#sunflower sweaters

[resident-gay-bitch]

“Hmm.” Steve murmured. “ I think making a songwriter fall in love with me was an amazing life choice. I happen to quite like being serenaded, you know?”

- Sunshine Smile - by me, jay :)

[gornackeaterofworlds]

Put those smelly feet away

Click for unfuzziness

[shewaslikeasunflower]

sunflower boys!!!

they’re both my favorite characters so you know i had to do it to them..but yea!! I gave lucas my warm yellow sweater and claus my oversized van gogh sweater (i think it actually fits them wayy too much)

[cheezduoz]

babyiest boyfriends ever <3

latte + tapioca art collab pt. 1

[mothlingmeg]

sunflower 🌻

[smallpotatoknitwear]

Yes, I’m getting lazy now and posting these project breakdowns the same way I do to my Instagram 😅 If you have any further questions, feel free to ask!

Ko-Fi

Linktree

[cankersaurus]

Redesigns (?) They're my favs nd theyre all dating.

Doodle comic under cut

Like do u understand wut i mean

[her-penetrating-soul]

━━━━━━⚘ᥫ᭡​᭄∘˚დ━━━━━━

🤍 ‿Sweet morning, my Darling Souls. Have a glorious day ahead. May this day bring love, light & everlasting bliss. A cup of coffee (_)P for you all too enjoy🌻⁀🤍

━━━━━━⚘ᥫ᭡​᭄∘˚დ━━━━━━

[autumngini]

[sleep-nurse]

why does addi remind me of tame mene so much

they would be friends

[kazuaru]

color palette based on your name~

Thank to @keekity for tagging me 😊💘!!!!

I'll tag @paupelou / @rottengurlz / @trailerparkdad / @stinkrascal & @tau1tvec

[crossingdesigns]

sunflower collection ✿ ✿ by darling.crossing on ig

[just-slightly-chayotic]

🌻🌻🌻

[mothlingmeg]

They've been sayin' you're sophisticated

They're complainin', overeducated

You are saying all the words I'm dreaming

Say it after me Say it after me

They will blame us, crucify and shame us

We can't help it if we are a problem

We are tryin' hard to get your attention I'm

Climbin' up your wall

Climbin' up your wall

[resident-gay-bitch]

To Eddie, music was never about the fame. 

He always believed in being a good person. Too many bad people in his life have shown him what’s most important, and Eddie’s always believed that no famous person can be good. Sure, there are kind and generous famous people, ones that gave and loved and supported others. But if you’re sitting on that much money, and that much power, how good can you really be? 

Okay, well, sure. It’s not like fame isn’t something he wanted. Who wouldn’t want to be famous, for real? Yeah, famous people aren’t good in his eyes, but Eddie knew he wasn’t all that good anyway. He tried to be, he really did, but sometimes he was just an asshole, and he knew that. Plus, he’d spent a few too many nights in the holding cell down at Hawkins PD to be considered a good person. So yeah, fame would be cool. Like, what doesn’t sound appealing about the fucking Freak rocking up at his highschool ten year reunion as an uber rich, world famous rockstar, desired by men and woman alike? It would be fucking awesome. He’d be able to fuck with so many of these dumb assholes. 

Music to Eddie was about the feeling. 

He played to feel. 

He performed to make other people feel. 

His love for music started young. His mother would put him on her lap at the mere age of three and press his little hands over the ivory keys of her old family piano. He could play a handful of quippy songs by the age of five. She used to sing him lullabies (which were mostly just old blues songs and a few of her favourites by the Beatles), and Eddie learned to sing along with her.

Often when just sitting at home, when he was colouring or doing his homework or something at the kitchen table, he’d listen to his mother hum whilst she cooked or cleaned around him. And he’d start to hum along, and they’d start to sing, and then soon enough they’d be dancing around the apartment singing their songs. And when Eddie was five, he was still a small kid, but he saw Wayne playing his guitar and wanted to learn. He couldn’t stretch his fingers over the frets or strings, couldn’t wrap a hand around the neck, hell, the body was bigger than he was. And so Wayne pulled out his old ukulele, tuned it up, and taught Eddie a few songs on that. 

When Eddie turned eight, and he got a little bigger, Wayne gifted Eddie his old guitar. Eddie learnt. He taught himself, mostly. Well, a few chords from Wayne, a few chords from his mother, and the rest he just… figured out. He’d rent videos of lessons, or guitarists playing live in concert and would imitate the way they moved their fingers. 

He had a good ear for sound, learnt from a game his mother taught him. She was a singer, used to sing on the late night news with a bunch of other chorus girls. So she’d hum a note and Eddie would try and match it, and she’d keep humming it until he got it right. So he’d just keep moving his fingers in different formations until something sounded smooth and resembled the sound in the song he was trying to learn. He was sure it was probably wrong, sometimes, not the way the rockstars played it, but it sounded the same, so that’s all he cared about. 

He could write well too. He always used to like coming up with silly songs whilst getting ready in the morning. He had a song for brushing his teeth that went for exactly two minutes, to make sure he brushed them well. He had a song for getting dressed, and a song for packing his lunch. He had a song for everything, and his mother bought him a journal to write all his songs down in, so he did. He wrote them all, and then he wrote more, and by the age of eleven Eddie had two shelves full of journals with all his songs. 

Music was his way of feeling, his way of coping. 

When his mother died, so did the music.

**

if you'd like to keep reading, you can find the full 11.3 k word fic here on ao3 :) don't forget to reblog and leave a kudos!!

[itty-bitty-ferns]

Stimboard for a headmate!!

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