Moving On

Summary: Everyone has the name of their soulmate written on their wrist. The main character has one, but after he dies, they get another.

Pairing: Billy Hargrove X reader, then Eddie Munson X reader. No y/n, just a main character in first person.

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: SPOILERS for season 3 but I’m imagining you already know that. Billy dies, depression, being hurt, abuse mentions, a little gore. This is mostly angst and then fluff at the end.

Since the beginning of my life, I’ve had one name written on my wrist. First and last. The letters were neat and took up the space from bone to bone.

Billy Hargrove.

And for a long time, the ink was dark. The letters were engraved, unmovable. They were beautiful against mine on his wrist.

We were happy. We got along better than our parents did, their names fading and constantly being replaced. Ours seemed permanent, and I think we hoped it was.

It should have been that way.

A year ago, a new boy showed up in a blue Camaro and had the heart of every girl in sight. I immediately decided I wasn’t going to talk to him at all, but there was no avoiding the pretty boy from California in such a small town.

We were in the hallway. I was in a short sleeve shirt, even though the air was just beginning to chill. A few girls spotted the name on my wrist through my locker, and they turned toward me in jealousy. Before they could say anything, or tell me to stay away from him like everyone else did, I felt someone behind me.

“Hello,” he said. My stomach dropped. I didn’t want this, I had a test in my next class, but I turned toward him anyway.

“Hi,” I said. The girls near us giggled and walked away like they hadn’t just been planning to kill me.

“I’m Billy,” he cooed. He popped his gum. He held out his wrist to me, not his hand to shake. He pulled back part of his watch to show me the name there.

It was my own name. I chose to ignore the fact he hid it to play around.

I introduced myself, gave a sad excuse to leave, and did.

I pretended to not see the pink sticky note he slid into my locker. My heart fluttered until I met him later that day behind the school, and every day for the rest of the school year.

That summer was the best summer I’d ever had. When I was around him, I felt like I was understood. His family wasn’t good. Mine wasn’t either, and it felt better than anything to tell that pain to someone. It felt good to be touched by welcoming hands, ones that genuinely cared about me. I think he felt the same, but Hargrove would be damned if he ever admitted he had feelings. He still showed me more sides of him than any of the Hawkins girls got to.

I thought it might have been the fireworks that made him change so suddenly. We spent New Year’s in the woods, alone together with the snow, so I didn’t know how badly they could have affected him on the Fourth of July.

I thought it would be a good idea to go to the mall, to buy him something nice or to find him and give him comfort. We’d made the mall one of our places, and I had a feeling he was there that night. The loud noises from fireworks put me in a bad place too, but I thought I might have been able to help him.

The roof was gone. The glass glittered over the floor. The lights were flickering or entirely burned out, there were no people except for the ones on the opposite side of the middle.

And I still don’t know how I saw all of that before my eyes finally took in the thing that stood in the middle of the mall. It’s form was red, twisting like it was alive. It breathed heavily, its face, or faces, pointing toward the screaming kids and teenagers across the way.

The room began to light up with fireworks and loud noises, colors and fire painting the walls and the red thing in the middle. My mind spun, I felt like the noise got louder. The lights brighter. I couldn’t think.

The thing screamed. I did too, but I didn’t realize it until I got home later that night and my throat burned.

I ran across the mall, trying not to catch the thing’s attention but to run to some sort of safety with the other people.

I wished I had just stayed home. It was too late to leave now.

In front of me was a girl, lying on the ground, head bleeding. She cried. Above her was Billy, my Billy. He was crying too, his head in her hand. The girl whispered things to him and he cried harder.

I watched in a haze as he sacrificed himself for the girl I had never met before. Behind me, his sister screamed and ran toward his limp body after the thing dropped it.

The huge monster dissolved into a pool of blood and mucus, the substance filling the mall’s drains. I threw up, I think.

Nancy Wheeler and her boyfriend found me, along with the others. They told me everything they knew that night, but nothing quite stuck. I couldn’t get the image out of my head: his white tank top being painted with black blood, his body hitting the tile. The sound of fireworks and screams echoed through my mind, relentlessly shattering my eardrums.

They took me home. And they checked on me every day for months. I knew they wanted to help me, that they understood too, but it seemed like they were there only to make sure I didn’t tell anyone what I saw. I knew my brain made that up, and I hoped with all I could that I made everything else up too.

But nothing changed for those months. Summer passed. The next school year started. I was in a black sludge, I jumped at every noise again. I didn’t go home much. Christmas came around and I found myself in his house, not knowing how I got there. The ground was coated with snow, the room smelled like a heater.

