#oooo look at me trying to post this several months later

[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!

[bee-kathony]

Four Years | Year Three - “December 26th, 2016″

a/n: thank you so much to the people that still read this story, I know it isn’t always easy and this year was an especially tough one for them. There is only one more year left to this fic and I can’t believe it. There’s been so many times that I wanted to give up and never write again, but I have a story to tell with this and I’m almost there, so thank you to everyone who has encouraged me with this! Hopefully year four won’t be too far off and should be posted shortly! 

Year One | Year Two

January 9th, 2016 | January 24th, 2016 | March 3rd, 2016 | March 30th, 2016 | April 10th, 2016 |  May 17th, 2016 | June 16th, 2016 | July 28th, 2016 | August 26th, 2016 | October 31st, 2016

December 26th, 2016

For Christmas, we spent the day at Lallybroch. This was now my third Christmas with the Fraser bunch and it was still just as fun as the first time. Only now, our own son got to run around on Christmas morning with all his cousins, making a mess with the wrapping paper and eating too many sweets.

My heart was so full it felt fit to burst at the sight of Fergus’ face whenever he opened his presents. Of course, a three year old would love anything you gave them, sometimes they even loved the cardboard box the toy came in more.

This time last year I had been pregnant, but only a few months along. My belly was growing bigger by the day — I was now the most pregnant I had ever been, seven months. It was hard for the both of us whenever this baby grew past the point that Jane had lived. I mostly felt fear… fear that something would go wrong at any moment.

Jamie was supportive as always, making sure I had everything I needed and that I was taking it easy. I had stopped working at the hospital a month ago, and I was grateful for a boss that understood that with everything I had been through in the last several years, the stress of being a doctor wasn’t going to help.

I missed it of course, the daily routine and helping patients, and maybe one day I would be able to return to that, but for now I wanted to focus on my family. I was also grateful for a husband who had his own business and was able to support us.

We stayed at Lallybroch last night, too tired to return home to wake up in our own beds. Slowly, I opened my eyes to see Jamie sitting up in bed with a book in his hands.

“What time is it?” I said groggily, wiping my hand across my face.

“Nearly noon, Sassenach,” Jamie smirked. “Ye slept like the dead.”

“Noon?” My eyes widened. I hadn’t slept in like this in so long, especially not since I’d been pregnant — I always slept lightly and scared that something would happen.

“Must have been all that eggnog ye drank yesterday,” Jamie smiled and pressed his hand to my cheek. “I went down for breakfast and I tried to wake ye, but ye didna budge.”

“I probably needed the sleep then,” I sighed. “Is Fergus alright?”

“Och, aye. Playin’ wi’ his cousins and his new toys.”

“Good,” I smiled and sat up a bit in the bed. “Oooo!” I put my hand over my belly and Jamie immediately turned towards me.

“What’s wrong? Are ye alright, Claire?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” I smiled sheepishly, feeling bad that I had worried him. “She’s just kicking,” I grabbed his hand and placed it over the spot where she had just kicked me.

A few moments later, Jamie’s eyes lit up and he pressed his other hand to cover my stomach. “Wow… that’s… the most incredible thing I’ve ever felt, Sassenach.”

“Isn’t it?” I smiled as tears came to my eyes. Jamie leaned down and placed his ear against my belly to listen to her heartbeat. I ran my hand through his curls, watching him smile as he felt her kick against his face.

“A rowdy one,” Jamie laughed and sat back up, his hand sliding over my stomach.

“Like her Da,” I chuckled.

“That’s amazing,” Jamie said again as he sat back against the headboard, his hand still covering my stomach while he picked his book back up.

He kept his hand there while I continued to fully wake up, checking my phone for any missed messages.

Grinning to myself, I slipped my hand under the cover and he dropped the book. “Sassenach! We canna—“

“Well we can,” I smiled as I moved my hand up a little more, just touching the head of his cock. “But I know we said we wanted to be as safe as possible until the baby is born.”

“Aye, we did, Claire…” he moved his hand on top of mine, grasping it firmly to move it, but I only pressed harder making him squirm. “Which is why ye canna be touchin’ me like this.”

“Oh, but there are other ways to enjoy ourselves in bed my dear lad,” I laughed and moved my thumb on the tip, swiping the wetness there. Jamie groaned, his eyes squeezing shut as his head hit the pillow behind him.

“But I wouldna feel right takin’ pleasure from ye while ye dinna receive any in return,” Jamie opened his eyes looking me seriously in the face. Oh he did break my heart with loving him.

“What makes you think I don’t get any pleasure from watching you like this?” Smiling, I pulled back the sheet to expose him to my wandering eyes. He was half-hard in my hand. I started to pump his cock, watching as it grew and his thighs clenched. “You have hands, surely you can think of something to do to repay me.”

“Christ!” Jamie’s hips jerked and then his hand was covering mine, setting a steady pace — much faster than my current one. “I canna wait until the bairn is born, Sassenach.”

“Oh me too,” I smiled softly. “She’ll be so sweet and—“

“I dinna mean to talk of our unborn daughter just now while ye have me in such a position,” Jamie smirked, his eyes glancing down my robe, the opening revealing my full breasts. “I only mean that I canna wait until yer belly isna full of my child so I can take ye as I please.”

“And how would you take me?” I urged, twisting my hand just so.

