#Get high on life

[poorlytunedukulele]

Day 10 - Dream

You are here.  After so long, you are finally here.  You have followed the song of this star from light-centuries away- a song of potential.  A song sung not in certainty, but in expectation.  Of want.  You are as a moth drawn to the burning flame of hope.  There is meaning here.

There is meaning everywhere, if you look for it.  Countless eons you have passed in company, by rocky planets and wave-churned fundaments, in the thick soup of gas giants, on fragile web-filaments strung between asteroids.  You have known a hundred trillion faces.  You have seen so much that nothing could be unusual to you anymore.

It can still be new.  Even this plain star, this system so rote- even this is still new.  The differences may be infinitesimal on a universal scale, but they are still differences, and their effects echo long and far.  The voices on the wind are those of strangers.

-

Her arms are on fire.  They itch.  The Shard before her ripples with iridescent sparks.  There is too much Light- she can see the bones of her hands through the flesh.  It crashes over her again like a wave, like a landslide-

-

Ground shifts.  Seas boil up into existence.  A thousand small tragedies occur- a rock, once sat in the light of the sun, buried.  New plants, just testing the soil with their roots, drowned in a flood.  Things are changed, irrevocably, taken from their set destinies by your gardening.  Your touch breaks, damages, alters, but as things heal, they heal better.  After the flood, stronger plants grow.  Fish swim.  The planet goes from sun-burned rock and icy dust to a garden.  It blooms.

-

Her heart pounds heavy in her chest.  There is air in her lungs, but it’s too much.  Goosebumps tear over her skin like fire on an oil slick.  Her senses are fully haywire- she smells the lights of her HUD like mango and lime, and the heaviness of the water around her is a ringing in her ears.

Abort, abort, Spark thinks.  It’s the only coherent thought in Azra’s head.  She pushes off from the Shard-

-

You cast the shards away.  You have broken yourself to do this.  Broken yourself in a million ways.  In this breaking, there is despair; that you, as you are now, are not strong enough.  You could never be strong enough.  You are subtlety, quiet voices in large crowds, a child’s wonder, forgiveness.  Your foe is sharp knives and finality and death and death and death.  It would cut you to the marrow.  Drink your soul.  Twist you until you are something you are not.

But in this breaking, there is hope.  Hope that you can heal.  That you can be better.  That this sacrifice will mean something.  That your bet will pay off.  It is an impossible hope, that you could ever beat this foe.  You hope anyway.

The breaking is a promise.  It is a terraforming of yourself.  Every piece you shed is a whisper, still yours in intent and power, but now separate, forever changed.  The splinters crash into mountains and splash down into seas, causing earthquakes and sending up gouts of superheated steam.  They drift on breezes.  They think, with the ponderous slowness of glaciers, in the quick leaps of electrons across the void.  A million sparks of yourself pull themselves together, a million notes of respect and wonder and hope and yearning.  They are the Ghosts of all of your plans, phantoms of the future.

-

She’s underwater.  That’s all she can process at first.  She’s underwater and there is an arm around her chest, tugging at her.  Pulling her up?  Dragging her down?  She has no sense of direction until her head breaks the surface.  Azra gasps desperately, on instinct, but she’s fine.  She’s wearing a helmet, and her rebreather is constantly cycling cool, fresh air against her face.  She can’t drown.

She gasps anyway.  All of her nerves feel lit and over-sensitive.  She tries to kick her legs but the muscles just spasm randomly.  Her body doesn’t feel real.

“Hang on, I gotcha,” Shiro grunts from behind her.  That’s Shiro’s arm, then, pulling her.  He shifts his grip and begins towing her back to the cliff with powerful strokes.  Azra lets herself go limp, trying to just keep her wits, remember where she is.

The cliff, the Shard.  Answers.  They were looking for answers.  About how she’d regained her Light during the Red War.  Why her.  What this piece of the Traveler, having sat on the ocean floor for centuries, had to say.  She wanted to try to commune with it again.  Lucky she’d brought Shiro along- she’d have drifted in the ocean for a while waiting for her muscles to learn to obey her again.

