#also coloring this show is hard im sorry if it looks like shit

[gunsatthaphan]

"don't forget to wear them."

[princesssmars]

plsssss do something for michael munroe im so starved

i could change your mind

some college football player mike headcanons.

contains: fluff. some nsfw. american football gross. mike is cocky whats new. fem!reader. hair nor skin color described.

a/n: anon i lowkey miss him too so i'll do a few headcanons for you anon. sorry that my until dawn rewrite is like on hiatus I just feel like it's gonna be such a flop so my brain says it cant be bad if I don't write it ??? idk. ty for making me do this. set in college but i've decided to start a year late so if i get shit wrong sorry scholars. (heart fingers emoji I'm on desktop fml.)

idk why but the first thing that popped into my head was him loving a sport...like he gives smart but also dumbass jock to me we let's go with he did football in high school and he's at college on a scholarship.

if you're like me you don't give two shits about the sport you probably would not like twice in a football player's way, which he definitely sees as a challenge. he'll come up to you in the dining hall and try to hit on you in front of his jock friends, spouting a "whatever you say, sweetheart" when you reject him with a grimace.

to your surprise and horror he's in one of your advanced classes in your second semester, sitting with his feet up next to your seat with a smile when you walk in. you do call him troglodyte for having his shoes on the table but he says with an easy smile that he's in with the teacher who said it was alright.

great.

for the first three weeks, you try to ignore his questions and poking at all costs, but when you get paired up on an important assignment you decide to hold your disdain on pause. he invites you to "study in his dorm" which nearly gives you a migraine, until he chuckles and tells you he's joking, telling you you can meet at common ground and study in the library.

you hold your tongue instead of giving a quip about how he probably won't be able to keep his mouth shut, but once you actually get there you realize the worst thing ever: mike munroe isn't a moron. he's actually pretty smart, maybe nearly as smart as you, and shows pretty good leadership with how he takes in both your academic strengths and divides the workload based on them. its not hard to see why he's the quarterback.

after you get an a+ on your project, you start to warm up to mike. his stupid quips in class start to actually become funny, leading to numerous moments where he makes you snort in class and the professor rolls his eyes.

your friendship soon grows enough that mike has the confidence to invite you to one of his games while you're walking around campus, and if you start to say no he informs you that he will not hesitate to get on his knees and beg in front of everyone. that makes you feel a little weird so you groan and tell him fine.

the whole time you don't really know what's going on, even though ten minutes before he had to get ready he tried to cram all of the rules into your head. even though you don't know everything you can tell when something good happens, like when he makes the touchdown that wins your school the game. he celebrates with his team members and his crowd of fangirls before coming over to you, clearly waiting for you to say football is fun or something,

you don't. but the after-party definitely was. you don't know what that frat guy put in the punch but it was good, and had you nearly drunk in only two hours. nearly being a keyword, because someone who was past the point decided to do a childish game of seven minutes, and you decided to play along for fun.

but it wasn't so funny when they spun the bottle and it landed on you, then the next turn between two people to point towards the couch where mike was watching with his friends. they both burst out laughing at the horrified look on your face as you reluctantly follow him inside the closet.

for the first minute it's quiet, soft noises from the two of you adjusting your bodies in the quiet space and "sorry"'s when you bump into the other.

he takes your silence for uncomfortableness, telling you he's alright with just sitting with you. "one of my favorite things to do actually"

you don't really know why but you kiss him after that. when you pull away you can faintly see his blank face. great. you ruined everything. you're about to give some half-assed excuse before his hand is on the back of your neck and he's pulling you back into him and pressing your body into his.

things get weird after that night.

you're still friends after that night, of course. except now its...different.

you still have your movie nights laughing at people making dumb decisions in horror movies, except now you'll sometimes wind up on mike's lap with your tongue down his throat.

you still text each other stupid pictures you found on snapchat (he insists on using it, fuckboy he is. or used to be, weirdly). except now before you go to sleep he'll send you a picture of his bulge with a smiley face at the bottom. if you send a picture back he'll send a long voice message that you don't open for your own sanity.

but you aren't like. dating. and you don't know why in passing you hear his teammate nick call you "mike's girl". because you aren't. at all.

and plus its not like you've slept together or even gone on an actual date. you're just...closer than normal friends are.

and then he leaves the next december to spend a week with his old friends, and you kind of mope around campus while he's gone. he makes sure to text you constant updates until the night where he arrives at the cabin, where he leaves you delivered for two days. he did say his ex was going to be there, so that nagging voice in the back of your head is telling you the worse.

until you finally get the call from some random number in alberta. when you pick up after some initial confusion you hear mike on the other side.

"mike? what the actual hell? its been two days, thought you somehow managed to get lost in the snow."

he laughed on the other line, able to tell you're insult at his intelligence meant you cared. his voice sounds hoarse.

"yeah, yeah i know. i'm sorry. something came up and i...i've been stuck in this damn police station-"

"police station? jesus, how hard did you guys party."

he calls your name and it's serious. he only sounds like that when something important or bad has happened.

"mike? is everything ok?"

"no, no its not. josh is...he's gone. the cabins gone. we're all pretty messed up."

you don't give a response, waiting for him to elaborate if he wants to.

"i don't know what to say..i'm so sorry."

"it's alright. i'll explain more when i get back. i just wanted to hear your voice."

"now you're really scaring me."

he laughs again, the scratch of his voice returning.

"thank you."

"for what? constantly insulting you and bringing you back to reality?"

"for making me laugh. haven't done it in a while."

"yeah, well...i'll make sure your roommate hasn't completely trashed your dorm. and we can get some takeout. on me, because i'm polite."

"screw that, we're going on a date."

your heart skips.

"did you actually get a concussion because that's not funny."

"im serious. no more being a pussy. time to start getting serious. plus we're basically already dating, so."

"god, why does everyone keep saying that?"

"i'll see you soon."

the phone hangs up and you toss the phone to the side with a slight smile.

[ghost-proofbaby]

you showed me colors (eddie munson x fem!reader)

"YOU SHOWED ME COLORS YOU KNOW I CAN'T SEE WITH ANYONE ELSE."

summary: the soulmate au based on "illicit affairs" by taylor swift that almost no one asked for.

warnings: ANGST, HURT/NO COMFORT, MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, strategic use of pet names, allusions to sex but none described, reader is referred to as a girl a few times, no use of Y/N, canon compliant. not really edited (cause i'm not putting myself through this shit again).

wc: 15.1k+

a/n: im genuinely sorry for once. blame @abibliophobiaa and @breddiemunson for this. also, thank you @hellfire--cult for helping me with the header!!! please take all those warnings very seriously. please. (also shout out to ash who got her own divider sort of so she'd know when to stop reading because my baby doesn't like angst 😅)

The first thirteen years of your life, you only had second hand accounts to trust when it came to colors. 

The sky is blue, soft and dreamy, nearly translucent until grey wisps of clouds would overrun it on stormy days (although, the clouds, you could make out). Most grass is green, verdant and rich as it sprouts from the hard dirt. Even the yellowing strands are most likely gorgeous, a sign of life and death, a sign that someone once stood atop the green and held their ground. Roses come in a rainbow of shades, but everyone seems to adore the staunch red ones the best. The plush pink of a lover’s kiss-bitten lips, the warm brown fur of the dogs you passed by on the street, the deep violet of the plums your mother proclaimed as her favorite fruit. A range of colors you had only ever heard of, never experienced yourself. 

For thirteen years, all you had was stories. Nothing tangible, nothing solid in your palms. Mere crumbs of a promise of what you would have one day, when you met your soulmate.

When you met him. 

It wasn’t the most pleasant of circumstances in which you two met. You’d spent a lot of your childhood fascinated with the concept and lost in daydreams about it – maybe they’d be a stranger you caught the eye of on the train, or maybe they’d be the one making your coffee at a quaint cafe in a big city someday. Whoever they would be, you wanted them to be made of all the fairytales. You wanted a meeting to challenge every romantic story you’d been fed through your youth, you wanted a love that would shake the very Earth you wandered from the first time your eyes met theirs. 

Your reality seemed as far from earth-quake inducing as they could get, at the time. Looking back, though, you wish you could plead and change your youthful mind. Because the day wasn’t perfect, the situation was terrible shades of melancholy, but none of that really matters; what matters is that on that sunny Wednesday afternoon, you met him. 

Scraped knees. You had scraped knees, sitting embarrassed and frazzled beneath a tree as you tried to sink into the shade surrounding its base and erase the memory of what had just transpired. You could still hear all the other kids’ taunts echoing through your mind, cruel and unnecessary words that were suited to follow you the rest of your days. Comments on your looks and teases of things you couldn’t change. Seeds of insecurity that were hard to swallow at the beginning of your teen youth. 

You were still picking at the edges of your open wounds with slow drying tears still coating your cheeks when his shadow joined the tree’s. 

“Are you alright?” 

You looked up immediately to find a boy standing there. Your eyes had traveled slowly, taking in his baggy jeans with patchwork knees and his oversized faded t-shirt first. Even with the hand-me-down clothes, you could recognize his gangly limbs beneath it all. A frail frame and hunger-panged face. An overgrown buzz cut, no doubt prickly as the hairs stood to attention. Sunken in eyes brimming with concern for you. Whatever shade they were, they had to be dark; they were nearly black in the shades of grey your eyes could currently pick up on.

The thing about soulmates, is the colors don’t happen until you touch your soulmate. 

“I’m fine,” you stubbornly replied, wrapping your arms around your shins and tucking your knees beneath your chin despite the sting. 

“You don’t look fine.”

“Then stop looking.” 

He threw his hands up defensively, shrugging a bony shoulder, “Sorry.” 

He wasn’t sorry. Even with the wince that graced his face, he wasn’t sorry for checking in on you. You knew it the moment you caught the broken skin on his knuckles, nearly matching the cuts on your knees. You had fallen on the pavement as you’d tried to run away from the bullies, determined to not let them see you cry. The entire ordeal had been mortifying. You wished you would have just stood there and cried, let them hear your sobs and let them crown you the school’s newest crybaby. 

“What happened to your hands?” you sniffled, moving to wipe at your nose. Your cheeks were drier now, the skin nearly stiff where the tears marks remained. 

When you mentioned it, he suddenly shot his hands out before him, flexing each hand for emphasis as he looked down with boredom, “What? The cuts? Carver has sharp teeth, ‘s all.”

“Carver?” One of the kids who had just partaken in tormenting you. 

“Yeah,” the boy nodded, suddenly plopping himself onto the ground beside you. You flinched and he grimaced in a silent apology once more, “I think he was in the middle of saying something when I punched him, but that’s not surprising. He always has his big mouth open-” 

He was cut off mid-insult by a soft snort of laughter. Looking up, all of the previous annoyance at his injured knuckles melted away as he caught you fighting back your laughter. 

“What? I say somethin’ funny?” he was biting back his own grin, raising an eyebrow. 

You only laughed more, shoulders shaking now with entertainment rather than sobs. “I- Yeah, sorry, I just- God, you’re right. Carver does have a big mouth.” 

“The absolute biggest.”

“Bigger than the Atlantic ocean.”

His chuckling joined yours, along with a face splitting grin and eyes that you swore shone between the monotonous tones. “God, bigger than the fucking Pacific ocean. Every ocean, as a matter of fact.” 

You both leaned back against the rough bark of the tree, just close enough you could feel his heat through the summer air but not quite touching. Not yet. You let the back of your head thump against the trunk and tried to not think about any of the debris sure to end up in your hair. 

“So…” you sighed once the two of you composed yourself from your laughing fits, “I’m assuming you punched Carver?” 

He only nodded in answer.

“Can I ask why?”

Part of you wanted to assume that the two events were connected; Carver bullying you, and this boy punching him. But you didn’t want to make such a bold assumption about some stranger. Fellow peer or not. 

“Because he made fun of you.” 

The assumption wasn’t so bold. Your chest constricted, you remembered the sting of your knees, heard the echoes of the other students’ laughter at your fall once more. 

“You punched him just because he made fun of me?” you tried to force out a joking tone, as if it wasn’t a big deal, as if it wasn’t making your heart swell, “You don’t even know me.” 

“Doesn’t matter. He made fun of you,” the boy said with concrete decisiveness. There wasn’t a quiver of doubt to be seen, as if the logic made perfect sense to him. Your heart swelled more, painfully so. He looked down at one of his hands for a moment, before suddenly shrugging and rolling his head to look at you, sticking it out towards you, “I’m Eddie, by the way.”

A certain security blanketed the moment. This kid, Eddie, had punched a guy for making fun of you. You’d never even spoken to him before that day, much less would you have considered bruising your own knuckles for him. But he had for you. Without hesitation, apparently. Just some boy with a sliver of a gap still between his front teeth, a promise of freckles across the bridge of his nose, and blood on his hands as a reminder of your honor. 

Teachers were certainly going to be coming to find the two of you soon. There would be consequences, most likely more on Eddie’s part than yours, but that didn’t matter. There, in the shade of an oak tree of a middle school you’d soon be departing only to join the ranks of some awful high school with bigger and badder bullies, with larger and crueler problems than skinned knees, you had a friend. 

“I’m-” you started, reaching out your hand to meet his halfways. But you stopped, because the moment your palm met his, it happened. Suddenly, quickly, unexpectedly. It nearly gave you an instantaneous migraine; the flood of color was so overwhelming. 

The first color you saw was the soft, whiskey brown of his eyes. Two warm and comforting orbs, blown out to be as wide as your own, as his face echoed back the same shell-shock on your own. His eyes were brown. Not grey, not black, but something more, something russet. Brown. 

Colors. You were seeing colors for the first time. You both knew what it meant. 

“You,” he breathed out with a boyish grin, letting you catch the pink of the tip of his tongue as he finished your introduction for you, both of your excitement buzzing in the breeze, “are my soulmate.” 

—

Fifteen was the age of awkwardness. Thirteen had been awful, sure, full of changes and growth and such, but fifteen made it seem like a cake walk. 

You wouldn’t have survived it without Eddie. 

Two years into the friendship, the two of you were inseparable. You had always spent your entire childhood assuming that when you found your soulmate, it would all fall into place, romantically speaking. But then Eddie happened. Eddie, your soulmate, fell right into your lap and you realized all of your childish dreams were pale in comparison. 

He was your best friend first and foremost. Even if he hadn’t been revealed as your soulmate on that day, you have no doubt that the trajectory of your friendship would have stayed on this path. From the beginning, both of you decided to Hell with society’s expectations of soulmates. Sure, most people didn’t find their soulmates until later in life, when it made sense for the sparks of romance to fly instantly, but the adults still seemed to expect that when the news broke. Your parents had been concerned, Eddie’s Uncle Wayne had been weary, your teachers had been blatantly confused. 

It was fun for the two of you, though. The thrill of introducing each other as, “This is my best friend. Oh, also my soulmate, but, hey. Technicalities, am I right?” 

Most of the kids in your grade hadn’t met their soulmates quite yet, especially those first few years. A sense of superiority sprouted in both of you to be able to know, to experience, to lavish in a world of color. To have the weight of finding your better part lifted off your shoulders so soon in life. 

You and Eddie had an entire lifetime to figure out the romantic aspect of it all. For now, he was your best friend, and you were his, and that was enough. 

Once you two had entered high school, one thing did become very clear: the parading of being soulmates had to cease. 

Jason Carver had been enough of a menace in middle school, but grew into a fully formed monster once he joined your ranks in high school. People were not kind to Eddie – they hadn’t been in middle school, when he first moved to Hawkins, and they weren’t going to change their tune suddenly in high school. The bullying you had endured had begun to fade, but his age of torment had just begun. 

You never once left his side. It didn’t matter to you if the entire school knew you were soulmates or not. It didn’t even matter that you two were soulmates; he was your best friend, and you would be damned before you left him to battle the tides alone. 

“I hate this,” he mumbled as he sat on the toilet of his shared bathroom with Wayne in their trailer, you kneeling between his legs as you blotted at his split lip with an alcohol wipe, “I should have punched the asshole back.” 

“No, you shouldn’t have,” you scowled, furrowing your brows even deeper in concentration, “And stop talking – you’re making it worse.”

He opened his mouth to reply, but you quieted him with a glare. 

Just as you wouldn’t have survived the Age of Awkwardness without Eddie, he wouldn’t have survived it without you. 

You finished cleaning off the dried blood before tossing the wipe into the overfilled trash can, sighing heavily as you fell back onto the ground and supported yourself against the wall opposite of him. 

