#custom cone sleeve

[clearpathpackaging1]

There are few edibles that need immediate packaging because if you can make that then everything will end up ruining your product. Such is the case with custom cone sleeves because having ice cream and these cone sleeves with them is important.

[ucustomboxes]

Whether you run an ice cream parlor, a food truck, or a dessert shop, custom cone sleeves are the perfect way to add a touch of creativity and professionalism to your offerings. Start designing your custom cone sleeves today and make every cone an opportunity for brand exposure!

[customboxeszone9123]

5 Amazing Role of Ice Cream Cone Sleeves

[jenniferwilson1234]

When the ice cream came into being, right from then, the most difficult task was to hold the ice cream and keep it safe from melting. As the demand for ice-creams is getting higher day by day, the competition also has become strict. All the ice-cream sellers are now finding ways to create their Custom Cone Sleeves.

[sweetimpurity]

c.w.: very smutty, ice cream and sex

The hot sun beats down on your hometown. It’s finally summer and you’re ready for the beach, freedom and romance. You and Miguel have been together since you were both 15. Growing up together, going to school, falling in love and staying in it until now. 18 years old, the two of you. You can’t wait to spend every day with him this summer, and you really can’t wait for those hot summer nights. 

The only thing that gets in the way is summer jobs. If only you two were 10 again and you could spend every minute wasting the day away in the kiddie pool. But now at 18, there are other, better things you two can get up to. 

This summer you’re working at your Dad’s store in town and Miguel is logging in his 3rd consecutive year at Sunny Scoops ice cream. A cute little place by the boardwalk with really good waffle cones and the cutest boy in town behind the register! 

There, Miguel works all day, sweating and smiling, handing out ice cream to little kids, the elderly, families, anyone who’s having a beach day. And any girls who ask for his number, he just tells them to text you and ask for it. That usually prevents them from ever asking again. 

He’s grown muscle over the past three years and ultimately you just had to help him cut the sleeves off his work t-shirt. Complaining about the ‘fit not being right’ on the bigger sizes. 

The uniform he used to wear when he was 15 was pretty horrendous. Pink and blue striped and that goofy ice cream cone hat. Then he turned 16… 17… now 18 and wowza. You’ve watched him grow into a man. Now his arms are showing, his muscles from scooping rock solid ice cream all day long. Toned and extra tan from the summer sun. A bandana wrapped messily in his dark curls to keep the sweat off his forehead. Sometimes you’ll sit there with ice cream melting down your hand and between your fingers because you’re just staring at him moving around behind the little counter and through the little shop. Smiling handsomely to customers, his muscles flexing when he’s scooping the frozen treat, catching his eye and his smile when he sees you watching him. Flustered and flushed pink when he comes back over to talk to you, licking the drips off your knuckles. 

“Your ice cream is melting, baby…” He would coo. Licking his lips of the sweet chocolate melt. “You’re really hot.” You’d sigh, completely in a daze. 

You’re finally done with work now, letting your Dad know you’re leaving for the night. A plan in mind. A need for something sweet. Not just ice cream tonight.  Leaving your Dad’s store at 9:30pm and Sunny Scoops closes at 10. You get in your car, letting the summer night breeze blow in through the windows. The cool down finally here as the sun is set. The night is still warm and sticky but not as blazingly hot as before.

…

“Here you go… have a good night.” You hear his voice as you’re walking up to the window. Watching a little boy and his mother walking away happily with huge ice cream cones in hand. And would you look at that… you’re next in line.

“Hey, gorgeous…” He smiles seeing you, leaning his elbows on the counter and watching you approach the window. “Hey!” You chirp, smiling up at him. “Busy day?” You ask, admiring his tip jar full to the brim. “Yeah, busy but good.” He nods, grabbing a waffle cone and moving around behind the counter. You peer over the edge to look inside. Watching him at the soft serve machine. He knows you so well of course. “Chocolate vanilla twist for the pretty lady…” He announces and hands you a tall swirl of ice cream.

“Come around back, I’m just closing up.” He nods and you take your ice cream, moving to the back of the teeny building to the back door. Walking inside. Like you do most days you come to see him. Miguel slides the window closed, locking it and pulling the wooden panel over to block the window. Locking the place up. 

You hop up to sit on top of the big box freezer, licking the swirl of ice cream in your hand and watching him move some stuff around and close up.

“You wanna go to the beach tomorrow?” You ask, looking over at him with those eyes that make him weak. His eyes watching your pink tongue lick up your ice cream. “Sure.” He answers just softly. Focusing on doing his job before he loses all control. Not just yet. You smile and kick your legs softly. He walks past with a box, grabbing your ankle as you kick your foot up, giving you a look and letting his fingers run up your calf, bringing a smile to your lips, walking away as he finishes clearing the place up, taking the box to the shelves in the back. Coming back after a minute or two. 

“Hey.” He hums, stopping in front of you, a sly sort of smirk on his face. “Hey.” You respond, just as softly, your ice cream only beginning to melt. “You’re so pretty…” He hums as if he hasn’t told you a million times before, making you smile and he steps closer, between your knees. His fingers teasing the sides of your thighs. “Preciosa chica…” He whispers, looking in your eyes and licking the drips off the back of your ice cream cone. Like he always does. Licking all the way to the top of the swirl and then his lips are on yours. His lips moving against yours, his tongue parting your lips. His tongue tasting of chocolate swirl and his lips sugary slippery sweet. His tongue delves into your mouth, his hand going to cup the back of your head, ice cream smashed and mixed between your two tongues. So sweet. Until he’s pulling back, both of you with a slurp. 

You giggle softly, feeling sticky sugar all over your lips. “You want more?” You laugh, raising a brow at him and he grins. You tilt the cone towards his lips. “It’s yours, baby… I wanna see you eat it.” He replies. 

His hands move up under your shirt, tickling your sides as he pulls you closer, sliding you across the freezer top. You smile, bringing the swirl to your lips and licking the melting ice cream, sucking gently and enjoying it, all while staring in his eyes. His hands move under the fabric, fingers moving up your ribcage, your diaphragm, to your breasts. 

“No bra, mami?” He laughs, fingers exploring and kneading the plush of your tits. Staring in your eyes as he does it. “Took it off in the car…” You smile so innocently. He grows harder at the thought. That you took off your bra on the way over here. Like you wanted this to happen, you wanted him. Watching you gasp among the ice cream in your mouth, his thumbs rubbing over your nipples, rolling them gently between his thumb and index fingers. Massaging gently under your shirt. He leans forward, placing three deep kisses to your throat before pulling back again, his fingers grasping the hem of your t-shirt. 

“Can I take this off?” He asks and you nod, mouth full of ice cream. He pushes your shirt up and off, the neon lights of the shop reflecting off your skin, off your breasts, making his mouth water. His arm anchors around your lower back, lips latching onto your breast, licking and sucking and squeezing the other in his hand. “Mmm- miguel…” You sigh, sensitized from his caress. He slurps and smooches your soft skin, the naughty noises filling the small space. The hum of the many fridges and freezers a soothing harmony with your soft moans and the sticky sucking of his lips.  

He pulls back, kissing you a few times, tasting that sweetness on your lips. Keeping one arm around your back and your eyes widened in surprise watching him dip his fingers into the mountain of ice cream in your hand. Picking up dollaps of cold chocolate swirl on his fingers and smearing it over your nipples. Eliciting a sharp gasp from your throat as he does it. Looking down at your chest. He does the same with both sides. “You like that?” Grinning the whole time, holding you tight as you squirm. Freezing coldness hardening the buds until his warm lips come back down to suck the ice cream off. A shuddering and trembling moan leaving you at the feeling. Your free hand going to his hair, tangling in the dark curls. Pulling the bandana off of his head and watching his summer curls bounce free. “Ohhh- Miguel- '' You moan sweetly and he groans against your chest, your sticky sugary nipples sucked and kissed over and over until it's all gone. 

“So sweet baby…” He pants, pulling his shirt off, coming back up to kiss your lips and holding your flushed cheeks in his hands. “Mmm..” You whine, kissing him back hungrily, deeper, your free hand running up his toned abdomen to his chest, a map of his body already ingrained in your brain after all these years, then wrapping your arms around the back of his neck, the ice cream dripping down your knuckles and onto his bare back, making goosebumps on his skin, his big hands running down your back and to your waist. “I don’t have a condom, baby…” He pants against your lips, his fingers in your hair; the words making your tummy flip in butterflies, knowing he wants you; he’s going to be inside. He pulls back for air, desperate to have you as he’s had you many times before.

“I do.” You pant for air, reaching blindly in your back pocket for the one condom you brought. “You really came here just to get fucked, didn’t you?” He laughs and smiles, taking the small foil packet into his sticky fingers. “I came here to see my love…” You hum, tilting your head at him. Not very convincing. His brow cocks in suspicion. “Fine. I came here to get fucked by my love.” You finally admit and the two of you can’t help the giggles. 

Outside the small ice cream shop, cars drive by, peepers peep and crickets chirp. The temperatures go down as the night goes on, but inside the little parlor, things are heating up. 

“Tell me where baby… tell me…” He whispers in your ear, knuckles deep in your heat and you’re barely able to hang onto him. One hand still occupied by the dripping melting ice cream cone. “Right there! Oh right th-there!” You squeal, his thumb moving expertly on your clit and his fingers flicking and curling deep inside. “Oh my god…” You whine, back arching and leaning back so far you almost fall back off the freezer. “Hey… hey… there you go…” He coos, holding you and helping you lay on your back. Limited on space but you make do. His fingers pumping generously into your needy pussy. 

His bottoms are long gone but he takes the condom foil between his teeth, ripping it open carefully. “C’mon baby…” He pants. Taking your free hand and pulling it down to his dick. Guiding you to roll the condom onto his length. Shuddering and groaning feeling the lubed rubber and your soft warm hand pushing it down on him. All while his fingers still curl up against your g spot and you’re on the cusp of coming already. For a few moments, he thrusts into your hand around him. Relishing that pleasure until it’s not enough. 

“Ready, sweet girl?” He steps forward, pulling your hips down to meet him at the edge of the freezer. “Mi corazón…” He whispers, a hand running flat over your tummy. “Mmm… yes please…” You whisper. And when he gets that confirmation, there’s no stopping his gummy tip from kissing your clit, pushing through your slick before slipping down and inside. Like the two of you were made for this. He was made to be with you in this way. You were created to be in love. 

“Haahh…. Baby…” He sighs and shudders, easing himself in with small pulsing thrusts to stretch you out nicely for him. He doesn’t want to hurt his precious girl. Soon he’s pressed to the hilt and your back is arching from that alone. Your trembling legs latching around his waist as he starts his rhythm. Skin slapping skin in the sickly slip of sticky slick. 

Moaning loud and free, the both of you, at the feeling. The feeling of being so full, so filled to the brim. Of love. Of him. The ice cream cone nearly falls out of your hand, your brain unable to think of anything but the pleasure between your legs. One leg wrapped around his hip and the other held in his arm, your knee draped over and his big hand wrapped around your thigh. Keeping you open for him; spread. Pumping into you steady and deep. His heavy eyes watching your face to see how much you love it. His hand on your thigh finds your free hand, lacing his fingers with yours. Panting and focusing. On getting you there. On making you feel the best he possibly can. 

You’re delirious, hazy, a mess of moans and a buzzing burning ache for him. 

“Baby baby-” He grabs your wrist when the ice cream almost slips entirely, holding your wrist and making it stay upright so he doesn’t have to mop the floors. Smiling when he sees your fucked out face. Easing the cone out of your hand so he can hold it. So that it doesn’t splatter on the floor. Letting your hand fall, fingers gripping and clenching around nothing. His thrusts are so deep, so giving, and he’s hitting every little spot that has you melting. 

“That’s it, baby…” He encourages you, trying to bring you that sweet release. “So good Mig…so so sooo…” You whine, on the very edge of bliss. Miguel watches, breathing so fast and heavy. His eyes trail down your face to your soft, marked neck, to your shoulders, your tits, sternum, stomach. Until it’s almost involuntary, he dumps the cold, melting, dripping ice cream cone on your soft tummy. Pulling a high pitched squeal and gasp from your lips, the cold like the spark in a chain reaction, back arching as he drags the freezing smushed chocolate swirl up to your sternum. Your orgasm hits you before another second can think to pass. Your skin shining in melty vanilla and chocolate swirl. The cold making you clench around him. 

Screaming in ecstasy and squeezing him so tight he's doubling over and groaning at the pressure. Thrusts become impossible and all he can do is spurt deep and hot. Filling the condom with a groan and feeling you fluttering around him. He licks a stripe up your sternum, slurping ice cream from your skin. Pressing messy kisses to your chest and his face just drips with the melted sugary substance. Drops and dribbles rolling down your sides as you gush on his dick. Trembling, shaking, coming down from what might be the strongest climax you’ve ever experienced. 

“Oh baby… hah… that was amazing…” He pants, his voice wavering, leaning over you, kissing your cheeks, your neck, your lips. “I love, love you… hah…” He huffs, looking over your face to make sure you’re okay. “Mmm… I love you” You sigh, a blissed out smile on your face. He smiles seeing you’re happy and you’re feeling good; because that’s all he’s ever wanted. And all he’ll ever want.

[beomiracles]

HI SERENE :3 okay so first, love the new theme and i LOVED trocyj. it’s genuinely impressive how insufferable you made yj like u had me taking walks around my room out of frustration 😭😭

and also!! i was hoping to place a request :3 so recently i had this dream where soobin and i worked at an ice cream shop and soobin was my coworker who i was also crushing on 🤭 (not to mention the fact that he looked adorable in the pink uniform). during the dream while we were closing he literally like backed me into a corner amd was about to kiss me.. like lips barely grazing each other.. and then i woke up.

so i was hoping maybe u could reimagine it? pick up where the dream left off? and maybe make it a little spicy 😇 thanks again lovie!!

-⛸️

⌞ 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐃 ⌝

DREAM RECALL the closing shift with your far too handsome coworker leaves an even bigger mess to clean than what you had originally started with.

wc -> 2.7k

pairings coworker!soobin x coworker!reader (afab) warnings unprotected sex + pullout method, some fingering, mutual pining kinda?, kind of perv!soobin but also perv!reader, lots of kissing, big dick soobin + size kink

#serene adds ✎ hehe thank you for liking the theme!! and trocyj omg, I could talk about that fic for days.. I see why everyone's pissed with yj but his character was genuinely so much fun to write >.< I'm also like insanely jealous of your dreams because wtf is this. lend me your mind.

I skimmed this once, let me know if I missed anything !

“Ah, no sorry, I’m afraid we’re out of chocolate..” You apologize as you watch the young girl’s face fall. She turns to her mother with a small pout and you bite your lip as you think of a way to salvage the situation. Just as you’re about to suggest the strawberry or mango flavor instead, your colleague's voice cuts you off. — “I’m sure we have some leftovers in the back”, Soobin chirps as he leans over the disk to peer down at the girl, “would you like me to go check?” Her face immediately brightens up as she nods feverishly and her mom gives him a thankful smile. 

Upon leaning back up, his large hand brushes past your lower back and you feel your breath hitch at the small touch. “Be right back”, he grins before disappearing through the door leading to the large freezer. — Despite having worked together for nearly three months now, you couldn’t help but do a double take whenever you saw that the two of you would be having the next shift together. Nor could you control the way your heart almost beat out of your chest whenever he as much as glanced in your direction. 

It was a hopeless crush that you were not planning on pursuing. Because there was no way that someone like Soobin would even consider someone like you. Not that he had ever mentioned a girlfriend or anything of the sort, or that you had even dared to ask. But you still refused to acknowledge your feelings as anything else besides a small heartthrob. 

Not before long, does he re-emerge from the small storage unit, a package of chocolate ice cream in his hands. You find your gaze lingering on his pink uniform, sleeves rolled up, exposing his forearms, and you bite the inside of your cheek as you follow their movement when he places the box down. — It isn’t until the mother goes to pay that you’re snapped back to reality, stumbling over your words as you squeak out a quiet, $2.35. 

“Here you go”, Soobin smiles as he hands the little girl her cone of ice cream. She giggles as she takes it from him, making a shy comment about him having soft hands. You refuse a small smirk, watching the tip of his ears turn pink as he chuckles. 

⸝⸝

As the last customer leaves an hour later, you walk over to flip the ‘OPEN’ sign to ‘CLOSED’. Somewhere behind you, you can hear Soobin shuffling around as he moves the ice cream from the disk by the front and into the freezer in the back. — You had shared plenty of shifts together, but this would be the first time you closed up just the two of you. Without the bustling noise of customers, the air suddenly felt twice as thick and you swallowed a small gulp before joining him behind the counter. 

Immersing yourself with popping the lid back onto the containers, you think of something to say, something to break the silence lingering between you. “Here let me help you”, he suddenly exclaims and you almost drop the three boxes in your arms, startled by his sudden appearance. If he noticed it, he didn’t make a comment on the matter, flashing you a small grin as he took two of the now sealed containers from your hands. “T-Thanks”, you stammer, trying your hardest not to let your cheeks flare up at the way his fingers brushed over yours. 

"Jesus christ pull yourself together", you mutter as you follow him into the storage room. The cool air in there was refreshing, easily washing off the heat emitting from your flustered body and you exhaled in relief. — You let him go first, watching as he places the ice cream boxes amongst the rest, gaze lingering on the way his forearms flexed as he did. He turns to you with a small grin and you blink a couple of times before springing into action as you walk over to the small corner. 

Your hands feel clammy against the container in your tight grip despite the cold temperature of the room. Thinking that he might leave and allow you a minute to yourself to regain your composure, you take your time as you lock up the small freezer in which the ice creams were kept. But there are no sounds of his retreating footsteps, and you can feel his gaze on you the whole time. 

It isn’t until you turn around that your heart practically leaps out of your chest. Soobin was standing barely three inches from you, his chest near pressing against your own and your eyes widened as they flickered up to meet his. — You knew that he was tall, like really tall, and there was no mistaking his broad shoulders either. You would be lying if you said that you hadn’t fantasized about his large hands a couple of times, not that you would ever admit it out loud, you think you would rather face death itself. 

But when this close, the back of your thighs hitting the cold steel of the freezer behind you, with nowhere to escape, you suddenly felt very small in front of him. He doesn’t say anything, biting the inside of his cheek, Soobin leans closer, so close that you could feel his warm breath hovering above your lips. — What was going on?

His gaze doesn’t stray from yours as he reaches a hand up to your face. Your eyes flutter closed at the sudden invasion of your personal space. Thinking that he might just actually kiss you, your heart almost beats out of your chest, the sound thumping in your ears like that of a heavy bass. But he doesn’t. Instead of grazing your cheek, just like you thought he would, his fingers aim for your hair as he brushes through it. Your eyes reopen, this time in slight confusion as you frown. 