At the rock face, she grips the wall with all of her might and lets her helmet rest against the stone.  The sense of itchy wrongness is fading, but she has no strength.

“Here,” Shiro says.  He’s right next to her, still, and without another word he rearranges the pair of them- Azra clinging piggyback, Shiro hanging on the sheer wall.  He takes a few deep breaths and then smoothly, confidently, starts hauling them both up the rock.

It’s not a show of strength, exactly- Shiro is an Exo, so his frame is perfectly capable of supporting both of their weights.  Even with her gear, Azra’s only adding maybe a hundred kilograms.  But even if it’s not an unusual amount of strength, it is an impressive display of balance and coordination.  Rock climbing is tricky enough without extra weight disrupting your balance.  And Shiro’s finger-joints aren’t flexible enough to conform to holds like Azra’s are, his hands too rigid to cram into cracks effectively.

Azra will have to take time to admire the skill later.  It’s taking all her effort just to remember how to breathe and hold on at the same time. 

Shiro heaves them over the edge and lets Azra down on solid ground.  “Spark?” he asks, already turning to dive back in for the Ghost.

“He’s alright,” Azra answers.  Spark had stayed out of realspace, so he hadn’t been incapacitated like Azra had been.  Shiro steps away from the drop, back towards the boulder where they’d left a pile of their things.  A second later and he’s back with Azra’s boots- which he sets within arm’s reach- and her cloak, which he wraps around her shoulders.

Azra clings to the fabric.  It’s grounding.  Reassuringly familiar.  Shiro, too, is familiar.  He sits down next to her and she leans on him automatically.

“Take your helmet off first,” Shiro orders.  Azra fumbles for her latches.  Spark whisks it away as soon as she gets it off her head.  Almost immediately she misses the cool breeze of her respirator- the air is warm and humid and full of the smell of ocean brine.  The sun’s bright, too, making her squint.  But at least now she can rest her head on Shiro’s stable shoulder.

They sit in quiet for a couple of minutes.  Azra’s nerves slowly calm from that raw dazzling fire to a more stable buzz.  She could have just chugged an energy drink.

“Any useful nuggets?” Shiro asks.

But Azra shakes her head mutely.  It’s far too jumbled, too alien, to make any sense of.

Shiro sighs.  “Let’s not do that again.  I don’t like having to haul your catatonic ass out of the ocean more than I have to.”

Azra nods into his shoulder.  She knows he’s burning with curiosity.  She’s grateful he’s not pushing the issue.  She doesn’t know if she could sort out the dreams into words right now.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Azra murmurs.

“Always,” Shiro replies.

AO3 Linky!

[pencilscratchins]

atla renaissance pt 3 calls to me like a siren

[theladystrikesagain]

how does a show released in 2024 fail harder in showcasing fully rounded female characters with flaws and strengths and rich personalities than a cartoon from the 2000s. why has television & film legitimately regressed across the years when it comes to showing women as human beings lmao

[karda]

gotta spell it out for him

[izze-art]

med school may be difficult but at least katara has a philosophy ta to rant about the healthcare system to (bonus part is that he’s madly in love with her)

[multiversal-pudding]

A fun Danny Phantom idea:

One of those “mediums tormented by the fact they can’t turn Off the ability to see ghosts” types moves to Amity, and for the most part, it’s great! Like yeah maybe there’s still ghosts everywhere, but now they can react normally, because finally for once in their life everyone else sees the ghosts too. Granted, judging from what everyone else says it sounds like they’re seeing significantly tamer humanoid proper-manifestations than the near-incomprehensible masses of emotion, spectral energy, and whatever that particular spirit’s associated with they’re used to seeing, but eh- between how jaded they are to seeing stuff like that after all these years and the fact that in practice the response of “GTFO” tends to be applicable regardless of whether you’re dealing with a poltergheist in overalls who likes hucking boxes at people, a giant robot guy who’s yelling about world domination, or reality breaking fever dream vomit, it’s not too big a deal