You leveled each other into a staring contest, eyes blankly boring into each other with emotionless expressions. 

“You’re lucky Wayne isn’t home, y’know,” you finally broke the silence, shooting a hand out to grab his ankle and give it a squeeze, “He’d probably be driving down to the school right now and-”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie waved you off, shaking his head, “I know. Trust me, I know. I think Principal Higgins is starting to hate him more than he hates me.” 

“Principal Higgins doesn’t hate you.”

“You’re right – he loathes me.” 

The hand that was squeezing his ankle quickly traveled up to his knee to slap it, “Eddie.” 

He raised his hands up in the air, lifting his brows for emphasis as he exclaimed, “What? You know I’m right, kid.” 

Kid. The loving nickname Eddie had adorned you with the moment he found out he was a mere six months older than you. You hated it, and he loved that you hated it. 

“The day you’re right is the day pigs fly, old man.”

Old man. The nickname that served as your attempt at a rebuttal. It didn’t work, not as intended. 

He chuckled softly at that, as he usually does when you call him that, and only smacked his palms onto his thighs, “Well, doc, I must say – you’ve done an exquisite job. Am I free to go?” 

You tried to fight your smile, tried to linger in the anger sparked from seeing Eddie hurt. Your disdain wasn’t directed at him; it was always a loaded gun pointed at whoever dared to lay a hand on your boy. You probably could have had a spotless reputation without Eddie Munson in your life, but you’d found your fists quick to fly in his defense. 

Your parents hated it. Wayne secretly adored it, even when he’d still join in scolding you and Eddie alike on avoiding violence. 

“Sure,” you shrugged, before grabbing his calves through denim to stop him. Dark blue denim, a deep shade of navy that you still hadn’t grown used to seeing. You hadn’t even realized jeans came in so many different shades until you met Eddie, and you’d always chastised him when he’d opt for a boring black pair, “But first, a payment is required.”

“A payment?” Eddie tilted his head, looking down at you curiously.

“A payment.” 

“And what would this payment be?” 

“A movie night,” you grinned wildly, finally letting your grip on him go, taking in the chestnut highlights of his curls and the red font of his t-shirt, a band shirt you’d never heard of but that he had recently gotten into, “Snacks provided by my loving host, you, of course.” 

He exaggerated his pondering, bringing a hand to his chin, stroking dramatically. As if he was ever capable of saying no to you. 

“Hm,” he hummed, his voice echoing through the tiny space and encasing you in warmth. As serene as that first summer day when he’d taken the leap of sitting down next to you in the grass, back to a tree, palm in your palm as colors had swarmed your vision, “I suppose that can be arranged.” 

—

Movie nights were a frequent occurrence. A sanctuary from the shit show of your small town. Sometimes, they had been the illusion of a bargain like that night, and others, they were an unspoken agreement. You’d show up to Eddie’s trailer or he would end up on your doorstep, your favorite candies in hand, and the two of you would just know. No words needed as you’d situate yourself on whoever’s couch, legs intertwining and blankets shared across laps. A bowl of popcorn that usually ended up being spilled inevitably. 

Movies were more fun in color. Some of your friends didn’t get it, still living in a world of black and white, but Eddie loved to listen to your rambles about how the vivid shades appeared across the screen. He loved the way your eyes would light up passionately, he loved how you still smiled so widely at special effects that were made more poignant by this gift the two of you had been given. 

Time. You two had been given the time most soulmates weren’t allotted. A gift you always thanked the Universe for. 

The latest Slasher film that had been released was currently displayed on the small television in Eddie’s living room, the two of you practically molded to the worn cushions of his sofa. Wayne had left within the first ten minutes for his shift, bidding the two of you a farewell with the warning of behaving. Vibrant reds splashed across the screen as one of the protagonists takes a stabbing, and while you should be shying away from the gruesome scene, you can’t help but stare in awe.

Even after years of experiencing colors, they took away your breath.

“Jesus,” you sighed wistfully, “How do they even make the fake blood? It’s so… so…”

“Red?” Eddie laughed from the other side of the couch, prodding at your thigh with his sock clad foot, “Probably food dye. Maybe some corn syrup.”

“It’s just so bright,” you eagerly leaned in closer to the TV, squinting with a wide smile, unaware of his stare. 

He was quiet for a moment, simply enjoying your joy. Your awe and wonder at the world, the way it seemed as if you two had just met that day rather than years before. As if colors were still a fascinating color to you. Eddie had grown used to them, let them become a part of his daily routine, but you always seemed to shine a new light on them for him. 

Around you, all the colors seemed a little bit brighter. 

“How do you do that?” he whispered so softly, it nearly got lost in the noise of the movie’s climax.

You hummed in response, eyes never leaving the screen. You were watching the movie in fascination, and he was watching you in serenity. 

His miracle. His gift. His soulmate. 

“You just…” he trailed off, no longer caring about the movie, “You always treat them like they’re brand new.” 

It caught your attention. The way his tone was so… velvety, so caring, so affectionate. You looked at him, “I treat what like they’re brand new?” 

“The colors.”

“Because they are.” 

The same assuredness as he used that very first day. As if it were obvious, as if it were simply a matter of fact and not such an endearing trait. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion and it only made his heart clench tighter. 

You were his soulmate. 

“We lived without them for thirteen years, old man-”

“Thirteen years and six months, in my case,” he piped up in interruption, wearing a Cheshire grin. 

You nodded and rolled your eyes, “Yes, in your case. Thirteen years, give or take. I just… I don’t know. They still… they still get to me. I don’t think I can ever get used to them. Are you?” 

“What? Used to them?”

“Yeah.”

He didn’t know how to explain it to you, not at that moment. How could he articulate to you that after so many years, the colors had dulled ever so slightly? The novelty had worn off, had run its course. The only time they’d ever become as vivacious as the first time was when he looked at you. 

He couldn’t. He couldn’t explain it to you, so he only shrugged, “I guess.” 

I guess, except when I see the color of your eyes, and I realize they’re my favorite color. Except when I notice the varied shades of your hair, and realize how lucky I am to see them in their full glory rather than shades of grey. Except when you wear that favorite mauve lipstick of yours, and I can’t get over the shape of your lips. Except when you wear that pretty red dress, and your confidence has my head spinning. 

I guess, except when it’s you. 

“Well, that’s just sad,” you huffed, focusing back on the movie after kicking gently at his shin. You lapsed into a comforting silence for a few more minutes, letting the movie fill the air. The same cycle; you watched the screen, he watched you, and the Universe watched both of you with a smile as it knew that the right choice had been made. The two of you were meant for each other. In this life. In the past lives. In the next lives. The two of you were the epitome of soulmates, even if the concept had never existed before. 

Thank the Universe it existed. Thank the Universe that he found you that day, below an oak tree, scraped knees and all. 

His voice shook as he quietly confessed, “I love you, you know that, right?” 

The movie faded in a blur for you instantly. Your neck could have snapped from how quickly you turned your attention to him. “What?”

“I love you,” his voice continued its waver, not from being unsure but from pure emotion. The flood of love that pulsed through his veins currently. 

You smiled, the apples of your cheeks punctuated and the chip in your tooth from your youth he hadn’t had the privilege of being apart of on showcase, “Well, yeah. Duh. I’m your soulmate. You kind of have to love me.” 

“Even if we weren’t soulmates,” he rushed to clarify, suddenly leaning forward and grabbing your knee beneath blankets that smelled of home, “Even if you weren’t my soulmate, I would love you.” 

Your face softened. He wished he would have kissed you in that moment. 

But the vulnerability was terrifying, and all that could echo through your mind is the fact that you two had time. So instead of matching his serious tone, you joked, “Well, it’s a good thing I am your soulmate, then. It might have been awkward for your hypothetically soulmate you would have had instead in that scenario, trying to explain why you love your best friend more than them.” 

“Shut up,” he laughed, squeezing your knee tighter, “I’m being serious, kid. I love you. I really, really fuckin’ love you. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” 

“You’re only saying that because I’m the reason you see colors.”

“Fuck the colors,” he was quick to reply, “The Universe can take back the colors, as long as I still have you.” 

There it is. The earthquake you dreamt of as a little girl. The trailer’s across the park never felt it, the kids surely getting into trouble in the forest behind Eddie’s home didn’t notice it, but you felt it. A rumble through your chest, a groundbreaking discovery, a world-ending confession. Your world began, and your world ended, and your world restarted with Eddie Munson. 

“You don’t believe me,” he noted, suddenly shimmying out from beneath the blanket.

“Wait, hold on-”

“Stay here.” 

You stayed frozen in your seat, wide eyes following his broad back and the army green of his t-shirt. No longer a frail frame, face filling out with puberty. He was becoming a man. No longer the young boy who took punches and threw them back twice as hard. 

He was becoming a man, he was your soulmate, and he loved you. He loved you enough he would give up what everyone else considered the greatest gift, just for you. 

Eddie Munson didn’t need colors to love you so ardently. And you knew, at that moment, that the same could be said for you. You would have loved him no matter what. The moment his shadow had spread over you beneath wide leaves and simmering heat, he was destined to hole up in your heart, never to leave again. 

By the time he had returned to the living room, you had paused the movie, eyes locked on where he emerged from the hallway with a polaroid camera in hand and a mischievous grin gracing his features. The camera had been a joint gift from your parents and his uncle the previous Christmas. 

Your eyes weren’t on the camera. They were on him. His hair had grown over the years, wild auburn curls finally surpassing his ears. The awkward style made for ridiculous bed head, something you’d been witness to many mornings after impromptu sleepovers. 

You were fascinated with the way the sunlight caught each strand as they bounced with his eager steps. The trace of gold you could outline. Shades of autumn you loved to run your fingers through when he’d offer the opportunity.

He shook the camera into the air for emphasis, finally catching your eyes’ attention, before he propelled himself back down onto the couch across from you, both of you sitting up instead of being reclined now. “Let me show you something.” 

“O-Okay,” you stuttered out, unsure. 

He fiddled with the camera for a few moments before he brought it up to his face, resting against his cheek as his eye peered into the small peephole. You were so busy memorizing him like that, that the flash of the camera took you off guard and effectively blinded you for a few seconds. 

“What the-” you started with a scowl, hands flying up to rub your knuckles into your eyes in a sorry attempt to rush away the stars blocking your vision. 

“Just wait,” he insisted, snatching up the polaroid the moment it printed from the camera. When you flashed him an unconvinced look, he continued on, “Trust me.” 

He didn’t have to ask twice. You always trusted him with your entire being, whether for better or for worse. 

The polaroid was slow in developing. Eddie hummed to fill the silence, occasionally fanning around the small capture of you that was slowly filling out in color rather than blinding white. You spent your energy on trying to decipher what song was stuck in his head and not focus on how slow those damned photos always seemed to be in coming to fruition. 

It had only been a few minutes, but it had felt like an eternity when you finally gave up on figuring out the song and succumbing to your impatience with a sigh, “This is the world’s slowest magic trick ever.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, but tossed you the camera. You thanked the Heavens for fast reflexes as you were able to catch it rather than let it fall to the ground. The two of you would have never heard the end of it if you managed to break such an expensive gift. 

“Hey!” you shouted as you clutched the camera tightly to your chest, “Be careful with this thing, Eddie. It’s fragile.”

His eyebrows raised from behind where he held up the polaroid he took of you to his face, “Is it? Can we really be sure that it’s that fragile if we don’t knock it around for good measure?” 

“We can,” you snappily replied, glaring down at the camera and fighting amusement, “If you want to throw it around, be my guest. But you’ll explain to Wayne why you broke it – not me.” 

“Of course, kid,” he grinned so wide that it spread to his cheeks peeking out either side of the photo still obnoxiously close to his face, “What else is a best friend good for? Basically signed up to be your permanent scapegoat until the end of time the moment I gave you the gift of colors.”

“And yet, I’m the one usually talking us out of trouble,” you dramatically called back, finally looking up at him and holding up the camera, “What am I supposed to do with this?” 

“I dunno. Break it, take a picture of me. The choice is yours, sweetheart.” 

He still hadn’t put the photo of you down, so you finally reached across the sea of blankets to yank on his forearms. Once you were faced once more with those warm doe eyes rather than the blank back of a photo, you narrowed your eyes at him in indecision. 

He was still smirking. Wide enough that his teeth just barely peeked out between his barely parted lips. You recalled the tales of kiss-bitten lips, the way you’d heard adults describe that deeper shade of pink, and for a second, you considered that it would look good on Eddie. Something about imagining him flushed and bruised by love and lust rather than malice made your gut twist stormily. 

“Picture it is,” you muttered, “Put that stupid polaroid down and smile for the camera, pretty boy.” 

“You think I’m pretty?” 

The camera went off mid-teasing, his dimples on full display and eyes shining wonderfully with the flash of the camera. 

“Nope,” you mumbled, “Just said it so you’d keep smiling.” 

It was a lie. A horrible, pathetic, and badly-veiled lie. 

The photos developed faster. Yours is finally in full color and detail by the time the two of you can make out the shape of Eddie in his, and he was quick to toss it to the side before he shoved yours into your lap. 

“There, look.” 

It wasn’t anything magnificent to look at. Just another photo. The same old color of your hair, baby hairs frizzing at the edges. Same old eyes fighting from crinkling in adornment at the boy before you. You weren’t anything special, not in your eyes. But Eddie’s expectant stare told you that there had to be something more there, something he was waiting for you to pick up on. You scoured the background of the photo for pops of color only to come up empty-handed. All you could find were the tired dark tones of the Munson’s furniture and living room behind yourself in the picture.

“Eddie, what am I supposed to be looking at?” you squinted, bringing the photo closer and trying to figure out the useless puzzle he had presented you with, “It’s just a picture of me-”

“Exactly,” he interrupted, “A picture of you. My soulmate. That right there,” he leaned over and plucked the photo from your hands, holding it up tauntingly just out of reach, “Is a picture of the girl I love. A picture of the one person who makes colors worth seeing, and makes colors worth losing.” 

The sentiment had you choked up. 

“You’re my favorite person,” his voice dropped to a whisper, and he held up his hand with his knuckles facing you as he put down the polaroid in his lap, “Have been since that very first day.” 

There was still a faint scar, right there, clear as day. It casted over the knuckles of his ring and middle finger as a permanent reminder of that fateful day. As if the colors weren’t enough, as if the swell of your heart inside your chest wasn’t enough reminder of the love and care you’d always felt pulsing from Eddie.

You reached out to the coffee table suddenly, picking up the photo of him, glad to see it finally developed. You didn’t even glance at it before you held it up to him, “And this is a photo of my favorite person.”

“You didn’t even look at the picture.”

“I don’t need to,” you breathed out, moving the picture out of your vision to look at him dead in the eyes, “He’s right here in front of me. In full color, treating me far kinder than I deserve.” 

His touch was ginger as he pinched the corner of the photo and took it from your grasp, placing it down atop the polaroid of you, “Don’t do that. You always deserve my kindness – you deserve the entire world’s kindness. I’ll kick the ass of anyone who argues otherwise.”

A soft and shy smile ripped at your lips, made the corners and your cheeks ache as you shrugged, “Whatever you say, old man.” 

He only looked at you, only wore the lovesick look of a man face-to-face with his soulmate.

The movie was long forgotten. All snacks carefully put on the table before Eddie threw the blanket off of the two of you and scooted backwards while leaving a space large enough for you between his legs.  

“C’mere,” he beckoned, motioning for you to crawl forward and fit your head to his chest as he wrapped his arms around you. He pressed you impossibly close to him, until your cheek was tight to his t-shirt and your ear was thundering with his racing heartbeat. 

You melted into him easily, letting your own arms encase him to the best of their abilities in this position. You took a few selfish moments to just be there with him, to just let his words sink in beneath your skin and the reality of them weigh heavy on you. The heavier it weighed, the further into his embrace you pressed. 

The warmth of serenity and peacefulness of the picture perfect moment nearly lulled you to sleep. But even in the drowsiness, you felt the kiss he pressed to the crown of your head. 

“I love you, too,” you admitted, muffled by his chest. You hoped he felt the words and wouldn’t teasingly make you look him in his eyes as you confessed, “I love you so fucking much. I couldn’t do this without you.” 

“Sure you could-” he began, but was cut off but the abrupt lifting of your head, just as he fingertips had started on a path down your spine.