His eyes squeezed shut again and I saw a light sweat breakout on his forehead. “Sassenach,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Would you have me on all fours, my fat arse in the air?” I moved my other hand to cup his balls. “Or would you have me on my back?” His hips bucked once again and I knew he was close. “Perhaps you’d like me on top to please you… my breasts swinging in your face.”

With that final image in his mind, Jamie came with a deep groan, his body jerking and I kept my grip firm on him, enjoying watching him come undone. I pumped him twice slowly before releasing him and leaning over to kiss him.

His breath was hot and his chest rose quickly after his climax. Jamie wrapped one arm around my waist holding me to him. “Sassenach, I thought my heart was goin’ to burst.”

“Did it not?” I smiled as I kissed his cheek all while letting my hand trail down his toned stomach and rest just near his groin.

“Nah,” he moved his hips to try and get my hands off him. “Tis yer turn, mo nighean donn.” Jamie tried to push me to lay back, but I was faster. I shimmied down the bed, placing both my hands on his thighs and looked up at him. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, sitting up on his elbows.

With one hand in my hair, I leaned down and took him in my mouth. Jamie groaned, holding me close as I began to bob and suck. It didn’t take long and I swirled my tongue, hollowing my cheeks and drinking him down.

“Claire!” He shouted, his hand gripping my shoulder. I came off him with a ‘pop’, feeling slightly light headed and rather sated.

I moved over to lie on my back beside him and immediately his hand came to untie my robe. “Let me catch my breath and then I’ll have my way wi’ ye, Sassenach.”

“Oh do take your time,” I chuckled. He gave me a sly grin and then after a moment to collect himself, resumed the task of undressing me, laying me bare before him.

Jamie leaned down, his head at my breast and took one pink nipple into his mouth. I winced at the tenderness and he looked up at me through full lashes and I smoothed back his hair, a sign for him to continue.

“So soft, mo ghraidh,” Jamie kissed each breast, his fingers squeezing gently. His tongue pressed against my sensitive peak and I moaned, loudly. A trail of kisses were placed from breast to navel and my heart sped up in anticipation of what would come next.

The moment his finger touched me there, I cried his name. He parted my folds and I heard the sound of my own desire. “Oh, Claire,” Jamie said reverently and placed a gentle kiss to the underside of one breast before sliding a finger inside of me.

“Jamie,” I sighed, arching my back and flexing my pelvis. His other hand came to rest on top of my belly as he pumped his fingers in and out. “Jamie!”

“Come for me, my own,” Jamie begged, his mouth now nibbling on my breast. I clenched my thighs around his hand, stopping his movements for a brief moment and then his thumb pressed against my clit. In slow steady circles, Jamie brought me to my climax with just the tip of a finger.

“God, I love you,” I sighed, smiling as he slid up my body and pressed his lips to mine.

“I love ye so much,” Jamie nuzzled his nose against mine. “Sometimes I think I must be the only one who knows what it feels to love someone as much as I love ye. It’s overwhelming, Sassenach.”

“Yes,” I stroked his curls. “Yes it is.”

Jamie brought both our hands to rest over my stomach. “This child will live, Claire. I ken it. We have nothin’ to be afraid of.”

I squeezed his fingers tightly, holding onto them lest I float away. “But I am afraid, Jamie. So terribly afraid.”

“It’s seven months now…”

Jane was just over four months when she died. This child had already outlived her sister.

“Just over two months to go.”

“Two months until I can watch ye cradle her safely in yer arms, Sassenach.”

I turned in his arms, pressing my face into his chest and he tightened his arms around me. This time I would will my body to do what it could not before. This time, when we left the hospital in two months… we would be leaving as a family of four.

#four years #outlander fanfic #outlander fanfiction #outlander #jamie x claire #december 26th 2016 #jamie fraser #claire fraser #year three

[queen-of-hearts92]

Revue Starlight 11: Requiem for a Stage Girl.

First sight of blood spilled in the show! Um, hooray?

For the previous episode go here!

To go to the start of these posts, go to the Prelude!

YOOO! We are near the end everyone! Can you mcfucking believe it?! Man, this anime was a fucking ride and I loved it! God this is good, and gay! Anyways! Episode 11 was an emotional ride, oooo boy! Let’s waste no more time and get right to it then!

This time I couldn’t settle on a song title or lyric for this post I liked so I made one up! A requiem is a musical piece thats often played at a funeral. Hikari is pretty much treat like she’s fucking dead plus I like how it sounded.

>It’s the final countdown! *trumpets play*

We start where the previous episode left off, Karen falling rapidly off the platform. She is still in shock. Karen lands in the water that surrounds the stage and luckily she’s in a place where physics don’t matter so she has landed there safely. Giraffe announces Hikari as the winner of the auditions, he goes “ok time to harvest that starlight for your wish, what you want?”. All the other Stage Girls below watch and wait to see what stage Hikari will wish for. There’s an awkward silence before Hikari gives her answer, she doesn’t want it. Giraffe is surprised, Hikari says she doesn’t need any fuel for her wish. Perplexed, Giraffe asks if she plans to provide her starlight and only her starlight for the fuel. Hikari says, “Didn’t you want to see an unpredictable stage?” confirming that yes she wants to give herself up so no one else's is taken. She grips her knife blade hard enough to cut her hand causing it to bleed. The blood drips onto, not the ground but onto Hikari’s metal badge making anyone watching this go yooo.