…There’s just ooooone little problem

Which is that when people look at the Fenton’s youngest kid and when people see local town hero/cryptid The Phantom, clearly everyone ELSE is seeing two different people/entities, but in their case, all they see is the same wild plasma-lightning living tear in reality either way, and they’re afraid if they mix the two “identities” up they’re either A) gonna fuck up some poor kid’s life/put him and those around him in danger, B) piss off a very powerful spirit whose repeatedly proven why that’s a very bad idea, or C) both-

(Bonus points if it’s some completely mundane guy like Ted the Bus Driver/ the county deputy in training/ some poor janitor who’d be reasonably expected to come in contact with either one fairly frequently-)

[theredemption0412]

[thelesbianluthor]

I know some people think that Emily's desire to play another character instead of Fig was the reason why she was so all over the place and lost, especially in the first half of JY.

But I honestly feel like her arc was actually incredibly needed and necessary to close her character evolution in a satisfying way. (While still leaving open doors for possible future plots with the Dawn and Sandra Lynn stuff)

Fig has been struggling to find herself since the first moment. She has had to come to terms with being a completely different race than what she thought before and deal with all the consequences of that. She had to grow out of the toxic habits that were born out of her deeply rooted insecurities that finding out about her identity and lineage caused. She had to learn to be kinder to herself. I love sophomore year, it's my favorite season for so many reasons, but I feel like Fig's arc in JY was actually her best one.

Fig being so lonely at the start of the show and her innate devotion made her becoming so focused on holding others' needs over her own an inevitability. She was always aimlessly moving through life, so talented and gifted in many ways but with no real purpose outside of being the protector.

The way JY explored her struggles with introspection and her need to devote herself to others to such an extent that she ignored a curse on herself for far too long was beautiful.

Finding Ankarna, becoming a paladin of dawn and justice and coming to a point where she could let herself choose what felt right instead of what her friends needed was incredible to watch.

I feel like Junior Year gets a lot of criticism because the overall vibe from the IH was lighter and they were having a lot of fun throughout, but the story of the season was actually beautiful to me and the overall character work was so interesting.

[kuroshitsuji-wiki]

It's Yana Toboso's birthday! (January 24, 1984)

Yana forgot her birthday this year...

... so there's even more reason to congratulate her and celebrate!

Some trivia:

She chose her penname "Yana Toboso" to indicate what kind of manga she wanted to create: Because there are so many mangas whose central themes are dreams, hope, friendship, and love, she wanted to make a manga whose focus is the opposite. "Yana" derives from "iya" (unpleasant, detestable, disagreeable; here: unpleasant/nasty child), and "toboso" is meant to signify importance: a "toboso" is a cavity in the frame of a door used as part of a pivot hinge; as doors wouldn't work without hinges, hinges are important objects. "Yana Toboso," therefore, is meant to mean "the hated/bad child is in the middle" (憎まれっ子がど真ん中にく る). (Character Guide, page 146)

Yana once stated that Ciel resembles her the most out of her characters. (Character Guide, page 147)

*cough* Obviously.

Exhibit A:

(Downstairs with Kuroshitsuji VII, from Volume 17)

(Chapter 76)

Exhibit B: The iconic Pancake Saga from 2018!

Yana's grandmother encouraged her to become a mangaka, and her mother pushed her to submit her work to a publisher when she was 20. Both have since passed away. (sources: akumadeenglish, The Japan Times)

She is a fan of the band L'Arc-en-Ciel (source). HYDE, the vocalist of that band, wrote the opening for Season 5. Yana was obviously very happy about that!