“I couldn’t,” you insisted, “I really, really couldn’t. I need you to stick around for a long time, Munson. I’m not in the business of losing my soulmate until we’re old and grey and gross. I want to keep you around until I lose count of all your wrinkles and weird moles.”

He chuckled, and the force vibrated against your shoulder digging into his torso. 

You retrieved those two polaroids before you resettled against him, your back now pressed to his chest as you held the two snapshots side by side for both of you to look out. 

He was right. You think you get it. 

When you look at the photo of yourself, you see nothing extraordinary. But when you look at the photo of Eddie, everything just… the world seemingly stops, all moving parts suddenly snapping into place. A boy vibrant with color and glee, a boy who tugged on every heartstring you’d hung in your chest throughout your lifetime. It sent warmth to every crevice of you, from the top of your head where the ghost of his lips still lingered to the tips of your toes wiggling beside his within thick socks. 

It’s more than an earthquake or the world stopping. Eddie doesn’t just stop or begin your world – he is your world. 

A world of wild hair, charming smiles, unfiltered laughter and fierce adoration. Even the brightest shades out there that you had yet to discover were dim compared to the boy photographed in time for you. 

His arms slide around your shoulders, tugging you in even closer,“Just out of curiosity, what is your cap on wrinkles you can count? Because I’ve seen Wayne, and some photos of my old man, and let me tell you – time is not kind to us Munson men.” 

You rolled your head and pressed a kiss to one of his forearms before smashing your cheek into it, breathing deeply as his fingertips drew random shapes over the spot on your chest that your heart rests beneath. 

“As many as it takes, old man.” 

“Whatever you say, kid.” 

You brought a hand up to curl around the arm, right beside when you kept your cheek nuzzled. He finally laid his palm flat against your chest, and you wonder if he can feel the way each beat of your heart called out his name. It was okay if he didn’t – he had all the time in the world to figure it out. 

—

“I just don’t understand why you’re so mad!”

“I’m not mad, Eddie – I’m fucking pissed!” 

“Okay, then I don’t understand why you’re so pissed!” 

Seventeen is the age of being reckless and redundant. Of big feelings and reckless decisions. It is the time in your life for being an absolute idiot. 

Eddie Munson was proof of it as the two of you stood outside of his van, the whistle of the winds around you two from the impending storm lost on your current screaming match. 

“Figure it out,” you seethed, stomping your feet almost childishly as you began to turn away from him, “And while you do that, leave me the fuck alone.” 

“I- Hey!” he reached out for you, but you’re already quickening your pace and hopping up onto the sidewalk, “Hey! Don’t fucking walk away from me!” 

You didn’t reply, only widening your strides. 

He called out your name, and you heard his frustrated groan before he easily caught up with you. 

Damn him and his newfound height. 

“Would you just listen to me?” he shouted, latching onto your bicep and spinning you around harshly to face him.

You yanked yourself out of his touch quickly, eyes blazing, “Why should I? I’ve seen what I needed to see, Eddie. Just go back inside to your preppy girlfriend. Forget about me. Pretend like she’s never stood to the side while her boyfriend bullied you like- like- like some asshole.”

His hair was longer now. Ringlets that cascaded to brush over the top of his shoulders – shoulders that had broadened impressively as he neared the end of his youth. His newest clothing staple covered them; a denim vest you’d helped him distress and sew multitudes of patches onto, a display of his favorite bands that had only painted a new target onto his back. 

Satan worshiper. That’s what they called your soulmate in terrified whispers amongst the halls at school. That’s what all the PTO mothers’ eyes silently cursed when they’d see him with you at the grocery store. 

He’d made quite the image for himself. And you’d stayed by his side, defending his honor at every chance. Your best friend, your soulmate. 

Only to find him eating the face off of some cheerleader at that goddamned party. 

Yeah, you didn’t need to listen to him. You really had seen enough. 

“She’s not my girlfriend!” he waved his arms wildly, the storm roaring loader with his increased volume.

“What is she then?” you insisted with venom, crossing your arms and effectively closing yourself off from him as you took another step back, “Just some one night stand? Some fun to have before you have to accept that you’re shackled to me for the rest of your life?” 

You hated the way your eyes burned. You cursed the tears gathering as you glared at him viciously, masking all the pain with as much rage as you could muster. 

He wouldn’t even kiss you, his soulmate. But he would kiss her. 

“Stop putting words in my mouth,” he warned lowly, tone no longer making a spectacle of the two of you, “You know that’s not how I see it.” 

“You won’t even kiss me.” 

He was stunned into silence. As you spat out the words, the first few tears slipped.

It was about more than the pretty blonde girl you’d found him with. It was about more than the fact he was kissing someone else. 

“I… What?” he whispered, his entire body going slack with defeat. 

The tears fell more rapidly now as you replayed the moment in your head. The two of you were only at the stupid party for Eddie to deal weed from some weird guy he’d met in the arcade, a way to make extra cash. Cash he claimed he was putting towards your future together. You had no idea how you’d gone from sitting on the couch together to tipsy, joining a circle of fellow peers who momentarily forgot their cruelness between shots of whiskey and pours of vodka. 

You were going to hate the game of Spin the Bottle for the rest of your life. You were sure of it. 

When Eddie’s turn had arrived, when the neck of that dingy beer bottle casted shades of ambers in your direction, you had been so excited. Your heart had been in your throat, your head dizzy with the excitement of him finally kissing you. Your soulmate by Nature, your best friend by choice, finally would be kissing you. You had been so sure it was an affirmation from the Universe that the right choice had been made when it came to the two of you. That it was all real, and the colors weren’t a product of your delusion. 

And then he said no. 

“You wouldn’t kiss me,” you choked out, pulling your arms around your torso tighter to fight back any shivers or shaking, “The bottle landed on me, on your soulmate, and you wouldn’t even fucking kiss me. The one person you should have kissed. And you didn’t.” 

Eddie’s eyes widened in shock, a deer caught in your headlights, as he started to stutter out a sorry excuse. 

You didn’t want to hear it. You only threw your head back in bitter laughter, spinning on your heel and preparing to leave him behind once more.

“Wait,” he begged, grabbing your shoulder this time. 

You shrugged it off harshly, “For what? For you to make up some bullshit excuse for it? I don’t want to hear it, Eddie. I get it. I’m so sorry that I’m your soulmate. I’m so sorry you’re stuck with me. I’m so-” 

He cut you off by rounding in front of you, blocking your escape route and cradling each of your cheeks with determination as he forced you to meet his fiery gaze, “Stop putting words in my mouth! That’s not why I did it, okay? It’s not!” 

Your tears fell more rapidly, so quickly that his thumbs couldn’t have kept up with swiping them away if he tried. Instead, he let them puddle against his palms, focus solely on your eyes as he bore into them and whispered, “That’s not why I said no. And it’s not why I kissed that girl, okay? You’ve got to believe me, kid.” 

“Don’t-” you started, but he shook his head, determined.

“No, no. Hear me out. Please. You know I don’t see it that way. You- You’re- I’m not shackled to you. You aren’t some sort of damnation for me. Do you get that? You aren’t some life sentence or burden – you’re….” he trailed off, and you could see the tears gathering in his eyes. Constellations in his lashes to match your own. “I said no because I’m terrified. O-Okay? I said no to kissing you because… because… what if you’re the one shackled to me?” 

The crack in his voice reverberated through you. Aftershocks rattled your bones at his confession. 

“I- We haven’t crossed that line. And I just… if I crossed that line, and if you decided I wasn’t what you wanted…” his eyes searched yours for answers you couldn’t provide to him, not as your brows creased and your chest tightened, “If I kissed you and you decided that the Universe made a mistake, that I’m not actually your soulmate… I- Fuck, I couldn’t take that, kid. I couldn’t.” 

You’re no longer poised to run, to escape him and all the emotions drowning your lungs. You felt your shoulders drop, your defenses burned to ash as you stood with two solid feet on the quivering ground below you. 

There were a million reassurances on the tip of your tongue, but instead you only said, “Why did you kiss her?” 

The question that had pinned you as a flight risk. Because if what he told you was true, and you did believe him, then it didn’t make sense. Nothing that had happened that night made sense if what he said was true. 

“I don’t know,” he seemed even more confused than you, “And- God, I’m fucking sorry for such a shitty cop-out of an answer. But I just… I don’t know. I just did. She was there, and she kissed me, and I kissed back. I pretended she was you, like a fucking idiot.”

The honesty threatened to shatter you, but you decided it was better to hear his truth than risk being lied to. You could move past the anguish in both your eyes, the confusion and the hurt having brewed – you wouldn’t have been able to move past some half-assed lie in an attempt to save your feelings. 

“I regret it,” he whispered, “The moment I kissed her back, I regretted it.”

“Why?”

An opportunity to seal a bandage over the bleeding wound. A chance for him to make it all better. 

“Because she isn’t you. She isn’t my soulmate - she never could be. It’s you, and it was always going to be you, even if the Universe didn’t agree with me.” 

You took a moment to try and picture a world in which the man stood before you wasn’t your soulmate. A world where your palms touched, and your world hadn’t exploded in technicolor. Another Universe where the first color you had seen hadn’t been warm, brown, honey coated eyes. A twisted timeline where you hadn’t been awarded the gift of memorizing the red of his guitar, his sweetheart, or the calm blue tint his room bathed in every early morning. A world where you don’t know the shade his skin turns in during golden hour, or can’t see the way his few tattoos he’d gathered in the past year on his skin are actually a fading shade of blue-green rather than stark black. A world where you couldn’t pick up the Fruity Pebbles stuck between his teeth as he rushed to class late and you teased him mercilessly for it. A world without color - a world without the guarantee of Eddie Munson. 

A breeze roared by, and you could hear the Universe you were in whispering to stop it, to not do this. Because you weren’t living in a world without color. Your world had burst to life when your palm met his. You knew all the colors of his lifeline like the back of your hand. 

“It wasn’t worth it?” You knew the answer. You still needed to hear him say it.

And say it he did, nodding in confirmation, “It wasn’t worth it. She wasn’t worth it.” 

He could have left it at that and you would have offered him your forgiveness anyways. Even if the bond formed between you two didn’t feel like a shackle of chains binding you two together, you knew that there would always be an invisible string wound around your soul and connected to his. You could have spent longer being mad, you could have still walked yourself home and left him broken in the middle of that neighborhood street. But even if you did, you would have eventually found your way back to him. Whether you left in anger, whether you left in sadness, whether you left in mourning – your final destination remained the same. Him.

You may have all the time in the world with Eddie, but even a second spent upset with him felt like a second wasted. 

Not even forever felt like long enough. You knew that now, glaringly obvious by the chain of events the night had followed. 

And so he could have left it at that. And all would be well. Wounds would heal and time would soothe the ache that echoed. But he didn’t. 

He took a step closer. Took a shaky, deep breath. And then another step. One foot after the other until he was toe-to-toe with you as he breathed out, “You’re my future. You’re everything to me. Soulmate or not, you’re all I want. I want to grow old with you until I lose count of your wrinkles, and then some.” 

His chin tilted down, lips daring closer and closer to yours as your stare into his eyes refused to waver. 

Deep, deep brown. Endless, molten, a kind of comforting that says you’re home, you can rest now. How fortunate you were to see the twisting of lively carob and umber rather than lifeless greys. 

Your eyes tried to flutter close, but you couldn’t let them, not yet. Not until he was close enough to feel his breath on your chin before he let out a raspy, “Baby.” 

You folded immediately, took the plunge as your eyes finally shut and you pressed forward with fervent. 

It wasn’t like the movies. It wasn’t fluid and instantaneous. There was hesitancy and there was awkwardness, and your noses bumped one anothers hard enough to make both of you chuckle into the rarity of space left between your mouths as you both gasped in waves of air before returning to one another. His hand took its time before it grabbed your waist, and it trembled the entire time. Your arms shook the entire way they lifted until they wrapped around his neck and shoulders, unsure of where exactly to lay comfortably. 

But none of that mattered. Because he was kissing you – your soulmate was finally kissing you. And you had never kissed another soul before that night, but you knew immediately you’d never want to kiss another soul. 

It wasn’t like the movies or fairy tales, but it was enough. 

And you knew he felt the same way when the kiss was broken by the grin that split his lips just as the sky began to spit out the beginning of its inevitable downpour. 

—

You hadn’t heard from Eddie in three days. Which, fair enough. Finals season was nearly upon you two and you knew he had been stressed. Since the night of that party nearly a year before, you two had become even more inseparable if possible. You two had finally crossed a line, had finally accepted your status of soulmates, and no one would dare to demand the two of you detach from each other’s sides once you made the announcement that you were officially together. 

Wayne had worn a knowing smile. Your parents had simply warned Eddie to not hurt you (as if that was even an option for him at this point). Even Principal Higgins had offered a polite smile when he caught you two holding hands in the hallway, surprisingly not commenting on the public display of affection. You two were officially dating, officially succumbing to the status quo of what soulmates should be. 

Everyone had already sort of known there was something there between you two, but making it official removed any sliver of doubt any of them may have harbored. 

And so it was fine if Eddie needed space. It had been that way before your first kiss, occasionally learning how to stand as your own entities rather than solely a joint force, and it could continue to be that way after your first kiss. 

But after three days, you had started to worry. 

Pacing your room, you told yourself you were being ridiculous. This was fine. Space was good – space was needed. 

Space didn’t help with all your what-ifs, though.

What if he was hurt? What if he was sick? What if he was mad at you? What if the longer you gave him that space, the starcher of a revelation he would have that he didn’t need you? What if the two of you had flown into all of this too fast, too quickly, too soon? It may have taken years to get there, but what if Eddie suddenly decided the last year had been too much? 

You were in your car, driving recklessly down the streets that would lead to his house, before you could even think of another what if. 

If it was that last thought that crossed your mind, if everything between the two of you had become simply overwhelming for him, you convinced yourself it would be okay. It would be just fine, you could handle it as long as he told you as much to your face rather than hiding behind distance put between you. It remained a mantra spinning through your storming mind the entire drive; it will be fine. It will be okay. As long as he says it, I can handle it. Anything for him.

You never considered that one of the other possibilities was more likely. Not until you had your car haphazardly parked in front of the Munson’s trailer, fist banging on their front door before Wayne threw it open with tired eyes and wrinkles bunched in concern. 

“Is he here?” you breathed out in lieu of a proper greeting, breathless from your jog up to the damn porch from your car that you hadn’t even bothered with locking up.

It will be fine. It will be okay. As long as he says it, I can handle it.

Wayne understood immediately, stepping to the side as he nodded and motioned for you to come in, “He’s in his room. But listen, he got some news, and he’s not do-”

You didn’t hear the rest of Wayne’s warning, too busy storming past him and flying to Eddie’s bedroom door. You didn’t even knock, bursting through the door and already fighting tears as you geared up to hear Eddie say that he needed time and space, that he had gotten sick of you, that he wanted to experience more life before you guys really gave any of this a fighting chance. 

“Eddie, can you please tell me why you’ve just up and disappeared-” you cut off your plead the moment you laid eyes on him. 

He wasn’t facing the door. He was curled up in bed, back to you, clad in nothing but a t-shirt and boxers. You could see the stubborn knots that had built up in his hair, immediately keyed in on the way he was trying to collapse into himself. His knees were nearly buried in his chest, and if you squinted into the dark room, you’d see the outline of his spine beneath the flash of skin peaking out from where the back of his shirt had raised. 

It wasn’t just the state of him; the state of the room also immediately silenced you. 

Almost as if a war path had been torn through it days before, the bedroom was messier than normal. Eddie was never the most organized or pristine person, but he kept his living space well enough to… well, live. Kept the floor always within sight, tried to never let any collection of trash overflow on the tops of his dressers or desk. He even found himself emptying his ashtrays without your reminding most of the time. Usually, most of the clutter simply came from mountains of papers detailing campaigns or writing new songs, or different sets of dice being left out from planning said campaigns. A t-shirt here, a pair of ripped jeans there – sure. He was a teenage boy. It was expected.

It looked as though a level five hurricane had hit Eddie Munson’s room. 

Clothes strewn everywhere, dresser drawers thrown open and never closed. Beer cans collected across each surface and both ashtrays were overfilling with cigarette butts. You even spotted two half smoked joints on his bedside table. His sweetheart had been taken off of its wall mount and laid to rest on the floor. He would never have let his prized possession be discarded like that. Ever.

Your voice came out weak as you took a step closer to the bed, “Eddie?” 