Giraffe accepts her request. The tiara is on Hikari’s head as Giraffe announces that the audition duels are over and Hikari’s request was granted. We zoom out a bit to see a giant version of the tiara encircle Hikari, disjointed sounds play and then we hear the sound of a large door closing. Hikari vanishes, only position zero and Giraffe remain. Karen lies in the water too stunned to say or do anything. Position zero is shown one last time before the lights go out, plunging the screen into darkness.

It’s all over.

And then we get the opening.

*record scratch* *freeze frame* Yup that’s me, you’re probably wondering how I ended up in this situation.

One day after the final auditions, there's a notice on a bulletin board. Hikari has apparently transferred out of school. Karen is confused to say the least. She and Mahiru go to the office to ask their teacher whats up. The teacher confirms that yes Hikari left, all the documents have been filled out and they are stamped with Giraffe’s logo. Karen asks where Hikari went exactly but their teacher brushes her off and says doesn’t know. So yes the school is in on all this magic stage bullshit. Karen tries calling Hikari, but her phone has been disconnected. Cause that’s not incredibly alarming at all.

Two days after the final audition, turns out Hikari left all of her things behind. All of it, cause that isn’t alarming at all. Karen pulls out the Starlight book, Nana and Junna are concerned.

Three days after the final audition, Karen calls the London school to see if Hikari is there. Doing her best to speak english while Mahiru holds a notebook with the english words to help her. Futaba and Kaoruko are nearby watching them. Karen’s call was in vain though, Hikari isn’t there either.

One week after the final audition, Karen and Mahiru go to the police for help. They sit with two officers to talk to them. Officer 1 says that Hikari did file the correct documents to leave school but Karen is like “I mcfuckin doubt that.”. The officers are like ok ok, we’ll ask a few more questions then. They ask where Karen and Mahiru last saw Hikari and it hits both of them that saying “on an underground stage with a talking giraffe” would just make them sound crazy, they can’t answer that question. Well shit.

Two weeks after the final audition, Karen sit in the subway station texting Hikari hoping she’ll respond. She’s sent several messages actually. But no response, at all. Karen looks at her phone sadly.

Three weeks after the final audition, the final cast list for the Starlight play has been posted. It’s legit the same exact cast as last time. Alrighty then.

One month after the final audition, she goes to the Tokyo Tower shop alone and stares sadly at the lamp display.

Seven months after the final audition, it’s now December. Karen and Mahiru sit on Karen’s bed still calling Hikari’s phone, and texting it. Still no response. Karen gets up and put her crown hair clip on, she says “Let’s go Mahiru.” and the two leave to go to school.

Mr. White and Hikari’s suitcase being left behind is a HUGE indicator that Hikari’s disappearance isn’t normal at all.

We go to Nana and Junna walking to school, they’re in winter coats. Nana comments on how cold it is, Junna says it’s the coldest day this year and references Nana’s time loop by saying that Nana probably hadn’t experienced cold like this in awhile. Nana is like “yeahhhh.”. The two come across Mahiru and Karen at a mailbox, Karen is trying to contact Hikari via snail mail now. Nana asks Karen if she’s cold and gives her a hug saying “Hot Banana!”. The four of them smile and then Karen says via voice over the contents of the letter she sent. She talks about everyone preparing for the Starlight play. We see a pile of letters Karen has sent to Hikari, they’ve all been returned so no luck with the snail mail either.

Jun Jun certainly thinks you are Nana! *runs*

It’s now the evening, the girls are still working on the play. Junna is writing stuff down on a clipboard and Nana comes in with food for the stage crew. Nana and Junna are called away from the group to run though the script for the play. We go to our girls and Karen, isn’t doing too well. Ameniya (the script writer if you don’t recall) asks if Karen was injured, Karen says no. So she’s like “so, why the fuck are you performing so badly??”. Sanai (the director if you don’t recall) hits the mark by asking if it’s because of Hikari. Ameniya is about to tell Karen to get over it when Mahiru goes “LET’S NOT.” so she stops herself from saying that. Ameniya apologizes and is like “just try to focus ok?” Sanai says “If you aren’t feeling up to doing this role its ok, we can get someone else to do it”. Wow, now that’s a comfort fail right there. Anyways, Junna and Nana arrive and they get back to rehearsal.

While going through the scenes, Karen is still distracted. She starts wonder what was wrong with her, why does she not feel anything while performing? No joy, no fear, nothing. Karen stops practicing all together concerning everyone in the room. She questions why she wanted to be on stage in the first place. Hikari is gone, why should she bother? She speaks aloud saying she loves the stage but she doesn’t know why. Then, a realization hits her like a truck. She knows now what Hikari meant when she said you lose the most important thing to a stage girl if you lose the auditions. Karen’s starlight wasn’t taken by the stage but, with Hikari completely gone it might as well have been stolen from her. Karen realized that this did happen to Hikari, she starts to cry. She says she gets it but also doesn’t but she does. She says her realization aloud that Hikari lost her starlight. Karen cries out Hikari’s name and has an emotional breakdown in the practice room.

Yeah this is the expression I’d make too if I discover a magic ass stage gives you severe depression and it’s already done that to your gf.