Yana contemplated making "fluffy spin-offs" to Kuroshitsuji, e.g., "a gourmet manga featuring the canteen of the Shinigami dispatch association HQ, or a manga where the Indian butler cooks curry or the black butler makes sweets, or where the servants make small discoveries." However, she dropped those ideas because her "fluffy concepts" kept becoming ominous after a few chapters. (source)

Kuroshitsuji was not meant to be set in 19th-century England from the beginning. Mr. K and the chief editor eventually suggested England as the setting. Yana, who did not know much about England (and could not find many materials early on; source: Downstairs with Kuroshitsuji II in Volume 2), especially not about 19th-century England, and did not believe the manga would be a hit anyway, then cooked up the wonderfully anachronistic Volume 1. Since then, Yana has become more knowledgeable about Victorian England, got a historical advisor (Rico Murakami) who also, sometimes, translates sources for her (source: Downstairs with Kuroshitsuji Special in Volume 15), has been (re-)learning English, and visited England twice. The manga has, thus, become significantly more historically accurate over the years. Still, as it's a fantasy manga, Yana likes to incorporate anachronistic elements for story purposes (e.g. Grim Reaper tech and possessions, Wolfsschlucht) anyway (or simply because she wants to; e.g. the idol groups, I suppose). Anachronisms have, thus, shifted from accidental to deliberate.

Sebastian's mobile phone will be forever iconic, but it has been retconned for over a decade now.

And The Wild Earl lost more than his head was cancelled when all TVs were thrown out of the continuity with the end of the Indian Butler Arc (TVs are last mentioned in Chapter 23).

May we learn many Victorian things alongside Yana in the next years too!

(Downstairs with Kuroshitsuji II, Volume 2)

And may she have a happy, restful birthday so that she doesn't forget it again^^' (And the best of health^^)

[sp0o0kylights]

Steve Harrington was wearing a Hellfire t-shirt.

It was far too tight on him, the name of the club stretched wide over his chest. The sleeves dug into his biceps, making them pop even more than they usually did, and that was before he crossed his arms. 

Worse?

It was short.

Which meant the damn shirt was constantly riding up to give everyone a nice show of the smattering of hair that trailed down past the band of Harrington's jeans. 

The same hair that Eddie was determinedly not looking at. 

“Henderson, a moment?” He crooked a finger, a smile on his face that was more feral than welcoming. 

Rather than cower or even acknowledge that Eddie was two seconds away from murder, Dustin just gave him a gummy grin, all too pleased with himself and his scheme. 

“Sure Eddie. Steve, don't just stand there, go help set the booth up!” Dustin gestured to Hellfire’s sad little table, crammed all the way in the back of the gym. 

Jeff and Gareth both reacted to the suggestion like a rabid squirrel had been set upon them, nervously inching towards the other side of the booth as Harrington sighed and--shockingly--did as he was told.

‘What,’ Eddie thought angrily, ‘in the everloving fuck.’

“Do you guys mind if I set this down on the table?” Eddie heard Harrington ask as he stormed away, Dustin on his heel. 

They wandered just around the corner, out of sight and hopefully, out of the fallen king’s hearing range.

Eddie wasn't sure if Harrington would try and white knight the very much deserved dressing down he was about to give. 

Didn’t want to chance it, considering the downright weird relationship he had with Hellfire's freshmen.

(While he’d heard many a tale at his table regarding King Steve since the newest recruits had joined Hellfire, most of them dissolved into arguments without ever really going anywhere.

 Best anyone could figure out was that Dustin and Lucas had a bad case of hero worship, while Mike owned a begrudging amount of respect that hailed from a series of misadventures. 

The very same misadventures that, despite all protests to the contrary, was clearly some sort of babysitting gig for Harrington.) 

Either way, plenty of the King’s court would have loved to take this opportunity to fuck with Hellfire.

Given that Henderson was absolutely too old to require a babysitter at fourteen, Eddie would bet his lunch money that was what Steve was here to do.

Something the club couldn’t afford since they were forever and always two seconds away from being stripped of club status and banned from school grounds. 

“I would love to know what went through that all A’s brain of yours when I said,” Eddie whirled on Dustin when they were firmly in the clear, voice low and furious.  “no Henderson, do not invite King Steve to help, he is an invading force and would ruin our peaceful kingdom!?”

He clasped his hands behind his back before leaning into Dustin’s face. “Because clearly whatever you heard wasn’t that.” 

To Eddie’s continued frustration and confusion, Dustin did not treat this like the threat it was. 