“You had something…in your hair”, he murmurs before letting his hand drop to his side. “O-Oh”, you breathe, running your own fingers through your locks as embarrassment flushes over your cheeks. He takes a step back and you feel your stomach drop, beyond ashamed over your obvious overreaction to the small gesture. — You don’t dare move as you watch him head for the door once more. God he would never want to work with you ever again. 

It isn’t until one of his hands wraps around the handle that he stops. Still unmoving, you shift awkwardly by the freezer as you eye his tall frame, seeing him shake his head as he mutters something under his breath. — Then he turns around, the action so quick that you barely comprehend what’s happening until he’s in front of you again. Except this time he’s all over you, chest pressing against yours, his large hands easily covering the sides of your face as he pulls your lips to his. 

He kisses you roughly, as if he was trying to convey a thousand words with a single move. Gripping on to the freezer, your eyes widen as your mind tries to process what was happening. But he’s quick to pull back, his breathing is labored when does. — “Fuck I’m sorry I… I just”, he cuts himself off with a sharp inhale, taking a small step back as he lets go of your face. “Look I.. I don’t know what came over me I just–”

But you won’t hear any of it. Shaking your head, one of your hands snake around his neck, pulling him back down as you force your mouth onto his again. This time there’s no hesitation from either of you as his hands quickly find your waist. Pushing you further onto the cooler behind you, Soobin wastes no time in squeezing himself between your spread legs. “H-ah, been wanting to do this for so long”, he groans, and you sigh against his lips as his tongue finds yours. 

Wait. Did he just say that he’s been wanting to do this? Then that would imply… All those lingering touches, the small grins, the quick glances.. Your mind was reeling with the newfound information and your hands quickly braced themselves on his shoulders as you pulled back for a short second. — Upon breaking apart from the kiss, Soobin looks at you, a flash of worry striking his features, almost as if he had done something wrong. 

You quickly try to ease his nerves, “I…I’ve been wanting to do this too”, you quietly mumble, biting your lip as the color on your cheeks only rises. His tense face immediately relaxes as he lets out a short sigh of relief. “Oh thank god”, he murmurs, his hands gliding along your thighs as he pushes your pink uniform up. — “Wait”, your fingers around his wrists stop him and his eyes flit to yours with a hint of concern. “We can’t…I mean.. not here”, you whisper, throwing an anxious glance around the small storage room. 

“You locked the entrance, right?” He wonders, head tilted to the side as he studies you intently. Slowly nodding, you’re still not entirely convinced. “Then we’re good, yeah?” He says in a somewhat smug voice, his fingers drawing small circles on the skin between your thighs, creeping higher with each passing second. You consider his words carefully, he did have a point, there were just the two of you here right now, and it was past working hours. 

Oh who were you kidding? You’d had a crush on the guy for nearly three months now and here he was, openly asking for what you had been longing to do for so long. There was no way you’d pass him up. With a short nod you let him reconnect your lips as his fingers quickly move to glide across the already drenched fabric of your panties. You felt him smirk against your mouth as you squirmed beneath him. 

“Fuck, how long have you been this wet for me?” He asks as his hand slips inside your underwear, index and middle finger circling your throbbing clit. You bite back a small whimper as your nails dig into his broad shoulders, tearing his pink uniform under their grasp. “Three months”, you breathe, and you immediately feel his hand stutter against you. “Fuck.” Is all he says before immediately shoving two fingers inside of your aching cunt, “we’d better change that.” 

In one swift motion he wraps your legs around his waist, groaning as your hand trails down his chest to palm and grope him through his jeans. — It felt almost like a fever dream, having the guy you had fantasized about for so long right in front of you, his fingers knuckle-deep into your core as he drew lewd moans from you. 

When he pulls himself free from his pants, you gulp as you take in the size of him. Sure you had expected him to be big, given his height, but this was… He quickly catches on to your hesitation as his lips part, “if you don’t want-” — “It’s fine”, you give him a reassuring smile which he reciprocates before lining himself up, only to be stopped by you once more. 

“Do you have a condom?” 

He freezes, and it doesn’t take a genius to guess his answer. A small silence falls over the two of you, the sounds of your heavy breaths filling the storage unit. Soobin clears his throat, awkwardly readjusting the grip on his cock as his gaze avoids yours. “Maybe we should..” he trails off but you don’t need to hear the rest in order to know what he was thinking. But come on, you had waited three months for this. You couldn’t just let the opportunity slip through your fingers just like that. 

“No, it’s fine. You’ll just pull out, yeah?” 

His eyes snap up to meet yours the second those words leave your lips. “Yeah.” He agrees, his free hand wrapping around your waist as he pulls you closer, the tip of his cock sliding against your folds, nudging your clit in a way that almost made you squeal. “I’ll pull out”, he mumbles, more to himself than you before slowly easing himself inside. 

The stretch was near torturous and your nails practically tore his shirt in half as you braced yourself against him. “You okay?” He sounds almost alarmed but your quick nod makes him relax. — Once fully inside of you, he stays unmoving, littering you in soft kisses, trailing from your jaw down your neck and collarbone. His fingers twist at the small lace, neatly sewed into your pink uniform. “You look so pretty in this”, he sighs against your skin, inhaling the perfume you always used, the one that always seemed to get his mind to wander whenever you were around. 

He moves slowly, his thrusts deliberate as his cock slides against every inch of you and you whine in ecstasy. The dull burn flaring within you was now replaced by an almost addicting sensation. “Fuck, you’ve really got to stop bending over the counter like that, anyone could see up your skirt”, he grunts, snapping his hips against yours, making your eyes roll back as your jaw slacks. 

“R-Really?” You stammer, though you knew exactly what you were doing as you so often would purposefully lean forward enough to where you felt your clothes lift, hoping that he would see. Originally, it had been for your own pleasure, not thinking that Soobin was actually going to pay attention to your subtle movements. But he did, he picked up on every single one of them. 

“Yeah”, he drawls, upping his pace as the hand around your waist pulls you impossibly closer. “God you don’t know how many times I’ve had to jack off in the bathroom to the thought of you.” — “Fuck, is that weird to say?” He wonders, and you shake your head, gasping as his thumb rubs against your clit. “N-Not at all”, you whine, thighs squeezing around his waist as you clenched on his cock, making his breath hitch. 

“Mhn, I.. I do too”, you shyly admit, catching the smirk that etched its way to his face in a mere second as he pressed his lips to yours. “That’s so fucking hot”, he groans into your mouth. The kiss quickly grows sloppy and wet, his thrusts transitioning into uneven and jagged jerks of his hips. — “I won’t forgive myself if I don’t have you cumming on my cock.” He states, pulling your lip between his teeth as he refocuses his attention to his fingers on your clit. 

Up until this point you had thought that this might as well all just have been one big dream. A big prank that your far too imaginative mind was trying to pull on you. But as your orgasm washes over you, your throbbing cunt clenching around Soobin’s cock, undoubtedly buried deep inside of you, you realize that this was most definitely not a dream. His name falls from your lips as your nails cause rippings to the pink fabric of his work uniform. Somewhere in the background you can hear him uttering small words of praise, the sound is muffled by the feeling of euphoria coursing through you like electric shockwaves. 

With a small hiss, he pulls out, and your hand reaches for him before you have the chance to think twice. Wanting, no needing, to feel him between your fingers, your fingers that barely manage to wrap around his cock. You pay the wicked smirk on his face no mind as you stroke him to his high, letting him soil your work attire without as much as a second thought. Hot liquid landing on both your hand and stomach as Soobin groans into the juncture of your neck. 

Once you’ve both regained your composure, he pulls back to look at you. From his dazed expression to the way his blonde hair stuck to his forehead, or his wet lips as they stretched into a grin, you found him to be more handsome than ever. — His gaze drops to your lips before flitting back up to your eyes, the tip of his ears turning pink as he clears his throat. 

“So uh, think I can get your number?”

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[abibliophobiaa]

Begin Again: Chapter Two

Summary: The year is 1988. After the loss of a beloved family member, you find yourself inheriting an old coffee shop. The quiet bartender at the Hideout across the street just so happens to catch your eye.

(18k+ words; eddie munson x afab!reader; sunshine!reader x grumpy!eddie vibes)

Warnings: Vignette style (sorta); Eddie’s post S4 trauma; panic attacks; nightmares; family member loss; grief; alcohol use; mild smut in later chapters so 18+; additional warnings to be added.

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*

  Summer, 1988

  *

  Before long, spring bleeds into a balmy summer and the Fourth of July inches closer. 

While spring brought along with it new opportunities, new friendships, and new beginnings, you’re excited for warmer weather. 

Excited for colorful dresses, walks around the town, smelling the freshly cut bouquets at the florist next door, ice cream cones that melt between your fingers, and watching the sunset from your apartment windows. 

You wake with the sunrise on the third, spine cracking as you lift your arms up over your head to stretch the soreness from your limbs. 

Your alarm clock blares bright neon in the early morning sunrise, reading 4:30 where it rests on the pile of books you placed next to your bed as a makeshift side table until you can purchase new furniture and really spruce up the apartment. 

With a sigh, you slap a hand along the alarm clock and start your day. You tug on a pair of jeans, don a summery top with flowy sleeves, and drape your apron over your hips. The lights flicker on in the shop and the place illuminates, ready for a new day. 

You prep the coffee pots and turn on all the machines. Croissants are prepared and placed in the oven, along with various other treats, and you wipe down the surfaces of each table accordingly. 

The sign hanging in the window flips from ‘closed’ to ‘open’ and you assume your routine. 

Every day just like the one that came before. 

But there’s a comfort in it. An ease in which you live your new life here in Hawkins. 

It’s familiar and it’s constant, with little diversion. 

That is, until the girls start their shifts and probe you about plans for the weekend. Apparently one of their friends is planning on hosting a barbecue for the holiday with a small group of their closest companions.

And it seems they’ve invited you.

Max crosses her arms over her chest, one of her braids dancing over her shoulder as she does so. “You never get out of the shop.”

“Because I own the shop,” you remind her. 

El hands a cup of coffee to a customer and glances over to where you and Max are presently cleaning up a coffee spill. 

“It’s a holiday, just come ,” Max says. 

“I don’t even know your friend!” The exasperation in your tone rises, the mop in your hand trailing more water along the floor. 

“He’s your age, so is Robin, and we’ll be there. What’s more to know?” Max reaches down to lay a few towels onto the mess you’ve made, adding, “Plus, they are customers. I’m sure you’ve actually met them before.”

You're considering it. You’re actually considering going. “And he’s going to be just fine with me coming over to his place?” 

Max nods. “His parents are never home, so we basically have the whole place to ourselves for the day. Just come.”

“Please…come,” El says, slipping out from behind the counter. “You’ll make friends. Actual friends.”

Your brow arches at that one. “As opposed to?” El slinks backward, giving you a tight smile. 

“Your customers are not your friends,” Max says. “Well, they are. But these could be real ones. Come on. You’ve been in Hawkins for months and I don’t think I’ve seen you go anywhere even once.”

“I go places!” you reply hotly, your skin burning aflame in embarrassment. 

The Hideout, but they don’t know about it. 

“Okay, fine, so I don’t go places. I spend my afternoons in my apartment.”

“So you’ll come?” Both girls look at you expectantly. 

“Fine!”

  *

  Three months. 

Maybe more. He can’t remember the number anymore. 

The amount of time that has passed since you moved into town and effectively uprooted his life. 

His normalcy. 

Before that, it’s been easy to keep people at arms length—to stay far enough away that they don’t ask questions. 

Most people do tend to stay far away. 

No one wants to be associated with the Freak, the murderer, the man who made a deal with the devil. 

It didn’t matter then when they abolished his name from the news and he was cleared as a free man, and it certainly doesn’t matter now; people still look at him with disdain, whisper when he passes, step away from him when he gets too close in the supermarket. 

He knows, though, there’s something about you that draws him to you. 

Magnetic, you’re magnetic. That’s what it is, this feeling, this tug.

He hasn’t felt that way in a long time. This pull to another human outside of his core group (The Party), this desire to want to open up. 

It’s coupled with fear but the urge is there. 

It hasn’t been in a long, long time. 

Before that, it’s two years. 

Two years since the events of the Upside Down. 

Two years since Chrissy died in his damn trailer home. Two years since he watched her bones break like twigs against his ceiling. Two years since he found out monsters lurked beneath Hawkins. 

Two years since he watched Max fear for her life every day before that day. Two years since he became forever bound to The Party. 

It’s been two years since he heard Dustin’s screams rattle his bones as he cut that rope. 

Two years since he felt the first rip of his own flesh as those mouths full of teeth cut into his skin. Two years since he felt them attack from every angle. Two years since he laid there in hell on earth and pleaded that he’d just die. 

Two years since he felt that blinding, agonizing pain as he shook in Dustin’s arms, taking what he thought were his last breaths. 

Two years since he said goodbye.

Two years since he thought he had died. 

Two years since he wished he had.  

Two years since he woke up in that damn bed, and was poked and prodded by an endless team of doctors with wires sticking out every which way from his body. Since they tried to salvage what they could of his shredded skin. 

It’s been two years, but when he closes his eyes…it’s as if it’s only been two minutes. 

It’s why he doesn’t let anyone close. 

The last time he did so, it set into motion the week that changed everything. 

  *

  You’re not sure what to expect as you get out of your car. But what you definitely don’t expect is the large expanse of property and the gorgeous home that stands there surrounded by endless green lawn on that bright summer day. 

It looms in front of you, intimidating in nature, and not only due to the size. On the patio outside is a group of people awaiting your arrival, a group of which you haven’t met all of. 

Tray of cookies in hand, you start the slow shuffle to the side entrance where Max and El told you you were to enter by. Luckily, the fence already sits open, and the sound of chatter immediately greets your ears, mixing in with the sound of the radio spilling from a speaker and someone jumping into the pool. 

You can smell the food cooking before you see it on the grill. Steve Harrington stands in the distance waving a spatula around as he talks. You recognize Robin next, with her short hair and glowing smile. The girls are in the pool with Will, Mike, Dustin and Lucas. You know the latter portion of the group that is not currently employed by you because they frequently spent time at Sunshine Coffee, trying to get a glimpse of their friends while doing homework together. 

The most surprising, however, of all the guests at the barbecue is none other than Eddie Munson. 

He sits in a lounge chair nearest to the pool, a cigarette between his lips, his bare arms on display for the first time ever , with his hair back in another one of his low hanging ponytails. You notice first the dark ink sprawling along his arms. Some newer than the others, judging by what you know of tattoos. Your eyes catch on the scar you can still see on his left bicep, like a little sun on his skin mixed in with a swirling array of black and gray that shifts and moves as he does. Seemingly aware of the kids now waving to you in earnest, he shifts his head over his shoulder, and though his gaze is obstructed by sunglasses, you can tell he’s surprised you're there. 

I’m surprised too, you think, suddenly uncertain of where to stand, what to do, what to say. You fidget on the spot with a hand curling in your dress, tempering the urge to flee. It’s what you might normally do in a moment like this, what you’ve done long before moving to Hawkins was ever set into motion. 

There isn’t much time to think, however, before Robin’s rushing over to your side and offering to help you with your things. She’s kind and pleasant—surprisingly so. She even goes so far as to give you a tour around the Harrington home, making you aware of where you can use the bathroom, get a new drink from the fridge, or a snack from the pantry. Not that you’ll need it with all the food cooking, but you’re appreciative all the same. 

Once back outside, Steve greets you shockingly enough with a warm hug. Says he’s happy you finally showed up, as though he’s been waiting all day, and tells you food will be done in a few minutes. 

It gives you a moment to get accustomed to your surroundings. Robin remains the perfect host at your side, prattling on about what she’s doing for college. She’s heavily intent on becoming a music teacher, and studying at the local community college. When she asks if you’ve ever thought about schooling, you mutter that you’ve never really thought to try. 

Going to college meant staying in one place for a long period of time, and thus it’s never been a thought in your mind. Maybe in another life, another time, when you felt like you were ready to settle. 

But now…no. 

Now you’re content with your coffee shop, with training up the girls to do all the tasks you need to keep it afloat, and deciding how you feel about Hawkins later down the line. 

She pulls you along beside her to plop down in the lounge chair across from Eddie, her foot kicking against Eddie’s ankle to draw his attention. 

“You’ve met Eddie, haven’t you?” Robin asks, and your eyes shift to his face. It’s hard to see what he’s thinking behind those sunglasses, a mask settled across his features. 

“We’ve met,” Eddie says softly, tipping his head down towards you. 

“Hi, Eddie.” You wave his way and Robin glances between the two of you awkwardly, hands on her knees. 

“Well, there’s the pool obviously, Steve has karaoke for later if we want to do any, you know where the snacks and drinks are, and, uh, food will be ready soon,” she announces, standing tall to her feet. “I’ll leave you both to it, then! Enjoy!”

It’s…well, it’s silent. And though that’s not entirely unusual for Eddie, it’s still striking to you at the moment. His arms rest on either rest, body slouching into the chair. 

“You took the day off?” You practically wince at the small talk, but it’s the first thing that comes to mind in the endless silence that settles between you. 

“Was going to work, but Steve is big on his family get-togethers,” he tells you, taking a sip of his beer. 

So the fact you’re here makes your heart warm. 

“I…uhm, I’m glad you’re here,” you say, turning your head slightly to catch his profile. He’s looking out into the pool, mouth a thin line. You let out a slow breath. “I didn’t know you’d be here, but it’s always nice to see you.” 

He’s quiet. So quiet. 

You get the impression the sentiment isn’t returned. 

You try to not let it sour your mood. “Well, uh, I’m going to see if Robin needs any help. Want me to grab you anything?” You rise to your feet, hands swiping along your dress. “A water? Beer?”

“I’m okay, thank you,” he says, and you catch the faintest curl of his lips. 

Okay then , you think, and march off.  

  *

  You show up to the party in a summer dress. 

Of course you do. 

It’s yellow with all these little flowers all over it. Bright, just like the summer day. 

Suiting for you. 

You, who quite literally radiates the sun, even on the gloomiest of days. 

He remembers the night you slipped into the bar and tried to pretend no one saw you—that he never saw you. 

Even water logged as you were, he’s pretty sure he’s never seen anyone so pretty. 

People notice it. They’d be foolish not to. Whirl around in their seats and look your way, trying to catch a glimpse of the girl with sunshine in her heart. 

But since you’ve met, all the times he’s been around you have been on his terms, and now you’re in the middle of Steve’s patio with a beer in hand and your head tipped back in a laugh as Robin tells you a lively story. 

“You invited her?” Eddie asks, turning his head to Steve. 

“Actually Max invited her. And El,” Steve explains, spatula swirling wildly as he speaks. “She seems nice. We’ve gone to the shop a bunch. Robs and I. But she’s always so busy. This is the first time we’ve really gotten to really meet her. Why? You got a personal vendetta against baristas I should know about?”

Quite the opposite, he thinks, but he’ll never admit that to Steve. 

  *

  They immediately love you. 

Of course they do; how could they not?