It’s the next day, Karen is in her bed with the covers over her head. The other girl are outside sitting at a table together, they all know the truth now about the price of losing the auditions. They are all disturbed by this revelation and the mood is somber. We learn why Maya reacted the way she did to Hikari in episode one, it was the lack of any emotion whatsoever in her eyes. Maya says that since Hikari’s starlight was stolen she became a dead stage girl. Claudine points out that all of them still have their starlight and Futaba comes to the conclusion that was because Hikari didn’t steal it from them. Kaoruko asks why Hikari would do that. Nana gives a reason, Hikari couldn’t bring herself to do such a thing. Put someone through the same pain as she suffered put Karen through that pain. Futaba is like “well shit she saved all our asses then.” Nana says that Hikari ended up losing all of her starlight and wonders where she disappeared to.

Back with Karen, she’s looking at the childhood photo of herself and Hikari. Karen sits up and wonders if Nana was right, the Starlight play is a sad story about parting. She opens up the Starlight book and even though she isn’t sure if she can read this without Hikari she gives it a try anyways. Then, an idea comes to mind. Later, Mahiru comes home to Karen translating the Starlight book from English to Japanese. She’s pleased that Karen’s motivation came back. Then we get a montage of Karen translation the Starlight book and she even gets some help from her friends. After the montage, we see Karen has gotten to the end. And we find out what happens to Claire after Flora falls from the tower, Claire was punished for the sin of trying to seize the stars and was sealed into the tower just like the other goddesses in there. A new sinner, imprisoned away in this horrible tower thing.

The moral of the Starlight play is if you try for a happier ending you can go fuck yourself. Time to change that ending yes?

Karen is like, well this part of the ending isn’t in the play at all. Then she figures out where Hikari is, she’s imprisoned in the tower just like Claire was in the story. Karen is like “HOLY FUCK, I GOTTA GET TO THAT ELEVATOR!” and runs down the hallway towards it. On the way she grabs the same crowbar Hikari had used in episode three and gets to the elevator. She says while trying to break the elevator door down that where Hikari was isn’t their stage. They haven’t stood on their stage yet! Karen shouts that they haven’t Starlighted yet as she swings the crowbar down, the red light next to the elevator turns on. And, as if the school itself is responding to her, all the fucking lights turn on too. Karen finally is able to pry the door open, light next to the elevator is now blue. She looks down the stairs into the yawning void, here she comes motherfucker.

As Karen descends down the stairs, we get a new song! It’s an interlude. Junna appears next to Karen on the stairs, she goes “So, seizing the stars is a sin? Guess us Stage Girls are all sinners then. But fuck it, who cares if we’re seen as sinners. I don’t care! I’m going for that star anyways!” We pass by Junna’s props as they go down the stairs. Junna stops walking and tells Karen to tell Hikari that she will be waiting for her on the stage. Karen nods and they wave to each other as Karen continues onward. Mahiru walks down the stairs with Karen next, she says “We’re from different places and have different stories but we all met on the same stage. We discovered our starlight together.” Mahiru’s props are passed by, Mahiru stops walking and tells Karen to tell Hikari that she will see her on the stage. 

Next is Kaoruko and Futaba, they don’t walk down the stairs with Karen but they stand in one of their props (the dojo area). They both say that us Stage Girls are united as one by the stage. They ask Karen to tell Hikari that they will see her on the stage. Karen walks with Nana next, she says “All stages come to an end, so we should burn as brightly as we can while we’re there.” Nana’s props are passed by. Nana tells Karen to tell Hikari that she will be waiting for her on the stage. Karen and Nana wave to each other and Karen continues onward.

Claudine travels with Karen next, they take a gold elevator downwards. Not just any elevator through, the same one from the Starlight play. She says, “The stage keeps us going and it's where our hearts belong. It’s the stage the fulfills us.” Maya continues what Claudine was saying as she and Karen walk down the stairs, “Stage girls can be reborn endlessly, hence even if we fall we can get back up again.” Claudine says, in French, that she will be waiting for Karen and Hikari on the stage. Maya also says she will be waiting on the stage. Karen finally reaches the entrance to the theater, the other girls sit at the bottom of the stairs to see her off. They will all be waiting on the stage for her and Hikari. Karen goes inside, and the door shuts behind her.

Zettai. Unmei. Mokushioku.

No background music plays as Karen enters the stage, it's dark and it looks like the water is gone. And for the very first time, Giraffe isn’t present at all. There's only a small section of the Star Tower here. Something is wrong. Suddenly we hear a cell phone ring, Hikari’s phone sits on position zero plugged into an electrical socket. All the messages Karen sent to Hikari start flooding in. Karen runs over and picks up the phone, the phone turns into a ticket. A ticket for a show. She looks up and the Star Tower section now has an opening, Karen announces her name and class and walks towards the opening into the unknown. The credits now play.

But. There’s a post credit scene, Hikari is naked in a pink sandy wasteland. Her cape is stuck on the branch of a brush and the tiara lies in the sand. The Tokyo Tower lays on its side in the sand a little bit aways. Hikari says she remembers her promise with Karen. The episode ends here.

I’m sure she’s fine. This is fine.

>How to save your girlfriend from a pink hellscape: Discussion edition!

-Well well everybody we got ourselves a nice set up episode! I suspected that it would be a set up one. Also every passing episode, my fear of the stage grows. Hahaha. Ha.