None of the freshmen had ever truly treated Eddie like a threat--had somehow skipped that part of the usual onboarding ritual entirely.

Eddie, town freak and drug dealer, who had cultivated his looks and craziness to such a degree that most everyone steered clear, wasn’t used to it. 

Everyone had been afraid of him at some point in this shitty school. Jeff, Gareth, hell even half the staff--and that the dorky trio of fourteen year old's clearly thought this all was play-acting made his eye twitch.

Even if it was--maybe, sometimes--welcome. 

“I know what you said, but I’m telling you I’m right.” Dustin argued immediately, and oh God, he was using that tone again. 

A hand went up into the space between them and Eddie groaned aloud, knowing what was coming.

“First,” Dustin ticked a finger up, “Hellfire really needs the money. Even thirty dollars would get us new figures, but more than that, if we don’t fundraise, we can’t go to Gen Con!” 

Dustin's eyes bored into Eddie’s, full of fire and conviction

“Yes,” Eddie said through gritted teeth, “but--”

“Second!” Dustin cut him off, and God the little shit even threw him a look while he did it, like Eddie was the one being ridiculous here!

“We had to fight just to get our table! Principal Higgins was in algebra today practically begging the mathletes to show up, but then tried to tell us we couldn't be here? That’s messed up!” 

As if denying them a spot to fundraise was the worst thing that asshole had ever done.

Eddie sighed, breath blasting out of his mouth like a dragon’s. 

“Because people think we’re freaks and satanists, Henderson. You don’t typically invite freaks and satanists to the school’s annual Holiday Bazaar. Especially not when all the local moms are paying to hawk their bullshit crafts and tupperware!” 

It was more than that of course. The Hawkins High Holiday Bazaar was a tradition spanning several years now. Starting in the gym and spilling clear into the parking lot, everyone from local artists to even some local shops came to host a small table for the day, thus growing the event from a small school fundraiser to a Hawkins' “must-do.” 

Half the fucking town was here to sell, and the other half was here to shop, which meant Principle Higgins had wanted Hellfire banned from the fucking premise. 

Eddie had been forced to pull out one of his trump cards he’d been saving--blackmail on Higgins that related to the man’s not--so--legal addiction to Percocet that he relied on Reefer Rick for. 

(And bless Rick, that hadn’t been the only tidbit he’d shared with Eddie about Higgins. That information, however, Eddie needed just so the asshat wouldn’t give him the boot from school entirely.) 

The only reason Eddie had pulled it out to secure their rightful spot, was because of Gen Con. 

It was Hellfire's White Whale, their grand adventure, and this was going to be his year to take his friends on one last epic quest to make memories of a lifetime surrounded by people who understood them.

Come hell or high water, Eddie was going to Gen Con--but being able to fundraise by selling wares and baked goods at the stupid Holiday Bazaar would go a long way to help.

Even if he had to listen to the band repeatedly play ear-bleeding renditions of Christmas songs.

“All the clubs get to have a table, and we’re a club!” Dustin continued, like it was that simple. “But you know, I get it. We look scary.” 

He gestured down to his own Hellfire shirt, before gesturing towards Eddie’s entire outfit.

Like Eddie didn't know what he looked like, let alone that he'd made this outfit specifically to scare people away from him.

(And maybe add some rockstar flair to this dinky little hick town.)

“You know who doesn’t look scary?”

Dustin held out his hands and swiveled his body like he was presenting a prize instead of gesturing in the vague direction of; 

“Steve!”

Eddie’s left eye twitched.

‘You can't kill him, you need his character for the campaign.’ He told himself firmly, even if he envisioned strangling Dustin like a chicken.

Cartoon squawking and all. 

“The King isn’t going to help us fundraise, Dustin.” Eddie said, in an effort to break down why Harrington couldn't be here. “He's just going to cause us problems that we can’t afford to have.” 

So many problems, half of which Eddie couldn't think of because if he did, he'd start spiraling.

“Really? Because as you keep saying, Steve used to be the King. People love him, Eddie! Mom’s love him.”