You’re surprised he heard your whisper. He stirred, and your eyes followed the dust particles dancing in the single stream of sunlight that was bursting through a hole forgotten in his makeshift curtains. Navy blue sheets the two of you once used to make a pillow fort in the Munson living room, thinned to the illusion of a sky blue in some patches.

You’d always warned him they make shit curtains; he’d always shrugged and said it added to his feng shui. 

“Eddie,” you whispered again, knees knocking against the edge of the mattress as you looked down at his broken form, “I… What happened? Are you… are you okay?” 

You hadn’t known how to approach it. Whatever happened was even worse than the first time he’d received a phone call from his dad in prison. 

He mumbled something against the pillow he has one arm curled under.

“What?” you questioned, nearly ready to climb into that damn bed and force him onto his back, force him to look at you if only so you could guarantee there were no tear tracks on his cheeks. 

You don’t have to, though. Eddie finally loosened his grip on that pillow and rolls ever so slightly, just enough for you to see half his face and feel your heart break at the confirmation of tears. Translucent pink eyes, glossy wet cheeks, the tip of his nose glowing as his gaze met yours. He looked tired.

“I’m getting held back,” he croaked, “I fucking- I flunked. I’m not graduating.” 

You nearly sighed in relief. For his sake, you don’t, but the weight on your shoulders lifted immediately. 

“Oh, sweet boy,” you murmured, giving into the need to crawl into the bed. You folded your knees as you situated yourself on the bed behind him, and the moment you’re situated, he wasted no time twisting himself to face you and bury his face into your side, “Why didn’t you call? You had me losing my goddamn mind-“ 

A strangled sob rattled against your side. One of his hands gripped your thigh, fingertips holding on for dear life, “Because your soulmate is a fucking loser.” 

Your chest cracked further, a valley beginning to form as a hand buried into the back of his head, holding him to you as the other hand moved to rub his back in soothing motions.

“My soulmate is not a fucking loser,” you tried to keep a gentle tone rather than scold him at the moment. He didn’t need scolding — he needed patience, he needed care, he just needed you to be there, “Keep talking about him that way, and I’ll have to get the fighting gloves.” 

He wetly laughed into your t-shirt, and you were sure that there would be tear stains when he finally lifted his head, “I’m the one who taught you how to throw a punch, baby.” 

“Exactly. Which means I’ll have you on your ass in ten seconds flat.” 

It was a few minutes of silence that followed; just you holding him, just him clinging onto you. His life line — his single ship of hope in what had been a terribly rocky sea the last few days. An irreplaceable peace settled across all the wounds and damage that had been done in private. You had been right. He should have called you immediately. He should have known that if anyone could make the situation feel less like his world was ending, it was you.

His soulmate.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you questioned in a soft, lulling tone. The endless patterns you’d drawn on his back had nearly put him to sleep, “Maybe be a bit kinder to yourself this time?”

“I just…” he started, finally removing his face from being buried against you, “I sort of had a hunch. O’Donnel wouldn’t round my grade, you know? And I’ve skipped a lot of classes, I know. But hearing Higgins say it just… just…”

“Made it real?” you offered a weary ending to his sentence.

“Yeah,” he nodded, “Real. It made it really fucking real.” 

He didn’t feel judged at that moment. He felt seen as you continued on, “It is real, and it sucks. But it’ll be okay, Eds. I mean, I was already planning on the community college for my first year, maybe even taking a year off. If you need any help with classes, you just gotta ask me. Don’t forget I was one of O'Donnell's pets, as unfortunate as it was. I know how to work that woman into rounding up some grade.”

You rambled on a little more, all the while still stroking his hair and back, offering even more solutions. The longer you spoke, the better Eddie felt. You made it all sound so easy — like this was nothing, like it was the smallest of blips in plans that had been years in the making. You weren’t upset, you weren’t disappointed. He deserved your negativity, and instead only received your optimism.

You were with him for the long haul, he realized. Truly. It wasn’t just some one off promise or chain of the Universe holding you to him. He wasn’t dragging you down.

When you finally trailed off, his lids finally heavier than his heart, he sighed, “I love you. You know that?” 

“I love you,” you smiled, “That’s kind of part of the soulmate package, isn’t it?”

“Fuck the soulmate part,” he lifted out of your hold despite everything in him screaming to stay put, to let you to continue to coddle him, “I’ve seen plenty of people be shitty to their soulmates. I watched my dad-“ he cut himself off, throat tightening with memories of his parents. You don’t make him finish that sentence, only nodding in understanding, “The Universe doesn’t force you to be a good person. You choose to be that. Every single day, you choose to stand by my side. You always have. You could have made me feel shitty about this, could have let me see how bummed you really are about sticking out another year here, but…” 

But you didn’t. 

Your eyes softened, a stormy shade of his favorite color, “Do you remember the way you punched Carver that day, before you even knew me?” 

That very first day. The day two souls destined to intertwine had come in contact. The day the Universe had sighed in relief as your palm met his.

He nodded.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you whispered, “You didn’t even know me. And yeah, whatever, maybe the Universe nudged you to do it, whatever. But there’s tons of people who know their soulmates for years and never realize it. Tons of people go to school and never interact with their soulmates. But that very first day… the first day you were at that school, the first day you saw me — we met. You defended me. And that counts for something. And I like to think it speaks more about us than it does about the grand scheme of things,” you brought a hand up, wiped away whatever tears were left on his cheeks with enough tenderness he almost started to sob again, “You didn’t know I was your soulmate. I was just some random classmate, and you defended me without even thinking about it. And I will always do the same for you. Always.” 

You always had, you always will. The two of you had proven, time and time again, that you will always choose one another. It was never about that inevitable bond. 

“I don’t deserve you,” he confessed, quickly moving to keep your palm there, resting on his stubbled cheek, “You deserve a soulmate who isn’t a fuck up. Someone good, someone who can give you the world and someone who… who isn’t repeating another year of fucking high school.”

“You still don’t get it,” you grinned sadly. Your fingertips press into that soft spanse right before his ear, cradling him more urgently on their own accord, “I don’t want or need someone else. You do give me the world- you are my world, you idiot.” 

Idiot sounded perfectly aligned with lover as he leaned forward, burying his face in your neck. Home — he was home as you wrapped your arms back around him, pulled him a little closer in your embrace, clung to him as tightly as he clung to you. 

All the colors in the world, and the only ones the two of you cared about were the ones confined to that small space for the time being, shades of you and shades of him, all overlapping perfectly in sync. 

—

You stay true to your word. The first time Eddie repeats his senior year, and the second time. 

Endless nights are spent studying, you forcing him to focus when he couldn’t, trying to invent new ways to learn that work for him rather than against him. He’s brilliant; you never let your boy forget that. 

It’s nice for a while. Sickly sweet kisses and teasing exchanges. Enough lovesickness to make even those around you two nauseous. Nights spent out by Lover’s Lake, exchanges of promises of a future to come and discussions of whether your kids will have his eyes or your eyes. Kids. You two were discussing fucking kids. And it had scared Eddie half to death to even bring it up, but you hadn’t been phased. You’d answered terrifying question after question with ease, had even joked about what color flowers the two of you would have at your wedding and listened to Eddie describe the house he’d want to grow old in with you in excruciating detail. Sometimes the two of you even brought up what kind of dog you’d have, fantasized about the big yard which would not have a white picket fence (because, according to Eddie, that shit was too cheesy even for him in all his adoration for you). It made Eddie realize that after all these years, maybe you had become the brave one.

You’d both succumbed to the stereotypical soulmate trope. Become exactly what society had expected from the two of you since the beginning. And honestly, you couldn’t even be mad about it. You get it – you got the allure as you had laid with a head pressed to Eddie’s chest, observing all the stars again, a night sky the vision of black and white as your vision went blurry with fatigue. 

“You know, that house sounds awfully expensive,” you yawned, curling a bit tighter into his side. You’re in nothing but his t-shirt, his chest still bare from the night’s activities.

Another new development. Even after all your time together, you two continued to find novelty to explore. New ways to learn each other, new ways to love each other, new ways to further tie your two souls together. An unbreakable knot. If anyone, the Universe included, tried to loosen it, you would spill blood without second thought. 

“Oh, it absolutely will be,” he chuckled, vibrations echoing in your eardrum, “But that’s fine. We’re going to tap into that rockstar money, baby.” 

In between talks of the future, more honest versions had arisen. Eddie and his band. You and your aspirations. Things that neither of you laughed at quite as much as the talk of children or houses with wraparound porches because they were in reach. 

“Do you think you’ll have groupies?” your voice was a murmur, mouth half pressed into his skin as you lazily traced circles on his pec you aren’t using as your own personal pillow. 

It made him chuckle once more, “Groupies? Sure. Don’t think any of them will be very successful, though.”

“Bold of you to assume I meant just you,” you’re able to snark back even half asleep, “Gareth deserves to be fawned over, too. Jeff is definitely a ladies killer.” 

Your hand moved just fast enough out of the way for Eddie to lazily mimic stabbing himself in the exact muscle you were painting invisible imagery across, “You wound me, sweetheart.” 

From this angle, you could catch the exact shade of brown that his faded freckles shone. You could see the differences in tan skin, see where he’d left a pair of sunglasses on his chest during a lake day over the summer and the tanline had remained stubborn. That had been a good day – Eddie had thrown you off the dark, wrapping his arms around you and turning the world to a blur of passing greens and blues before you’d been dunked beneath the lake’s surface. The cold water had stunned you, but him joining you seconds later hadn’t. Always by your side, even when he was being a little shit.

You’ve gone quiet on him, mind overcome with fond memories as the silence came naturally only for a few seconds before Eddie felt the need to fill it again. 

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, the hand that had mock-stabbed himself now curling around your forearm. 

Your hand against his chest turned to a fist, pressing deeper into the skin, just to feel him closer, before you teased him, “How do you even know I’m thinking? What if my mind is just blank right now?”

“Psychic-soulmate-telepathy powers,” he answered without hesitation. When you only huffed, clearly unimpressed, he pressed a kiss to your temple before whispering in honesty, “You were smiling.” 

You took a deep breath, closing your eyes. Usually, you loved memorizing all the colors of him. You loved taking in his doe brown eyes and the harsh blush of his swollen lips. You’d memorize the twinkling of pink staining his skin across his chest and up his neck. You’d pick at the vibrant cherry shade of his painted nails, a sharp contrast from the usual black or sharpie scribbles he’d wear on them instead. 

That silver glint of his rings. The forest green of his plaid boxers. All shades in the palette of Eddie Munson, your soulmate. 

You love him so much, your chest is ready to burst from it. And you told him as much, too.

“I’m just really glad I have you,” you said for only him and only the trees to hear, “I’m really happy you came after me that day.” 

There’s no rush to memorize all his colors and all his shades. You had all the time in the entire world, and then some. The only reason anyone had ever reported losing their colors was due to the death of their soulmate, and he wasn’t in any danger at the moment. He was there, sturdy beneath you, deep breaths syncing with your own. 

If you didn’t learn them in this life, you wouldn’t rest until you found him in the next to finish what you had started. 

“Yeah?” you could hear his grin as he held you a bit tighter. Another deep breath, another expansion of his ribs, and you feel all that time laid out at your feet. A lifetime of learning and memorizing Eddie Munson. A life well spent, “I’m glad, too.” 

“Did you have even a single moment where you…. I don’t know, hesitated coming after me?” your speech began to slur, and you knew you were one foot in unconsciousness at that point. 

“Never,” that same certainty he has always held since day one laced his tone, “Never. I just- I went for it. I made Jason Carver eat his words, and I ran after you. The only thing I’ll ever regret is not throwing a second punch at the asshole.”

Your smile widened, and you knew he felt it. Imagined the comfort he felt at the feeling. Imagined the peace that was washing over him just as it encased you, “But not about coming after me?” 

“I don’t regret coming after you,” he told you, not growing the slightest bit annoyed at your need for constant reassurance. His fingers and palm slowly spread across your lower back, the warmth of their weight carrying you into sleep, “I’ll always come back to you, baby.” 

—

It wasn’t supposed to go this way. 

Spring break was supposed to be nice. Time spent with friends, lazy mornings that you and Eddie slept through, night drives spent screaming out in relief to empty highways because he made it – you both made it. The college transfer was already put into motion, making it so you’d start the fall semester at a University in upstate Indiana. Eddie had taken a few roadtrips with you at his side, already having gotten on the good side of a boss at one of the car shops within range of where you’d be attending. You two had littered his floor with ads for apartments, the ones in your price range circled in brilliant and glaring red. Everything had been perfectly in line. Everything was set in place. Spring break was supposed to be a break to just be kids one last time – it was supposed to be nice. 

But then Chrissy Cunningham happened. And Jason Carver, and an entire town of people who had always hated your soulmate. Suddenly, your own plan for the future had been scrapped, and in its spot a line of new dominos had been placed. One falling down after the other, too quick for you to keep up with.

A group of strangers had banged down on your front door. Had demanded to know where Eddie was, claimed they were friends trying to help him. You hadn’t even seen the news yet. They’d tried to fill you in, but only confused you more in the process, because the words Eddie and murderer should have never been used together in a sentence in the way they claimed the entire town was currently spewing. 

You were his soulmate. They were sure you’d know where he was, but you didn’t. 

That didn’t matter, though. The young boy, Dustin, had been determined. You’d heard all about him from Eddie – about the brilliant mind hidden beneath baseball caps and unruly curls, about the smart mouth you witnessed mouthing off to Steve Harrington first hand as you’d been searching for your boy. 

It reminded you of Eddie. It made you ache. It made you only more voracious in your search. 

And you’d found him – terrified, alone, trembling and crying. A version of him you’d never been privy to had pinned Steve fucking Harrington to the wall of Reefer Rick’s boathouse with a broken bottle to his throat. Wild, scared eyes and hands that shook harder than the day his father had called him and he’d put a goddamn hole through his kitchen wall. More desperation on his face than the day he’d informed you he’d be repeating his senior year for the first time. Shoulders more tense than the night you’d nearly walked away from him over some silly kiss with a cheerleader. 

When he saw you, he’d shattered completely.

The sight of you had him collapsing into your arms, unable to explain himself in full sentences as he gasped and panicked and clung to you. And you had held him, had forced the others to give him time. You were like a feral animal, standing between him and them, friends or not. Your claws and teeth alike had been out, ready to mar anyone who would dare to lay a hand on your soulmate. 

He’d calmed down. He’d explained. And then they had explained and reassured Eddie that he wasn’t crazy. His eyes had found yours over and over, and not a single time did they hold a single doubt for him in them. You believed him; you would always believe him. The cries of the town had been nothing more than static noise. You knew the man before you, you loved the man before you. Your soul knew his intricately, intimately. It would always know him, no matter the circumstance and no matter the troubles to come. In this life and the next.

The colors were never the gift. The gift the Universe had offered you had always been him. 

You stayed with him those short few days. Ran from Carver and his posse, swam in the lake and had kept a level head as you formulated a plan. Find a walkie-talkie. Call for Dustin, call for help. 

When the rest of them had jumped into the lake after Steve, you’d put a selfish hand on his bicep. For a moment, the only thing you were thinking of was him. You couldn’t lose him. 

When he jumped in after Robin and Nancy anyways, you’d followed, no hesitation. 

A dreary, nightmarish world. You’d followed him into Hell – quite literally, it seemed. Except they didn’t call it Hell, they called it the Upside Down. A place made up of all the things children fear, of awful creatures that only served to attack, to kill, and terrible storms of flashing red lightning. A blue tint to the town you’d come to know. Shades of flesh and shades of grey – shades of death – flooded the place. And only you, Eddie, and Nancy could see them. 

Nancy’s soulmate was somewhere far away. Somewhere safe. But she understood that protective stance and the way you’d stuck staunchly at Eddie’s side. She got it. 

A stolen RV, shields made of trash can lids and nails rather than make believe, goddamn spears made at the hand of people all far too young to be handling these things. They were handling the end of the world, and you suddenly hadn’t felt as brave as Eddie always claimed you were. The plan was formulated, and the entire time, you had a sinking feeling in your stomach. You watched Eddie play fight with Dustin, real weapons discarded to the ground, and you listened to Robin whisper the same sentiment to Steve. 

“I just have this terrible, gnawing feeling that… it might not work out for us this time.”

You agreed with Robin. You hated that you agreed with Robin.

And so you stood like a watch dog at Eddie’s side, nearly lashed out when it was suggested you might be more helpful joining everyone else going after this Vecna rather than staying with Eddie. 