I took his jean jacket and left through the window, where I assumed I had come through before.

I didn’t take the jacket off for a long time. The smell of his cigarettes and cologne had long faded, leaving the stench of my tears and grief woven into the fabric.

It felt like nobody missed him. I roamed the halls of the school and the storefronts lining the rest of town. Littered along the stucco were pictures of Barbra Holland, Chief Hopper, and a few other people I didn’t recognise. There wasn’t ever one of his.

I found a single poster during the summer. I could hardly see his face through all the heart stickers and lipstick smudges. I wanted to rip it off the wall, I wanted to burn it. These girls were so in love with him, they missed him so much that they had to kiss a fucking poster of him? He was mine, he was mine and these girls were still in love with him, even in death!

But I did not rip it down, or burn it, or find the girls that did it. I only cried underneath the faded paper for hours until the store manager kicked me out. I wasn’t the jealous type, but I had never felt so horrible in my life.

It just felt like I was the only one grieving.

The world went on, whether I followed or not. The black ink on my wrist began to fade. The letters were still there, but they hurt every day. Nobody ever tells you they hurt when they leave, down to the bone. It feels like an ache, and there’s nothing you can do to help it.

Before spring break, when the rain was pouring outside the school’s windows and the air was sticky, my wrist finally stopped hurting. I checked it to make sure the letters weren’t gone, and they weren’t. They just stopped fading.

At lunch that same day, I ran crying to the bathroom because the skin began hurting worse than any pain I’d ever felt. I held it, kissing the letters, praying they wouldn’t disappear. My tears clung to my skin as I sat on the disgusting floor.

The pain slowly ebbed. I breathed on it, trying to keep myself quiet. I didn’t want to look at it. It would hurt me worse than whatever the hell that was if the letters weren’t there when I pulled my hand away from my mouth.

I sat there, catching my breath well into the next period. I felt like enough of a human to stand up again. I closed my eyes and brought my hand down. I let it stop tingling before I covered it with my other hand, not daring to look at it.

I wrapped it in a paper towel and found my next class through puffy, red eyes.

The people who sat at my desk saw the towel. They pitied me, I could tell. They must have known what it meant, but they didn’t ask me. I thanked them silently that they left me alone.

I did no work that day. I stared into space as the sky went dark. I shivered on my roof as the cool air set in and the fireflies showed themselves. I decided I wanted to know. If there wasn’t a name, I supposed it was for the best. I could always get them tattooed for real, and I knew that would hurt less than whatever happened in the bathroom that afternoon.

I took my flashlight and a hoodie from my room and left to the park where Billy and I used to meet. I sat beneath our tree, I didn’t care that my ass got muddy.

I took the paper towel from my wrist before I could think about what I was doing.

The letters were still there. I almost stopped looking when I saw them, just the reassurance that they were there was enough to stop me from doing something I would regret. I studied the curves of the letters like I didn’t do that every day as a reminder he had existed at all. I burned them into my retinas before I dared look away.

And I didn’t quite do that. I looked just under the faded letters, and my stomach sank at what was there.

There was another name. The letters weren’t the same shape, the font was bold and spread out, not sprawling and almost elegant. That’s why they burned, I supposed; they had to etch themselves into my skin again. I was just incredibly glad that they left the letters above alone.

Eddie Munson.

I might have been in a haze for almost an entire year, but everyone knew Eddie “the Freak” Munson. He had made himself known well before I knew Billy, but I never talked to him.

It didn’t make sense. I knew he had a name on his wrist, I had seen it myself. He practically framed it with silver bracelets and tattoos. I guessed I had never truly read it. And if it was mine, then what? Would I have to get myself together in this wet grass and tell him?

I sighed and realized that I was crying.

I didn’t think it would be easy to let go, but I didn’t think I was ready for that yet. My body and the Gods decided that for me, apparently. I decided a long time ago that I didn’t have to follow them, but maybe I wanted to. Even if we were wildly different, I thought it might be good for a change.

So I got off my muddy ass and went to school the next day wearing something colorful under Billy’s jacket for the first time all year.

When lunch came around, I found myself at Eddie’s table before he and his friends even sat down. I wasn’t planning on changing my life the next day, but I was there anyway.

When he neared the table and saw me there, he hesitated to set down his plate. His friends did not, they slumped down into their cheap chairs without glancing at me.

“I know you,” he told me. “Well, I don’t exactly know you, I’ve just heard the stories.”

I finally looked up at him.

There had always been a storm surrounding my head since last summer, it coated my eyes in a strange film and pressured me to cry every time I thought of his name, let alone anything else that I knew about him or about what we went through. I tried to fake it, to act like everything was fine, and that I could get better. And I never felt like I could.