You match their golden retriever energy, bodies swaying—and surprisingly so, since none of you are even tipsy—as Steve sings (incredibly off key) along to “Super Trouper,” and you and Robin try to steal the microphone every couple words. All in all, it’s a stunning display of a lack of singing talent, but the kids are loving it, and Eddie hates it because it’s like a punch to the gut. 

It’s been this way since you arrived. Your endless charisma, that light that seeps from you, the way you flit in and out of conversations with everyone at the party.

Everyone except him . 

That’s his fault, he recognizes. He’s not really made it an effort to pull you aside, offering nothing more than little comments here and there. 

He can see it on your face. The way you recognize he’s distancing himself on purpose. 

It’s easier when you’re at the bar.

There, you’re quiet. You’re unassuming. You talk between the two of you, sure, but it’s on his terms. Here, you’ve injected yourself into his world—into this group that he trusts with all the parts of himself that have changed since what happened two years ago. 

They’re a safety net. They’re the only people he feels like he can still be himself around, and you’ve breached that, you’ve entered in and made yourself a home. 

They love you, and they should , but it’s another reminder of the fact the last time he let someone close to him they died in his home. The last time he let someone get close to him, the kids were in danger, Dustin got hurt, Max almost lost her life because of Carver interrupting their plan, Robin, Steve and Nancy almost died.

He can’t let another person get hurt from knowing him. 

He can’t let you get hurt from knowing him. 

He’d never forgive himself.

It’s sometime later that you end up sitting with your dress hiked up a bit on your thighs and your feet in the pool as the kids talk around you. The sun has set in Hawkins and the sound of crickets and cicadas blends into the gentle hum of music spilling from the radio. 

Robin appears with Steve, her chin coming to hook over Eddie’s shoulder and smacks a kiss to his cheek. “Can we keep her?” Eddie groans as she shakes his shoulders, trying to get a rise out of him, and stands at Steve’s side. 

“She’s not a pet, Robin.” He tries to keep his tone neutral. Unaffected. 

“You like her,” she points out, grin turning wide and wicked. 

He shakes his head, earning a look from Steve. “Don’t even start with that. I’m not hearing it.”

She’s practically bouncing in front of him. “But it’s true. I can see it. You can't keep your eyes off of her. She’s beautiful, though, so totally understandable. How did it happen? When did it start?”

“Rob,” he warns, feeling his chest tighten. 

“Eddie, this is good . It’s really good ,” Steve says. Robin nods enthusiastically beside him. 

“And why is that?” He challenges with a narrow stare, standing to his feet. 

“You looked happy today. We can excuse this moment of assholery and chalk it up to your denial speaking, but she makes you smile. I haven’t seen you smile like that in ages,” Robin says, voice high and right with emotion. 

He knows she wants the best for him, knows she wants to see him happy , but he has the guys from Corroded Coffin, he has Uncle Wayne, he has the kids, he has her and he has Steve, and that makes him happy. 

“It could be gas.” His reply is deadpan, sunglasses obscuring the crinkle around the corner of his eyes at the look on Robin’s face that says ‘shut up, asshole.’

“Eddie,” she warns, arching a brow up at him. 

“I'm serious. Steve’s cooking can be questionable.”

“I'm going to choose to ignore that. My cooking is fine,” Steve argues, cheeks aflame. 

“So how long has this been going on?” Robin’s relentless. He supposes he should know this about her by now, but it makes his head spin all the same. 

“There is no this because all this is is that I’m her customer and she visits the bar sometimes and we talk.”

“She visits you at your job and you visit her at hers—that sounds like interest,” Steve says, a little too pleased with himself. 

“Mutual interest,” Robin agrees, beaming so bright she mirrors the summer sun. 

“Look, I’m not even going to venture there because it’s only a matter of time before she figures out why you guys are the only ones left in Hawkins who don't run away at the sight of me. I’d rather not be there when she puts two and two together and hates me anyway.” He pauses, taking a deep breath, fingers at the bridge of his nose to pinch there. “So I’ll keep her at a distance and remind myself that I think she’s annoying as all hell most days—”

Because he doesn’t know what to do with the feelings that stir otherwise. So now it’s push them down, tuck them away, sweep them under the rug. 

The sound of your ankle banging against the side of a lounger greets his ears, and his head jerks your way. Steve and Robin’s looks of amusement drop into sorrow as your eyes flash between them and him, disappointment clear on your features. He catches the way your bottom lip wobbles, how your eyes widen, shoulders dropping. There’s a small “oh” that spills from your lips, as if you’re only realizing now you have stumbled in a conversation you were never meant to hear in the first place, but he can sense your embarrassment all the same. 

You deflate, and Eddie proves himself right once again why it’s futile to get close, because he catches those first glittering tears on your bottom lashes, unshed now, but there all the same. 

And he knows you heard him. 

Let someone close… hurt them. Just as he predicted.

“I, uh, was just going to say goodbye. I have to wake up early to set up the shop.” You step forward to hug Steve and Robin. He doesn’t expect you to come close to him, but it stings all the same when you simply glance away and mutter, “Goodbye, Eddie,” before slipping away, and out of the yard. 

Steve watches him as you go, eyes scouring every inch of his face, head shaking lightly. “Aren’t you going to, oh I don’t know, follow her? Make sure she’s okay? Come on, man.”

“She said goodbye,” he says, catching your fingers struggling with your door handle in your haste to leave. 

“Go,” Steve reiterates, and Eddie grumbles his way across the lawn, catching your door just as you’re about to close it. 

There’s a little huff that spills from your lips and there’s a part of him that has to temper down the thrill that jolts in his chest at the way your eyes narrow up at him expectantly. 

You’re always challenging him. 

Even now there’s a protest in your stare—on your tongue. 

But you focus your eyes ahead instead and lift your chin, trying to conceal the hurt swirling behind your eyes. 

Asshole, asshole, asshole. 

“I have to go,” you remind him. 

“I’ll, uh…I’ll see you around, okay?” 

“Yeah,” you say, and he shuts the driver's side door. 

And as he walks back to his group of friends, he scolds himself the whole way, because the best thing he could come up with in a moment of stupidity was say ‘I’ll see you around, okay?’ 

  *

  Eddie doesn’t come by for five days, and you don’t visit the Hideout for just as long. 

It’s not that you’re angry at him. No—the initial hurt is long gone. Now you’re left with this bitter emptiness. A feeling of questioning, as if every truth you had thought you’d know to be a certainty was really a lie all along. 

For weeks you were led to believe whatever this thing was growing between you and him had been real. This tangibility you could tend to, could nurture. 

Yet at the first sign of struggle, he ran away. Pushed you aside without a second thought. Said those hurtful things at the party. 

He’d run after you, sure, but only after he registered your pain. 

Only after his friends looked at him like he’d absolutely lost his mind. 

You want to believe that there’s more to the story, that there’s a reason why he said what he said and did what he did. 

But the worst part of it all, the part that twists the knife deeper in your chest, is the thought that maybe there isn’t, and maybe you trusted him too fast. Dove headlong into a dead end friendship with the one person in town you felt most free to be yourself around. 

That part hurts the most. 

  *

  Eddie feels like an idiot. 

You are an idiot, he tells himself as he stands in that flower shop near Sunshine Coffee , asking the owners for some sort of arrangement that speaks to an apology of sorts. 

“What kind of an apology?” the husband asks, looking over at Eddie wearily. His wife stands in the back, watering the flowers about the room. 

They must know you’re upset with him, and for good reason, too. It’s normal that he frequents the shop, but for the past few days he’s stayed away, not wanting to see that look of hurt across your features ever again. It’s bad enough that when he closes his eyes he can picture it. 

How your foot tripped over the edge of the lounger, the way your words tumbled from your lips, your skirt rustling about your ankles as you sped away…and sped away from him. 

Steve caught up with him the next day over the phone, trying to talk more sense into him. Trying to tell him there’s nothing wrong with opening up to a new friend, especially when that person was trying to go at his pace, respecting his boundaries, and never pushing him further than he was willing to go.

You’ve always been patient, and friendship is a two way street, where equal participation is expected from both parties.

Steve reminds him that this is a good thing. 

His government ordered therapist does, as well. Reminds him that part of healing is doing the uncomfortable things, stepping out of his comfort zone, coming out from the shadows he’s shrouded himself within. 

He’s not meant to live in solitude.

“It’s for a…I was a total asshole who took advantage of your kindness, and I deserve your rage kind of apology,” he admits, and watches as the older man regards him carefully before thinking to himself quietly. 

“You can do pink roses.”

“Aren’t roses for love?” he asks, wanting to be clear. He’s always seen them around Valentine’s Day when all the couples at Hawkins High wanted to be all mushy and show their undying devotion to one another. “I’m not trying to say I—I love her or anything. I barely know her.”

“Pink roses mean gratitude. Seeing as you took advantage of her kindness and hurt her, pink roses are a perfect way of showing that,” he explains, putting together an assortment on the countertop and tying it off with a ribbon on the front. “Do you want me to write her a card?”

“Can I…take one to go?”

“Sure thing,” he says, ringing him up and sliding a blank card across the countertop. “And word of advice, boy: that girl is wonderful, so you better do better.”

I’m trying, he thinks, slipping out of the building. 

And it starts with the little bouquet he has one of the girls deliver you later that day, with a little card affixed to the ribbon. 

The words on the letter read: Fact of the day—Eddie Munson is a giant asshole. 

Then beneath, in tinier lettering: Do you think you can forgive him, maybe? 

  *

  Steve Harrington and Robin Buckley are always a welcome sight within the walls of Sunshine Coffee. Even before the Fourth of July barbecue, you’ve particularly liked them. The two would come in, often bantering with one another, bright smiles on their faces. 

It always spoke to a close bond between the two; you don’t know them well , but that kind of bond is clear and attests to being tried and tested in the fire, and only made them stronger for it. 

You’re a little shocked to see them here now, however. 

The last time they saw you, the three of you were happy and high off of life, cheeks warm from the summer sun, arms looped around each other's necks as you sang ABBA, smelling of suntan lotion and lips stained from cherry popsicles. 

You glance over your shoulder to Will and ask him if he’s good to let you go on your lunch break, and he’s immediately nodding his reply. The three of you slip out into the street, sights set on the local ice cream parlor, because Robin reassures you ‘ice cream is the perfect lunch for a day like this.’ 

It’s sweltering out. Sweat slicks your skin, the back of your neck, your hands. That first swipe of your tongue along your chocolate and vanilla swirl has you humming in delight, sandaled feet kicking out beneath you. 

“I’m actually so shocked to see you two,” you admit, just as Robin sticks her spoon into her cup. 

“We told you there’s no getting rid of us now,” Robin says, and she’s right, but it makes you smile all the same. 

Makes you warm, and it has little to do with the heat shining down from the sun above. 

“I’m actually planning another get together,” Steve says, tongue already cherry red from his ice. “You’re invited, obviously.”

“Thanks, Steve.” You swipe your tongue along another line of rainbow sprinkles, glancing out into the street. 

You can see the now-quiet Hideout. It won’t be busy for a couple hours now. 

“So, uh, that’s actually kind of why we ambushed you at work,” Steve says, catching your wandering gaze. 

“Hmm?” Your head snaps back their way, wrist lifting to your mouth to catch the ice cream sliding down the side of your cone. 

“He really likes you, you know? We know he can make a fool of showing it, but he does,” Steve starts. 

“Who?” You’re playing coy, hiding your nervousness behind your ice cream. 

Robin’s quick to answer with, “Eddie…we just ask you to give him a second chance, okay? He’s been through a lot. And I’m sure we’re literally breaking a thousand rules of friendship right now by approaching you like this, but he’s already been so much happier since you’ve been here. You, like, challenge him and make him come out of the little shell he’s put himself into and it would really break my heart—both our hearts, really—if that stopped.”

“I planned on it,” you tell them sincerely. But you also know it has to be on his terms. 

He’s already started with his apology, and now it’s just a matter of…waiting to see what happens. 

You can’t force yourself onto someone who doesn’t want you to be prevalent in their lives. And yet, you respect his past; you understand that there are parts of him you’ve not privy to that his friends are, and the fact that they may reveal why he is the way he is at his core. 

Knowing that, being made aware of that, is something you want to happen on its own time. In the right time, and by his discretion. 

It’s his story to tell. 

So the three of you stand to your feet and walk through the town, talking about the upcoming weekend, planning things for dinner and dessert. And you plan for the future with the sun at your backs, bright and vibrant smiles as bright as the beams that dance along your skin, with nothing but hope to guide you all. 

  *

  He doesn’t come the next day. Nor does he come the day after. And soon it’s a week since you’ve seen him in the four walls of your coffee shop. Which surprises you, because he left that apology bouquet of flowers with El to give to you. 

You can only imagine his dark figure hulking as he entered that little flower shop, filling the vibrant room with a streak of black and gray. It makes the corners of your mouth lift simply thinking of it—imagining him having to order the plants and write up his little note card. 

If you beamed when you read his little fact of the day, you’d never admit it. But the girls certainly caught it, pointing and laughing at the way you lit up like a Christmas tree at the prospect of Eddie Munson getting you apology flowers. 

It’s what they babble teasingly at you, at least. All wagging fingers and pouty lips over the fact he had gone out of his way to make a gesture as he had in hopes of getting back into your good graces. 

Only, you’ve not seen him since. 

You thought maybe he would come see you— talk in person about why the way he behaved like a proper imbecile that evening. 

You’re sorely disappointed, and the sting of fresh rejection ripples and dances along your skin, cracks between your ribs and curls around your heart.

Max catches you one evening, hours before you’re set to close up for the day. Normally, it’s your job to make sure the shop closes up. You’ve always wanted to make sure the kids are ahead on their schoolwork anyway, but now with summer here, they’ve offered to stay later more often. 

Extra pay, they remind you. 

Extra help, you remind yourself. 

But on this day she glances over the glass case wherein all your freshly baked cookies lay, a fresh bar towel in her hand as she wipes the case clean and sparkly. You catch the flash of red hair before she huffs out a sigh and tosses the towel onto the countertop. 

“Just go over there,” she says, and you don’t even need her to clarify, despite the way your brows arch in feigned confusion at her words, because you know exactly where she’s referring to. She humors you all the same, nearly barking out, “To the Hideout. And don’t make that face, because we all know you go over there. Right?”

“Yeah, we’ve known,” El says, counting the tips in their ‘College Fund’ tip jar you made for them. 

“It’s…kind of obvious.” Will winces, putting a lid over a fresh latte. 

Max lets out another sigh. “The fact of the matter is, you’re moping around and he’s moping around, and if you’re going to do that, why not just—oh, I don’t know—mope together?”

You level them all with your best stern look, hands on your hips, but they only hide their giggles behind their palms. They’re enjoying this; they’re actually enjoying your struggle in this very present moment. “I think you three forget I’m technically your boss.”

“But…we’re also your friends,” El says, and Will nods in agreement, passing you a smile over his shoulder. 

“We kind of crossed over into friendship territory when you came over Steve’s,” Max reminds you, shrugging. 

“So it was a trap, then?” you tease, backing up until your shoulders press against the glass case. “You three will be good to lock up?”

“You’ve taught us everything we need to know,” Max says, and the other kids nod in agreement. 

“Fine,” you agree, raising a finger to scold them when they all smirk at you. “But if anything happens, anything at all, you come get me.”

“Go!” El lets out an exasperated giggle and you slip out the door. 

The Hideout isn’t as busy at this time, you discover. Normally you’re there past eight at night, and it's just after four thirty now. The sun still has yet to set, but there’s no light in here, except for that of the neon lights that glow blue above. 

There’s only the quietest of conversation around you. A few people spread throughout the place, an older couple in the corner, two acquaintances at the bar. And then there’s you, sliding up onto a stool and pulling out the worn copy of The Fellowship of the Ring Eddie let you borrow. 

He eyes you cautiously as you do so, as if he expects the worst. But you’ve already made up your mind; made it up long ago, if you’re being honest with yourself. “You didn’t warn me that Gandalf died.”

His mouth drops open momentarily at that, but a slow smile spreads across his lips and he props a forearm against the bar across from you. He leans into it to get closer. “That would ruin the story.”

“Yeah, but you know I loved him.” You told him as much numerous times. You were fond of him, the way he cares and loves for the fellowship. The wisdom he harbors. 

“I know,” Eddie says, sounding regretful. “Can I convince you to keep reading…under the promise that maybe things will get better?”

You huff and pout, sliding your finger into where your bookmark presently rests at the back of the book. “I don’t see how they can.” 

“Well don’t you want to know what happens next?”

“I do.”

“Then will you trust me?” He pauses, catching himself before he continues. You watch him rub a hand along the back of his neck, rings glinting in the light. “Actually—don’t answer that.”

“Why not?” You press him, mouth settling into a firm line. 

“Because I…damn it, I messed up, okay?” 

“I know, and I got your flowers. I forgive you.” You nod in earnest, already resolute in your decision to forgive him and move on from it. 

“Yeah, but it doesn’t change the fact I was still an asshole,” he says, sounding a little mournful. “You just…you didn’t hear the whole conversation.”

You try to offer him an easy smile as he walks around the bar and sits down beside you on another stool. It’s the closest you’ve been to him, you think. “Did I walk in at the wrong time?”

“Something like that.”

Your answer is simple then, “Okay…then I forgive you for that, too.”

“You shouldn’t,” he says quietly. 

You shake your head at him. “But I do.”

“Yeah, but why do you do that?”

You’re not understanding. “Why do I do what, Eddie? I’m trying to forgive you for being an ass and you’re not letting me, so are you rejecting your own apology?”

“You’re just…damn it, you’re—and it drives me crazy. That’s why I said you annoy the shit out of me.” He groans at the end of his words, palm sliding down his face. “I’m just—look, I’m not used to people being like you.”

“Like me?” You point to yourself with your thumb, head tilting to the side. 

He’s staring straight at you when he says, “Nice, sweetheart, nice.”

You ignore the little flutter that gives way at his nickname. 

“Why is that?”

“Because of all the shit that happened two years ago,” he drops an elbow onto the counter and rests his forearm along the top. He’s close enough just the slightest shift on the stool will mean his fingers brushing the sleeve of your work tee shirt. 

“I know,” you tell him. “And I’m sorry for that.”

His eyes shift to your face. A worry line forms between his brows, out of place on such a youthful face. “Oh, so you, uh, looked into it?”

“No,” you reassure him softly, resting your hand on the back of his. He flinches at first, but doesn’t make an effort to pull away. You offer him a slight squeeze and continue, “no I didn’t, Eddie.”

“Why not?” It’s as if he can’t believe you wouldn’t. 

As if he wonders why you haven’t. 

“I figured one day you’d tell me,” you reply, thumb shifting against his palm in a slow swipe before you pull away to rest against his book instead. “When you’re ready, of course.”

“Oh…o-okay.”

“Yeah, so will you let me accept your apology? This way we can start over.” 