It was his turn to put a hesitant hand on your bicep. Brown, russet, umber eyes that flashed with the unspoken question of are you sure you want to do this? 

But he was sure. And just as quickly as you’d followed him into that lake, just as quickly as you had dismissed those awful claims against him, you’d nodded. Because if he was sure, if he was going through it, you would follow him. 

You should have insisted on staying with him and Dustin. 

Because your group of rag tags re-entered that Hellish landscape, and you flinched with each flash of red, not even soothed by Eddie’s hand in yours. And the people around you were now friends; you’d realized in a few short days that you would do almost anything to protect all of them as well, but you knew there was nothing that you wouldn’t do to keep Eddie alive. 

“Hey,” he insists once the two of you stand outside this alternate version of his trailer, somewhere that you should know all too well but that has morphed into something unfamiliar in this world. 

His hand holding yours spins you to face him, a few steps off to the side from the rest of everyone. 

“Hi,” you whisper back, trying to only focus on him. Not the bleak colors of the landscape around you two, but the vibrancy of his shades. You hate the weakness written all across your features, unable to offer him any reassurance in return for all that he had given you over the years. You were terrified. As Robin had said, a terrible gut feeling was gnawing at you from the inside out. You couldn’t help the tears gathering, couldn’t unravel the restriction of your throat. 

“It’s going to be okay, alright?” he does the talking, nodding and lowering his chin to stare right into your eyes. His favorite color now wet with emotion, shining even in the dullest of environments, “Can’t be worse than punching Jason Carver, right?” 

It could be. It could be much, much worse. Everything you two had endured together was children’s play compared to this. But you don’t say that; you nod in dishonesty, biting your lip to stop from letting a whimper escape. 

“I’ll always come back to you, I promise,” he swears so vehemently, voice spitting with determination. Those brows half hidden by the bandana atop his head furrow, his forehead nearly brushing yours.

That, you at the very least, believe. Just as you would find him every time, in this life and the next, he would find you. 

“You better,” you choke out, hands reaching up just to latch onto him one more time. To feel him, sturdy beneath your palms. Alive. Your gift from the Universe, the boy who let you see colors. You almost regret spending so long fascinated with the shades you’d discovered when you should have allotted more time to imprint the features of his face to memory. You should have cared more about that freckle beneath his right eye, the slight crook to his nose, the way each of his calluses feel against your bare shoulders. Shades of blue, red, green, violet, yellow – none of them matter as much as the boy before you. They only matter because they paint the picture of him for you fully. They only matter because he matters, “I still need your rockstar money to pay for that wraparound porch.” 

He laughs at that. And God, he’s gorgeous – his head thrown back, eyes crinkling with genuine joy for the first time in days. No one else catches the tear that slips from one of those pinched eyes, the hidden sadness for only you to catch onto. 

That gnawing feeling – the one you and Robin felt. He felt it, too. 

“Of course,” he finally sighs, opening his eyes back to yours and now holding so many words that neither of you have the time to exchange. It kills you – you don’t have time. You thought you’d always have more time. “Think of this as a test run for that rockstar money. See how a crowd of bats feel about my rockstar skills.” 

“Careful,” your voice cracks, a few tears slipping that he’s quick to swipe away, “I hear they’re a tough crowd.” 

He smiles at your joke, but doesn’t waste his breath on laughing. His lips find yours instead, pouring out every single thought and emotion possible. You feel a tug on that knot you’d tied between you two, everything in your being protesting from pulling back from the kiss. You try to move your lips in a response, to tell him it’ll be fine, to tell him you’ll both return to each other. To tell him you’ll have more time. 

When he pulls back, realizing you can’t, his hand falls from you only to reach into the pocket of his jeans. You don’t understand until suddenly, he’s thrusting a laminated square into your hand. 

You know what it is before you even turn it over. Your entire body strangles down the broken sob as you look down at a polaroid of a younger Eddie. Somewhere safe and somewhere that time is still yours. 

“Keep that safe for me, yeah?” his voice wavers as he produces his own polaroid – the picture of you, “I mean, I’ll have yours, obviously. But… but just… it’s gonna be worth a lot of money once I’m the next big thing in the Upside Down.” 

He’s trying so hard to make you laugh just one more time. It only surges more tears to burn your vision. 

“All I’ll have to show Vecna is this,” you start to joke back, letting more tears stain your cheeks, “And- and-” 

You can’t finish the joke. He gets it, putting a hand over yours, forcing you both to put away those polaroids. 

“I know,” he assures you, “I know. Show him my ugly mug, and he’ll go down without a fight. That’s exactly why I’m giving it to you, baby.” 

Another tear, only for you, slips. You trace it all the way down his cheek, memorize the way his skin looks in the horrid blue tint and try to remember the shade it glows during golden hour instead. 

“I love you,” you say. But once isn’t enough, “I love you.”

“I love you,” he takes your hands in his palms, finally presses his forehead to yours, shares his breath for a moment as he focuses on your sad eyes, “So fucking much. You always were prettier than all the colors combined. Better stay that way till I come back to you.” 

He releases you. Wipes away his tears, has to give you an encouraging shove on your shoulders to force you to join Nancy and Robin’s sides. 

Steve catches your eye, a look on his face telling you he’d been watching the entire interaction. Something yearning crosses his features, and then something clicks. As if this is the first time he’d ever witnessed soulmates. As if he’s the one seeing colors for the first time. 

Maybe that’s why he gives his little speech. Maybe that’s why he tries to plead your case and make sure that Eddie and Dustin don’t do anything stupid. 

After Eddie has made his final request to Steve, to make him pay, he looks at you one last time. A ghost of a grin, wearing his bravest mask to date as he mouths I love you. 

You echo the silent sentiment. A silent prayer. For the Universe to bring him back to you. To bring you back to him. 

—*ash, stop reading here*—

The only way to lose your colors is if your soulmate has died. It’s one of the first things you learn when school first broached the sensitive topic. Your soulmate dies, they take the colors with them. They never told you how the soulmate takes the colors with them – never discussed whether it would fast and sudden like the moment you first touched your soulmate, if the colors would drain from you in real time and leave a path of chromatic grey behind, or if you’d watch them flicker from sight, just as one might watch the life flicker from the eyes of the one they loved.

You’d always wondered how it happened.

You’d been morbidly curious that day in class despite finding it all a bit dramatic. Had looked around a black and white classroom and processed your classmates' different greyscale reactions. Some were forlorn, some were snickering beneath their breath. Some just looked plain bored. It made sense; you were all kids, none of you had ever seen the blue sky or the verdant grass. Only heard about it. Only listened to adults drone on and on about it wistfully. It was never something tangible, something to have and to hold and to lose. 

You wonder how younger you would have looked upon you now. As you faced down an alternate dimension’s fiercest villain, hand paused midair, prepared to launch a lit molotov cocktail with aim to kill, when you suddenly paused.

The shades of the fire burning brightly in front of you have dulled. Microscopically. The smallest of flickers in vibrancy. 

“What are you doing?” Steve screams when he notices your hesitation, “Throw it! Jesus Christ, throw it before-”

Robin cut him off, being the closest to you and reaching over to snatch the ticking time bomb of a bottle, tossing it for you. 

As it explodes against the mangled being before you, another flicker occurs. You swear you feel a stabbing pain in your side, as if that gnawing has taken to ripping you apart.

You swear the bright flashes of yellow amongst the flames have turned to white. The orange has gone so faded, the dullest bits have shadowed over in grey. 

Nancy takes another shot, but you can’t move. You watch it all in slow motion: she doesn’t miss, her shot ricochets dead center, Vecna stumbles before crashing through the wall behind him. 

The world flickers a final time, and all the air leaves your lungs. 

It’s black and white. 

The floorboards, all of your sudden friends beside you, the walls of the old house, the lightning flashing amongst storm clouds in the sky outside.

It’s black and white. Shades of grey monotone. 

As everyone rushes to look out the hole, your knees collide with splintered wood. 

The colors are gone. It’s black and white. 

“Where’d he-” Steve starts to question before he turns and sees you. You’re folding into yourself, no longer breathing as you look down at your palms. Grey. Not a single sliver of flesh tone to be seen. “Are you okay?” 

The colors are gone. 

A cold washes over you like never before, and even if you wanted to take another breath, you couldn’t. It’s not ash burning your eyes – it’s tears, hot and vicious as your face begins to crumple in panic. 

Eddie. 

You don’t even hear them cross the room back to you. Can’t hone in on what’s happened, if the evil has been defeated and if you’d all won. It doesn’t matter; your colors are gone. 

Your hands finally fumble without thought, patting down your person until you catch the corner of the polaroid. You yank it free, breaths finally strangling into your throat without purchase, your shoulders shaking.

It’ll be in color. It has to be in color. He has to be in color. 

That familiar and well loved photo stares back at you. Your boy, curly hair wild and unruly, grin soft and fond. A twinkle captured in his eye and all that adoration that had been rolling off of him in waves somehow frozen in time. 

Frozen in time, frozen in black and white. 

Steve shakes your shoulders, Robin begins to pace and match your panic. They don’t understand. 

Gritted sobs leave your mouth, tears blinding you as you look at the shadow of what must be Nancy.

She understands.

Even through the strangled breaths, earth-shattering sobs that make you nearly incoherent, she knows. 

“Eddie,” you manage to gasp, fist curling around the photograph. 

The only way to lose your colors is if your soulmate has died.

“Eddie,” you manage a mangled sob as Steve pulls back, horror-stricken as he looks down at the polaroid, slowly piecing together what was happening.

Fast and sudden like the moment you first touched your soulmate. Draining from you in real time and leaving a path of chromatic grey behind. Flickering from sight, just as one might watch the life flicker from the eyes of the one they loved.

“Eddie!” 

You’d always wondered how it happened.

You finally had your answer. You wish you didn’t. 

[effy-writes]

HIIIII!!!!!! OKAY OKAYY SOO.. MALE READER BTW!!

fizz x ozzie x reader

So He has very unique features, In hell you look very doll like, think even more doll like then velvette, you are from the envy ring, but moved to the lust ring because its just better, he has white hair with pink streaks in it. and you like have a lot of white and pink

so you are crying because someone called you ugly and fizz is comforting you, and you have anxiety so you took this to heart, and spiralled because you're scared your boyfriends think you're ugly, so ozzie walks in, and then is begging to know who hurt you, and he comforts you too, once you calm down, they send verosika to hang out with you since you're best friends andand while you two hang out fizz and ozzie are beating up the dude who called you ugly<3

ofc!! sorry this took too long!! im kinda not happy how this turned out, for some reason i struggled with this but i hope you enjoy!! <3

~~~~~~

fizz x ozzie x m! reader: oh doll

cw: scratching to relieve tension

living in the envy ring wasn’t so great to you. lots of trauma happened and you had to get out of there. the saying is true, places holds memories, so the moment you turned 18 you moved into the lust ring.

your life became better, but you still suffered from anxiety attacks due to the trauma that you endured from envy. you needed to find something to distract yourself so you decided to be a performer at “ozzie’s”.

you obviously had to audition, so you went with a pole routine. ozzie loved your performance and so you were hired on the spot! you felt like you were on top of the world and nothing could bring you down.

ozzie introduced you to fizz, and you guys hit it off! one thing led to another, and now you’re in a polyamorous relationship with them. at first you were nervous about this whole thing because you never been in a poly relationship. you were afraid of becoming too jealous, but they treated you so good and completely washed away your anxious thoughts.

you also told them about how you have anxiety problems due to your life living in the envy ring and warned them that you’re sensitive to certain things. they were both understanding and even fizz told you about his trauma so you’re not alone.

~~~

you had about 3 hours to spare before you had to perform again at “ozzie’s”, so you went walking to clear your head.

you strolled the streets of lust and went shopping for some new outfits. pink and white was your color, so you always seek out those colored clothes.

“oh shit, it’s the off brand angel dust!” an imp laughed.

you rolled your eyes to yourself and continued shopping. you were use to this kind of treatment, being called the “off brand angel dust” was so basic. at first it did hurt you, but overtime you stopped giving a fuck.

the imp and his friend kept following you around the store. your heart raced, but you tried to not show any reaction.

“angel dust from shein.” he snickered.

you left the store without any new clothes because you didn’t want to deal with them. you made your way back to “ozzie’s” and got ready in the designated dressing room.

“y/nnn, can i come in?” fizz shouted.

“of fucking course.”

fizz opened the door and wrapped his arms around you from the behind while you were putting on drag makeup.

“how was your walk? did you buy anything lustful.”

you didn’t dare to tell him what had happened today because him and ozzie will go haywire. “couldn’t find anything that i didn’t own.” you laughed.

fizz let go and sat on your lap facing you, “seems about right to how much ozzie spoils you.” he laughed, “are you ready for your performance?”

“i am! it’s gonna be sooo sexy. so you better keep it in your pants.” you stick your forked tongue out.

“gonna be hard.” he laughed, “you’re on in 30 minutes.” he lightly kissed your lips since you were wearing lipstick and didn’t want to ruin it. fizz got up from your lap and left your dressing room.

you let out a sigh and slouched as you stared at yourself in the mirror. those imps really got to you but you can’t let them hold that much power over you.

the performance went perfect, you didn’t slip or miss any beats. fizz and ozzie watched from the wings and as always they had to stop themselves from fucking you right then and there.

you blew a kiss to the audience before strutting away to the wings. your boyfriends pulled you into a tight hug before letting you go to get unready.

you walked back to your dressing room but stopped in your tracks once you saw the same imps.

“just saying, angel dust is a way better dancer than you. he has the body, the legs, the stamina, he is the og. but you? an uglier version of angel.” he laughed.

you clenched your fist, “you guys can’t be back here.”

the other one spoke, “look, we’re just trying to help. nobody wants to see the same pink and white whore, we already got one who is better than you. you should be thanking us!”

you shoved pass them and locked yourself in the dressing room. your breathing increased as you clutched onto your heart. “deep breathes” you whispered to yourself.

no, no this can’t be happening again. it’s been months since you had an anxiety attack just stay calm, you kept thinking to yourself. i’m not ugly, they’re just trying to get under my skin. you’re okay.

but no matter how many times you told yourself this it didn’t work. you groaned loudly and scratched at your skin to relieve tension.

“y/n? doll?” ozzie said from the other side of the door, “you doing alright? can i come in?”

you wiped away your tears and opened the door. ozzie came in and saw your teary eyes and ruined makeup. “oh doll, what happened?”

your breathing increased again, “it’s nothing, i’m fine.”

“you’re not fine, what is it? did something happen?” he held your hands.

“just some…” you couldn’t finish your sentence, just break down again and hyperventilating. ozzie picked you up and pulled you into a hug, “shh, it’s okay, i’m here. but you gotta tell me what happened because NOBODY will hurt you again.”

“just mean shit.” you managed to say through your sobs.

“oh honey..breathe with me.”

you followed his breathing and eventually calmed down. your head was aching from how much you were crying. ozzie sat you down on the bench and got on his knees to be at your level. he took your hands into his and squeezed them, “who said these things?”

“an imp with short white hair and wearing a blue shirt? and the other has longer white hair who wasn’t wearing a shirt.” you took shaky breath in and out.

“i’m gonna BEAT those FUCKERS UP” ozzie screamed before calming down, “sorry for yelling it’s just-”

“i know, ozzie.” you softly smiled but dropped it, “i don’t feel good about my self.” you sniffled, “i don’t understand why you and fizz want a “shein version of angel dust”.”

“doll, STOP thinking like that! you’re better than that! fizzy and i think you are the most beautiful, handsome, attractive, sexy looking demon here! how about you hang out with verosika tonight and fizz and i will go handle them, does that sound good?”

you nodded as ozzie stood up to call verosika. you couldn’t help but to scratch yourself to relieve tension again. he hung up and got down to your level again, pulling your hands away from your arms so you would stop hurting yourself, “verosika is coming over in about 30 minutes, just sit tight. will you be okay being here until then?”

“i will, thanks again.”

“of course, doll! you mean everything to fizzy and i.” he smiled. “please stop scratching yourself, okay?”

you nodded and hugged yourself with your arms and your tail.

ozzie ending up leaving you in this dressing room. you needed to get out of this costume and take off your ruined makeup but was too tired to do anything. you were glad you’re able to hang out with your best friend, but still so mentally tired.

another knock was heard, “hey bitch,” verosika said, “can i come in?”