But his brown eyes cleared an opening in that storm. I felt the sunlight on my skin, I felt the fresh air in my lungs. And I felt new. I felt like I could finally be something other than numb. I felt like I could change. That I didn’t have to get better, but that I could live with it.

“I’m sorry, by the way.” He said. It took me a second to understand what he said.

I didn’t say anything back. The rest of the table filled in. I recognized a few of the kids from that night at the mall, but it seemed that everyone went back to forgetting about me for a minute.

Everyone but him. I could feel his eyes on me as I contemplated what to tell him.

Instead of talking, I waited for a lull in the conversation that didn’t come.

So I pulled up my sleeve and set my wrist down on the table.

Everyone went silent at the table. The others in the room continued on like I hadn’t made one of the biggest confessions of my life.

“Holy shit,” Mike said. He stared at the names there, and I knew he recognized both. He knew what having two names meant, they all did.

Grief was not permanent. Not in my case. Not according to the Gods.

Eddie was in the chair next to me in seconds- I hadn’t even seen him move.

“May I?” He asked, gesturing at my wrist. I nodded and he took it into his hand. The coolness of the rings on his fingers practically burned my skin, but I almost sank into how gentle the touch was.

“This shouldn’t be possible,” he said. He didn’t quite say it loud enough for everyone to hear, but I assumed they were watching it all happen. “I’ve checked everyone’s names. I’ve seen yours, and you didn’t have…” he trailed off.

“It only appeared yesterday.” I told him.

He showed me his wrist. My name, in simple letters, was surrounded by bracelets with charms of hearts, skulls and cigarettes. He ran his thumb along his own name. I pulled it away then, but I didn’t mean to. It just reminded me too much of Billy.

He pulled back too, in a silent apology, then held his other hand out. “I’m Eddie.”

I shook his hand and introduced myself. He went around the table and introduced them all to me, but when he got to the two boys from the mall, they told him they already knew me.

They looked sad. Not sad for me, but just sad.

Maybe they did miss him. I hoped they did- I didn’t want to be alone in this.

“Hey, do you want to meet me after school?” Eddie asked. I nodded. “Meet at the soccer field, okay?”

“We have Hellfire tonight,” the boys at the table protested.

“Hey, we’re having a moment here.” Eddie flung a pretzel at one of their heads. It hit him between the eyes. “If I don’t make it to Hellfire, I don’t make it.”

“It’s Vecna’s night!”

“I don’t care!” He said.

I didn’t think he gave up on caring very often.

The bell rang, and the entire room stood up. I watched the boys leave before I began the rest of my daily routine.

Eddie tapped my wrist again. “Soccer field, okay?”

I nodded.

Being outside this time of year sucked. My hair stuck to my face, my neck, everywhere. I had to take off Billy’s jacket and set it next to me, which already felt too far away. I tried doing homework while I waited for him to find me, but I couldn’t focus.

I brushed my hair out of my eyes and looked back up at the brick school.

I saw him then, no backpack, no books. Just his chains and smile.

He waved at me, still out of earshot. I waved back, but I don’t think the fake smile I had mastered quite did it for him. His smile faded as he neared me.

“Are you okay?” He asked as he sat next to me. He pulled his legs up into a criss-cross, facing me.

“Yeah, I think so.” I told him. It seemed true for the first time in a while. I didn’t tell him that, though. I didn’t think I needed to.

“So my name appeared only yesterday?”

“During lunch, yeah.”

“What did it feel like? I can’t remember getting mine.”

I huffed a laugh. “It hurt like shit, I was crying in the bathroom.”

“Oh my god,” he breathed. He held out his hand, and I set mine in his. He touched the names there so lightly I thought I imagined it. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know I would literally hurt you without even knowing you.”

“You don’t have to apologize, it doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“I’m still sorry.”

He only touched his name. I didn’t realize that until now. “Does it make you jealous?” I blurted before I even formed the question well enough to be spoken.

“What?”

“That there’s two.”

“No,” he touched Billy’s name, just as light as before. I flinched, and I almost pulled away. “Sorry. I’m sorry. No, it doesn’t make me jealous. I just feel horrible.”

“Why?”

“Because I never knew him. I’ve heard the rumors around school about the both of you, but I don’t have any memories that are mine. And you’ve been hurting so bad, I wish I could understand why.”

“They all tell me everyone understands grief.” Which was true. The school counselor filled my ears with her lies like those when my grades took a fall. She told me it was a universal language, but I didn’t think that was true either. Nobody would quite understand mine.