“I’d like that,” he agrees, moving to stand to his feet as a customer taps a few dollars against the bar. 

“Go—back to work for you,” you tease, adding out in a quick rush, “and get me the second Lord of the Rings book!”

“So you are going to read?” 

“You asked me to trust you,” you remind him, watching as he starts walking to his customer. “This is me trusting you.”

  *

  Things… change after that. 

You were friends before your mild tiff, sure—but Eddie starts to change from that point on. You wonder if it’s a wish to try and maintain what he says, about trusting him, about him trying to appreciate what you’ve been to him these months. But your adventures travel outside the four walls of the Hideout and Sunshine Coffee for the first time one humid Saturday a few weeks after you restart your friendship. 

After Eddie lends you The Two Towers and you breeze through it in a week’s time, you tell him you really want your own set of the books. “You know, to mark up and stuff,” you tell him, to which he calls that, “A crime that requires jail time, unless you buy two copies so you have one to keep for rereading and one to annotate,” and you shove at him as you sit beside him in his van on the way to a thrift store just outside of Hawkins in search of a new bookshelf. 

You briefly wonder if this is the town he lives in, what with the way he navigates so smoothly, no question to what roads to take. 

You don’t press him, however. 

You’re patient with him. You want to see him grow in your presence. To pull back those layers of his rough exterior and find the gold within. You know it’s there; you’ve seen it sparkle numerous times now. Can sense it behind every secret smile he offers you. 

Your first store leaves you empty handed. You slip and out of aisles in search of the perfect piece to put in your home, but find nothing to your liking. Nothing that would even do well with a nice coat of paint or a good staining. 

The second shop has a nice carpet you end up purchasing, with Eddie’s awaiting arms there to carry it back to his car, but again no bookshelf. So it surprises you a little when you both climb back inside after Eddie shuts the back doors and says, “I could try and build you one?”

“Really?” You shift your head to look at him. He’s gone with a short sleeve shirt today. Red, the vibrant deep kind that makes your marrow sing because of how stark and stunning it is against his skin. “I couldn’t ask for you to do that. It’s too much, I—”

“I want to. How hard could it be?” 

It leads you back to your apartment, where you sneak around the back so as to not disrupt the kids that you’ve left alone for the day while you enjoy a day off. The first in months, really. Eddie watches you fumble with the key, chuckling when your trembling fingers struggle a bit. 

“Here,” he says, moving around you and filling the space beside your bodies with his own. His chest brushes your back, fingers dancing against yours as he pulls the keys from them. With a swift ‘click’ the lock slides open, and he pushes inside. “Good to know the lock still works.”

“The guy who installed it is really humble,” you tease and his eyes roll, shoving past him to inspect the apartment. “Look—I…it’s a little bit of a mess. I haven’t gotten around to fixing the place up yet. Taking care of the coffee shop comes first right now. Hence…all the stuff laying around in piles and boxes.”

When Eddie looks around, however, there’s no judgment there. Only curiosity in his dark stare as he glances around your space. You catch the mess in the sink, the boxes on the countertop beside it. There’s your unmade bed, with its burnt orange pillows and white bedspread, kicked down toward one end. To the side of that are your piles of books with your alarm clock and lamp set on them. Luckily, your clothes are unpacked and stored away in your closet, kept hidden behind a curtain you remembered to pull shut that morning. 

“Well, here’s…my place,” you raise your arms in a sweeping circle. “It’s not much, but it’s…well, it’s mine. Needs a good coat of paint, some furniture, and a little love, but it does what it needs to.” 

“I could help, you know?” he offers, giving the place another once-over. 

“Eddie, you’re already here to measure a space for a bookshelf you’re going to build with your own hands,” you laugh out, a little shocked by his offer. “I can’t ask you to do that.” 

“We could do it together, lighten the burden,” he says evenly, hands on his hips. Suddenly it strikes you as odd seeing him there. The quiet boy from across the way, now your friend offering to help you get more comfortable in your new home. “We’ll need to go to the store and pick up wood for the bookshelf anyway. Why not grab some paint while we’re there?” 

“Really?” you ask, and he nods. “I—if you’re sure. I’ll make you all the cookies, just wait.” 

He smirks. You think you like that look on him best, because one of his dimples pops when he does so. “I’ll hold you to it, sweetheart.”

  *

  You plan for the next weekend, then. 

You don a simple tee shirt made to get dirty and a pair of shorts as you climb down the back stairs and slip into the coffee shop unannounced. 

The kids seem a little intrigued by your plans two weeks in a row as you hurry to put together a coffee for your friend, but you remind them that you’re, “Simply conducting business, as usual.”

Max gives a little smirk to Will and El. “Oh, I'm sure there’s loads of business happening.”

The kids all burst into a fit of giggles as you splutter out a huff, tossing a pair of sunglasses over your eyes and calling over your shoulder for them to have a good time while you’re gone, and slip out the front door. Eddie’s there with the windows rolled down, metal music streaming from his windows, his hair free and in wild waves today. He’s gone with a ratty white tee and jeans, and he thanks you softly as you hand him his cup of coffee and whips down the road. 

“Who is this?” you ask, listening to the words spilling from the speakers. “Take a look to the sky, just before you die. It’s the last time you will. That’s…well, it’s really chilling.”

“Metallica,” he says, chuckling as you wrinkle your nose in confusion. “A metal band. One of my favorites. You can add that to your collection of random facts about me.”

“Already written down,” you say with a soft roll of your eyes at him. “What does the song mean?” 

“It’s based on the poem by Ernest Hemingway. About the Spanish Civil War. There’s basically this moment where the soldiers are surrounded on a hill and it’s their last moments before…well, before dying,” he explains, sounding a little far away. “I think the song all in all is about death, though. I mean, the part you mentioned is a thing someone does right before they die. That last look up at the sky, knowing it’s the last time they’ll see it.”

You almost want to ask him ‘ how do you know,’ but he continues quickly with, “If you like this one, I’m sure you’ll like more of their stuff. We may turn you into a metalhead, or at the very least someone with a little more refined taste, yet.” You open your mouth to give him a witty retort when he pulls in front of a hardware store and pushes his door open. You reach over to unbuckle yourself and grab the door handle, but he’s already there, offering a hand to help you down. “Okay, what color are we thinking of for the walls?”

You shrug as the two of you walk toward the store, bell jangling upon entering. “Maybe off white to match my bed?” 

That’s how you learn there are approximately a thousand different shades of white to choose from. You suddenly regret asking Eddie to come along with you, even despite it being his idea, as the two of you stand in the store and thumb through a book full of different colors to choose from, turning what you thought would be a quick trip into an hour-long stay. Each one looks only minimally different from the one before it, and each one leaves you all the more confused. 

“What about this one?” you ask, nudging Eddie with an elbow. 

“It looks just like this one,” he points out, rubbing a hand along his jaw, his coffee cup still in hand though it’s long empty now. “How about you close your eyes and just…I don’t know, poke whichever one and go with that? And while you do that, I’ll go ask that nice looking employee over there what kind of wood we think we’ll need for your bookshelf.”

The two of you rejoin some twenty minutes later with your cash at the ready as a nice cashier rings up your purchases and glances between the two of you, smiling softly. 

“Sweet that you’re building this young lady a bookshelf,” the older man says, eyes more on Eddie than you. He’s the same man who helped Eddie pick out the supplies he’d need to make you one in the first place. A pretty dark wood, with a gorgeous grain. “That young, summer love. I remember when I was your age.”

“We’re, ah, we’re friends,” Eddie clarifies with no delay, cheeks red at their highest point. 

“Just really great friends,” you tell him, thanking him as he hands you back your change. 

“My apologies then,” he says, but there’s a smirk along his lips that makes you believe his words were definitely intentional. “Have a great rest of your day, you two! Stay safe out there; it’s a hot one.”

It’s certainly getting warmer here, you think to yourself, sliding your money back into your little purse. 

Still, you pick your paint up off the counter and watch as Eddie palms the handle of the shopping cart, spirit bright as you wish him a wonderful day and head out the front door. 

And if your heart races a little bit, well there’s no point in pondering that. 

  *

  The room is ready in no time for painting. Summer sun seeps through your open windows, air filtering in through the screens. You took down the curtains to keep them from getting messy and helped Eddie pull all your furniture into the center of the room to try and prevent any spills. 

It doesn’t take long before you’re helping lay out tarps around the space to protect your floors, laughing when Eddie struggles a bit getting them to unfurl fully before draping them around the room. There are tins full of rollers and paint strewn about the floor, ready for usage, and music drifting from your record player hidden within your closet. A little Dean Martin, one of your grandfather's favorites, croons in your tiny space, bringing joy to your heart. 

And then there’s Eddie, with his hair back in a low bun, taping around your windows and cabinets to ensure you don’t go over any of the areas you intend to keep as they are with the off white you had chosen. 

“What’s your favorite song?” It’s a random question he asks as the song changes and “Everybody Loves Somebody” plays. “If you had to pick one, what would it be? The one you can play over and over and never get bored of.”

You’re mid-emptying your dish drain into your kitchen cabinets when you pause to think about it. The question catches you off guard, but you’re always excited when Eddie asks questions to get to know you better. And right now, in this moment where it’s just the two of you in your home, seems like the perfect time to do so. 

“Uhm…” You trail off, running a towel over the inside of a still-wet bowl. “‘Lay All Your Love on Me.’ I could probably listen to it forever.”

He’s throwing another one of those smirks your way and you stick your tongue out at him, earning a low chuckle. “Sorry, okay, ‘Lay All Your Love on Me.’ It is a good song.”

“So you do listen to ABBA,” you tease.

“I can appreciate their songs, sure. Especially since Steve and Robin listen to them all the time,” he says, coming to join you in the kitchen, tossing the painter’s tape into your kitchen drawer for safe keeping. 

You shove your bowl up in its proper cabinet, draping the towel over your shoulder. “What about you? What song can Eddie Munson listen to on repeat for the rest of his life?” 

He seems a little caught off by your question. Face morphing from momentary shock to thoughtfulness, brows pinching together, mouth taut. “If I had to pick just one, I would probably go with ‘The Trooper’ by Iron Maiden,” he says at last. 

“They’re the ones who sang ‘For Whom the Bell Tolls,’ right?” you ask. 

“No that’s Metallica, but you’re learning, Young Padawan,” he replies, pulling out a fresh paint brush and holding it aloft. “Are you ready to paint?”

It’s easy to work with him in the confines of your apartment. The two of you mingle here and there amongst yourselves, but there’s a comfort in the silence that stretches out between you. It’s not the kind that needs to be full of conversation, because it’s more the feeling in your heart simply having him there. 

The gentle brushes of your arms when you both reach to wet your rollers, the accidental splash of pale color you accidentally get on his arm when you do so, the gentle caress of his laugh that tickles the hair along your neck when he says ‘it’s okay.’ It goes on like that for hours, the two of you working in tandem, the sounds of Dean Martin and brush strokes intermingling with Eddie’s commentary, on his praise of how your work is coming out, his guidance on the hardest to reach areas. 

You pause only to eat some pizza, kindly brought up by Will, who asks if you two need any help before he heads out for the afternoon. You thank him and offer him a slice to go, but wish him a nice rest of his day to rest and relax. And then you’re alone once more with Eddie, commenting on how this pizza isn’t like your pizza back home. 

“Better?” he asks, picking a pepperoni off his slice and dropping it onto his tongue. 

“Definitely better,” you hum delightfully. 

“Where is ‘back home?’” 

It’s your turn to smirk, shrugging. “That’s a long story, and we have work to do, my friend. Now eat up.”

It’s not long before you’re both sitting in the middle of the room, paint brushes laying in little cups, rollers in their tins, your hands supporting your upper bodies as you look up at your work. The room looks perfect. So much brighter than it was before, even despite the slowly setting sun over Hawkins. It’s a beautiful cotton candy confection; oranges, pinks and lavender visible through your window. You stare ahead and Eddie does too, chests heavy from exertion, sweat slicking skin, basking in companionable silence. 

You jolt briefly as the pad of a finger brushes along your jaw, settling when you shift and realize it’s only him, staring at you with a look unnamable behind his eyes. “You got a little paint…right here,” he says, answering the question already stewing in your mind before you can even voice the words. 

You glance down to where his hand rests against your skin, and then back up to his face, trying to hide the shaky breath that struggles to escape. It’s a short moment, but does little to quell the rapid turn of your insides as they do a flip within you, cut even shorter when a knock at the door sends Eddie jumping to his feet to glance through the peephole. 

You suspect it’s someone you know, because he opens the door and greets El on the other side, her small wave and ‘hello’ greeting your ears soon after. “I just wanted to let you know I finished closing up. Money is all counted, and Max helped me set up for tomorrow.”

You climb to your feet, coming to step around Eddie and curl your hand around the door. “Thank you, sweetie. I’ll see you tomorrow. Thanks for helping out today.”

“Anytime!” she says, and you close the door behind her, leaving you alone once more with your dark haired friend. 

The two of you clean up in silence, that brief moment of touch long forgotten as he helps you get rid of all the paint supplies and tosses them into a garbage bag. Your furniture and other things will have to stay where they are for now to keep dry, with a promise that he’ll come help you once more. 

“Well…it looks amazing,” you say, doing a slow spin about the room as he finishes washing his hands in the kitchen sink, admiring your work. “Thank you again for helping, seriously. I wouldn’t have been able to do it without you.” 

You watch his hand reach around him to fumble with his car keys in his back pocket. “It’s no problem. I should go though; I have to stop somewhere before heading home. Little bit of a drive, you know?”

“Oh—y eah, of course!” Your head nods rapidly, stepping backward a bit so he can move to the door. “Can’t exactly keep you here all night.”

“Goodnight,” he says, palm curling around the door handle. 

“Goodnight,” you reply softly, hand coming up in a little wave. 

You shut the door with a sigh and trail back over to your closet and lift the record, flipping it back over to the first side. The stylus settles where you want it and the familiar beginning notes of “Everybody Loves Somebody” fills your apartment. 

Everybody loves somebody sometime. Everybody falls in love somehow...

You smile as you ready for bed, brushing a finger along the picture resting in a box for safe keeping of your grandfather, placed there lovingly by Eddie. Your fingers press against your lips and rest along his smiling face, voice quiet as you whisper, “I had the best day…”

  *

  Chance tells you he’ll be at your apartment by six, but he shows up early in a freshly ironed button up and a pair of slacks, hair perfectly styled on his head. 

Chance buys you flowers and sets them in your awaiting arms as you approach that night. 

Chance opens the door for you when you walk up to Enzo’s. 

Chance compliments you on your features, tells you how good you look, brushes a kiss against your temple. 

He stares at you the whole night through the candlelight glow, fingers dancing along yours ever so slightly. 

He buys an expensive bottle of wine and makes sure you order whatever you want. You settle on pasta, and he orders a steak. Comments on the fact you didn’t need to be shy and order something cheaper. But you smile and bat your eyelashes, answering his questions as enthusiastically as you can. 

It should be perfect. In all reality, it really should be. 

It’s just…not fluid. 

He talks about his work. About handing out tickets, arrests, the parties he’s broken up where underage kids got a little too rowdy. And you talk about your shop, your workers, your quirky customers. But it all feels very surface level, all very forced. 

Stilted. 

It’s not even to say he isn’t nice, because he is. 

Maybe a little arrogant, what with the way he talks highly of himself and his achievements fresh out of high school only a couple years ago now, but you can write that off as him being excited and overly eager to spend time with you. 

He’s just…not for you, and you can tell very early on into the date he’s not. 

So as he drives you home and walks you to your apartment door, you press your fingers against the center of his chest when he leans down to kiss you and whispers how beautiful you are near your skin. Because while he’s nice and he’s perfectly fine, there’s no denying the fact he doesn’t rouse those feelings that a friend of yours does. 

There’s no spark, no flame, nothing to kindle a connection with. 

“Thank you for tonight, Chance,” you whisper, and lean forward to kiss his cheek. 

He nods, resolute, and wishes you a goodnight at your door. Tells you he’ll see you around. You trudge up your stairs and slip inside your apartment, readying yourself for bed. You scrub the remainder of your makeup off from the evening, slip out of the dress you had worn to look nice at the fancy restaurant. It spills from your body into a messy puddle on the floor, and you toss it into the nearby hamper as you yawn, making your way across the room to where the lights from the Hideout dance and pulse against your skin. You press your fingers against the glass briefly, longingly, and shut the light on your book pile near your bed, dousing the room in darkness. 

  *

  “So Eddie plays at this bar with his band from time to time. They used to play at the Hideout, but when Eddie moved out of town, he found this new spot, and instead of their five drunk people that used to be in majority of their crowds, they actually have a little bit of a following now,” Robin explains, leading you into the dark bar behind her. Steve’s there as well, but he’s standing off in the distance with some other guys dressed in dark colors, heads nodding as they talk. “Over there with Steve are…Jeff and Gareth. They’re Eddie’s band mates. And then there’s Kevin—he’s the one up on stage. He’s another. And Eddie…well, Eddie is probably in the back mentally preparing himself or something. He’s very passionate, like, very passionate about his music.”

You nod silently, finding yourself a little overwhelmed in the dark room. Not only is it in an unfamiliar town, but there’s a sea of swirling faces around you, melding together in the dim red lights dangling above. It’s definitely a younger crowd than that of the Hideout, and a lot more upscale. It seems like the kind of place people gravitate to, bodies pushing into yours as you try to force your way through the crowd behind Robin, her hand a vice around yours as she leads you to the bar. 

She orders you both a round of tequila shots that you down swiftly, head darting around the area in search of the familiar head of wavy brown hair. He’s still nowhere to be found, however. “I can see if the guys know where he is.”

“I—I can wait,” you rush out, raising your voice above the music. “They’ll be starting soon anyway.”

“I’m sure he’d be happy to see you anyway,” she yells back, earning a glare from a woman standing close to the bar. She places an order for your next round of drinks and helps you back over to where Steve and Eddie’s band mates are. 

Steve immediately raises an arm and tugs you into the crook of his elbow. “This is our newest friend,” he says, and tells them your name. Jeff and Gareth nod their heads, looking to you and then to each other, where they pass one another a quick look. It’s so brief you think you’ve mistaken it, and instead hold your hand up in a quick wave. “You’re probably looking for Ed, right? Here, let me show you around.”

Steve Harrington is kind and caring, first and foremost. You don’t know the full nature of his friendship with Eddie, but you know enough that you can tell they’re close. That whatever happened two years ago, from the brief snippets you’ve heard of it brought up in conversation, became a sort of catalyst for what they are to one another now. And because of that, because of the friendship between Eddie and yourself, that kindness and immediate love has been extended to you. You find yourself grateful for it as he leads you down a dark hallway, passing a break room you assume is for the workers of the actual bar, before he raps his knuckles on a room furthest in the back. 