Eddie had pulled himself back up to his proper height a while ago, and now rocked back on his heels while he ran a hand down his face.

There was no getting through to Henderson when he was like this. 

Not unless Eddie really lost it, and it was practically club lore that he only lost it when someone missed an important game. 

One cannot keep a herd of sheep if their flock is terrified of them, after all. 

(“Perhaps you’re just a giant fucking softie.” Tiff, one of Hellfire’s graduating members, told him once. “Honestly dude, I bet you throw up stuffing.”

“Shut up Tiffany, your choker is on backwards again.” He'd spat back, completely offended and not at all trying to distract from how true that was.) 

“We can’t be satanic if Steve’s the one selling cookies!” Dustin finished doggedly. 

“We’re not even selling cookies--that’s not the point!”” Eddie shook his head, hair flying. He was not going to be sidetracked, he wasn’t!

 “Harrington is going to end up siding with all the moms about how we’re all wasting time with D&D, if he even spends the whole time at the table. Is that what you want?” 

He stuck out a ringed finger, poking at Dustin’s chest.

“Every single person who comes by our table has to be convinced D&D is a writing and math based game. Good for the mind and souls of growing, impressionable children. A game that got a bad rep because of  a few silly images.” 

A pitch he and Tiff had come up with during the third or fourth time they had to convince an adult that no, just because their shirts had a dragon on it, didn’t mean they were summoning demons in the drama room. 

“Harrington can’t do that because Harrington doesn’t even know how to play!” 

This Eddie punctuated by throwing his hands in the air. 

Given the startled look of the mother-daughter duo passing him by, clearly was louder than he’d intended--but screw it!

He was right!

Hellfire was in a precarious position to both fundraise and do a little damage control among the slightly smarter members of this shithole small town, and Harrington rolling his eyes and gossiping about how stupid it was would hinder that.

“Okay, first of all, Steve’s played D&D with me and he didn’t even kill his character.” Dustin said it like he was unveiling a smoking gun and not lying through his ass--which Eddie would absolutely be calling him on the second he was done talking. 

Because King Steve? Play D&D?

'Ha!'

“And he’s not gonna say shit because we--me, and Lucas and even Mike!--asked him to help, and he helps when its serious. I know you have some weird grudge with him, but I’m telling you Eddie he’s our golden ticket to Gen Con!” 

“You’re killing me. You are standing here, acting as a friend, when you are bringing a-- a dark force into the midst our of mission--” Eddie hissed, because he was losing the fucking fight and he knew it.

Dustin Henderson was not a man easily swayed. 

Had never been, even when the odds were stacked against him (and Grant and Gareth were howling in his ear.) 

The set of his shoulders and the glint of the little shithead’s eye meant Eddie wouldn’t be able to use him to oust Harrington--if he even could get him out without the dick causing a massive scene anyway. 

As always when outgunned, Eddie flipped to dramatics.

“Betrayed! By my own chosen heir no less!” He moaned, pressing the back of his hand over his eyes as Dustin scoffed.

"Don’t be so dramatic! Steve will help, I promise! Just don’t be a dick to him.” 

 Conversation apparently over, Dustin turned around to head back to the table

Snidely, he added over his shoulder: “Plus we’ve all caught on to the heir thing Eddie. You tell everyone that so they do what you want.” 

The dick.

“You’re too fucking smart for your own good. I’m gonna start feeding you paint chips to bring that IQ down.” Eddie muttered angrily as Dustin went back to their little table.

He gave himself a moment to get his shit together and stomp a foot like a child when Dustin was around the corner and thus couldn’t witness it, before following his wayward sheep back.

Could only pray to any deity listening that Henderson’s meddling didn’t blow up in Hellfire’s face.

[undercoverangell]

ithaca saga is gonna be so good guys

[edwinisms]

george rexstrew deserves awards for many things but i have to say. edwin’s bloodcurdling scream as niko gets killed deserves a whole award unto itself. like. that scream did not feel at all like a tv show scream. to a somewhat jarring degree. and i can’t express how much I respect that

[bacchuschucklefuck]

space sweepers but they're delivery people and are at no point on screen through the entire movie

[luminiamore]

the lifestyle of a pretty rich hottie 🌷

(aka me)

“oh, it’s whatever i want?”

she’s a model, she’s spoiled, and she loves pink!