The worst part is that they think he died in a fire that night. That he couldn’t run away for some reason, that he was at the mall on July 4th just for fun. There were always so many broken ties, unfinished lies that blurred together to create half a truth.

“I’m going to pretend that’s true.” He said.

We sat in silence for a few minutes. He kept my wrist in his hand, but he soon held my hand. “I don’t want you to be sad anymore.”

I looked up at him.

“I don’t know how you’re feeling, and I won’t try to understand. I really won’t. But you can talk to me, you can tell me anything. I’ll be here for you.”

I had heard those words before, all of them sounding muddy and half-true. But these, coming from a freak and a weirdo like the one before me, sounded so much more genuine. I hadn’t felt like anyone actually wanted to listen to me, or like they could understand me at all. But I felt like he could.

I was crying before I knew it. I felt the tears falling from my eyes, then I felt him drop my hand and watched him freak out.

“Oh no, what do I do?” He was looking at me, but he seemed to be racking his brain for anything helpful. “Should I hug you? Is a hug okay?”

I nodded and he wrapped his arms around me. I melted into the touch of comforting hands. I could tell that he knew it was more than grief that weighed me down, and I thanked the heavens that he knew enough about me to ask before doing anything.

I cried into his chest for a while. He held me tight, but left enough room to breathe or run away, whichever came first. I was thankful for him, but I didn't dare try to speak and tell him so. My throat was closed.

He waited until my breaths matched his before he asked, "Do you need a ride home?"

I shook my head. "I don't want to go home."

"Where do you want to go?"

"Snack date?"

"That sounds amazing."

I got up first. He took my books and backpack into his arms and led me to his van. As we drove, we told stories of the names on our wrists. I told him nobody had seen his name until lunch today, and we laughed about how people would talk tomorrow when I showed it off.

"Did it scare you that it was my name?"

"Not at all," I told him. "I just recognized you, and I knew I had to say something."

He hummed. "I knew you before today." He said. "I know I said that. But I do know you, past what they say about you, about last year."

“You never talked to me?"

"I didn't need to. I thought you didn't have my name because someone else had mine. That happens sometimes, you know?" I nodded. "And this year I knew you needed your space. But you came to me."

I nodded again, even though his eyes were on the road.

"Why did you?"

It took me a minute to answer.

"I want to get better."

He flashed me his wild smile.

—Note—

I got distracted while writing this and couldn’t get back into it again, but here’s what I think would have happened: they got closer and they understood each other better, and our main character never really leaves their grief behind, but they begin to live with it. Eddie helps them be happy again, and he knows when to give them time. They might be soulmates, but they’re platonic. They stay best friends :)

The symbolism of flowers

Flowers have a long history of symbolism that you can incorporate into your writing to give subtext.

Symbolism varies between cultures and customs, and these particular examples come from Victorian Era Britain. You'll find examples of this symbolism in many well-known novels of the era!

Amaryllis: Pride

Black-eyed Susan: Justice

Bluebell: Humility

Calla Lily: Beauty

Pink Camellia: Longing

Carnations: Female love

Yellow Carnation: Rejection

Clematis: Mental beauty

Columbine: Foolishness

Cyclamen: Resignation

Daffodil: Unrivalled love

Daisy: Innocence, loyalty

Forget-me-not: True love

Gardenia: Secret love

Geranium: Folly, stupidity

Gladiolus: Integrity, strength

Hibiscus: Delicate beauty

Honeysuckle: Bonds of love

Blue Hyacinth: Constancy

Hydrangea: Frigid, heartless

Iris: Faith, trust, wisdom

White Jasmine: Amiability

Lavender: Distrust

Lilac: Joy of youth

White Lily: Purity

Orange Lily: Hatred

Tiger Lily: Wealth, pride

Lily-of-the-valley: Sweetness, humility

Lotus: Enlightenment, rebirth

Magnolia: Nobility

Marigold: Grief, jealousy

Morning Glory: Affection

Nasturtium: Patriotism, conquest

Pansy: Thoughtfulness

Peony: Bashfulness, shame

Poppy: Consolation

Red Rose: Love

Yellow Rose: Jealously, infidelity

Snapdragon: Deception, grace

Sunflower: Adoration

Sweet Willian: Gallantry

Red Tulip: Passion

Violet: Watchfulness, modesty

Yarrow: Everlasting love

Zinnia: Absent, affection

60K notes View Post

lucillethebat

10 months ago

For my Minecraft world :)