Eddie’s there a moment later. Dark hair loose about his shoulders, a lightning bolt earring dangling in one ear, tight jeans fitted to his thighs, Corroded Coffin written across his black tee shirt in white letters. He’s foregone his leather jacket, his bat tattoos, and another tattoo you’ve not seen before on the inside of a scarred bicep flashing before your eyes as he steps backwards into the room. You realize he only goes without when he’s outside of Hawkins, and you only briefly get a chance to wonder why before he’s gesturing for you two to come inside. 

“I actually am going to check up on Robin. Make sure she’s not ordering too many drinks for them,” he says, pointing to you. “You know how Robs gets.”

“Oh I know,” Eddie says, but it’s accompanied by a fond chuckle, likely full of memories filled with Robin’s escapades. 

You’ve only hung out with her a handful of times and can easily admit she’s a lot of fun. She’s also quite a bit more ambitious in social settings than even you are. You love that about her, though. 

Steve leaves the two of you to it, door clicking shut and leaving you alone with the man. He drapes himself over the small couch situated in the far corner of the room, all long limbs over the top of the couch, one foot hooking over his thigh. You catch the barest hint of pale skin and lean muscle as he does so, catching your stare drifting before he says anything about it and focusing in on his eyes instead. 

“This place is crazy,” you say, a little breathlessly. 

“Definitely beats the Hideout, huh?” 

“Definitely,” you agree, flopping down next to him when he pats the couch near his hip. 

You were shocked when he brought up the show to you initially. Told you in passing at the bar about the show coming up mid-July, as if you’d talked about the fact Eddie plays in a band prior to that evening. 

You want to press him further for not opening up about it sooner, but you suppose you should have picked up on the signs. His random strumming when you sat in the car together and his music played in the background, the tapping of his fingers, the random humming of songs and scribble of lyrics in a notepad when he thought you weren’t looking. 

“I’m happy you invited me,” you tell him honestly. 

“Of course, sweetheart,” he replies, his fingers spread along the top of the couch tapping your shoulder in a tune unknown. “I’m almost done with your bookshelf, by the way. Got my uncle to help with it, actually.”

“Oh no, don’t tell me that,” you whine, cupping your hand over your face. 

“He wanted to help,” he reassures you, pushing at your wrist so he can see you. You shove at him jokingly, his laugh a rumble in your ears. “I’ve been keeping it at his place. Should be done probably by next weekend, if you want me to come to the apartment.”

You nod. “Next weekend is perfect. Maybe I’ll make us dinner. Like a little…celebration. We painted my apartment, replaced that hideous rug, and you built me a bookshelf. That place is actually starting to look like my place.” You pause, immediately rethinking your words, spluttering out, “Only if you want to, of course.”

“Sounds good to me,” he says, staring into your eyes just as a knock sounds from the door. A voice calls Eddie’s name from the other side, vaguely familiar to you, and Eddie shouts back, “Come in!”

Gareth appears with his longer hair flopping about his head, pausing when he catches you sitting on the couch beside his band mate. “Sorry. We just go on in five. Wanted to make sure you were ready.”

You shift away from Eddie on the couch, wiping your hands on your shorts as you stand to your full height. “I’ll let you guys get ready. I’ll see you out there.”

“See you out there,” he says, ignoring the way Gareth’s lip twitches upward when you duck around the boy and slip out of the room. 

You wade through the sea of bodies once you’re back in the main area, catching sight of Steve’s floppy head of hair first before you see Robin hopping up and down beside him. They’ve managed to secure a little table and chairs, high enough over most heads that you’ll be able to see the stage. Robin hands you a margarita as you sit down, the drink chilling against your throat as you take your first sip gratefully. 

She passes you a knowing grin, murmuring, “Where’d you run along to?” 

“Stop instigating,” you huff out, but you giggle all the same, grinning when she pulls you into a hug. “But if you must know, I went to go check up on Eddie.”

Steve turns to look at the two of you then, explaining, “Robs snuck another shot while you were gone.”

“My friend over here has to catch up!” She jostles your shoulders a bit, and you hug her tighter. 

“Your friend here has to work tomorrow, hon,” you remind her, running a hand down the back of her head when she pouts. “But I’ll have one more with you, okay? And then it’s off to bed for me.”

“Compromise,” Steve says, nodding enthusiastically. 

Robin seems okay with that, plopping down onto the stool beside you as Corroded Coffin comes out onto the stage and gets into position. You briefly scan the band, their outfits all an array of black and white, with Eddie catching your eye the most. Him with his hair back, his band tee on display, ripped jeans tight against his thighs. And when they begin, you can only watch, completely enraptured, by the way his fingers move along his electric guitar. He moves like he was born to move on stage, head moving to and fro as he dives into the music—as if he’s one with it. 

“He’s really good, isn’t he?” Robin asks low in your ear, sliding your shot of tequila in front of you. 

You quickly swallow it down, following it up with your lime wedge. Your heart rackets against your ribcage as his fingers dash along the strings, movements precise and practiced, like the instrument is another part of his body, blending seamlessly into the rest of him. 

“Yeah,” you mutter quietly, sipping the remainder of your margarita to chill your nerves that dance and hum with life beneath your skin, “he is.”

The fact you’re even here now means the world to you. This part of him he’s willingly choosing to share, something so deeply and uniquely his, that only his friends are privy to. It’s not lost on you, the meaningfulness of the evening. Being able to be there for him, in support of him. 

You won’t take that for granted…this little glimpse of Eddie that you know has been entrusted to you for safe keeping. 

  *

  It’s a day like any other. And by that, the girls are once again stirring the pot and trying to get a rise out of you and see what they can say to get information about the happenings of your personal life. 

You should expect it by now, you suppose. 

“Eddie’s been coming around more and more,” Max points out that afternoon as you and the girls close up shop. 

El remains from a safe distance, as always, listening in on the conversation. 

“Don’t think I forgot about what you girls did with the whole Fourth of July situation,” you warn them, brandishing your broom like a weapon. 

“What do you mean?” El asks, and as much as you want to pretend she’s playing coy, you know he’s genuinely innocent. 

“So you two aren’t trying to instigate anything between Eddie and I?” you press, looking in Max’s direction as she whistles to herself, suddenly highly intrigued by a spot on the ceiling. 

“I know nothing about that at all,” Max says, holding out the dust pan so you can flick your collected dirt into it. “But if something were to happen, that would be pretty cool.”

You scoff disbelievingly. “There’s nothing going on with us, though. We’re friends; really good friends these days, honestly, but just friends.”

“Are you aware you just said friends three times in that explanation?” She seems way too happy with herself. “Seems excessive if you say you’re just friends.”

But you were. 

You are. 

There’s never been an indication as to anything that would suggest otherwise. He’s never given you any idea that his feelings are outside the boundaries of platonic friendship. Plus it’s only been five months since you’ve known him, and even less since you’ve been spending time with him.

You chalk it up to the girls wanting to have their fun and play it off once more like it means nothing—like there’s not a hidden part of you that does like Eddie more than you’ve let on, and finish cleaning up the coffee shop. 

  *

  Eddie arrives as expected with your bookshelf at the ready. It’s beautiful. All dark brown wood with the prettiest natural grain, almost like it’s come from the forest itself. He helps you place your collection in their proper places on the shelves, taking a step back to admire your new set of Tolkien books, lovingly suggested by him. A little influence of his own self injected into your life. 

You’ve settled on spaghetti, the smell of fresh sauce filling your apartment as Eddie takes in the place, now a lot different than when he saw it last. You've unpacked more of your kitchen, trying to ensure the place feels more like home. There’s a warmth to it now that you feel it lacked before. That, paired with your citrusy candle burning on the tabletop, and you feel your grandfather would be smiling down from wherever he is now. 

You talk about the banalities of life as you finish up the cooking. His work, the building of your bookshelf, the minute updates to your apartment. You tell him about the kids and then business, how it’s prospering more than you could ever imagine. You’re making actual money now; enough where you could earn a decent living in Hawkins, though that part you leave out. 

It brings him once more to the question you know he had intended to ask you last time he sat in this same space. His question to you is, “Where was home before here?” 

As you told him before, it’s a long and winding tale. It’s like the stories in Middle Earth you’ve been reading about, these constant travelers, unable to settle for long in one place. So you settle for that, the abbreviated version, the simpler tale. 

“My family moved a bunch when I was younger,” you explain, shoveling some spaghetti down onto his place and yours. He pours you a glass of wine as you move to sit, eyes not once leaving your face as you continue. “So, I, uh…bounced around a lot. You know, from school to school. It was kind of always that way for as long as I remember. As a kid I hated it. Never really staying in one place meant not really having a solid group of friends or people I could build any sense of community with.” 

“I understand that,” he says, twirling the noodles around his fork. 

“As I got older, though, I learned there were positives to that arrangement. I could get to know new people, experience new things, try new foods, learn new cultures,” you explain, memories of the various places you’ve lived. Warmer, tropical places; bustling cities; beach side apartments; quiet towns. “I had friends in…many places all of a sudden. I learned to sort of just seize the moment for what it is and make the most of it.”

“So how’d you end up here? In Hawkins out of all places?” 

You swallow a bit of your noodles and down some of your wine. “My grandfather always wanted to see me slow down. I loved coming here as a kid, honestly. I have so many memories of this shop, just running in here and smelling his fresh cookies. The coffee. He’d sometimes sneak me some before my parents would let me have it. I’d spend my summers here with him, pretending to work for him, just…watching him. And he had such a, uh, joy for helping people. So when he died and gave me this place, I thought it was only right to uphold his name here.”

He nods, eyes soft as he regards you across the kitchen table. “Do you think you’ll stay?” 

“Ah…that’s hard. My whole life I’ve sort of been running, I guess. Leaving before I could get too attached. I want to say I will, I just—”

“Don’t know any differently,” he says, and it sounds like he understands. “Running gets tiring, though. Trust me.”

“It does,” you admit, biting your lip. 

You want to stop, you do. There’s just this fear that accompanies it. Of opening up enough to let people in and form a true community. Laying yourself bare to those who can nurture and also hurt you if you let them. But you’re trying. Sitting there, in that moment, with Eddie staring at you like he is, you find that you’re trying. 

“If it helps your case in staying,” he says, climbing to his feet to toss his dish in the sink, “I’d be happy…you know, if you did. Steve and Robin would, too. The kids.”

Your heart warms as he says so, moving about your kitchen like he’s been doing so forever. He works in silence, even despite your protests as you tell him you’ll clean up, but he’s not having it. Instead he forces you to go pop on a record. Not ABBA, for the love of God (his words). You settle instead on Mötley Crüe, which he says is only marginally better, but he quiets after that. You can only hear the sound of a sponge against dishes and plates as he works, his arms shifting as he works. You try to keep from looking, but he’s all honed muscle and dark ink swirling across skin. 

He goes to turn the sink off and starts to walk your way when the sound of a thump and a skitter of claws and wings meets your ears, loud enough over the music that it makes you jump out of your chair. 

But Eddie’s reaction has your blood running cold. The way he lets out a strangled cry and stumbles backward into your counters, dropping down onto his bottom on the floor, hands around his kneecaps. 

He’s not breathing. 

You can hear the rasp of lungs that won’t fill, of his struggle as he turns in on himself, hand clutching at his chest. 

You drop onto the tiles in front of him, gently crawling across the floor so as to not spook him further. He’s gasping like he’s in pain and you reach out to brush your fingers over the bats along the back of his forearm, along the curve of wings, trying to get him to look at you. 

“Eddie?” You whisper his name, and his eyes shift just enough to meet yours. 

Horror rounds those dark swirls of anguish, full of something you can’t quite see within them. Flashes of memory you’re not privy to. But you know it haunts him all the same, you can tell from what he’s told you, what his friends have, the events that no one speaks of and only alludes to. 

“Eddie, it’s me,” you try again, watching his teeth clench. You want to reach up and smooth the tension from there, but instead keep your fingers connected where they lay against his skin. “It was just a bat or an animal or something. Hit the window. Silly little thing. I just washed the windows, sometimes they get confused. I’ve got you, I promise.”

You move even closer, sliding to hands up along his shoulders, up and down his arm until his focus trails to that instead of his shuddering breaths. “You’re having a panic attack,” you say out loud, though you’re sure he already knows that. “Do you want me to leave? I want whatever you want right now, okay?”

“N-no,” he heaves out, his expression fearful as he finally fully looks at you. His hand clasps around yours where it rests against his arm. 

He’s pale. 

He's so pale. 

“Okay, yeah, I’m here,” you reassure him, his hand loosening so your palms can continue sliding up and down his arms slowly. “Try and match your breathing to mine. Slow inhales and exhales. I’m not going anywhere.”

You sit like that for a few minutes. Your legs bent so they can curve around Eddie’s broken form, your hands along his skin, his forehead against his knees as he gets a hold of his bearings. 

He matches your breathing, slow inhales for five seconds, and then an exhale for just as long. Over and over again until he’s breathing normally once again, until the tension radiating from his form dissolves into a slower simmer. 

You part from him only for a second to grab him some ice water, dropping back down to the floor to press the glass into his awaiting palm. He thanks you through a rasp as he sips eagerly, hands still shaking in doing so. 

“Do you need me to do anything? Do you need anything?” you ask him, thumb still stroking his skin even now. 

“This is fine,” he says. “Thank you. I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“You’re sorry? Eddie, I’m your friend. That means if you need me, I’m there for you,” you remind him, stilling in your movements. “That means the good, bad, and the ugly.”

He gives your hand another squeeze before standing to his feet. He drops a palm in front of your face and pulls you up with him. Your form teeters a bit, but he catches you before you can slam into him. 

“I…that hasn’t happened in a while,” he says, still sounding a little regretful. “I just—ah, I’m sorry.”

“No apologies.”

His features soften a bit at your mock scowl. It soothes your heart to hear him laugh. “Thank you again for talking me through it.”

You want to say ‘anytime’ or ‘always,’ but those words don’t seem fitting when it’s clear he’s still struggling. But you don’t get a chance to say anything at all, because he’s brushing the topic aside in favor of pulling out the VHS he brought of Star Wars: A New Hope, and dragging your old electronics from your closet to set them up for your viewing party. 

And as the opening theme song plays and Eddie’s face illuminates beside yours in the dark, you can’t help but to question just what happened to him in March of 1986?  

  *

  July 30, 1988 dawns warm and bright. Today’s adventures involve a night out at the local Fun Fair. A grandiose carnival full of lights, candy, food, rides, and games galore. Everywhere you look there are new sights to see, from the Ferris Wheel at the very rear, to the chair swings that spin high above the rest of the crowd, feet kicking as people laugh and trill from above. You see vendors passing out cotton candy as you go, boys passing their dates oversized stuffed animals after showing off their heroic prowess that normally you’d scoff at, but find yourself grinning over instead. Your heart swells because it just screams summer and you’re surrounded by the people who’ve become so very important to you in almost half a year’s time.

You wear a yellow summer dress, littered with pink flowers that match the neon lights glowing as far as the eye can see. The world is doused in color and life, children giggling as they pass excitedly from where you’re tightly pressing against Eddie as you walk behind Robin and Steve, who are already in search of the Gravitron. 

The kids have already run up ahead. Mike and El go to make out in the photo booth—a fact you only know because Dustin practically taunted them into submission for being disgusting—and Lucas and Max to go try their own hand at some games. Will remains at Robin’s side, telling her stories about his studies at high school, while you simply let Eddie lead the way for now.

It’s been two weeks since his panic attack in your kitchen, and he seems more or less his typical self. At least from what you can tell in the months he’s been a constant in your life. He’s happy. Happier now, according to Steve one evening in passing as the four of you play Charades in his backyard over a couple of beers and burgers. It’s not the first time you’ve been told as such, and yet there’s something that sparks to life and cracks like lightning behind your ribs at the idea Eddie is opening up once more.

“Come this way,” Eddie whispers near your ear, stealing you away from the group to lead you down a side strip of the fun fair. 

People grumble as you pass, your body colliding with another here and there as Eddie drags you behind him, soft mutters of “sorry” spilling from your lips. You’re bumping against his shoulder when he stops. You laugh out, “Bumper cars, really?”

“Get in,” he chuckles, and you’re practically racing him to clamber inside one. It’s a flurry of tangling limbs as you go about it, hands reaching between hands to try and buckle yourselves in before the hustle and bustle of moving vehicles begins at the sound of a buzzer. Your hands move to the steering wheel, his voice high and tight as he says, “I’m driving, sweetheart.”

“I’ve seen you drive,” you tell him, pushing at his elbows with your own to keep him from moving you away from the wheel. “Plus there are kids here. We don’t want to hurt anyone.”

One of which slams into you both from behind, and just so happens to be a grinning Max and Lucas, looking a little too devious for your liking. 

Eddie whips his head around and shouts, “The Party doesn’t attack other Party members.”

“Maybe if you two would stop flirting you’d have seen us coming,” she drawls, and they are driving away, leaving the two of you giggling in her wake.

Lucas yells over his shoulder, “Sorry, Eddie!”

You turn to look at the very disgruntled metalhead with a smirk, elbow digging into his ribs lightly. “You can drive.” 

You like to think you don’t have many regrets in your twenty-two years of life. You’ve always been one to try something once, maybe twice. But this? Letting Eddie drive the bumper car, with revenge behind his eyes intent to be dealt to Max, rank up there alongside those few that do make your list. Because he’s a dizzying swirling mess, whipping arms, screeching tires if this thing had wheels. And yet you’re laughing, ribs aching from the burn from the force, as he slams into Lucas and Max over and over and over again until she’s cursing at him from across cars and an attendant reminds you this is a kid friendly ride and that all fighting should be taken off the premises. 

Your body bumps his as you split away from the other couple, trying not to linger on Max’s words. Trying to not think about the way they made something like excitement bubble up into hope. 

Where you’re standing now, your hands brush every few steps. The gentle thrill of fingers against fingers, the sides of palms kissing, wrists knocking in the spaces between you. But he doesn’t stray from your side, instead pulls you closer when someone bumps into your arm in passing and you wince, nearly arm in arm now.

“Chair swings?” he asks, the blue of the neon lights flashing in his eyes as he looks down at you. He points upward and you can see them in all their splendor dangling from up above. Your head tips back briefly to take them in, a slow swallow sliding down your throat. Sensing your hesitance, you feel his hand lightly brush your arm. “We don’t have to.”

“No—no, I want to.”

It’s how you find yourself in a chair beside Eddie, him looking like he’s ready to take on the world, lighter than you’ve ever seen him before. Whereas you? You’re gripping onto the metal of the chair so hard you’re certain your knuckles strain from the effort, heart hammering away in your chest. Because you wanted to see him happy, you wanted it so badly, but there’s the matter of your own fear welling up. The feeling of being high above the ground, of flying, of soaring like you’re about to be. 

Eddie’s hand stretches over the spaces between you and you glance down, brow arching instinctively. He brushes his fingers with yours and waits for you to twine them with his, your fear dissipating knowing he’s there to tether you. 

“I’ve got you,” he says, and you trust him. “I promise.”

