly and the only stress would be passing all my subjects. Mama saw how I diligently study day and night, she saw how I review my exams, she witnessed the young girl in me competing for different academic competitions , although she was far away; metaphorically she has seen how much I strived to be better in my studies. Because I believed that it was the only way I could compensate all of her efforts in raising us alone. Mama got used to it so much that until now I know she sets much expectation from me. Although I hear her say, "hindi mo naman kailangan maging perfect, hindi ko kailangan ng anak na perfect " , there's a slight comfort and ease when she reminds me to take things slow and easy but it all shifts to something else when she starts to talk about young girls at my age that just got into big milestones in life. So, here I am constantly trying to pour all my best in me.

Being in AdU was very unexpected because I always talked about UP or other state colleges, I was very detailed about my plans including the admissions and scholarships I was up to, and the program I'm planning to take. I even had a list of things I wish to accomplish by this year and such. I was very hopeful and determined that nothing could get in the way of the plans I have for myself and my future. But there came summer, a tempting moment for me to work as a fresh senior graduate and a call for responsibility. My attention was already divided into (a) job I'm working with which at least pays me well (b) my current program in AdU (c) managing my time and staying sane despite the pressure in my environment. Thankfully, I made it through a tough academic year and I'm already in my sophomore phase. I know for a fact that it is still a very long way to go but I also hope and pray that God will abide in all my endeavors. Here's to you mama, for your tough love that brought me to places. And of course to you Lola for blessing your beloved grand child. If our circumstance will permit, I will dedicate my full best to making both of you including my younger self proud.

Freshie Done All for Him!