-I fucking told y’all it's ALL the girls who lose get their starlight taken and not just second place! Not like that was hard to fucking know like, sorry I just saw folks going “only 2nd place loses their starlight” and I got annoyed. Good to have verbal confirmation man.

-So! 7 months have passed in universe, it's December now. Likely close to Christmas or New Years. SAVE HIKARI FOR CHRISTMAS KAREN!

-Hikari is pretty much just gone. Her paper says she transferred but all her shit is still at the dorm and her phone was disconnected. The paper was marked with a giraffe symbol which means the school is for sure in on it. So “SHE SENT ALL THE PROPER PAPERS IN” MY ASS. Like, god. Fuck, poor Hikari. ;;

--Also gotta take an aside to say everyone who called Hikari a snake or anything of that nature post episode 10 fuckin take that shit back cause she saved our girls! Hikari is good.

-While I figured that the school was in on this shit, I gotta rant angrily about them. I know they fictional but it always gets my goat (fictional or irl) when adults who are supposed to look after kids don’t do so and even worse when they let something like a severe depression causer creature even near these kids. So here I go! Fuck you Seisho Academy! You irresponsible selfish assholes, how dare you let this stage creature come here and feed off of your students. The fuck is wrong with you?! And then you lose track of a kid?! Really?! Also how is letting eight girls get depression gonna fucking help ya?! Like oh shit you just lost eight students good fucking job. What the fuck. I’m gonna go fight ya, meet me in the fucking pit.

-Even though Karen’s starlight wasn’t taken, the stage ended up taking what was most important to Karen anyways. It was Hikari, without Hikari’s existence she can’t muster up passion for performing on the stage anymore. Karen’s emotional breakdown was heartbreaking good god. Thankfully she bounced back!

-The other girls know the truth about the stage now, and realized that Hikari pretty much saved all of them from losing their starlight. This isn’t how I thought the girls finding out the truth would go but this reveal worked really well. Like, they heard the fucking giraffe talk about fuel and shit so when Karen realized what happened to Hikari they put two and two together. Also, looks like I was right about why Maya reacted to Hikari the way she did in episode one! Yeehaw.

-Turns out after Flora was zapped to the ground, Claire became trapped in the tower for her sins. Called it! Yes! I think it’s interesting that to find the truth we have to go back to the plays roots. Going back to your roots to rediscover your passion is something that’s happened a lot in the show. I like this theme.

-Well would you look at that, Karen’s princely vibe is coming into play! Hikari is a princess now like, she’s literally locked in a tower. And if Giraffe is a Kirin there’s even a dragon to fight! Fairy tale imagery is fun. Also oh man if Karen like gives her cape to Hikari I’m gonna cry.

--Also also, hey rev star. We got lots of girls dipping each other and that’s great but please, we need to see a bridal carry DO IT! The perfect opportunity is right here! Right now! Karen can do it! It happened in Hikari’s dream in the prequel manga Overture! Make Hikari’s dream come true DO IT!

-The lack of music when Karen walks into the stage is creepy as fuck. Makes the phone sounds all the more startling. Also the entire stage was much creepier than usual and that’s saying something! The lights in the audience were off, a good chunk of the tower was gone, and Giraffe wasn’t there at all. This, is alarming to say the least. Even more alarming, the stage is still fucking here. It hasn’t moved to a new location, why? Was it...waiting? Waiting on Karen to come and continue the tragedy? Jesus christ, this stage man. ono

-Hikari’s phone turns into a ticket and I. Fuck. That was fuckin wild. Really good editing in this show oh man.

-Hey guess what? CROWN SOUNDS ARE HERE AGAIN. 20 seconds in, fuck. I don’t really have time to snag a audio clip for it but, just letting you know it's fucking back and still fucking scary.

-I loved how Junna’s stair moment was her going “we’re sinners now? Ok, I’m still grabbing that star though! You can’t stop me!” God I love her, Jun Jun is great!

-Small detail but I wanted to mention it anyways but during the whole episode we never see Maya and Claudine too far from each other, always together. Even during the staircase part, Claudine was only a few steps away from Maya. Like quite a difference to see that right? They meant it when they said they’ll always stay together in the previous episode. It’s a cute detail and its nice to see their relationship going so well! I love them.

-So I wrote about the stage and its favoritism towards certain Stage Girls but it got really fucking long so it will be its own post one day!

-I love the Evangelion like imagery at the end there, this shit is gonna get surreal and I am ready!

-I wish all the Stage Girls were going on this rescue mission but oh well. The scene with Karen going down the staircase was so nice and sweet and I loved seeing all her friends support her! But, this part also felt like a goodbye. Like Karen isn’t coming back...hope I’m wrong.

-Each girl that walked down with Karen was in the same order as their duels. With Junna going first and Maya going last, nice touch!

-An Interlude is a musical piece played between acts of a stage production. So, does this mean we going to act 2 now? Possible season 2? Hope so!

>This speculation was brought to you by: Put that stage back where it came from or so help me!

-I wrote theory about why I think the stage is from the planet Venus! Check it out!