They’re your words to him in your kitchen. 

Your breath hitches, lips spreading into a slow smile.

Maybe you keep your eyes closed the whole ride. Maybe you simply listen to the sounds of others' joy around you. Maybe you pray every second you’re up there for the ride to be over. But as time goes by, with his palm resting warm and solid in your own, you open your eyes and glance out over the crowd. They’re small, they’re so small and you’re infinite—at this moment at least. And to your right, when you blink, Eddie’s there…just as he promises. 

Running seems tiring like this, when you’re high above the world, free from it all.

Back on the ground, he leads you to the endless rows of games where the two of you fail miserably over and over again to secure any prize. But you can’t fault his persistence all the same, the way his tongue sticks between his lips as you stand before the ring toss and he loses over and over and over again. 

“Eddie, come on…there’s more games this way,” you tell him, tugging at the fabric of his shirt. 

You glance over to the attendant, as if he’ll have pity on the poor man’s soul, intent on trying to win just one game. He doesn’t though, and asks for another fee to play again. 

All in all, Eddie ends up following you over to play a game of balloon darts, and you find he’s actually much better at this one. So much so he wins you a teddy bear definitely too big for your bed back home, and shoves it into your awaiting arms for safe keeping. Your fingers brush against the plush of its soft head, grinning down at the chocolate brown eyes that mimic Eddie’s. 

“Teddy, meet Eddie,” you say, mostly to yourself, but Eddie reaches over to squeeze the arm of the bear all the same. “What do we think about grabbing some funnel cake and going on the Ferris Wheel? I know it’s not my baking, but it's practically a rite of passage for these kinds of things.”

You feel like a teenager all over again with the boy you find yourself giddy around, climbing onto the bench for the ride. With the way he tucks Teddy into the space near his hip to keep the bear in place and shifts you closer so he can reach over to rip parts of the sweet treat from the plate between the two of you. Hawkins grows smaller and smaller beneath you, the fear of the free fall long gone from your mind when he pins you in place with his stare, doughy sweetness flooding your tastebuds. And as you pause at the very top, a bit of powder spills over onto his chin, mingling with the scar that creeps along his skin there. 

You lift a thumb hesitantly, explaining what you’re doing before you do so to not spook him. “You got powder…just there,” you explain, brushing your thumb across his chin, then further along the slightest bit of puckered skin. 

He releases a shaky breath, but doesn’t pull away from your touch. In fact, he leans into it, as you tentatively slide it along the bottom of his jaw. 

“Does it hurt?” you ask quietly.

He shakes his head. “Not anymore. Not now.”

Words hang in the spaces between you. You keep your hand against his skin and glance up to the sky, counting the stars in the sky, counting them like little blessings. Tiny secrets. 

Of all the days you’ve spent here so far, this one has to be your favorite. 

A reason in your ever growing list of ‘whys’ in your constant questioning of whether or not you wish to stay.

  *

  “So,” Robin says, fingers carding through a stack of vinyls. The way she says it immediately signals to you that she’s up to no good, though that’s hardly surprising since she and Steve are some of the biggest instigators you know. 

Your white shoes tap against the carpet covered floors, tongues still cherry red from the ices you consumed with your friend before heading to the local music store. You tug at your tank top, trying to let the air filtering from the fan positioned in the corner of the room chill your skin. 

It’s a scorcher today, and while most people seem to have gotten the memo to stay inside, you and Robin spent the day thrifting for new fall clothes for you and walking around town. 

You’re confident this will be your last stop though before heading back to your apartment to watch a movie with her. 

“You and a certain friend of ours seem to be getting pretty cozy lately,” she says, peeking up at you innocently through her lashes. 

You flip through a stack, pulling a Blondie record from the bunch to potentially add to your collection. “We’re friends. Friends…hang out.”

“Friends that go on the ferris wheel together and share dessert,” Robin says, raising a brow. You shake your head, snorting lightly before moving to another bin of records. 

“I share food with you and Steve all the time,” you point out. “You and the kids are meddling lately.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

You chuckle. “Of course you don’t.”

“You have to admit, it would be so cute—”

“Robin!” you warn, smiling wide at her. 

“You dingus, you’re smiling because you like him so much. You can’t even fool me—” You rush around the bins between the two of you to clap your hand over her mouth, bursting out into louder girlish laughter as the two of you meet eyes. 

“Let’s just get out of here,” you tell her, holding your record close to your chest. “Can’t take you anywhere.”

You both leave the store arm in arm, faces to the sun, world at your fingertips. 

Gramps, you think , I’m starting to feel like this could be home, and that both terrifies me and excites me. Wish you were here…

  *

  It’s August 17th and Eddie is finally twenty-three. His Uncle Wayne wakes him with a cup of coffee brewed to his liking, and an omelet with all his favorite things. There’s a card on the kitchen table and a cheery balloon with a weight attached to it that sits beside it, Happy Birthday written in sprawling letters. 

When he was younger, he’d probably have protested when Wayne reached down to curl a palm around the side of his head and kissed his head of waves, but now he’s only happy he’s still here to spend birthdays with him. 

And judging by the smile on Wayne’s face, he feels the same. “You have any plans today, son?” he asks, sliding his Garfield mug before him, swirling a sugar inside. 

“Just seeing Steve,” he says. 

“Good kid, that one,” his uncle agrees, and it’s how Eddie finds himself walking toward Sunshine Coffee with Steve, wondering why the hell they were there now when the place closes at this time anyway.

The lights are out; he can see the dimness of the room from where they’re standing, but Steve’s telling him to hurry up because they have to meet up with Robin for game night and they’re about to be late. 

“I don’t understand why we needed to stop here anyway?” Eddie huffs out, long legs carrying him as swiftly as possible. 

“We need to pick up dessert. Your little lady friend baked a whole bunch and said we could come get them when ready,” he replies, tugging Eddie closer by his arm. 

He’s about to curse Steve for pulling his arm like he is, but they’re opening the door and a light flickers on and all Eddie can do is stand in the doorway mute for likely the first time in his life as he takes in the scene around him. 

The coffee shop has been completely transformed. The tables all moved together to make one giant seating area. Streamers of all colors hang from the ceilings, a banner that says Happy Birthday dangles from the front register counters. Music spills from a loudspeaker further into the room. And all about the room are the people who mean the most to him. From his Corroded Coffin friends, Hopper and Joyce, Jonathan and Nancy, the kids, Robin, his Uncle ( who gives him a knowing smile), Steve to his left…and then there’s you. 

Standing with a cake in the middle of the room, his name written out across the white frosting in a bright red, with your makeshift attempt at drawing his guitar on the side. 

Everyone’s shouting happy birthday, and when he looks over to Steve, he only gives him a nod and he’s stepping further into the room. It’s overwhelming, the fullness that floods his heart. The way the kids all step forward, wanting a chance to wish him happy birthday, to hug him. His friends do the same, each offering him well wishes and a pat on the back or a tight squeeze. Over and over again until his head spins, because he’s not used to this sort of affection. 

Not used to being celebrated—not like this. 

His Uncle steps forward as the crowd clears, reaching forward to bring his nephew close to his chest. “Why didn’t you tell me about this, pops?” 

“I was held under strict guidance from that young lady over there to keep it a secret,” he explains, throwing a thumb over his shoulder to where you’re standing, head tilted back in laughter as Max and Dustin wave their hands wildly before you, clearly deep in some sort of tale. “You know, you’ve never introduced me to her before.”

“She’s a good friend,” he says, calling your name above the crowd. Your head immediately darts his way, before turning to the kids to excuse yourself. He tries to quell the rapid flutter in his chest as you draw nearer, as your skirt dances about your thighs, as your infectious curl smiles when you approach him. “I wanted to introduce you to someone.”

“Formally, at least,” Wayne says, passing you a little wink. “Seeing as we spoke a couple weeks back.”

You waste no time in reaching forward and hugging the man, shocking both Wayne and Eddie, but Eddie supposes it’s really not that shocking at all. You’ve always been warm. You ooze life and make people feel like they can be open, without any worry as to what you might think of them. It’s one of the things he admires most about you, so he simply smiles as Wayne shares in that embrace with you and pulls back after a while with a giant smile, murmuring something so quietly to you Eddie doesn’t quite catch it. 

Your reply is a nod and you settle back at Eddie’s side, glancing up at him through your lashes as you wrap his side in a hug. The first hug you’ve given him. “Happy Birthday, Eddie.”

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he says sincerely, glancing at his Uncle. “Uncle Wayne…this is…” He tells him your name, and then does the reverse, finally introducing the two of you. But it’s as if you’ve known each other for years as the two of you split away from him and talk over the coffee pot, showing him how to work it. 

He doesn’t miss the way he misses your warmth soon after it's gone.

Steve appears to his right, arms folded across his chest. “It’s okay to admit you like her, you know? Also, in case you were wondering, it was her idea to do this in the first place. We promised you wouldn’t get mad at her. We thought it was a good idea.”

“I’m not mad,” Eddie promises, and chooses not to acknowledge that first part. 

Because he’s not even yet had a chance to process the feeling bursting from beneath his ribcage whenever you’re near. The way his stomach dips, chest tightens, palms start to sweat. He’s never really had many opportunities throughout his teenage years, always too weird, too loud, too much for most girls. Sure, he’s kissed a few here and there, maybe had a make out at the Hideout here and there in a dark corner. 

But nothing like this, nothing of this nature. And he especially never expected it happening after the Upside Down. 

For so long he’s seen himself as some beast. As some monster that lurks in the shadows. 

Now…well, you’re different, he supposes. You draw those parts of him forward. You make him step forward and into the open, pulling him from the shadows he prefers to hide in. 

He’s not quite sure what to do about that yet. So for now he slips into conversation with the kids about DnD. He listens to Hopper and Joyce regale him with stories he’s not yet even heard about Robin and Steve. When they later gather around to have cake, he ties his hair back and tugs you to his side so you can sit beside him when you place the cake down before him, candles flickering against the faces of those across from him. 

He feels loved. 

He feels undeniably and truly loved.

He inhales and wishes for this year to be the best one yet, and exhales hopeful that it will be. 

  *

  The end of summer finds you sitting in the back of Eddie’s van with Eddie, Steve and Robin. Eddie’s gutted the thing, all his usual things cleaned out for now, and placed a makeshift bed of blankets beneath. Pillows are strewn about the place, creating the perfect outdoor movie watching atmosphere. 

Robin and you have been left to your own devices as the guys collect your various drink and snack orders, staring out the mouth of the van up at the twinkling stars in the sky. 

You don’t have those back home. The sky is always too congested, always obscured and blocking out their pretty light. Tonight, however, the sky is full with an endless sea of them. 

“That one, right there,” Eddie says all of a sudden, popping up beside you on the back of the vehicle, “is Aquila…then look up, up, up— yeah, right there. That’s Cygnus.”

You turn to look at him, and the stars reflect in his eyes. You can hear Robin and Steve talking to your left, sure, but Eddie’s swallowing up all the air in the space. 

All the attention. 

“Are there any others?” You tip your head back up to the sky, feeling a flutter when Eddie’s fingers curl around your wrist and he unfurls your pointer finger. 

“Okay, so a little bit to the right of Aquila is Hercules.” He drags your hand to the right, outlining the square-like shape in the center and the spindly, broken limbs from the four points. “Right to the left of that… is Lyra.”

He drags your finger to the left and points out the other small constellation, his breath dancing along your bare shoulder, making your breath come out in short puffs. His fingers unfurl from around your wrist and you shift a bit on your bottom, further away from Steve and Robin, your bent knee and leg hanging over the edge of the van bracketing Eddie in place. 

He’s wearing a Metallica tank top tonight, and those dark jeans he favors, hair loose and wavy in the humid September air. He’s smiling at you, you realize, bright and open in the dimly lit space. 

“How do you know so many constellations?” you probe, head tipping to the side. 

You watch as his eyes drift back to the sky. With Steve and Robin so caught up in their own conversations and murmuring their need to go to the bathroom before the movie starts, Eddie regales you with a story about his parents. That his father had been in and out of jail his whole life, and that his mother always struggled because of it, seeking comfort in alcohol and other substances. At a young age, she actually ended up dropping him off at his Uncle Wayne’s house here in Hawkins and…never came back for him. It breaks your heart as he tells you. The idea that she could just leave the child she grew and loved within her own body at one time. 

He tells you about those beginning years, learning to navigate each other's new spaces. The way his Uncle became a constant, when he’d been so used to people coming and going in and out of his life before that. 

“My uncle and I got close. Like…ah, really close,” he admits softly, with the shyness of a young boy, shocking for the twenty-three year old man sitting before you. “That involved learning new things together. So there was a time where we’d sit outside and just look up at the stars with a book and see what we could find.”

“Your Uncle Wayne is really special,” you tell him, your voice soft even on your own ears. “I’m really happy you have him. He was…so wonderful when I met him.”

“Yeah, he’s…” He leans back onto his hands, chest parallel with the sky. From here you can see the soft outline of his face, the line of his nose, his jaw, the bump of his throat, the chains that rest in the hollow. “He’s really important to me. We’ve been through a lot together.”

You swallow thickly, the importance of this moment not lost on you. “Thank you for sharing that with me, Eddie.”

His palm slides across the van floor and you’re about to ask him what he’s doing when those fingertips brush your own. They just rest there, not seeking or holding, simply touching . Simply sharing in the closeness of proximity. You follow the trail of his forearm down to where your fingers lay, index tapping against his thumb, when Robin announces boisterously that the movie is about to begin. 

Your group slides further into the mouth of the van. You settle down on Eddie’s right so you’re closest to the wall, hidden away from the rest of the group, your knees close to your chest as you watch the opening scenes spill across the screen, showing two young boys moving into a Santa Carla, California. 

The Lost Boys is interesting enough and moves swiftly. The premise of vampires always seemed intriguing anyway, these creatures of the night not bound by the innate human morality code. 

And as you get further into the movie and Michael finds himself drawn into David’s motorcycle gang because of his growing interest in Star, you lean over to Eddie and mutter, “You should be a vampire for Halloween. You dress like these guys on a daily basis.”

“Are you making fun of my clothing choices?” he asks, tugging at your forearm so you thump bodily against his shoulder. 

“I’m just saying, it would be an easy costume,” you chuckle, just as Michael is offered some sort of wine that you most definitely know isn’t actually wine. 

“Would you drink a random chalice like that?” he asks you. The sound of Star telling Michael not to do it greets your ears. 

“Absolutely not,” you say, chuckling. “You know that boy is about to become a vampire. Easy.” 

“You two!” Steve hisses loudly, making you jump from where you rest beside Eddie. “Stop with the chit-chatting! There’s a movie playing!”

A group of people in cars around you “shhh'' Steve, his hands lifting in exasperation. “I’m trying to get them to shut up and you’re all trying to get me to shut up? Come on, people, be grateful here!”

“Steven,” you raise your head from up where you’re hidden by Eddie, snorting when Eddie shoves your shoulder lightly. “Quiet down, there’s a movie playing!”

“This,” he says, pointing a finger between the two of you, “is a scary thing.”

None of you are able to ask what he means by that, because a worker with a flashlight comes by and gives you a final warning that numerous people have made noise complaints, and one more will result in your request for removal from the premises. 

You’re giggling to yourself, shoulder against Eddie’s with your hand over your mouth as they walk away. His face presses near to your ear, his own laughing warm against your skin, as he whispers, “Thank you.”

Your head pops up in confusion, eyes clashing with his. “What for?” 

“Just thank you,” he says, and there’s a poignant sincerity there that makes your chest ache with sudden sticky fondness.

You take that moment to shift closer to his side, your back against the side of his chest, his arm coming to drape around your shoulder. He’s warmth and comfort, protection from the chill of the soon to be fall air. And if you lean closer to him as the movie goes on, as Star and Michael explore the intimacies of their relationship in the background, he only pulls you closer, thumb brushing along your skin, gooseflesh jumping to life. 

“To keep you warm,” he explains, cheeks growing darker, as he looks down at your cuddled up forms.

“Of course,” you reply, trying to hide your wry smile.  

So while spring marked a new beginning, summer brought along with it warmth and the stirrings of something more. 

You’re excited to find out what that something more is. 

  *

[helria]

Alex (SDV) - Sweet Tooth

Word Count: 453

"Oh! That stand actually works?"

Alex turned once he heard the loud, unmistakable hiss of a minecart, offering his signature smile in return for a somewhat frazzled grin from the town’s newest arrival. She wiped the soot off of her face while clambering out of her seat, readjusting the straps of her bag as several pounds of rock pressed against her back. "Hey, farm girl. Coming from the mines?"

"What gave it away?" She watched him lean against the counter as she approached, nearly motioning to do the same until she remembered the patches of slime still on her sleeves. She made a show of rolling them up before leaning in his face as well. "Dirty clothes not bothering you this time?"

"Hey, different people, different tastes. And this is pretty regular for you."

She raised a brow. "Meaning...?"

"Meaning," he threw right back, gesturing vaguely with his hand. "You're the only one I know that can make all... this... kind of work."

"Maybe you should join me next time, then. See if it starts growing on you too."

"Listen, you've got your thing, I've got mine. I'm plenty busy as it is."

She looked down to hide a laugh, pretending to clear her throat while turning to the signs. "Ice cream's more your speed, huh?" He shrugged and she hauled herself over to the proper front of the booth. "I didn't know this place still ran."

"Only in the summers. You're the first customer this year."

"That means I get a discount, right?"

"Nice try. It's 250g, even for all the pretty girls." He clicked the scooper a couple times while opening the tins, all freshly churned and untouched after being empty since last year. "So what'll it be? It should be good this time around, considering half of it's from your farm."

"Wait, you made this?"

"Yeah? Grandma had a machine, so it was just finding the recipes..." He looked back up once he noticed her stare, clicking the scooper again to distract from his reddening face. "What?"

Her eyelids fluttered as she tried to picture it. This cocky, arrogant little jock, trading in his varsity for an apron just to bake with his grandma. Carefully measuring milk and sugar to try and find the perfect blend. The corners of her mouth threatened to twitch into a grin. "...Nothing," she dismissed through tight lips, resisting the urge to ask if he'd teach her someday. "I'll get one of each. Four scoops."

"Sweet tooth, huh? Me too. Good choice." She tossed a few coins in the tip jar before taking the towering cone, watching his smile subconsciously widen at the brush of their fingertips. "See you around."

"Mm. You've got a new regular."

[mrsaguapapi]

Ch 1 

Chapter 2

Critical Hit

The Vibe:

She's a Rainbow-The Rolling Stones

I lie awake in bed, on my back and limbs sprawled out like a starfish; thinking about last night's strange series of events.

Fucking sorcerers. They're just damn wizards without hats.

"Strange people," I say out loud to myself, "Yukio, we're gonna go into the city today," I say out loud waiting for her to come to me. I feel her jump up on me and rest in my lap; I pet her and continue, "We'll go for a walk, maybe stop at our favorite ice cream shop. How does that sound?" Yukio wiggles her tale and licks my hand in excitement.