“yeah,” you got up and open the door. verosika handed you a flask.

“you doing alright?”

“not really.”

“want to get dress in some sexy ass clothes and go to a bar?” she sweetly smiled.

“i guess..sorry im just so tired after i get anxiety attacks.”

She rubbed your shoulder, “i know, baby…do you want me to dress you up!” her smile gotten bigger, in which making you smile.

you agreed and watch verosika squeal out of happiness. she went through all of your clothes that was in the dressing room and picked out the sexiest one you have. “bitch, PLEASE wear this.”

“uh..i don’t know. i don’t think i’ll good in it.”

“oh come on, please? trust me you’re already fucking hot. wear this.” she threw it to you.

“fine.” you took it out of her hands and got dressed while she turned around.

“ya know..fizz and ozzie really loves you.”

“i hope so.”

“i know so. they always talk about you.”

you finished putting on the outfit and got her attention. she turned back around and gasped, “i need to ask if i can join in on the polyamory.” she laughed, “let me do your makeup.”

you sat down on the bench as verosika gathered the makeup from the vanity. she picked out all shades of pink and did your eyeshadow/eyeliner/mascara before doing your face. you turned back around to look at yourself in the mirror, still feeling ugly but you know that’s not true.

you and verosika made your way to the nearest bar and got drinks. she obviously got shit faced but you tried to just get tipsy and not too drunk. “you know, y/n, im really glad i met you.” she rested her head on your shoulder.

“i’m glad too. if it wasn’t for fizz and ozzie then we wouldn’t have been friends.”

“you have no idea on how much they love you.” she drunkly said, “they’ll do anything to protect you.”

“yeah..i think they’re beating up those guys right now.” you laughed.

“oh most definitely.”

you took another sip of your margarita, “i feel much better.”

“is the alcohol talking or you?”

“probably both.” you snickered, “but i do feel much better. thanks again for inviting me out.”

“of course, bitch. come on,” verosika slid off of the bar stool and wobbled a bit, “let’s take you back to fizz and ozzie.” she reached her hand out for you, in which you gladly took.

“verosika, i think maybe i should take you back to your place,” you laughed, “you’re shit face.”

“yeah but this day is for you,” she slurred.

“you could just spend the night with us.” you smirked.

“that’ll probably be better because i see four of you.”

[sakuralovespossums]

okok so im not the person that asked if u take requests BUT may i pretty pls request hcs for master shake x someone who's like.. the opposite of him??? could be gn but preferably fem 😭 my idea is like.. reader is soft spoken, actually cares about meatwad, pretty darn feminine..... yk u get the gist. ty vro currently under hurricane watch 😛

Human Master Shake x Fem Reader who’s his total opposite!

General HCs

When Shake went around bragging about his new girlfriend, everyone just thought he was lying like usual and ignored him. That is until they actually met you and HOLLY HELL how tf did Shake of all people manage to pull a sweetie like you?!

You’re kind, soft spoken, bubbly and always dressed in pastel colored feminine clothing and glittery makeup. You always know just what to say and easily make friends with anybody you meet

Then there’s Shake…who’s…….Shake

He acts all surprised and offended to see people act shocked when finding out you two are together

“Of course we’re together!! You think I wouldn’t be able to hit this sweet piece of cake?”

*Smacks your ass, causing you to jump and glare at him*

Deep down tho, he’s REALLY kinda insecure about your relationship and is worried your only dating him cuz you want something from him and will ditch him at any moment

It doesn’t help that he has a shitty track record with women Svetlana and Freda

But you get that and are pretty patient. So you take your time with him and try to get him to slowly open up and be more vulnerable around you when you guys are alone. Wether that’d be cooking together, running errands, cuddling on the bed, and other mundane stuff

Shake acts annoyed and bored by all this at first, but over time begins to secretly enjoy it and feels more comfortable being with you

Like he’s shocked he doesn’t just like you for your sweet tits and ass!! He now actively seeks you out all the time cuz you’re the only person who makes him feel……..relaxed? Content? He doesn’t get it but he also can’t get enough of it!

Because of this, Shake grows more possessive/jealous. He will glare at anybody who looks at you and will snatch you away when your talking too long to other people

Doesn’t care who they are, he will let them known that you. are. HIS!!!!!

He feels justified in his possessiveness tho with how naive and too trusting you can be towards other people, making you easy prey for creeps who wanna take advantage of your kindness and good looks I kinda modeled your personality after Girlfriend from Friday Night Funkin

Despite being a bit of an airhead, there are random moments where you just say the most out of nowhere intelligent stuff ever that leaves everyone (especially Frylock) stumped

Despite liking you, Shake is still an asshole and can say/do some pretty dick-ish things to you sometimes. You quickly beat his ass reprimand him for it. You’re patient but not a pushover!!!

Shake groans as you drag him along on your usual shopping sprees, carrying home bags of new clothes and makeup from Forever 21, Victoria’s Secret, and Sephora. Meanwhile he’s blushing so hard cuz HOLY SHIT YOUR HOLDING HIS HAND!!!!!!

Peeks under your short skirt whenever he can

You know that 13-in-one shampoo bottle meme? That’s you and Shake

Your aesthetic is like NewJeans, Marina,pink core y2k (you) clashed with ICP, rap rock, horror core (Shake) I don’t know any other bands besides ICP I’m so sorry!

He smells (slightly) less after you forced him to start using hygiene products

He ALWAYS has you on his lap. Wether it’s the bed, couch, Carl’s pool, doesn’t matter

You love cuddling on his lap when he’s watching TV on the sofa, kissing all over his neck and face as he grows redder and redder

Other times he’ll get you back by suddenly ducking down and straight up tongue wrestle you with a sick smirk. His large frame not letting you go anywhere

Sure, you’ll often tease and fluster him. But he’ll also show you your place and leave you a mess too ;)

One time, he took you to an ICP concert and you were both decked out in the whole goth rocker outfit like in the Juggalo episode. God, he couldn’t believe how sexy you looked going from pretty pink to hardcore goth!

Shake cooks for you often after you compliment his meals. It fills him with a type of pride he doesn’t feel from telling others his usual made up stories

You like to hug him from behind as he stirs a pot on the stove, wearing the cute pink apron you insisted he wear he’s such a housewife

Shake still acts bored and annoyed when you try to be soft with him, but you get that that’s just how he is and go along with it while teasing him

He just grumbles into your chest. When Meatwad mentions how soft he gets around you, Shake just chases him with a bat

Shake is noticeably more mellow when you’re around. But that’s only when you around. Once you leave, he goes right back to being an ass to his roommates and neighbor. Please have him move out and live with you already!!!

Relationship with other characters

You and Meatwad instantly get along!

You guys always play together in his room with his dolls. You even gave him some of your old ones, which he loved so much!! Meanwhile Shake glares from the corner

He always goes to you for questions when Frylock is too busy only to be scared off by Shake, much to your frustration

You even exchanged phone numbers so that he can call/text you whenever he needs someone to talk to Shake has deleted his number off your phone numerous times and stopped when you confronted him about it. Now he just breaks Meatwad’s phone

Whenever Shake bullies Meatwad, he threatens him that he’ll tell him on you which instantly makes him panic

Frylock was skeptical when first meeting you. Did Shake pay you to act like his girlfriend? No, not even money could make someone pretend to like Shake. Did he brainwash you with one of his devices?

Regardless, he soon came to appreciate your company and is just glad there’s finally another sensible adult around here besides him!

He’s also appreciative of you for making his life less stressful by keeping Shake in check and being a friend/guardian figure to Meatwad

You like checking out whatever new invention he’s working on and even test some out (as super dangerous as that is)

Sometimes you both stand by the front porch and make chit chat while watching Shake and Meatwad annoy Carl

Oh yeah, Carl……

This greasy ass man is always hitting on you, no matter how many times you tell him you have 0 interest and are already taken

After a while, you become…….not friends but…..acquaintances is the right word. He still hits on you bcuz it’s Carl

“So I just got my pool decked out and it’s uhh….pretty hot out. Was wonderin if…maybe you know….you wanna stop by for a swim in your uhh….favorite bikini. Maybe like the smallest pair ya got………really shows off your boobs and—

*Gets blown up. You turn around to see Shake holding a bazooka*

NSFW stuff

Listen, listen!! I know we all like to imagine Shake as a pathetic attention whore sub!! BUT I also like to imagine him as a selfish dom with a size kink and fat dick that he doesn’t know how to use lmao

You’re just so smol and soft, he can’t help it!!!

He can’t get over how your strawberry scent always lingers on his skin, your soft voice, the way your back arches……..aw shit, did he bust already?

Gets a boner just from smelling your perfume scent

You’re both whiny brats crying for attention. You for his cuddles and dick. Him for your praises

Like I said in my last Shake x Reader fic, he burned all your toys!!! You didn’t talk to him for a week after that, which left him SO upset!!

Frylock: notices your bite marks “Oh my god, y/n!! Did a wolf attack you?!”

You: “Hmm? Oh, that’s just Shake!”

Fun Fact: Shake’s jizz tastes like pistachio milkshake

[stormberry-12]

Hellooo how are you this fine evening..

I wanted the ask if you could make one for jj where he does something that upsets the reader and she’s crying and sad and jj gets the silent treatment the whole week but he starts to cry hard and beg for her to talk to him and reader can’t help but comfort and hug him and give him all the love that she has and jj is all pouty and sad in the end

It’s fine if not <3 :)

didn't mean to ~ jj maybank x reader

pairing: JJ Maybank x Kook!Fem!Reader

warnings: language, angst, arguing, silent treatment.

notes: thxs for the request! Sorry I haven't posted in forever guys, im doing final exams at school rn and stuff. Also, sorry this is so short. But anyway, I loved this concept and also hated the way they solved JJ and Kie's fight in Season 3 so I tried to recreate it here with a better ending. Sorry, this took so long lol, much love!

"I mean, it would all blow up anyway. You know? Like... Look at you. You got your new threads on!" JJ exclaimed. "Look at me. What do I got? This? This piece of shit?" He threw something out of frustration, panting. You looked back at his run-down house, the eviction notice nailed to the front door with bright yellow police tape crossing over it.

"Getting kicked out of this place in three weeks anyway. shit, I don't even got parents right now. Why would you care? Why would you care? I'm just some loser that..."

"JJ..."

"You don't care. No, you don't!"

"I do care!" you shouted, getting frustrated with his attitude.

"No, you got parents that live in Figure Eight, you know?"

"That's not my fault."

"That's your future." he countered walking towards the water, hand running through his hair in frustration.

"Look, if you need us, we're gonna help you. I'm... I'll help."

"No- It's that right there! Okay? Like... It's so easy for you to say that." he whirled around to face you, yelling, "You know why? Because you're a Kook. You're a Kook, Y/n!"

"Yeah... I'm a Kook. I was such a Kook when I was living in a cave with you for a month! Soaking in the Kook life!"

"That's not what I'm talking about. GOD!" he exclaimed, reaching for his bike, he swung his leg over the seat.

"Jayj, don't leave." you pleaded, the engine of his bike revved and he started to drive away,

"JJ, WHAT THE HELL?" You screamed after him, tears rolling down your face, "MAYBANK!"

You were pissed the fuck off.

The first day after your fight you hadn't seen JJ, you cried for a couple hours, indulging in your favorite ice cream watching a sad rom-com, really getting in your feels.

Kie texted you to ask you what was up, the pogues had gone fishing that day but you never showed, to angry and sad to show your face to the world.

'Ask the blond kid,' was all you responded. you watched as her three typing bubbles flashed beneath your text.

'shit head's not here either,' she responded. 'wtf is going on,'

'fight. he called me a kook.'

'oh shit,' was all she said.

A few days later you walked around the chateau and dug through John B's fridge, you were fully aware of JJ's presence on the couch but still continued to ignore him. It was closing in on a week since you had last uttered a word to him.

Grabbing a chilled beer you walked past JJ and to the front door.

"Y/n," he said, voice cracking.

It wasn't the first time JJ had tried to talk to you this week and once again you ignored him. You slipped your shoes on and walked out onto the porch, slamming the door behind you. You flinched at how harsh it was but brushed the feeling away as you took a sip of your drink.

You sat at the edge of JJ's hot tub, the disco lights twinkled in the water, and the beer started to make you feel nauseous. You set it down and let out a shaky breath, blinking away tears that made the colorful lights spur in all different directions.

'Oh stop it Y/n' you told yourself, you would not cry anymore over this boy, if he didn't want to date a 'kook' that was his problem.

A long time must have passed, you had slid down fully into the hot tub finishing off your drink and basking in your own thoughts. The sun had set and the tides changed across the water.

"Go!" You heard someone on the deck grunt, you looked up to see John B pushing JJ out the door towards you locking him outside. JJ made his way down the stairs awkwardly and stood at the edge of the hot tub across from you, not getting in like he was looking for your permission.

"What do you want Maybank?" you asked quietly.

"I-uh," he sniffled and you focused closer in the dim light to see tears streaming down his face. "I made you a bracelet,"

He mumbled in the softest voice that made your heart clench and reached out to hand it to you. You looked at it closely, intricate little hearts knotted into the design, made with your favorite colors. And of course, the sea blue strings that you had told him reminded you of his eyes countless times. You didn't know what to say. Until you heard the soft sobbing coming from his lips, he thought you didn't like it.

"No, JJ..." you cooed, wrapping the bracelet around your wrist and tieing it in a crisp knot. You slid yourself through the water and stood in front of him taking in his state. He looked at you with pleading eyes and you wrapped your arms around him. He collapsed into you, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face in your shoulder. You felt butterflies in your stomach at his touch and lifted a hand to stroke his hair. God you loved this boy so much.

"I-i'm sorry," he cried, "I called you a kook, I'm such a dick, It's all my fault..."

"No, Jayj-" you whispered.

"Yes,"

"No, I am in the wrong too, shouldn't have ignored you like that," you whispered.

"But I called you a kook," he said again.

"And then I was acting like one, it was wrong,"

You stood there in silence hugging each other, you you feel his breathing slow and he recovered to look up at you.

"Please forgive me," he said.

"Always, as long as you forgive me," he nodded frantically at you causing you to giggle.

"Thank god that's over," you heard Pope say in the distance.

"Yeah, pass me one of those?" Kie said, taking a beer out of the cooler, the rest of the pogues walking toward the hot tub.

You all settle down in the warm water, JJ snuggling into your side, looking at your bracelet sweetly for the rest of the night. You kissed the top of his head, knowing what ever happed in the future you could always get through it with him.

[fandomwritinga]

Bring more stuff abt Rihito/Lihito

I wanna see some headcannons of yours.

IM SOS SORRY FOR TAKING SO LONG I WAS GRADUATING LOL

Anyways here are some random/general/nsfw headcanonc of lihito lol

- ok so there is so much about this man

- He is so big but such a baby

- So lets see what we are working with

- Dude has his own company (regardless of how he came to get it lol)

- He treats his co workers amazingly

- He treats his friends well

- So imagine what he would do if he had a partner?

- Man would do anything for you

- He also has big hands

- Which means he got a big dick-

- So

- He loves when you call him Lihito

- After all everybody calls him that

- But when u use his actual name? Man melts on the spot

- He doesnt know which one to prefer

- So u did a little experiment

- When you guys were going at it you called him his actual name for once

- He stopped

- Looked at you

- Kissed you on the nose

- And he broke the fucking bed

- Also i think he loves your nose

- Just in general like he just likes to kiss you there

- He deff has some weird sex toys

- I mean dude was single for a loooong time so he deff bought some weird shit off the internet

- But now he has you so he doesnt need it anymore…..or?

- Anyways you visit him when he is working and he is over the roof

- He is showing you every place every room like he hasnt done it every time you come there

- He just wants to show off for you

- You sucked his dick under his desk once

- He deff has a list of places where he wants you guys to do it

- When he fights?

- Wooohooooooooooo

- Bark BARK BARK

- Man is HOT

- Before his fight he wants to talk to you

- And only you

- He just wants to see his babe

- After the fight he wins? Be prepared for a pounding

- Of course only after a nice dinner and something romantic

- He is just a big softie

- Sure a bit perverted but still a softie

- Is this getting too long?