[s-aint-elmo]

girl who has suffered more than alll-mer

(ID in alt text)

[dreamsteddie]

Companion piece to my Stobin childhood friends au post because try as I might to resist it, the Steddie brain rot will take over.

Robin and Steve are thick as thieves from that first day of preschool onwards. Their matching friendship bracelets don't fit anymore but have found homes in their "secret friendship treasure chest" which is a shoe box covered in construction paper decorations that lives under Robin's bed so Steve's parents don't throw away any of his "trash" again. They've started a tradition of making a new one for each other at the start of every year so everyone remembers they're best friends, though.

Halfway through first grade (Robin got to start school a year early like the Buckleys hoped) things are going great for Robin. She gets to bring books home from the library and their teacher complimented her drawing of a robin and she helped Steve pass his spelling test last week, so as far as she's concerned this is the best year ever.

Right up until Eddie Munson transfers to their school.

At first, Robin doesn't know that Eddie will be her arch-nemesis. When he's introduced to the class, all she really thinks about him is that he looks a little funny but seems nice. He's got really big eyes and he's taller than most of the other kids with long, gangly limbs. His hair is shaved down to his head, but there are other boys in class who have the same cut. He gets placed at the table group to the left of them in the chair closest to Steve's.

She very quickly forgets about him as the day continues as normal. Robin thinks math block is boring, she'd much rather read her books or play with Steve at recess but her parents said knowing your shapes is important, so she pays extra special attention. That's why she doesn't catch the little wave Steve, ever the social butterfly, gives to the boy across the way or the way Eddie's eyes go even bigger and a soft blush steals across his cheeks.

What she does notice is when Eddie comes up to them in the last few precious minutes of recess slightly sweaty and out of breath holding a little white daisy.

"Hi! I'm Eddie, I'm new!" he says, shouts really, looking directly at Steve.

"Oh, hi Eddie! I'm Steve, this is my bestest friend, Robin." Steve replies.

"Like the bird?" Eddie asks.

"Yeah! They're orange."

"And I hate orange!" Robin buts in, not willing to be left out of the conversation

"Yeah, it's really sad. They should be blue, that's Robin's favorite color." Steve says, real disappointment creeping into his voice. "Who's that for?" he asks, pointing to the forgotten daisy.

"Oh! It's for you! I was out all recess looking for the best one in the field. They kind of match your shirt!' Eddie says proudly, referencing Steve's polo with the yellow body and white sleeves. It's one of his favorites.

"Really? That's so nice, thank you!" Steve exclaims as he takes the little flower into his hands.

Robin's mom says that sometimes when you want to be someone's friend, it's good to start by giving them something nice. Robin's mom says that she should try and make more friends, maybe some girls instead of just Steve, but when Robin tries to talk to the other girls in class, she gets nervous and clams up. She thinks she might be allergic to them. Plus, why would she need more friends when she has Steve, who is worth at least three normal friends.

Steve gets along with everyone, he lends people erasers and pencils and shares his blocks with the other kids when he's allowed to bring them out of his cubby, but no one is his best friend like Robin is.

No one has ever given Steve flowers before, though. That feels like an extra special kind of gift that someone would give if they wanted to be really good friends, and Robin doesn't want that. Steve is her best friend, he doesn't need another one.

"Steve, we gotta go get in line before all the other kids! We don't want to be last!" she blurts out, grabbing Steve by the hand and dragging him across the asphalt to where the teachers are getting ready to call everyone to get in line before Eddie can catch up.

Once they've got their places, she looks back at Steve behind her to see he's turned around. She peaks her head around him and sees him smiling wide at an equally smiley Eddie who's about 5 kids behind them, each of them waving happily at each other.

Oh yeah, Robin is going to have to keep an eye on him.