I get up and begin my morning routine feed Yukio, eat 2 bananas, shower, brush my teeth, and throw some loose curls in my hair. The great thing about Japan's winter months is that I can wear my hair down without frizz-altering humidity. I'll throw some box braid in a few months to prepare for the summer heat.

I walk to my closet and hold my hand out feeling for the tags on my hung-up outfits. Each outfit is put together and hung in garment bags along with a shoe that matches; Each bag has a permanent tag written in brail so I can tell which is which. I have a personal shopper who specializes in helping the blind; she comes in and organizes my closet every once in a while, occasionally swapping out old outfits for new ones.

I find the label of one outfit,

Chunky black leather ankle boots| Stone-washed, high-waisted capri jeans Forest green knitted long-sleeve halter tank top Long black overcoat

I'm 25 now and it's been about 10 years since I lost my sight, I can barely remember what colors look like, and my memories have faded a bit. I told my shopper to pick whatever and that,

'I'm blind but I still wanna look hot

I get dressed and grab my sling bag with my essentials, wallet, keys, and my foldable cane and pack my bag; as well as leash up Yukio and begin our walk. We do our usual stroll in the city walking past several markets and shops and listening to people laugh and gossip like no one is listening. It was a nice little hour and a half of constant eavesdropping; some people watch the Kardashians I go and ear hustle the streets.

We stop at the ice cream shop and I decided to just get a vanilla milkshake and grab Yukio a puppy cone to enjoy. We sit outside the shop on a bench enjoying our cold treats when my phone vibrates and begins to speak a text to me,

TEXT FROM KAI

Hey boss, can you stop by and sign for delivery? They are refusing to release our product until the owner signs off.

DO YOU WANT TO REPLY?

"Yes," I say

REPLY NOW

"I'm about a 10 min walk away, be there asap"

ARE YOU READY TO SEND IT?

"Yes" I reply

I put my phone back in my bag and stand up, "Come on Yukio gotta stop by work real quick" I say to her as we navigate to my restaurant.

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

When I arrive I hear Kai arguing with the delivery boy in the foyer of the restaurant.

"I'm sorry it's a part of our new policy," the boy says

"You think you could have notified us first? Our owner is blind she needs to know these things ahead of time"

"Kai," I say, "Thank you, I can take it from here. Wait out here with Yukio for me?

"Yes ma'am," he says before taking Yukio's leash

I walk into the building and throw my customer service voice on, "Hi how can I help you?" I ask

"Are you the owner?" he asks

"I am"

"I thought the owner was blind"

"Well, that was incredibly ignorant." I say pulling out my cane for a little bit of flair, "Is this better?"

The delivery boy clears his throat and hands me a clipboard and a pen, "I'm sorry ma'am, can you please sign for this?"

"Yes," I say taking the pen and board, "Can you guide me where to sign?" he takes my hand with the pen and places it on the board prompting me to sign there.

"Where should I unload these?"

"Take them to the kitchen, Kai will guide you, and for now on Kai can sign off on these. Thank you" I say before walking out "All taken Care of, you now have the authorization to sign off," I say holding my hand out for Yukio's leash.

Kai places the leash in my hand, "Thank you, boss, sorry for the inconvenience"

"It's no problem, honestly. The delivery boy is going to unload in the kitchen, you got it from here?"

"Yes ma'am! Have a great day!" he says before walking away inside

I let out a long sigh, before turning around and beginning to walk away.

I hear someone clear their throat from my side, "Excuse me Miss" a man says causing me to stop in my tracks and look at him, "Kiyotaka Ijichi. Gojo sent me to pick you up for your interview"

Gojo?

"Um?... What interview?" I ask

"The interview for the Combat Specialist position," he says a little nervous

Not this shit again

"I already turned down his little offer. The answer is no"

"Ma'am I-"

"You know what, call him please?" I politely demand

"Yes Ma'am" he obliges rather quickly.

The phone rings twice before Gojo Answers, "Gojo Mrs. Himari-"

I quickly take the phone from his and put it to my ear, "Gojo what the hell man"

"Heyyyy! Ari, what's up?"

"Don't play dumb, what weird shit is this? Why is there a man waiting for me outside my business, I could have sworn I told you no, did I not? "

"You did. Come on, at least come to the interview and check it out."

"Why? Why would I do that? I don't need a job"

"Because It'll be fun. You seem like you could use a little fun. I saw the way you fought it was natural for you, even with being blind. You can't tell me you aren't a little bored with your mundane life? I have a feeling you weren't always this 'humdrum'"

I scoff, "Oh whatever, don't pretend you know me, asshole."

"Come on, will it kill you to humor me?"

I hold my head back and rub my brow bone in frustration, "If I say yes will you leave me alone?"

"Yes," he says rather quickly

"Was that a lie?" I follow up

"Yes" he laughs

"Goodbye Gojo," I say before handing Ijichi the phone, "Hang up on his ass"

"Yes Ma'am"

"Take me to this damn interview" I sigh and check my attitude, "Please" I add

"Right away Ma'am," he says before opening a car door

"Yukio you first," I say. I hear her climb into the car and follow her.

Ijichi closes the door for me and climbs into the front seat, "Jujustu High is in the outskirts of Tokyo, we'll be about 20 min okay Ma'am"

"Okay, thank you," I lean my head on the cool window pain and relax for the short car ride.

----------------------------------------------- When we arrived I could smell the blossoming trees and fresh air. We must be near tons of trees and greenery. Ijichi leads me and Yukio through the halls of this supposed school; after a few more turns we stop and Ijichi opens up a door, "I have been instructed to go only this far. Please navigate yourself to your seat the principal will be with you shortly"

I bend down and unleash Yukio as well as pull out my cane, to help with the walk, "Thank you" I say before walking forward through this big room and eventually making my way into a seat with Yukio sitting beside me on the floor. There we wait for about 10min before I hear a large man walk through the room and sit behind the desk that rests in front of me.

"Himari Sanada?" he asks

"In the flesh" I dryly respond

"Principal Yaga, nice to meet you," he says, "Gojo says you're a natural fighter"

"I suppose, I am"

"How open are you to sparring with some of us?"

"You want me to fight you?"

"Yes, no point in getting further into the conversation until after I see your skills. The position is for combat not speech"

"Well, I'd really rather not. I have warded off senseless violence, Unless absolutely necessary."

"Is that because of your previous occupation?"

"Okay, so not only have I been stalked at my place of work, but you've also looked into my past. Don't get it twisted just because of what you read, you still know shit about me" I say showing my frustration

"I know you're the adopted daughter of former Yakuza boss Tonaka, at the ripe age of 6 you began training with your father, and by age 11 you were running point on missions for him, I know you lost sight due to a degenerative optic nerve condition at the age of 15 and that somehow you came out from that horrible fate stronger than ever. They called you Kokushibyō, the Black Death. You were a career criminal, an assassin"

"What are you getting at?" I dryly ask

"Mrs. Senada, every day these cursed spirits get worse and worse and jujutsu sorcerers are becoming even more of a rare breed. Last year the Night Parade of a Hundred Demons, we lost nearly a hundred of our Sorcerers in that battle. As we raise the next class of fighters I see that they are lacking in hand-to-hand combat and weapons proficiency. Our children are dying, we need help."

I breathe in and cross my arms while rubbing my neck.

"I was almost hopeless and then I hear of a blind girl who was able to not only navigate her way through a curses pocket dimension but then went to kill said curse that she couldn't even see. You didn't have a cursed tool, which leads me to believe you have mounds of cursed energy within you. You seem like you want to live a good life, like a good person, and that you don't want to hurt anyone anymore and I want that for you but why let your skills waste away when you make good use of them?"

I sigh loudly and roll my eyes, "Fuck you for making me feel" I say in disgust, "If I agree, we do it my way, How many students?"

"Nine total, but we want you to focus on the first years for now; Yuji Itadori, Megumi Fushiguro, & Nobara Kugisaki "

"Okay, who's currently in charge of teaching them?"

"Kento Nanami part-time grade 1 sorcerer, from time to time teaches hand to hand; took the time to personally train Yuji Itadori, who is probably the most skilled out of the three of them. As for weapons, Atsuya Kusakabe grade 1 sorcerer, and teacher here; skilled swordsman but no honor, he would 100% leave you behind if it meant saving his own skin."

"Noted." I stand up and dust my pants off and grab my cane, "Well if we are gonna do this, I'd like to fight the first years as well as Mr. Nanami."

"Why not Atsuya as well?" he asks

"Well from what you just told me, I've got a clear understanding of what kind of fighter and man he is. A coward and cowards are shit fighters" I respond. Yaga says nothing but laughs under his breath as stands leading me out of his office.

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

He leads Yukio and me outside to what I assume is an open field by the feel of the grass under my feet. Eventually, we come to a stop and I hear a few familiar voices, "ARI!!!" I hear Gojo yell, "Are you ready to tussle?" He asks.

"Are you ready to shut the hell up?" I snarkily say. Next to him, I hear the smallest most hidden chuckle coming from Gojo's side.

"Ouch right in the heart, why don't you like me?" he asks fawning sweetness

"Because you're annoying" I laugh at him

"She's right," Nanami says, he must have been the one who chuckled

"Ari, glad you came!" Yuji says before hugging me

Fucking golden retriever

"Down boy." I laugh

"Sup," Nobara says, "You can't see him but our black cat is next to me. Say hi Megumi"

"Hi" The boy plainly says, "Is that your dog?" he says with a hint of excitement

"Hey, girl, nice to meet you Megumi, yes this is Yukio" I respond, "You can pet her". Megumi quickly takes me up and that offer and kneels down and pets her head.

I listen around me a little further and hear that there are a few other people there whose voices I don't recognize.

Principal Yaga speaks up, "Fushigoru, Itadori, & Mrs. Kugisaki front and center." he commands. The three take their time making their way to the center of the field near Yaga. "You three one at a time will fight Mrs. Senada. The match will be over once one of you are unable to continue."

"No need for one at a time, all at once is fine" I chime in folding my cane away and taking off my coat, and placing them on the ground with my sling bag; I begin to approach the others, stopping when I stand in front of the first years.

"Okay, then you heard her," Yaga says walking away, "You may begin"

"Umm this doesn't seem fair," Megumi says a little unsure, "You're blind and it's three against one"

"Worry about yourself," I say, "attack when you're ready"

The Vibe:

Swamp Bitches-Doechii, Rico Nasty

We all stand there for a few minutes, I hear them contemplate and whisper amongst themselves

"Itadori, you bulldoze and rush ahead, you've got the strength for it, Kugisaki and I all will come around the sides"

I'm sure they think I can't hear them.

"On the count of the 3. 1..2..3!"

Itadori quickly approaches throwing several punches, I manage to bob and weave between his attempts and block his last hit with my forearm, which hurt like hell; he's definitely got the strength and the speed but he's sloppy as hell. While blocking his hit with my arm I take my free hand and punch him in the side causing Itadori to topple over in pain; I finish him off with a right hook and he falls to the ground.

Finally making her move, I feel Kugisaki come up behind me and try to restrain my wrists; while she was focused on my hands I took the opportunity to knock my head back hitting her in the face. She let go suddenly in pain and I swiftly back kicked her in the stomach.

I hear Fushigoru rush toward me and decide to run towards him head-on; just as we were about to meet I used the momentum from the dash to drop kick him in the chest knocking him back to the ground. From the force of my kick, I fall down too but quickly recover rolling back and making my way to my feet.

Taking a second to assess the situation, I listen and hear Itadori sound asleep, I must have knocked him out. Kugisaki is on the ground trying to stand back up but not finding the strength in her legs. Lastly, I focus on Fushigoru and hear him coughing and gasping for air.

"Your reflexes are shit," I say out loud, "Your sight is a privilege that you take advantage of and you underestimated my strength. Lots to learn," I say that last bit under my breath. I go over to Fushigoru and bend down to him, he still wheezing, I put my hand on his chest, "Calm yourself and Breathe" I say as I breathe in deeply and out slowly encouraging him to do it with me. He does and eventually, he calms down a bit, "You and Nobara most likely have bruised ribs, take it easy and go help her up" I say standing up and holding my hand out to help him up. He walks away holding his chest.

I make my way to Yuji and bend down to make sure he's okay, he's still fast asleep, "Yuji wake up" I said shaking him. After a few seconds of this, I give up, "Gojo come get your kid" I speak up a little louder, "He's not waking up any time soon; honestly, they all should go to an infirmary" I say

"I see why they called you the Black Death, quick and painful" Gojo says

That stings, I hate that fucking name

I think Yaga notices my uncomfortablity and quickly speaks up, "Gojo take your students to Shoko"

"WHAT! Why do I have to go, it's getting so good" Gojo protests

"Kugisaki and Fushigoru can't take Itadori to shoko they are clearly injured. Go and be responsible for once" Yaga plainly states

"Fine" Gojo says defeated before he basically throws Yuji over his shoulder and begins walking, "Come on you two" he says to Megumi and Nobara who follow behind.

"I thought we were friends Ari" Nobara says as she walks away

"We still are" I laugh and yell behind her.

"Alright Mr. Nanami, you're next" Yaga says

I hear him take a deep long sigh as he makes his way to the center of the field, "Lets make this quick, you know how I feel about overtime"

I softly laugh at his demeanor as I take my position on the field, "This should be good, You can start whenever" Yaga says

We stand there for several minutes sizing each other up and planning our first move, "I am a VERY patient girl and I promise you I'm not moving first 'Mr Overtime'." I say taunting him.

"Teasing me won't work. Considering one of my only friends is Gojo, I have HIGH threshold for nonsense." he quips back, "I want to go home so I suppose I'll I make the first move" He says before suddenly throwing a punch

I quickly block him but he's fast, he manages to sucker punch me in the stomach knocking me back a bit.

Fuck, he's got some strength

I hear Yukio begin to bark and growl, she thinks this is a real fight , "Yukio Stay" I command. Swiftly I recover not allowing myself to feel that pain. I advance towards him and throw a series of punches at him, starting with two at his stomach, two at his chest, and a upper cut to his face now knocking him back. I hear him grunt as he quickly regains his stance throwing a left hook in my side and his right to my face knocking me to the ground

Jesus fucking christ that hurts; I think he broke my nose, Clearly he's got speed and brute force. I need to be more agile and quick on my feet to keep up.

While down, I take the opportunity fuck with his head, "Oh god" I wine and moan, "You broke my nose you asshole; what the fuck" I begin to cry real tears (Low key does really fucking hurt).

Nanami instantly regrets his actions and comes near me to offer a helping hand, "Shit are you okay? I knew we shouldn't have done this; i was afraid you would get hur-" he says before I punch him in throat cutting him off. He instinctively grabs his neck gasping for air; I stand up over him and side kick him in the face knocking him down to the ground.

I feel my nose bleeding down my face, so i back up a few paces and swipe the blood off my face and wipe my hands in the grass, "Get up" I say before I take my hands and placing them on both sides of my nose before I quickly break my nose back in place, "Fuck me that hurts" I yell.

I hear Nanami groan and struggle to get back up, eventually he stands back and begins to speak, "That was a shitty cheap trick" he says with a raspy voice

"That was shitty is that you came into this fight thinking it was an easy win. I'm a fighter in my own right treat me like one." I say holding my hands up a defensive position.

Nanami rushes me and throws a few more punches, this time with less focus; he is pissed, "Your anger is making you sloppy" I say before grabbing his punch and twisting his wrist as I swing my legs around his neck using my weight and his to pull us down hard to the ground. I soften my land with body and quickly crawl up him resting my legs on his upper arms pinning him down and for extra measure I have a hand around his neck and my other ready to knock him unconscious if he moves, "Do you concede?" I ask. He says nothing but uses what mobility he can and taps my leg with his hand.

I take the hint and release him and roll off of him and eventually stand up. I offer a hand to him to help him up; I can tell he's hesitating, so I gesture again for him to take my hand and eventually he does. I help him stand up, this is the first time I've been this close to him and actually let myself be aware of his height and how he towers over me.

He smells so nice, like evergreen trees and lemons

"Good fight" he says to me bringing me back from my inner thoughts. Eventually he lets go of my hand and for some reason I'm a little saddened by that. Yukio makes her way to me and begs at my feet. I bend down and pick her up and reassuring that i'm okay.

"I've seen enough" Yaga says pulling both of our attentions, "You've got the job if you want it"

"I'll take it" I say, "You have me Mondays and Wenesdays for hand to hand training. Fridays for weapons and Sundays will be open to staff who want extra training. I own a restaurant so my Tuesdays and Thursdays will be dedicated to that unless discussed beforehand and Saturdays are for me."

"Deal" Yaga says, "Welcome to Jujustu High"

[leffee]

Russell had been looking forward to spending a Saturday afternoon with his dad, Jerry. They hadn't had much time together lately, so when Jerry agreed to go to the ice cream shop, Russell was thrilled. As they entered the colorful shop, the aroma of freshly made waffle cones filled the air, and Russell's excitement bubbled over.

"Dad, let's try the new flavors!" Russell exclaimed, tugging at Jerry's sleeve.

But as they approached the counter, Jerry seemed to transform into his alter ego: Embarrassing Dad. With a mischievous grin, he started making exaggerated requests, like asking for a scoop of every flavor in a single cone or trying to juggle the ice cream scoops. Russell cringed, feeling the eyes of other customers on them.

"Dad, come on," Russell muttered, cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

Jerry, however, was on a roll. He struck up conversations with strangers, telling dad jokes,Russell tried to steer his dad back to their table, but Jerry seemed determined to entertain the entire shop.

Finally, with their ice cream cones in hand, Russell managed to corral his dad to a quiet corner of the shop. He took a deep breath, trying to suppress his exasperation.

"Dad, I love you, but sometimes you're so embarrassing," Russell said, shaking his head.

Jerry's playful demeanor softened, and he reached out to tousle Russell's hair. "I know, buddy, I know. But you know what? Life's too short to be serious all the time. Sometimes, we just need to embrace the silliness."

Russell couldn't help but smile. Despite his dad's antics, he realized how lucky he was to have such a fun-loving father. As they enjoyed their ice cream together, Russell decided to embrace the moment, embarrassment and all, knowing that these memories would be cherished for years to come.

-Part of me wanted this to be something teenage Russell was going though lol but the adult version works too I guess-

I knew this was teenage Russell! I don't know, something about it just screamed that he wasn't exactly an adult yet.

Ah yes, we have all the boys' alter egos, but then! Oh then! There comes Jerry with the best one yet - embarassing dad! Hmm, on the other hand, isn't it kinda his normal persona xD. I love Jerry, really I do. But asking for a scoop of every flavor in a single cone is not embarassing, if anything he has the right idea, mmm even if Russell is dying from embarassement. Damn, embarassing friends and embarassing dad, Russell just does not get a break, does he?