a list of 100+ buildings to put in your fantasy town

academy

adventurer's guild

alchemist

apiary

apothecary

aquarium

armory

art gallery

bakery

bank

barber

barracks

bathhouse

blacksmith

boathouse

book store

bookbinder

botanical garden

brothel

butcher

carpenter

cartographer

casino

castle

cobbler

coffee shop

council chamber

court house

crypt for the noble family

dentist

distillery

docks

dovecot

dyer

embassy

farmer's market

fighting pit

fishmonger

fortune teller

gallows

gatehouse

general store

graveyard

greenhouses

guard post

guildhall

gymnasium

haberdashery

haunted house

hedge maze

herbalist

hospice

hospital

house for sale

inn

jail

jeweller

kindergarten

leatherworker

library

locksmith

mail courier

manor house

market

mayor's house

monastery

morgue

museum

music shop

observatory

orchard

orphanage

outhouse

paper maker

pawnshop

pet shop

potion shop

potter

printmaker

quest board

residence

restricted zone

sawmill

school

scribe

sewer entrance

sheriff's office

shrine

silversmith

spa

speakeasy

spice merchant

sports stadium

stables

street market

tailor

tannery

tavern

tax collector

tea house

temple

textile shop

theatre

thieves guild

thrift store

tinker's workshop

town crier post

town square

townhall

toy store

trinket shop

warehouse

watchtower

water mill

weaver

well

windmill

wishing well

wizard tower

108K notes View Post

lucillethebat

5 months ago

Why does being a fan of Eddie Munson have to be some sort of social crime? I cant wear a Hellfire shirt in public without being crazy or odd. No buying shit for bands and older versions of D&D that I didn’t really think about liking till the show reintroduced me to them cause it makes me a poser and a wanna be of someone.

No cosplays or quoting, no sharing my opinion on how I feel the season should have went, no mentioning his name in conversation, and definitely no being inspired by his character to embrace myself and interests.

It is oh so frustrating to know that not only in person in the small town I live in but online people STILL get backlash and hate for enjoying his character. Always grouped with the fans who made some pretty poor choices and that makes us all disgusting or what “ruined” a fandom like not every piece of media has that side. It has been since 2021 and it still doesn’t tire these people out!

Its a character who is shown as an outcast and OFCOURSE it will bring out the “weird” people to be themselves! Its not a crime and definitely doesn’t deserve your constant bullying. No one is hurting you and even then you deal with that one individual not treat everyone in the community the same way. Not knock down their works(art, writing, music, or otherwise) because you disagree! To not welcome people into the rest of the community or allow them to enjoy other pop culture attached is vile.

Interests are how people grow to become their own person! Especially teenagers and young adults whose mental development doesn’t stop till they are 25!!!! NEVER and I mean never treat people like shit because of something they like even as specific as a character! Its not your business or responsibility to make them feel the need to make you comfortable!

If you feel differently that is fine but I wont welcome it on my page especially when I already face the hardship of homophobia and transphobia here already!

END OF STORY!

58 notes View Post

lucillethebat

2 years ago

Nicknames

Summary: All the nicknames your soulmate is called by are written on you. The main character is covered and finally meets the person that’s been covering them in names since they could remember.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x gn!reader, but no y/n. The main character is written in first person.

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: No smut, a little homophobia, drug mention if you squint. Kissing!!

Across my skin is littered thousands of words. Some of them were put there by me, little scratches reminding me that there's a test in history tomorrow, to take a shower tonight. There are tattoos there, hidden under the crude words: marks of stars and little planets. They’re covered now.

For most of my life, my skin was blank. There were just a few names, all versions of the same, larger one: Eddie.

Then, as I got into middle school- when I'm sure his skin began to fill with "bitch," and "liar," and worse- my skin began to overflow. They started out in simple scribbles, teasing words from friendly mouths, but the fonts began to get harsh. The letters were pointed, not intricate, not rolling. The letters practically burned as the words "druggie, disappointing, freak, fag" appeared on my pale arms.

There's no way to cover them anymore. I could wear long sleeves, but it's not classy. My parents are disappointed, even though I have no say, no control. I haven't even met him.

"Charismatic, charming. Fag, freak, insane."

I showed them off. I hoped he did too.

It was summer. The air was hot and sticky, it clung to my clothes and my hair. I brushed the loose strands from my face and smiled into the mirror. Under my hair was a new mark. My body was almost full, but the words overlapped where they could. This one was decent, at least.

"Eds."

I took my keys from the counter and left. I didn't have a plan, but I didn't think I needed one. I just needed out.

So I drove. I drove from my small town into the next, smaller town. Hawkins wasn't interesting in the slightest, but I needed something to do. And we didn't have a radioshack. What town didn't have a Radioshack in 1986? Mine.