-Since Hikari lost her clothes cause she’s in the tower. This might mean that this shot from the opening is telling us that Karen will end up staying with her in there. They will then, literally become starlight. Just like Karen says in her audition speech. If this is the case then that could leave this show open for a season 2. That would be kinda sad tho, but it seems foreshadowed hm. The other options I’m thinking is that they both get out just fine or only one of them gets out. Or maybe they just, end up on fucking Venus and it’s like oh shit we gotta get back to earth. That option is a bit out there yes but hey, you never know!

-I’ve been shouting about the Starlight Gatherer for awhile now. We still don’t know who it is, I’m banking on Giraffe still! Or maybe the stage itself? Gdi I’m just gonna wait and see at this point, I don’t have any new theories here. Heres a good video about the Starlight Gatherer if you want some more speculation! Oh! And, let me just. Drop the little poem we saw about it right here:

Starlight Gathering is Forgiveness of Sins

Starlight Gathering is a Wonder of Night

Starlight, The Shining of Hope

Your Shines are the Starlight

The Starlight Gatherer

Gives The Beast from Over the Garden Wall vibes here...I don’t like it. ono

-I’ve pointed this out before but I’ll say it again. In her stage outfit, Hikari gets a crown of stars around her head. In artwork often the divine or saints get a circle of stars as a crown like that, these are known as Crowns of Immortality. I have been wondering how this related to Hikari, but I think I know now. Martyrs can also get crowns like that in artwork, and Hikari just martyred herself to save everyone's starlight.

>All good plays must come to an end.

I, can’t believe we’re near the end. Where does the time go? But wow, I love this anime! My gut feeling was right! Am I ready for the end? No. But it will come either way, let's enjoy while it's here my dudes! That’s how shit like this rolls, burns brightly but it doesn’t last forever so we should enjoy it while its here.

See you on the final stage for episode 12!

#revue starlight #shoujo kageki revue starlight #moo watches revue starlight #whew yeehawwww #near the end y'all! I'm not ready

[thatbluegibson]

CH 74

By the time Taylor caught up with Dave, he had already downed three shots of whiskey and was impatiently waiting for a fourth.

Taylor leaned an elbow against the bartop next to him, "You know you're way in the wrong here, dude."

Dave straightened his spine and glared at his friend, then swiped his freshly poured shot and threw it back. "I should have fucking known you'd side with her," he muttered, throwing his shoulder into Taylor's when he stalked past him.

Taylor sighed and shook his head at the bartender, effectively cutting Dave off. He ordered a couple tall glasses of water and watched Dave stomp away, knowing things were bad when even the drunkest of fans recognized the look on Dave's face and shied away instead of asking for a photo.

"Go ahead," Taylor sighed and folded into a wooden chair at the tiny table he found Dave at. "Get it all out."

Dave straightened up in his chair and held his hand in front of his face, resting his elbow on the table top as he counted off on his fingers. "One, she has a fucking busted head and shouldn't be alone. Two, I have that big ass empty house where it's just me and occasionally the girls, who are fucking dying to meet her and she still fucking insists on some shitty rental out on the coast. It's like an hour's drive from me!"

Taylor listened carefully, watching the crowd milling around the other side of their table.

"Three during rush hour," Dave added miserably and it took everything Taylor had in him not to laugh. He looked like a petulant child that was told he didn't have enough tickets at the prize counter.  

"All right, ready?" Taylor shifted to look him in the eye. "Put your goddamn fingers back up cause I'm addressing every single one of your complaints."

Dave shot him a glare out of the corner of his eye. "Fuck you," he muttered into his water glass.

Taylor ignored him and held his own fingers up, unable to hide his smirk. "One, her head is fine. She couldn't have fixed up that house with her head caved in and you fucking know it. Two, and this one is multidimensional so pay attention. Yes, you're alone in that big ass house, but your loneliness doesn't mean she needs to uproot herself and her kids just to make you feel better. Do you honestly expect her to meet the girls when she's knee deep in packing peanuts? 'Hi, I'm Liz, I'm moving into your Daddy's room because I'm your new Mommy!'"

Dave practically lunged at Taylor, "Fuck you, Hawkins. You know that's not-"

"Phee is going to see it that way, dude. She's three." Dave's silence was the only answer Taylor needed. "Jesus, Disco. Give the poor girl some space. Meet her family, get to know her better, let things happen naturally. You do this every time."

"I do not."

"No? You don't find some amazing woman and spend every waking moment aggressively wooing her until you're latched on like a goddamn barnacle? You rush into things because you think she'll find something better before you can get your hooks in. There's more than just your feelings in play this time, man. You have to consider the kids and above all, her."

Dave crossed his arms in a huff, letting Taylor know that everything he had said was accurate. "Just a couple months ago you were begging me not to see her."

Taylor snorted into his glass. "Say that again, but slowly."

Just a couple months. Fuck.

*

"David!" Paul's cheerful voice called through the phone after several rings. "I have a feeling I know why you rang..."

"Hi, you wouldn't happen to have my girlfriend, would you?" Dave moved his coffee mug off of the note Liz had left him and re-read her handwriting. By the time he had woken up that morning, Liz was gone and a note stating she was at Abbey Road with Paul lay in her place on the pillow. The rest of the night before had been tense, but civil for the sake of the cameras that had discovered their presence on the streets of London, though she did burrow her way into his arms when she finally came to bed. It felt as if they were at an impasse and all he wanted was to get back to normal.

Paul hummed a little then said, "Oh, I think I've seen her skipping about. Would you like to come down and look for yourself?"