[kaileeandag]

Saya’s Collection

-Meet Outfit (navy blue Pokemon t-shirt,black blue jeans,and pink and white sneakers with white socks) -Meet Accessories (Giri Giri Girls Pretty Wolf single CD,blue and silver portable CD Player with headphones,pretend lemon snow cone,and Limited Too ‘S’ initial purse) (the CD plays 30 seconds of the song)

School Collection: -Saya’s First Day Outfit (pink short sleeve blouse,hot pink skirt,black bike shorts,and pink flip flops) (the bike shorts are so nobody can look up her skirt) -Saya’s Backpack (customized blue L.L. Bean backpack reading ‘Saya’ containing these items: Spongebob pencil box with two pencils,6th grade Science textbook,red FiveStar notebook,and a 6th grade Math textbook) -Saya’s Lunchbox (a Mystery Machine lunchbox containing these pretend items: pepperoni and cheese wrap,Handi-Snaks Cheese & Crackers,a Granny Smith Apple,and a pouch of Grape Kool-Aid Jammers juice) -Saya’s School Lunch (comes with these pretend items on a red tray: pepperoni french bread pizza,chef’s salad,fruit cocktail,and a carton of chocolate milk)

Holiday Collection: -Saya’s Christmas Present (copy of The Simpsons: Hit & Run for the Gamecube. Case only,comes with screenshots from the game) -Saya’s Pajamas (light blue Spongebob pajama top and pants) -Saya’s Christmas Breakfast (contains these pretend food items: stack of 3 blueberry pancakes with syrup and butter,two bacon strips,a sausage patty,and a large cup of apple juice) -Saya’s Nintendo Gamecube and games (console is Indigo purple,same for the Game Boy Player attachment. Cases only,comes with screenshots from these games: The Simpsons Road Rage,Pikmin,Animal Crossing,Super Smash Bros. Melee,Metroid Prime,Crash Bandicoot:The Wrath of Cortex,Billy Hatcher and the Giant Egg,Backyard Baseball,and Resident Evil 0) -Saya’s Caboodle (Limited Too GirlCare Caboodle,sparkly purple)

Birthday Collection (from her summer book): -Saya’s Birthday Cake (gold cake with chocolate frosting and a Pokemon decal reading Happy 12th birthday,Saya! on it) -Saya’s Japanese Jr. High Girls Uniform (belonged to her older sister,wasn’t worn much so it’s in like new condition) -Saya’s Gym Bag (for Jr. High next year,which begins at the end of her summer book,is Limited Too branded) -Saya’s Birthday Outfit (black and white polka dot skimp dress,navy blue leggings,and white and blue sneakers and white socks)

Summer Collection: -Saya’s DisneyQuest CD (the song she made was called When I Rule The World) -Saya’s Disney World haul (Disney World 2004 handbag,Lilo & Stitch plushie,and a Mickey Mouse hat) -Saya’s Splash Mountain picture (got after going on Splash Mountain. Her parents are in back,while she is sitting next to her brother. Her older sister is absent,as she couldn’t make it on the ride in time) -Saya’s Jaws the Ride Drawstring Bag (got this when her family went to Universal Studios in Orlando)

Winter Collection: -Saya’s Coat and Mittens (the coat is blue,the mittens are green) -Saya’s Snow Boots (the boots are pink and black) -Saya’s Sled (red sled) -Saya’s Cheering Uniform (long sleeve top and longer skirt,but close to knee length. The uniform is red and white and has Sanford on the front of the top)

Bedroom Collection: -Saya’s Bed and Bedding (twin bed with Pokemon bedding) -Saya’s Pajamas (silky Limited Too pajamas,purple) -Saya’s TV (Emerson TV with built-in DVD player. Her Gamecube can be attached to the front of the TV. TV does not function,has screenshots from these shows: The Grim Adventures of Billy & Mandy,Spongebob Squarepants,Codename Kids Next Door,and Evil con Carne) -Saya’s J-POP collection (comes with these CDs: Morning Musume First Time, Morning Musume Second Morning, Morning Musume 3rd: Love Paradise, Morning Musume No. 5, and Ayumi Hamasaki I Am...) (she was sent each CD from a friend in Japan) (the CDs play these songs: Ai no Tane, Memory Seishun no Hikari, Koi no Dance Site, Hey! Mirai, and Evolution) -Saya’s Boombox (blue,can play music from CDs she has) -Saya’s Game Boy Advance SP (navy blue,does not function,has Pocket Monsters Midori in the slot. Comes with screenshots from these games: Pokemon Red, Pokemon Yellow, Pokemon Silver, Pokemon Crystal, Pokemon Sapphire, Harvest Moon: Friends of Mineral Town, and Tanbi Musō Meine Liebe)

Extra Clothes: -Saya’s Kimono (red kimono with flower blossoms and geta sandals)

Extra Accessories: -Saya’s “Big Day” Food Selection (food items are pretend,comes with these items: Sekihan red beans and rice in a bowl with chopsticks, Omurice, Tamago Kake Gohan in a red bowl with blue chopsticks, and a cup of water) (this was to celebrate Saya getting her first period,which happened in the middle of her Holiday book)

[sakuravulpes]

✎ ( sponsor ღ Ayashi ) ՞₊˚๑ · · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

★⸝⸝ [^.^Ayashi^.^] Torriko hair-Exclusive @ғᴀᴍᴇsʜᴇᴅ

ღ Ayashi's latest release is so charming! Don't miss Torriko, now available at the event! Comes in standart, premium and exclusive packs, the last one is so worth! Includes all the hairstyles, long and short braids and also bunny hair clips and a super beautiful hat to give an elegant touch to the hairstyle.

✤ ᴍᴀɪɴsᴛᴏʀᴇ ✤ ғʟɪᴄᴋʀ

✎ ( sponsor ღ Mewsery ) ՞₊˚๑ · · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

★⸝⸝ #Mewsery Dolli Set{#FATPACK} @ᴋᴀᴡᴀɪɪ ᴘʀᴏᴊᴇᴄᴛ

ღ I'm wearing the gorgeous Dolli Set by Mewsery. This lovely outfit comes with separate dress, panties and sleeves in single packs or fatpack option. The fatpack allows full customization with all 28 colors. Rigged for Maitreya Classic, Maitreya X, Legacy [F], Reborn, Waifu, SBxBork Mounds, and SBxKottr Teacups.

✤ ᴍᴀɪɴsᴛᴏʀᴇ ✤ ғʟɪᴄᴋʀ

✎ ( sponsor ღ Reverie ) ՞₊˚๑ · · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

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ღ Reverie surprises us with this stunning set of eyes now available at the Warehouse Sale event. The bi-color effect looks amazing and unique, I love them! Including 18 colors separated into 2 packs with appliers for Lelutka, Genus, Catwa and Omega plus BOM. Find a closer look in the comments and blog.

✤ ᴍᴀɪɴsᴛᴏʀᴇ ✤ ғʟɪᴄᴋʀ

✎ ( sponsor ღ Tardfish ) ՞₊˚๑ · · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

★⸝⸝ .Tardfish. Ice Cream Treat @sᴜᴍᴍᴇʀғᴇsᴛ

ღ The delicious ice cream cone I'm holding is the new Ice Cream Treat by Tardfish! This animesh includes a moving cute octopus with a smooth and fun animation. Comes with hold pose in 7 different colors.

✤ ᴍᴀɪɴsᴛᴏʀᴇ ✤ ғʟɪᴄᴋʀ

ღ

Ahri ღ

✎ ( outfit & hair ) ՞₊˚๑ · · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

★⸝⸝ CryBunBun - MADHADES Boots

✎ ( extras ) ՞₊˚๑ · · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

★⸝⸝ MAOER-make up S1 ★⸝⸝ MAOER-CANDY LIPS (LeL Evox) ★⸝⸝ MAOER-Eyeshadow S3-X ★⸝⸝ serotonin. ferris blusher ★⸝⸝ darkmoon . Fresh Face ★⸝⸝ [BELACCE] Frieren Skin Fatpack ★⸝⸝ LeLUTKA Prim Head 3.1 ★⸝⸝ eBODY - REBORN

✎ ( background & pose ) ՞₊˚๑ · · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

★⸝⸝ pastel phonebooth (5) by SATO ★⸝⸝ Lyrium. Nao Static 2

[brandmydispollc]

Custom Pre-Roll Cones: Elevate Your Cannabis Game

In the ever-evolving cannabis industry, staying ahead of the curve is crucial. Custom pre-roll cones have emerged as a game-changer, offering brands a unique way to differentiate themselves, appeal to consumers, and maintain quality.

This in-depth guide will walk you through everything you need to know about custom cones, from their myriad benefits to the nitty-gritty of design and production. So, let’s roll up our sleeves and dive in!

The Boom of Custom Cones in the Cannabis World

Custom pre-roll cones aren't just about practicality—they’re a statement. Here’s why they’ve become the go-to for cannabis aficionados and businesses alike:

1. Stand Out from the Crowd

In a market flooded with options, custom cones let your brand shine. Unique designs make your product instantly recognizable, setting you apart from competitors.

2. Appeal to Aesthetic Sensibilities

Custom cones look fantastic, enhancing the consumer’s experience. Eye-catching designs can turn your product into a must-have item, even a collectible for enthusiasts.

3. Consistency and Quality

Pre-rolled cones ensure a consistent smoking experience. Made with high-quality materials, they guarantee a smooth, reliable product every time.

4. Convenience is King

For consumers, custom pre-roll cones offer ultimate convenience. No more worrying about rolling skills—just fill, twist, and enjoy.

The Benefits of Custom Pre Rolled Cones

Let’s delve into why custom pre-roll cones are a savvy choice for cannabis brands:

1. Boost Brand Recognition

Custom cones, adorned with your logo and brand colors, create a strong visual identity. This consistency helps build brand loyalty and recognition.

2. Powerful Marketing Tool

Custom pre-rolled cones are an excellent marketing asset. Eye-catching graphics and informative design elements turn your product into a mobile advertisement.

3. Compliance and Transparency

Including compliance information on your cones ensures they meet regulatory requirements. Plus, it provides consumers with essential details like strain and potency.

4. Foster Customer Loyalty

A premium product in attractive packaging can significantly enhance customer experience, encouraging repeat purchases and loyalty.

5. Go Green

Today’s consumers value sustainability. Custom cones can be crafted from eco-friendly materials, aligning your brand with environmental consciousness.

Designing Your Custom Cones

Creating the perfect custom pre-roll cone involves several key considerations:

1. Material Matters

Select the right paper for your cones:

Hemp Paper: Natural and unrefined, perfect for the eco-conscious.

Rice Paper: Thin and light, offering a slow, smooth burn.

Each material provides a different smoking experience, so choose what best fits your brand.

2. Size and Shape

Custom pre-roll cones come in various sizes and shapes:

1 ¼ Cones: The standard size, perfect for most users.

King Size Cones: For those who want more bang for their buck.

Slim Cones: Discreet and compact for on-the-go users.

The shape and size should complement your brand and cater to your target audience.

3. Filter Tips

Custom cones often feature filter tips, which can also be customized:

Standard Paper Tips: Functional and straightforward.

Perforated Tips: Adjustable for airflow control.

Glass Tips: Reusable and upscale, offering a premium experience.

5. Packaging Design

The packaging is just as important as the cones themselves. Opt for eco-friendly materials and designs that protect the cones while enhancing their visual appeal.

The Journey to Creating Custom Cones

Here’s a step-by-step guide to bringing your custom pre-roll cones to life:

1. Concept and Design

Start with a clear concept. Work with a designer to create mock-ups and prototypes, considering materials, size, shape, and branding.

2. Choosing a Manufacturer

Select a reputable manufacturer, such as Brandmydispo, experienced in producing custom pre-roll cones. Ensure they offer high-quality materials, precise printing, and reliable delivery times.

3. Sampling and Prototyping

Create samples and prototypes to test design, material, and functionality. Gather feedback and refine the product as needed.

4. Production

Once your design is finalized, move to full production. Ensure your manufacturer follows strict quality control to maintain consistency.

5. Packaging and Distribution

Design custom cannabis packaging that complements your cones. Work with your manufacturer to ensure it’s practical and visually appealing. Plan your distribution strategy to efficiently get your product to consumers.

6. Marketing and Launch

Develop a marketing plan to promote your custom pre-roll cones. Use social media, online advertising, and in-store promotions to generate buzz and attract customers.

Tips for Custom Cone Success

Maximize the impact of your custom pre-roll cones with these tips:

1. Know Your Market

Understand your target audience and tailor your design and marketing efforts accordingly.

2. Never Compromise on Quality

High-quality materials and production processes ensure your cones perform well and enhance your brand’s reputation.

3. Stay Compliant

Stay updated on local regulations and ensure your cones meet all compliance requirements.

4. Innovate Constantly

Experiment with new designs, materials, and packaging options to stay ahead of the competition.

5. Listen to Feedback

Customer feedback is invaluable. Use it to refine and improve your product continually.

Custom pre-roll cones are more than just a practical packaging solution—they’re a powerful tool for branding, marketing, and enhancing the consumer experience. By focusing on quality, design, and compliance, you can create custom cones that not only stand out but also leave a lasting impression.

Embrace the creativity and possibilities of custom pre-roll cones to elevate your brand in the competitive cannabis market.

[regencyfashionmagazines]

La Belle Assemblée

Fashions for September, 1806

Explanation of the Prints of Fashion

General Observations on the Fashions

Our fair correspondents will be aware that at this season of the year, there is little necessity, or opportunity for a lengthened description of full dress. The retirement of many of our fashionable women to their country seats, where an elegant simplicity of attire takes place of splendour, orto watering-places, where a sort of equilibrium between the former and the latter, is considered as the criterion of a good taste, will confine us more immediately to that style of costume which by many is considered as the most becoming garb in which our fair countrywomen can be exhibited.

There is a sort of interesting negligence in a well-chosen half-dress, which attracts more than the eye. The brilliancy of full dress, with all its splendid decorations, will dazzle by its lustre; it is the studied ornament which has custom and rule for its guide; and is often necessarily adopted in conformity to some established law, and to keep up that nice distinction of order in a community which is the regular and separating quality in politics and morals.

But in the half dress, which is only methodized by the taste and elegance of the wearer, you read something of the real character, and a penetrating observer will trace many of the properties of the mind and of the heart. "Show me a lady's dressing-room," says an author well acquainted with human nature, "and I will tell you what manner of person she is;" surely then a more decisive opinion may be formed from the general attire of a female*.

After these remarks, it is but justice to observe, that the majority of our present race of females need not shrink from the scrutinizing eye of enquiry on this head; for in looking back to the various habits of their predecessors, we cannot but acknowledge their improvement in simplicity and elegance.

Never was there a period which exhibited a greater variety of female decoration; and it is almost as difficult to find a costume to condemn, as to describe that to which we give a decided preference. Our general observation of style and effect differs little from the communications of last month. Short dresses continue as a morning habiliment. They are either made high in the neck with collars or ruffs; or cut low, and worn with an embroidered shirt of the same. The shirt handkerchief is now invariably worn without a collar, by those females whose throats will bear exposition; the shirt, however, sets close round the throat, and is finished either with a border of needle-work, or a plaiting of net. Dress gowns are made with long trains, and generally high in the bosom, so as to preclude the necessity of a handkerchief. The perfectly square fronts prevail over every other; and are particularly becoming to a round well-made bust. The backs are still very low, and the shoulders quite exposed, except where the ever graceful veil falls tastefully from the head which it ornaments, and, kindly considerate, casts over them the shade of modesty. The long sleeve of worked muslin, or spider net, is sometimes worn in an evening, but the short sleeve is more general, as well as more consistent; they are worn rather more full on the top than formerly, and are sometimes looped up almost behind with broaches of various descriptions, at other times so short as to admit a falling of lace. We have observed the sash adopted lately by many élégantes, some flowing from the edge of the waist behind, others tied with a small bow in front, and the ends of the ribband put into a sort of tassel of floss silk, formed like a tube, and finished with a cone, or round button, of the same, which passes through, and is suspended from it. The Gipsy cloak still retains its place in the estimation of our fashionable females, but the ribband is not, as formerly, passed through the hem, but is now laid flat all round; and is generally of the changeable, or mistake ribband. The spenser à la Turk as described in our last Number, is much worn in a morning. The coloured silk bonnet, formed of handkerchiefs, are very general, as are those of sarsnet, covered with leno, or muslin; these are mostly of the turban, or Minerva shape. Caps of lace, muslin, or spider net, are much in vogue; they are worn either with a plaiting of net round, which is often continued under the chin, a flower is sometimes introduced in front, or on the side; the mob cap is on the decline.

The coloured tambour, or shawl bordering, is making rapid advances in the sphere of fashion; when attached to a printed dress, the latter ornament must ever be considered as a redundant and vulgar addition, but a border of tambour or embroidery in well-chosen and well-arranged colours, on cambric muslin, or even a delicate printed border on plain jaconet, or mull muslin, has an animated and pleasing effect. We are led to believe that this last mentioned decoration will be generally adopted in the winter, as also white and coloured bugle trimmings.

The Turkish robe of lavender coloured sarsent, is a very new and elegant habit; it is lined with white, and has a plaiting of net round a falling collar, continued down the sides of the robe, which flows open, and discovers a chemisette of the same material as that of which the robe is formed. Straw hats are not so distinguishing an ornament as formerly; those of the gipsy and double turban form are the only ones admitted by females of the haut ton. Bouquets are but partially adopted, and are never seen but on women of taste; we could wish to observe this simple and native ornament more prevalent; a rose, a sprig of geranium, myrtle, or jessamine, either separate, or blended, has a most lively effect, and attracts by its simplicity. Large silk shawls have been seen on many of our women of fashion; they were lately the distinguishing ornament of two young brides, celebrated for their rank and beauty; who wore them thrown over one shoulder, and the contrary end brought under the opposite arm, and flowing in a kind of Grecian fold over a dress of white muslin. These elegant and interesting females wore their hair in simple curls on the forehead; the one had a diamond broach in front, and a comb to correspond; the other wore the comb only. The pea blossom of foil is a new and attractive ornament, it is generally worn in front of the hair, or on the side of the temple over the left eye. We observe very few females with plain bands of hair, they are now relieved with a few curls; the common mode of wearing the hair is by parting it near the forehead; and that which ornaments the back of the head is twisted in the form of a cable, or formed into a small bow, and fastened with a diamond, pearl, or gold comb; the velvet band is often seen, and ornaments of various kinds. Shoes and gloves of Melbourn brown, dove-colour, or straw. The prevailing colours are lavender blossom, pink, yellow, and lemon. The mistake ribband is much used in trimmings on the gipsy cloak, or at the bottom of a plain muslin dress it has a particularly striking and pleasing effect. Work and lace is introduced in all parts of the dress; and the feathered border of tufted cotton, or lamb’s wool, in colours, is quite a new invention, and is likely to become very prevalent.

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[customboxeszone9123]

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