The car's engine groaned as I pulled into the parking lot of the store. The open sign beamed at me. No friendly words greeted me like they had a year or two ago, when Bob Newby still worked here. I'd heard rumors, but I just assumed he'd escaped small-town life. I would take what I could get with the high schooler at the counter.

I got what I needed and left, but I decided I would stop at the comic store next door. I wasn't interested in reading comics, but I didn't want to get back into the car and drive back home so soon.

I flipped through volumes of Xmen, thinking I might get a coffee afterward.

The door opened, the bell rang. I didn't look up.

Next to me appeared a kid with a bowl cut, towering over me as he watched me flip through the books. I kept going, thinking he might stop me when he found what he wanted.

He found something else instead.

"No way," he whispered. He took my wrist and flipped it up. I turned toward him, hoping this kid, probably too young for me, wasn't the freak that littered my skin. He didn't look like it, but I supposed any small town kid could be called horrible things. "No fucking way."

"What?" I asked. He still hadn't looked at me, just at the scribbled words along my arms.

"I know Eddie."

"This one?" I looked back down at my arm.

"What other one?" He looked at my face and his eyes went wide at the word above my eyes. "That's awesome." I shrugged as he shook his head. "We have a club, it's called Hellfire. Meet us at the high school at six, okay?"

"Kid, I don't even live here. I'm in the next town over." I jutted my thumb in its general direction. "I gotta be home."

"Doesn't this matter more?"

I didn't think it did, but I supposed he was right. I had been waiting my whole life to meet the Freak that left so many marks on me, and I finally had a halfway decent opportunity to do so now. I also didn't know how this could go wrong.

"Okay. I'll be there."

"Great. God, this is so funny. Your entire body is covered."

"What about you?" I asked him defensively. I had gotten used to being stared at a long time ago, but I only just started to learn how to bite back.

He didn't flip his arm around. He didn't show me the names coating his wrists, he just blushed instead.

That could mean a million things. Either the ink is faded, they met and they weren't right, they were too young, whatever else.

He turned back to the comics and continued going through the box I just had. I checked my watch; 4:15. I sighed and went to the other side of the store.

Whether the kid knew it or not, he found himself next to me again. "When did they start showing up?" He asked.

"When I was in middle school. They got really bad around there too." I told him.

"Huh." He was biting back laughter, and I could tell.

I ignored him. It wasn't in my best interest to talk to a child. I bought a stuffed animal that I didn't need, but I felt bad for spending too much time in a store without leaving with something. I watched the boy set down his stack of comics, catching a few sprawling words on his wrist. They were harsh, blurred, hazy. One stuck out- the name Will- before he flipped his wrist back over.

"Six tonight!" He yelled after me. I shut the door.

I smelled like popcorn and coffee. I looked like a mess, but I didn't think it mattered.

I've been planning a moment like this all my life. Every kid has since they could read, the fantasies getting more vivid as they got older. For me, I've imagined everything from accidental meetings to set-ups, roses falling from the skies, kisses in the rain. When the words started appearing more often, all that was shattered. I thought I would accidentally stumble upon the right homeless person, pay the wrong employee too much, call the wrong person whatever my mind came up with when it left my mouth.

The fantasies faded a while ago. It wasn't always on my mind like it was on some of my girl friends', their intricate stories and plans drained me. It was absent enough for me not to think about it now.

I stood against my car door, the chocolate drink making my hand cold and wet. I wiped it on my jeans. Was I nervous? I took another sip. I didn't think so.

A van pulled into the parking lot at a wild pace, then slammed to a stop across three parking spaces. A few kids on bikes rounded the corner of the brick school. Leading their party was the kid I met at the comic store.

He stopped in front of the doors to the school, then turned to the van. Out of the backseats came two boys that looked to be older than me. They rocked plaid and ripped jeans, holding boxes and dice between their fingers.

Then, out of the driver's seat, came a man with longer hair than anyone's I had seen. His fingers were covered in silver rings, his jacket was ripped and sewed with black string around a few names on both his wrists. His boots echoed on the blacktop as he joined his friends, the chains on his thighs jingling.

"Eddie, holy shit." The boy said. He was looking at me. I supposed I should walk up there now, and maybe actually talk to them.

"What?" He deadpanned, none of the kid's excitement catching on.

"I met someone," he said, already quivering. He nodded toward me.

And everyone turned toward me. At the same time.

I didn't take a step back. I wanted to, but I stayed put.

"Holy shit!" One of the younger boys shouted.

Eddie came toward me then, his eyes glued to my arms, covered in his name, among other things. "Look at you," he cooed. I almost blushed, but I didn't let it happen. I just took another sip of my drink.