Fifteen minutes later, Dave slipped through the side door at Abbey Road Studios, successfully avoiding the crowds of tourists trying to get their own photo out on the zebra crossing or in front of the graffiti wall. The heavy quiet of several insulated studio walls greeted him in the lobby and he tossed back the hood on his sweatshirt to nod at the woman sitting in reception. She smiled and tipped her head to the door behind her, wordlessly giving him access to the depths of the historic studios. Dave wondered if he would ever get used to his face being its own ID badge, especially on such hallowed grounds as these. He moved quickly down the long hallway, peeking into tiny windows set into doors and avoiding rooms with the ominous 'in session' red light shining above the room plaques.

Abbey Road held six studios all ranging from the largest purpose-built recording room in the world down to what was known as 'The Front Room' where only a couple musicians could comfortably fit into the booth. Just as Dave was looking over the schedule posted outside of Studio Three, the door opened slightly and Paul appeared to wave him in.

The control room was dark, lit only by the 96 channel console and a dim lamp on an end table while a piano played through the desk. Paul dropped into a chair at the console and pressed his fingertips together in front of his lips, nodding out into the studio to indicate Dave should take a look.

The studio was dark and looked significantly smaller than he remembered now that the acoustic screens were pulled into position around the ebony grand piano Liz was playing. A single light on top of the piano was aimed at her hands on the keys and her back was to him as her right foot kept silent time against the Persian rug beneath her. Headphones were perched on her head, skewed slightly so she could hear herself play in real time and in playback and Dave could just hear her voice singing softly along.

"Damnit," she said loud enough for the mics to pick up and turned her head to the side. "Once more?"

Paul leaned over the desk and pressed the intercom button. "As many as you like, love. I'll just leave it running."

She didn't wait before starting from the beginning and Dave slowly sat in an empty chair. He had never heard her play the piano, though she looked perfectly at ease like she was playing in her own living room.

"She's a bit distracted this morning," Paul said softly.

"Yeah, that's probably my fault," Dave admitted.

"Hmmm...," Paul thought about what to say before leaning back in his chair. "You know, the very second I laid eyes on Elizabeth I thought she was a long lost daughter of Linda's. Or, if I had really believed all that reincarnation rubbish the Yogi threw at us, that she is Linda."

Dave looked over at him not sure what to say, Paul seldom brought Linda up and he sensed it was because it still hurt too much. "Really?"

Paul nodded, his eyes still fixed on Liz's back. "My girl was this vast ocean of talent that took years to get to the bottom of...," he paused for a moment, deep in thought. "Sometimes I think maybe I never made it to the bottom. She had so much more in her... And I always hated that, yeah? She was something in her own right and then here I come to make her just Mrs. Paul McCartney. Didn't seem very fair for her to lose all the recognition from her art just because she fell for a bloke like me."  

Dave looked back at Liz, watching her sway in time to the music. He hadn't thought of it like that before. She had worked so hard to get where she was and now that she was quitting, what did that make her? His girlfriend. Just a rock star's girlfriend.

A sour note rang across the board and Liz pressed her fingers into the keys in frustration, then hung her head. Paul chuckled a little, "If only she were blonde, it would feel just like fifty years ago in this same bloody studio. You don't get a song like 'Maybe I'm Amazed' with just any woman, now do you?"

Liz got up to stretch her arms and Paul followed her cue by standing from his chair. "I'll go find us some tea, then," he muttered, then left the control room, whistling as he walked.

"You're here!" Liz popped her head in the control room and smiled at Dave. "Sorry you had to suffer through that."

"I loved it," he offered. "Like a jazzy disco-era Stones." He watched her move across the room in her leggings and loose shirt and shifted a little in his chair. He couldn't stay too mad when she looked like that.

"Oooo, Disco Angie! You should rock opera that," she laughed and flopped into Paul's empty chair, hit the playback and spun the chair to face him. "Did dear old dad give you a talking to as well?"

Dave pulled his hat low on his forehead and grinned. "Yep."

"Was it about the domestic bliss that awaits us if I could just quit being so goddamn stubborn?"

He laughed and leaned his elbows onto the board, wishing he had some coffee, "No, mine was more of a reminder that you're pretty kick ass with or without me, so I need to get my shit together if I want you to stick around."

She smiled and tucked her bare feet under herself, "I got the lease on the house in Malibu knocked down to three months."

His heart skipped a little at her words. She had shortened her lease to meet him halfway and he immediately began to think of a way to return the favor. "So we'll come to blows again in three months?"

She smiled and turned back to the board. "It's a date."

#ThatBlueGibson

[asmzine]

  Everything New Is Old Again….

When the announcement was made that IDW was going to end their run of Transformers comics, there was a very loud reaction from the fans.  When James Roberts posted his last soundtrack listing, people were saddened.  Even before the final page was read, tributes came flooding in from huge numbers of readers.

I was not one of them.

Don’t get me wrong. I have nothing against IDW’s the content or quality of the stories spanning over a decade. Nothing against Roberts or Barber or anyone who put fingers to keyboard. Nothing against the artists or letterers or colorists or editors. 

I just have something against the quantity of the comics.