- In general he is romantic but not every day

- He will always tell you to have a good day and send you heart texts but he will forget an anniversary

- But he always makes it up to you

- Always

- Eats pussy and ass like a man starved

- Back to the lipstick stuff i said a while ago

- You bought some random lipstick and it was smearing everywhere

- He loved it on you, he loved the color on you, he loved you and he loved the print it left on his dick

- The print of your lips around his dick made him go crazy

- You once were kissing his dick and suddenly u got an urgent phone call

- You had to leave the room ;((

- You left the poor man all by himself

- But when he looked at his dick and saw the mark of your lips?

- He jerked off so hard in that moment

- He also steals ur panties

- For fun i guess

- He masturbates with them

- He got caught once but he didnt stop he just kept going at it while looking at you and saying how much he missed you

- Will kiss every part of your body

- He loves you so much

- He would do anything for you

[lemonflavoreddishsoap]

Hello there!! Idk if I have already sent something in, but if I haven’t, I would love to request! May I please have the LS members’ (separate) reactions to a new member with “soulless” or “dead” eyes (basically like the anime eyes that have no shine in them), who always seems rather closed off, but at some point the members do something nice to them, and the reader blushes and their eyes just light up like the brightest stars? Sorry if this request is a lot! If it is you can ignore! But thank you so much! (I loved the housewife s/o HCs you wrote btw, they were lovely!) ❤️❤️

Ghiaccio pfp twinsies...woag- also i like this idea a lot!! this reader sounds absolutely wonderful <33 fair warning I wrote most of these while incredibly sleepy so if they're ooc that's probably why im so sorry-

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

La Squadra with a reader who has soulless eyes (that light up when they're happy/flustered)

Formaggio

When he first saw you, he wasn't sure exactly how alive you were.

I mean, those empty eyes and the way you barely talked to anyone definitely had him raising an eyebrow at first.

But he quickly got used to it. Nothing was wrong with responding to a joke with a tiny smile instead of a hearty laugh.

In fact, with enough time, he grows rather comfortable around that blank stare of yours. He gives you your space, but whenever you do talk to him, he's more than happy to get the chance to hear your voice and chat.

One day, before you went out for a mission, Formaggio noticed you nearly forgot to bring something vital. He managed to catch up to you and give you the item before you left, but before he could say anything, he noticed your expression.

The color spread across your cheeks, and your eyes -Oh god, your EYES. It was like someone finally flipped on a light switch in them. They were full of life for once, and the sight had him speechless.

But- shit, right, you had to leave. With an absent-minded nod and pat on the shoulder, he began to walk away.

"No need to thank me," he shouted to you before he was out of sight - and it was true. The look on your face had been thanks enough.

Illuso

Definitely made fun of your empty eyes often. Like Formaggio he probably compares you to a zombie, but he is willing to say it out loud.

He tries to guess what your thinking and feeling all the time if you tend to not show emotion. Like he'd say things like "I bet you're pissed about that too, you just don't wanna show it."

But like. In an annoying way if that makes sense.

I'll be honest I can't think of what kind of nice thing he would do for you. This dude's section has haunted me for days, y'all.

But in the event of him doing nice for you, he notices your expression right away. boy is he surprised by it. and boy is he LOUD about it.

"Holy SHIT! You're actually alive! I managed to break that moody façade of yours?"

You might wanna walk away or hide your face before he calls the rest of the gang over to look.

Afterwards he's weirdly a bit nicer to you? He obviously wants to see your adorable expression again, but his exact intentions are unknown...

Prosciutto

Doesn't care in much of a usual way. If anything I think he would comment on how your hard to read expressions and closed off nature makes you good for the job.

So he never really bothers to think you may be any other way.

The two of you were set to go on a mission together, and he insisted you work on a concrete plan beforehand. It turns out his idea for the plan relies VERY heavily on your abilities/stand.

When you ask about it, he begins to talk about how strong your abilities are, and how perfect you would be for the job, how he has faith that you can pull it all off.

Your heart flutters at his words and with every compliment you feel heat rush to your face.

When he stops talking and notices how your eyes lit up, he's....genuinely unsure what to think.

It was all true, you were strong and the right person for the job, but we all know how he gets when he's working with someone he feels is a bit too vulnerable cough cough pesci

He doesn't worry about it for the time being - it's a one time thing after all - but he keeps an eye out for if it happens again.

Pesci

I think he is used to people thinking he looks strange/creepy, so even it might creep him out a bit, he tries to be nice about your soulless face.

Gives you your space, but this boy is sweet, it won't take long for him to do something that makes the darkness in your eyes fade away.

idk why my first thought for the moment is him baking something new and asking you to try it. You have a taste and quickly nod in approval, it's delicious.

Relieved, Pesci proceeds to let you know he made it because he remembered you mentioning [insert flavor here] was your favorite flavor. Yep, that'll do it.

He's incredibly caught off guard, seeing your eyes twinkle with appreciation - for a second he thinks you're about to cry! He stands there, unsure what to do, until either the interaction ends or you say something to him.

Is so overwhelmed afterwards no matter what happens - was that really the real you? That sweet face was really yours?

Melone

It literally doesn't matter to him - he can see right through your dead look. It's uncanny.

You could be completely stone-faced and he would find some way to be able to tell exactly how you feel about something. He'll tell you his predictions too to see if their right.

I imagine it's one of these moments that actually leads to him seeing that cute expression of yours.

It started with "you found that hilarious, didn't you?"

He was playing his guessing game again, and like every time before, he was right. You didn't even have to answer.

"You know, you're so interesting to read. You have all these little tells for every small thought, and I think you subconsciously change them a bit every time I take notice of them!" He suddenly began explaining to you.

But it didn't stop there, he began to tell you all about how he picked apart your body language, how he noticed changes in your emotions over the entire time he's known you. "You're.... fascinating to watch."

It's not until he finishes talking that you both realize you've been staring at him with a completely uncharacteristically bright look of wonder. Then it's his turn for his face to light up, pointing at the blush on your cheeks.

"So you do like how I watch you! I knew it."

Ghiaccio

"The hell are you giving me that look for!?"

Of COURSE he takes it personally a lot - especially if you're supposed to be listening to his rambling. He isn't exactly thinking straight, so he just thinks your blank stare is some kind of insult.

But beyond that, it's rare he'll get on your ass about it.

Over time, I think he might even find you a reliable person to spew all his ranting at, if you don't complain at him or cause a fuss.

Maybe even at some point, perhaps if you've been getting picked on especially hard by Illuso, he'll ask if you have any ranting to do.

"What!? That prick has got to be getting on your nerves, doesn't that make you- WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU GIVING ME THAT FACE FOR!?"

You're gonna have to end up explaining yourself or else he won't stop asking you. When you do, he'll scoff, saying he barely did anything. At least you won't have him blabbing about it to the others, you both know it would get real annoying real quick.

If you specifically ask him to keep it secret, he'll nod, and you swear you see him smile at you.

Risotto

This man also looks pretty damn unapproachable (love him tho <3). He has the least amount of problems with how you are.

Like Prosciutto, he thinks your closed off nature is good for the job. But he never brings up that sometimes he wishes you were a little more open.

One day you return from a mission. It went smoothly. Enough. Okay, you had managed to get the deed done, but you had gotten injured in the process. In order to not endure lecturing from any of your teammates, you quickly dismissed everyone's questions about the mission and looked for things to treat your wound with, hiding it from everyone else.

In the middle of hastily wrapping up the bloody injury, you felt a hand on your shoulder, and soon after you head Risotto's voice. He warned you that you weren't treating the wound carefully enough.

He didn't scold you- a scolding wasn't going to help the sting and the crimson staining your skin. No, he asked if he could take care of the wound for you.

You felt your face heat up as he helped you, but although you were sure he noticed the look on your face, he made no mention of it. Just tended to your wound, and told you to tell him about any issues with a mission next time.

Afterwards you two agreed you would give him specifics later. You thanked him and that was that.

Walking away from you, Risotto replayed your expression in his mind....how cute.

[octuscle]

Goddamn dude you’re two for two, I’d fucking kiss you if Boss wouldn’t have my ass for it. He says I’m all hisSNDNFIDDN

Shit sorry, hard to type while I’ve got a weapon of mass destruction up my asSKSHFDBD

Okayokay shit I’ll make this quick ‘fore he breaks my phone. He doesn’t like it when my attention ain’t on him. I know you’re probably sick of all my requests but I really need this one from you man. I don’t want Boss to be my boss anymore. Or, not just my boss. I…I-uhh wannaAJSFHRI

AAAH FUCK okay I want ‘im to be my husband. Lock him down so I can always be his and he’ll be mine and all that sweet shit. Call me a romantic, or a whore I don’t care. My problem is, apparently our situation is “unethical”. Yeah he’s Big BoOPSNXD

Fuck! He’s Big Boss to me and all the guys under me but even he’s got assholes in charge of him and they’re already breathing down his neck for all the private meetings with me. But I don’t wanna leave this job. I love the guys, I love leading them and working with ‘em, they’re like family. So is there a way you can make boss above all those dickheads in suits above him? Or maybe just persuade them or make them more understanding of our—oh shit, am I gonna say this? Of our lovVEGEIDHHK

CHRISTONABIKE alright fuck it dude I’m sending this shit as is, just please help me out again, I swear I’ll do anything you ask for it. FUCK yes sir I’m putting it down I’m putting it down—-

This is a sequel to this asks here:

Dude, like I always say: Never fuck the company! That's why my supervisor always makes me a muscular employee at KFC when he has a craving for my cock. But that has not been the question at all.

It didn't take long for word of your affair to spread all the way to the board. And it only takes afew hours that you have an appointment with the CEO and the head of HR. To relieve the stress, you had another quick fuck in the bathroom. Now your suits sit reasonably well over your muscular bodies again, the wide open shirts show a lot of your hairy chest! You look great, unlike the two fat guys sitting across from you in the conference room. They've certainly never seen the inside of a gym or stood in the mud of a construction site in their work boots.

Head of HR begins his speech. "It has come to our attention, Jack, that you are having a sexual relationship with one of your co-workers and are doing so in the workplace." Your boss or daddy raises his hand, asks to interrupt for a moment, puts one hand in the inside pocket of his jacket, pulls out a ring, takes your hand, puts the ring on it and says "Just to clarify, this is not just a co-worker but also my fiancé." You can't help but stick your tongue down his throat. For a brief moment you forget about the two assholes in the room. But when you end the kiss and look back at the CEO and Head of HR, they both look changed. Most noticeably, their stern expressions have given way to an almost cheeky grin. And somehow there's the shadow of a beard on their flabby chins. And the facial features are starting to become less flabby.

"So Jack and Mike," the CEO begins. "You know that diversity is extremely important in the company. We think it's great that the two of you as a couple set such a great example of an open and colorful society." You grin. Your fiancé and you tend to wear black. Black suit and black shirt at the office, black leather at night. Colorful? Well… The head of HR continues: "We know it's not really your job, but could you imagine being the faces of our new recruiting campaign? Both take off their jackets and hang them over the backs of the conference chairs. Fuck, they spend every free minute in the gym. You secretly stroke Jack's bulge under the table.

The CEO is no longer so discreet. He stands up and sketches the campaign schedule on the flipchart with one hand. And has the other in his sweatpants. And his colleague is also kneading his bulge. The two of them are barely older than you. Certainly a few years younger than your fiancé Jack. The head of HR turns to you, looks you in the eye and licks his lips. The CEO leaves the flipchart and goes to Jack, stands behind him, runs his hand down his unbuttoned shirt and starts playing with Jack's nipple. A few seconds later, the Head of HR has lowered the blinds and dimmed the lights via the building control app.

After an intense interaction, Peter and Steven have given you the rest of the day off. You should celebrate your engagement. And the two of them have a lot planned for the rest of the day anyway.

Pic of your CEO and head of HR found @maxx-magnum

[lyretheinstrument]

Finished batch one of tfe season 2 and honestlyyyyyyyhhh..,.

(first batch review and opinions)

(cut to avoid spoilers)

it's rough compared to the first season. I genuinely believe it's not the creators fault and they probably got mega rushed and a ton of budget cuts.

This season was definitely more Terran focused and I don't minddd that?? because it is their show. but I do wish legacy characters got a bit of spotlight. I know prowls coming in batch two so I hope he gets a fair share of screentime. again, I know it’s supposed to focus on the Terrans but I feel that if your gonna include the cybertronians can you try to use them a little more ? otherwise don’t have them at all yk /lighthearted

but personal grievances aside for a moment the writing was ROUGH. I know it's a kids show but almost all the episodes felt weirdly paced, awkward, and babyish?? and the animation downgrade doesn't make it any better.

honestly a lot of it was just really distracting and I couldn't really focus on the story. Also the story itself felt kinda, unfocused? idk maybe that's a personal thing as well. I found it kinda hard to get invested. The Terrans I only really like are twitch thrash and nightshade. jawbreaker is fucking insufferable. I’m sorry.

I noticed a lot of the issues in the episodes could have been easily solved. That is NOTT something u want an audience to feel.. a simple communication or action could have easily prevented an issue in an episode. :/

personal grievances back infront IM SO MAD BEE GOT LIKE ZERO SCREENTIME

Optimus episode was cute tho I like it when characters shit on jawbreaker

I don't mind the cons being villains but if you’re gonna have them as villains can you give them more personality and screentime. also a lot of the decepticons felt bland or out of character.

A fun and interesting plot line we could have had (at least in my opinion) is decepticon infighting. It felt bizarre to me that soundwave and shockwave just fell in line when starscream assumed leadership. IDK!! I feel like the three would be arguing over who would be leader?? Correct me if I’m wrong on this I might he looking at this all wrong. </3

honestly I had like zero interest in spitfire and aftermath but at LEAST aftermath had a new design (GLARES AT SHAMELESS TWITCH RECOLOR).

like I’m not even upset that twitch and spitfire have the same/similar alt modes because it works w them being literal parallels of eachother. I’m just mad it’s just a straight up (lowk ugly) recolor. it just doesn’t work for me personally. Especially bc a good redesign could immediately fix a lot of my issues with it. like make her sharper or give her different patterns and adjust the color placement SOMETHING BRO.

that concludes my disorganized ramble for now. I’m excited to see everyone’s thoughts on the first batch of season two and I remain optimistic for the second half :3

side note:

I LOVE YOU BUMBLEBEE I LOVE U SO MUCH AND ALSO IM SOOO HAPPY RAVAGE GOT CONFIRMED AS FEMALE ILY GIRL CAT RAVAGE

[celaenaeiln]

Im sorry, but what is this obsession with turning robin Dick into a angry monster? He wanted to kill the guy who killed his parents and that makes him bad? Because I’ve wanted to kill people for a lot less so *wipes sweat from brow* oh no.

Was Robin Dick deranged? Yes. Psychotic, bonkers, had a couple dozen loose screws? ABSOLUTELY YES!

But was he also sweet, awe-inspiring, caring, and happy? Duh!! He was the first child hero bro! Ofcourse he was. He had to be because he was a child hero born in the 40s and they might’ve been depressed as hell but they sure ain’t gonna show that on the outside!

Late teens Dick was a dangerous, flaming hot, fashion designer bag of rage and stress and he’s fucking valid for that because Bruce kicked him out because he was worried and jealous. I wouldn’t know where to throw that all rage either if that was me. Certainly not running a team of the best child heroes, unlike him- the crazy asshole.

And why. Why. WHYWHYWHWYHWYWHYYYYY ARE PEOPLE ALWAYS COMPARING JASON AND DICK?! If one exists the other cannot. Bro, they’re not a fucking coin. So WHY?!

Ok. Okay. Lets say that Dick had anger issues because he wanted to kill his parents’ killer. Then did Jason not have anger issues because he threw a drug dealer that had nothing to do with him off a roof to the man’s death thus leading to a fraught relationship between him and Batman until he died? No? Then fuck off!

Why does one have to be boxed into a category so the other can look better. Dick and Jason both developed anger issues but at two different times. Dick’s started when he and Bruce began feuding at 17. Jason started when he came back with a vengeance at 19. Oh. Would you look at that. They both got angry because of Batman at around the same age! What a coincidence. Perhaps writers did that because they needed them to move into a new story arc in their lives like what actual people do at 18.

And here’s the main thing. If Jason was a cute, innocent angel that became angry and temperamental after coming back from the dead, then why can’t you grant the same olive branch to Dick? How can you say that Jason had the capability of changing from robin to Redhood while Dick could not do the same for his Robin to Nightwing? Looking at the comics, Dick was super sweet (“Holy Batman!”) so why is it so hard to believe he changed too when Bruce ripped his family colors from him and threw him out on the streets because of his own jealousy and love.