He took my wrist, the one not holding the coffee, and read over the names.

He held his out to me.

It said my name. That was all I needed, but I read on. With each word came a story in my head of the cause, but there weren't many to think of.

"Is that…?" The kid asked. Eddie took my hand and turned back to the boys.

Eddie opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came.

"It was me! I found them! I did it!" The kid said. His eyes darted from his friends' faces to mine, to Eddie's. None of them were quite as excited as he was. They all seemed shocked.

"I'm ditching Hellfire tonight." Eddie said. The boys threw their protests, but he raised his free hand and they hushed. "We have catching up to do."

He started walking first, though I wanted to. I didn't know this town, but I could see the woods behind the school. They looked much more inviting than this dirty parking lot. He started leading me to them anyway.

"Use protection, Eddie!" One of them called after us. He turned and looked back at the boys, and they all put their heads down.

Once we were out of earshot, he strided in front of me and turned around. I stopped in time, not spilling my coffee over him like I thought I might.

"Hello," he said. He put his free hand over his heart, still holding mine with his other. "I'm Eddie." He said.

I laughed at him, at this entire situation. I introduced myself in the same way, adding a little curtsey at the end. He smiled.

"Mike is never going to let that go, you know." Before I could ask, he continued. "Meeting you before I could."

"He should have called you."

"Nah, everyone told me. You're the kid that's covered," he traced my wrist, "that comes a few times a month and only goes to Radioshack."

"And you knew that was me, how?"

"Freak," he traced a word. "Loser, insane." He dropped his voice. "Fag. I really am sorry for all that. I wish it were different."

I only just met him, but I could tell there wasn't much sincerity in his voice. He was sorry, but not about the words. Just the amount of them.

Then he reached up and brushed my hair away from the one on my face, the ones on my neck.

And he smiled at them.

"You don't hide them?" He asked me. He seemed genuinely curious, like he expected me to.

"No. It shouldn't matter."

"It does, though."

"What, the names?"

"No, not the lies. The person." He backed up a bit, then gestured at himself up and down. "Are you tellin' me I don't matter?" He beamed.

"I dunno, we've only known each other for a few minutes. I'll decide if you matter after the first date."

He hummed. "I'll go out with you. But you're lying, we've known each other all our lives. I know you're a liar," he pointed at the word on his skin, "I know you're a bitch," another word, "and I know your name, and I know you're a loser too. You know me fairly well." He ran his fingers along my forearm.

"I don't think I do." I admitted. And it was true. The man standing before me was not a freak, he didn't seem like a loser or a druggie. He seemed different, but in a way that made me feel safe.

He didn't say anything after that. I couldn't imagine he was a quiet person, but he was silent now.

"I was right, though. I thought you might show off these words too." I pointed at my skin. "That you would own them like me."

"I try, my love. I try."

The word "love" painted itself across his cheek.

I took a step back, accidentally pulling him with me. It really was true, I guessed it just hit me then. I stared at the word, written in a font that never dared touch my skin. Things written like that belonged under wedding bands, across hearts, on gravestones. Not on a freak's face.

He touched it. He must have felt my laser focus on that spot. He hummed again. "It's true, darling."

"Darling" appeared on his other wrist. He smiled and opened his mouth to say another one, but I stopped him.

"How about that date?"

"That sounds amazing."

I drove him to dinner at the least fancy, cheapest restaurant he directed me to. We needed loud music and good food, not shitty piano and candles. We talked about the words etched into our skin, but we began talking about much better things once the easy questions were out of the way. I told him about my parents, my friends at home. That none of them would be excited to know I met the Eddie, that I spent my evening with him, that I was breaking my almost non-existent curfew.

He told me about his parents too, about his life here in the smallest town known to mankind. He told me about the tragedies in this town, about the loss it's endured. I told him I knew, but only about the conspiracies. He told me of his strange friends and their strange tales, of his club and his hobbies.

I listened to him with more attention than I've given anything in a long time. I told him that too, I felt like he deserved to know. I didn't have much of anything going on to focus on, so that would leave me more time to call him whenever and hang out. He seemed stuck on the part that I was actually listening to him, and it wasn't in the setting of his club, and my gaze wasn't harsh and my words scalding. I thought it might have been nice for him to be listened to like this, where he wasn't judged. But I reminded myself that he didn't care about the words on my skin as much as I didn't.

We went back to my car. He told me how to get back to the school, and I followed.

I parked my car across another set of three parking spaces. He got out, and I followed. I didn't know why, but it felt like the right thing to do. I closed the door and pocketed the keys, standing against the car.