You see, I read all of IDW for years. I even started reading More Than Meets The Eye and Robots in Disguise when they first were published.  I remember reading about Brainstorm and Rewind. But soon I got behind. First it was a month on one comic. Then it was both. Then it was two months. And it snowballed from there. Back around the start of MTMTE Season 2, I started rereading. I got through the mid 30’s. Then I stopped, never to get caught up.

When MTMTE ended and The Lost Light began, I tried jumping on. But there was just too much backstory for me to ignore and I couldn’t get interested in what was not an easy starting point for me.

All this preamble is to say that while many were against the story ending, I relished it simply because it meant I could maybe start reading a Transformers comic again, jump in at the beginning all fresh. I say this not to anger fans of the old story but rather to offer an explanation for why the end of the previous continuity didn’t bother me.  I do hope that one day I’ll be able to revisit those stories and go for the same ride so many of you went on (and surprisingly, I know little about what happened after The Lost Light #1, so I will still be surprised by the big twists and turns).

Okay, this is getting a bit wordy, and I haven’t even gotten to the comic yet.  Been a while since I’ve done this; still getting my sea legs, as it were.  Let’s get to it.

TRANSFORMERS #1 – “The World In Your Eyes” Part 1 Release: March 13, 2019 Writer: Brian Ruckley Art: Angel Hernandez, Cachet Whitman Colors by: Joana LaFuente Letters: Tom B. Long Editors: David Mariotte, Tom WaltzRecommended? You bet. Slow start, some elements seem familiar, but definitely some new additions to the mythos.

Image courtesy IDW Publishing

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Preview pages courtesy IDW Publishing

–SPOILERS AHEAD–

Our new story begins millions of years ago, before the Transformers came to earth, before the war began, before Orion Pax became Optimus Prime, before he and Megatron became enemies. We’ve seen stories set in this era before, we’ve seen what happened between Orion and Megatron several times. I’ll admit, seeing yet again another Transformers Origin Story (TM) does make me a bit hesitant.  After seeing so many variations on the same tune, I kind of just want to hear a new song. Spider-Man: Homecoming didn’t fall into this trap; it said “Look. We know you know. We won’t bore you with seeing it again. Let’s just jump ahead a bit.”

However, this story does start fresh through the eyes of a fresh, newly forged Transformer named Rubble.  Through his optics, we are able to be introduced to the Transformers mythos once again.  It’s a good way to start a new continuity, actually.

Rubble is taking in all of Cybertron, trying to learn as much as he can, while Bumblebee, his mentor, is trying to keep him on the path towards Brainstorm, where Rubble will learn Energon Engineering.  Rubble, being so young and energetic, wants to explore everything, but his curiosity ends up with him meeting some Voin scavengers.  These are new to me, as well, Rubble, so I appreciate the opportunity to get to know them.

Well, we would get to know them if Windblade hadn’t shown up and scared them off.  She, part of Security Operations, is also on her way to meet Brainstorm, who radioed her about some anomalies in some monitoring equipment, possibly sabotage.  “The Rise?” Bumblebee asks.  Ah, it’s another clue about what the factions on this version of Cybertron are like. 

Meanwhile, in a more civilized area of Cybertron, the Ascenticons (oooo, pre-Decepticon faction name!) are marching towards Tarn in Targamax’s name (who?), and Orion is nervous.  Ironhide informs him his guest, Megatron, is here, and he’s not in a great mood.  He wants Megatron to postpone his rally or speech, as previous get-togethers have left Transformers injured. Orion just wants to know how much security will be needed.

Megatron chafes at the idea of standing down.  He passive-aggressively accuses Orion of suppressing his freedom to speak, as he feels he needs to present changes to benefit all of Cybertron (and maybe his Ascenticons specifically?).  Orion appeals to their previous friendship, one that was forged perhaps because they were created within a cycle of each other, but Megatron has a higher purpose, and Orion will not get in his way.

That could have gone better.

Focus shifts back to Rubble, Bumblebee, and Windblade, who have a hearty philosophical discussion about why exploration of the planet — and of Rubble himself — is good, as it will allow the new Transformer to discover his role in life.  Bumblebee muses that roles can even change over time, so even if he fits into one area now, Rubble could conceivably do something else later.

Titan alert! Rubble spots a moving star above, but Windblade informs him that it’s a sleeping Titan, a starship who floats in orbit as part of planetry defense.  You know that will come into play at some point.

Finally, much to Bumblebee’s satisfaction, they arrive at Brainstorm’s lab… and something isn’t right.  Bee and Windblade go off to investigate, and leaving Rubble alone, he hears a faint noise.  Thinking it might be Brainstorm, he decides to check it out.

It’s Brainstorm, all right.  He’s… been better.  But I don’t think he’ll get better.

And that’s where this first part ends.

So!  What did I think?  Well, it’s got enough new mythos in it that I’m intrigued.  As I said above, seeing Orion and Megatron’s split might not be the most interesting thing to me now, as I’ve seen that before.  But having the Decepticons be called “Ascenticons” is a new twist that I enjoy.  Outside of politics, there’s also enough new ideas — the Voin, the Rise, and just what the heck happened to Brainstorm?  And who the heck is Tergamax?  It’s a good debut — it may not knock your socks off, but it makes you want to come back in two weeks.

I’ll be waiting.

Comic Review: Transformers (2019) #1 Everything New Is Old Again.... When the announcement was made that IDW was going to end their run of… 1,146 more words

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