So can we please, please change the fucking narrative here? The Golden Boy grew into a multifaceted single parent who has too many kids and is in charge of the whole world and The Cool Kid became an incredible crime fighting warlord who fights for Justice even in outer space. They’re both equally cool, right?

Now back to what I was saying -THEY ARE NOT WHO YOU THINK. The real angry kid here is Damian so why are you pushing that brand onto both of these two when they were nothing like that?!

That label-making factory should be shut down and sued for fraud because here’s how it is:

Dick - deranged, happy robin. The one you whip your head over your shoulder at to make sure you heard him correctly because he says the craziest shit in the most chirpiest of tones. He’ll set fire to a bad guy’s pants and walk back whistling to a secretly approving Batman (canon btw).

Jason - rational, boastful kid. The one you smirk at because the both of you saw someone egg a house who you know is owned by an asshole. He goes into battle fists first or he’ll hold back Batman when he’s gone too far (canon btw).

Tim - bruh no labels because what the fuck is he even. He’s a combo of Jason and Dick. He’ll say something that’s crazy but in a completely calm voice so you dismiss it or think he’s joking (canon btw).

Damian - rational, angry kid. The one where he’s angry but he’s cute and he means the best so you wanna wrap him in a blanket and throw him up in the air and laugh as he shrieks angrily on his way down. He’ll steal the bat sign and run around with it until Batman makes him put it back (canon btw).

So, in conclusion, because my English teachers taught me to end any essay with a concluding paragraph even though this sounds less like an essay and more like a stream of words from my consciousness - Jason and Dick were happy kids. Yes, Dick grew angry at 17 because Bruce wouldn’t let him stay with the titans and he fired him over a bullet wound but no, you cannot use Tony Zucco as his defining point.

Because, to be fair, you are not your past. Your past can shape you but it does not define you. Where you come from does not dictate who you will be. That depends on you and what you believe is right. And neither Dick nor Jason let their pasts define them. So don’t call either of them angry robins when they were both happy as possible.

Please give this some thought because having either one of them angry so young isn’t fun for anyone. Love to see them raging though. Give me wild, powerful Dick Grayson effortlessly whirling down dozens of enemies in a storm of electrical fury. Give me crazy, badass Jason Todd taking down men in a fiery blaze of a tornado given form. Give me that anger. Just not at fucking 8.

[spacedoutman]

Here’s you guys sorry if the colors came out rlly weird!! My graphic pad shows colors too saturated and my actual computer screen is broken. Repairing shit on a crashed space ship is hard

I love you guys sonas and it’s so damn cool seeing all of them and being able to draw them is such a fucking honor- thanks so much! These are for the elder project which might be animated but don’t get ur hopes up

I stylized them differently and severely but they’ll all look similar once I actually get the project moving

Ilysm ty <3 I got 2 more to draw too so keep your eyes open! Also lemme know if u wanna be in the elder project and have a drawing done of u thx!!

@thestrangelystrange omg why tf do I hear boss music like omfg Dolly’s design is so fucking powerful my skin almost blew straight off my bones while I was drawing this I love it sm

PAPWJRBDKLANWBEHCHSBWJWKR i love the hair too oh my god maybe one day I can have hair like this…

@angelbambisworld I literally can’t say how much I am in love with your Kissona’s design OMGG- literally gives me early 2000s vibes like so damn aesthetic- pls draw more I gotta see more of ur sona this is my whole childhood

I am so fucking in love also I added a little Gene to keep your sona company-

@that-metalhead-ace here ya go! I really admire that you actually drew acne n stuff, like that’s so cool! Im rlly sorry if I couldn’t get the details correct my brain doesn’t work half the time but the design is so fucking cool

Originally I was gonna go with bolder colors all over but I decided against it

Also you probablyyy noticed I didn’t draw the pentagram. I was raised Christian and even tho I’m atheist now I have ocd so yeah… I’ll hopefully be able to draw 1 later lol

[jellyaibo]

breaking my silence...i fuckng hate this "genre" of object show gijinka and im tired of acting like it isnt . bland

(using ii gijinkas as my guinea pigs for this, considering i really ONLY see these kinds of gijinkas in the ii side of the osc)

they are just. all the same build, usually same hairstyles and fashion theres NOTHINGGG that differentiates one persons gijinka from another because thats how similar they look to me, also if i were to color these do u think it would make it more obvious who is who? (if u cant already tell who is who obvs. its tt, fan & pickle but ohhhh my god THERESS NO SAUCE)

this might just sound fucking insane on my part but also even though these gijinkas dont have natural skintones (obvs trying to match the objects) they completely lack any features that say they ARENT white (i mean like very eurocentric) finding one with afro hair is like looking for a needle in a haystack (im being so serious ive barely seen any . kind of diversity like that)

and not even just diversity in races too, because 99% of them are all tall and skinny they just completely lack any body diversity (once again, very eurocentric yk yk) and because of that they have. awful silhouettes (unless they have VERY defining features which is fucking rare, so unless you have a really unique design a lot of people probably can't tell who is who unless you either squint really hard or have them be colored in)

my point is . these gijinkas just dont look good like at all. (im not gonna kill anyone for making gijinkas like this btw but ill def squint at you rlly hard but thats just me) and i think people should try to go and experiment with more expressive and fun designs that can make these blokes rlly stand out more!!! (something as simple as just, giving them acne, making them shorter/taller than they actually are, wacky hair n cool disability aids etc. just fucking go nuts!!! diversity just. makes better designs imho)

i designed these kinda on the spot (im sorry pickle) and like. even if they might look a little bland imo they have way more personality than the designs above!!!!!!!!!!! its not hard lichurally all u need to do is get an idea n try it

also i didnt know where to put this but like. another example of why i think these gijinkas just fucking suck: i uhhhh made my loser gijinka into one

her joy? her happiness? her personality and transsexual swag? GONE. SUCKED AWAY FROM HER BEING. she is a HUSK

my final note(s) on this is like. just go experiment brah im sooo tired of seeing these ohh please im so exhausted...EVEN IF U ARENT CONFIDENT IN UR DESIGNING SKILLS . GOING AND TAKING THAT FIRST STEP IS GOOD please just go nuts ohhh u wanna go nuts so fucking bad . theres many many references for different bodies n details n shit AND U DONT EVEN HAVE TO LIKE. STUDY EVERYTHING TO BECOME "GOOD" at this . just . freaking go for it

and my final (final) note is uhmm very petty but idc but the artist that popularized this kind of object show gijinka isnt the best person so like. yeah that is one of my top reasons on why i dont like em LMAO

uhhh and yeah thats it thats pretty much all sorry for rambling im just a tired little biracial boy oohh im so tired heres a lollipop 🍭

[gloomyluvr]

OPEN ARMS

in which y/n surprises miles with her latest project

fem!cosplayer!reader x 1610!miles morales

fluff

warnings!: veryyy inaccurate depiction of cosplayer!reader. reader doesn’t know miles is spiderman 😭 horrible ending sorryyy

based off this ask

a/n: hiiii. i’ve been meaning to put this out but never got to it sorry. umm sorry for not being active lately 😣 i have no excuses i just haven’t been active 💀 so sorry this took so long and to the person who requested it im so so sorry if its booty! but dw guys imma start being active again 😈

masterlist

“are you almost done?” miles groaned. he was always impatient, but it was worse when it came you. about an hour ago, you had texted miles to come to your place to show him your latest cosplay. 

miles knew of your interest, and he had always supported you. he complimented every one of your cosplays and always helped you take photos to post later. this time, he didn’t even know that you were working on a new cosplay! he felt a little betrayed since he loved going out with you looking for any supplies that you’d need for the costumes or wigs. 

“give me a minute! this spandex is a bit difficult to put on!” you yelled from your room. 

“spandex?” miles whispered to himself. now he was only more curious. and you were still taking your sweet ass time. in your room, you looked around on the floor looking for the red jordans spiderman sported (which thankfully, you had a pair of!)

“where the hell are they?” you grumbled to yourself. you sighed when you remembered you’d left them next to the couch where miles was sitting. 

“miles!” you yelled.

“yeah baby?” 

“can you get the shoes you bought me and bring them over here!” 

“uhh sure! where are they?”

“they should be right next to where you’re sitting!” miles looked around until he found the red shoes. he picked them up and left them by the door of your room.

“okay i left them by your door!”  

“thanks, love!” you waited until you heard the couch squeak, confirming that miles was no longer near your door. quickly (but not so swiftly) you got the shoes, hitting your hand against the door as you tried to pull the shoes towards you. you slammed the door shut, cursing yourself as you finally put on the last piece of your costume.

“close your eyes!!!” you yelled to your lover.

miles was giddy. he couldn’t wait to see what you had put together this time. he hadn’t seen you yet, but he already knew you looked great! with his tightly shut eyes, miles heard the door open followed by the sound of your footsteps that stopped in front of him. 

“open!”

miles looked up at you and very quickly noticed the familiar colors and design. it was his suit! 

“ta da!!!” you announced, posing with your hands out like spiderman does when he shoots his weird web thing. 

miles smiled widely, he couldn’t believe his eyes. not only did the suit look amazing on you and hug your curves in all the right places but it was incredibly accurate!

“baby, you look so good! the suit looks great!” miles held your hand and stood up, “do a lil’ spin for me. how did you get it to look like the real thing?” you did as he asked and giggled at his compliments. 

“his suit is so simple! also, you won’t believe how many photos there are of spiderman! it was just a little hard getting his logo right! it looks like it was spray painted on. i don't know though.” you rambled, and miles listened as he admired you. 

“what’s with the shoes? spiderman doesn’t wear shoes.” miles tried correcting you.

“yes he does! well, he used to! when he first started. they’re the exact same ones too!”

“you remember that? eww, you stalkerrr!” miles joked. 

you playfully rolled your eyes, “whateverrrr. you’re just jealous ‘cause i prefer spiderman over you.”

“you’re fake!” miles pouted and crossed his arms.

“noooo! i’m kidding! i love youuu!” you tried kissing miles but he turned his head away.

“go kiss your spider bae or whatever! he probably lays eggs or some shit.” miles slandered his alter ego. he uncrossed his arms, and dramatically (but gently) pushed you away.

“you’re my only bae, i swear!” you pleaded, attacking him with another hug. you wrapped your arms around him tightly. miles smiled and uncrossed his arms and reciprocated the hug. his hands traveled down to their resting place on your waist. you looked up at him only to find him already looking at you. his gentle brown eyes scanned over your face, admiring every small feature. you smiled before quickly looking away.

“don’t get shy on me now,” he said softly. you buried your face in his chest, embarrassed.

“then stop looking at me like that.” you murmured, even more embarrassed by how you still get so nervous around him. 

“i’m sorry, i can’t help it. not when my novia’s so pretty.” 

“oh my god, you’re so corny!” 

[andrewthedeadly]

PITBABE THE SERIES EP 2 THOUGHTS დ

ready to see what the hell is going on

starting strong with publicly accusing the bad man of evil doings this is going to go well

The evil look into the camera plsss

omg daddy issues knew that was my twinnnnn

THE DADDY IS BAD MAN

anyways pit so fine I had to say before we get too far into this

(≖ ͜ʖ≖)

way is the only one with a good head on his shoulders

the rest I think just operating off vibes

charlie!! missed him

oh forgot he lowkey twofaced

pit trying to play hard to get like the man isnt living in his house after *checks watch* 3 days ...

backstabbing bitch oh my god

ooo foreign racers I think that supposed to be a big deal im not sure

charlie has the easiest job in the world and he still going to fumble it im so mad rn that should be MEEEE

pit flexing on him yet again

they love taking advantage of these broke ass men that keep finding themselves over there

is the alpha attraction also include attracting desperate poor people like how likely is it that you get a fucktoy and an awesome repairman FOR FREE all in the same week

pit has MOTIONNNNNN

awe nevermind they paying him

WAIT ITS THE DUDE CHARLIE MET WITH

OH NOOO

they are going to fuck him over bad I dont think ill recover from this

wait for whats pit n charlies age difference ?? he said the other boy looked young but they are the same age so I wonder .

very ominous way to say ur gonna get fucked

maybe they wont fuck him over maybe??

workout scene the gods are in my favor

they beefing at the gym instead of sexy montaging im sick

what is with all these insane bets and why is charlie throwing himself in it

FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT!!

MINK MINK MINK !

yeah Charlie ate him up .. the eye contact at the end tho

now he wanna say he planned to lose okay buddy

10 cars is insane ...and he pimping Charlie out for one .. eat the rich

smh

charlie do anything and the pit is genuinely fighting a smile every time like he is whipped

charlie please drop the sugar daddy guide we need you !!

pit in that car STRESSIN OMGGGGG

charlie horny thats why he cant drive he need the pit treatment

all way do is stare off looking concerned pls get my man some ass

37 minutes in and I think the is the first time they mention alpha so im guessing it won't be too big of a part of the story line idc tho cant wait till ao3 gets ahold of this amen

way yet again bestowing wisdom

ik he sick to his stomach every time pit says boyfriend

way yet again with another amazing move keeping eyes on charlie he 4-0 today quickly becoming one of my faves

im so sorry I dont know the names of the colorful two so im going to call them the colorful twins

PLEASE THEY WANNA FUCK TOO

this show is really fun love this

way is sassy today okay king talk ur shit

and the direct confrontation yea i like the way you move way ...

ooo sellin pit off to the competitive team

A KISS NEXT WEEK

[yotsubaclover]

explaining my blorbo associations pt2: jules who i do not draw often im so sorry u look like that babygirl

song: i actually... have never made a jules playlist LMAO my jules brainrot is so academic i could spit theories for him but not songs. so i had to dive into my spotify likes and find something. goldilocks spot is actually from a very old jolyne playlist i made but i think it also fits jules. to me it's a song about being painfully aware of how... average? not-outstanding? just there? you are and the angst that comes with it, the bitterness towards other people (in jules' case, for not seeing him as who he knows himself to be—a noble). but there's also a stubborness and pride that keeps you from fully confronting those feelings/that dilemma and finding peace within it, which is fitting for the persistent turbulence within jules... a lot of this is my (quite liberal?) interpretation tho so yeah

color & object: purple is the color of royalty and lavender is pretty and calming and healing. quite the nice set of descriptions for someone like jules :)

animal: i dont kin assign animals often so this was hard. but i chose raven as a parallel to doves... because jules' dove of happiness was/is rosemarine, and because jules is almost like rose's shadow in many ways... also ravens are kinda bad omens i feel like for all the gentleness jules shows he is also obviously capable and willing to do terrible things, he's selfish and prideful and even a little greedy... and lol i think the negativity also fits some of his self-image

drink: tea! of course! what else would i put

aesthetic: i think classic dark academia with all its elite-ness and occult-ness and general fucked up-ness would be a very average jules genre. smack him in a dark academia plot a la secret history and he's right at home lol. even his fallen noble status makes for an interesting pov in a dark academia story. the genre's potential for class analysis and commentary too is jules de ferrier

other: i think it was a fic which was about jules and perfume which made me think about this association... lavender was the scent too so that is another explanation to the above lol. as for the shadows again it's cos of his duo thing with rosemarine but also everything he does is kind of... in the shadows... he has engaged in shady shit (gang moment???) and is often lurking/observing situations (as the right hand man yk) and also just him looking out for the people he cares about even if in incredibly convoluted ways (see: rosemarine and jules' deal with the thugs who wanted to beat him up when they first arrived at lacombrade). he does the dirty work in the dark or smth like that. tbh there are a lot of oppositions with rosejules, the light/shadow thing is pretty on the nose i think but my favorite is probably the feminine/masculine. (disclaimer thisis an idea spitball Only so pls do not sue me for incorrect use of terminology; im sorry feminist theory i promise ill read more of you BUT a lot of the ideas kind of branch out of 2nd wave ideas/concepts i believe)

because publicly rose seems to take the patriarchal role as the superintendent (ie. being the disciplinarian, having power, being the symbol of the institution) while jules assumes a more matriarchal role as advisor, someone more approachable and "kinder" than the patriarch... then it all gets skewed because of auguste's presence, so they actually switch with rose being "feminized" and jules being "masculinized" but anyway LOL i have many thoughts on this specific kind of. feminist/queer inspired reading of rosejules

i hate his ass so much cos it's so fucking hard to break his character down in a comprehensible way. the thesis topic thing is only partly a joke. i genuinely think with the depths i am going to look at this i can find something in him or maybe im just delusional lmao i probably am