He came around to my side, then stopped in front of me.

"Thank you for tonight." He said. He took my hand and kissed my knuckles, but didn't drop it.

"Anytime, literally. I'm always bored."

"Were you bored tonight?"

"Not at all." And for once, I wasn't lying. It wasn't like my mom's stupid dinner parties where I had to lie to get by. I finally felt like I could tell someone the truth.

"That's good. I would hate for my soulmate to be bored on our first date." He hummed. His eyes were glued on mine. "Do you want to go out again?"

"Yes." I didn't think. I just said it. "Yes."

"Great. This time, I'm coming to your strange town."

"You're not meeting my parents."

"Not yet," he added. "I can prove them wrong." I looked him up and down as he finished, then met his eyes again. "Okay, maybe not. But I'm funny." He added.

"I guess that's true. They're not funny people, though."

"Then I'm charming." He ran his thumb over that word.

"Maybe…"

"Then I'm hot."

"They're my parents."

"Then… I'm charismatic."

"You're helpless." The word printed itself on my back. I could feel the tingle of a new word, the whispers of it more familiar than most things.

"And you're beautiful."

Another word appeared on his wrist.

"We're not doing this again." I said.

"Fine, fine. But I'm not letting you go home without a kiss."

My heart skipped a beat. I physically felt it do so in my chest, the butterflies flowing down to my knees.

"You can't just say that," I giggled.

"Why not? I'm a flirt." That word was not on my skin. I shook my head. "I'm straightforward." Neither was that one. I shook my head again. "I'm truthful? I'm quick? I'm… thoughtful, I'm reflective-"

I shut him up. I kissed him once, something like what I might give to my mom on her cheek before she goes to bed. I tried to show him he wasn't any of those things, but that he could be.

It didn't have the maybe-I-care, maybe-I-don't effect on him. He took a second to stare at me in shock before he kissed me this time, softer than I had. He broke apart, but that didn't last.

Before I even realized that time passed, his hand found my hair and we were making out against my car. I never imagined us here, in the parking lot of a high school both of us were too old for after a cheap dinner in an unfamiliar town. I never imagined my soulmate to actually be the weirdo my skin told me he was.

I thought that he might be able to be my freak.

He broke us apart to breathe, finally. "You're-" he kissed me again, "so-" and again, "pretty."

The word appeared down his arm.

He smiled against my lips and I knew that his skin would soon be covered in pet names, in words he would whisper against my skin, compliments and slurred words alike.

I think I liked that idea.

Or alternatively, where the main character lives in Hawkins:

My skin is covered in names before I'm even in sixth grade. Some of them are words I had to find dictionaries to understand, just a bit too advanced for me. They were horrible words with even worse meanings, the fonts as harsh and unforgiving as the people who shouted them.

His name was Eddie. And I had heard of an Eddie before, in whispers around the school hall. It was a name that was never said too loud, especially when they saw me around.

It grew harder not to see me. The black lettering was everywhere on me, and had begun to overlap when I made it to high school.

I didn't cover the words up. I didn't use concealer like the girls did to etch out my soulmate into the person I thought he should be. I didn't fear the freak, I was intrigued.

It was the first day of my freshman year. I sat alone, most people did. Around the room, I tried to determine the age of the people by how tired they were, by how many people sat around them, and by how big their backpack was. It wasn't a great pastime, but it made me less of a loser than the kids in the corner reading their textbooks.

In the corner, I saw a group of boys. They wore plaid and denim, the colors clashing with each other. Their heads were together in some conversation, but someone came over and dumped their milk onto a plate of the tallest one, who immediately turned to face the freshman who caused the mess.

The boy muttered "fag." The word burned itself into my forearm. I didn't look down to see if it was true, but I watched the little freshman put his head down. He looked scared, almost. Then he ran away.

The freak looked around the room for another attacker, but his eyes landed on me instead. He said something to his friends, then they all turned toward me.

I wanted to look back down at my sad school lunch, to disappear into the dirty floor. But that didn't happen before the three boys sat in front of me.

Their eyes almost burned as they looked at my skin.

"Hello," Eddie said.

"Hi," I managed to say.

One of the boys took my wrist and flipped it. They all read his name printed there, along with all the other things on top of it.

"Easy," Eddie said, "they're my soulmate." He whispered. He caught the attention of a few people around us, but they all went back to their food. "You are, right?"

"Obviously," the boys said at the same time. I winced.

"Oh, no need for that. I'm used to it." He told me. I nodded. "I'm Eddie," he said. He held out a hand, covered in silver rings.

I shook it.

And from then on we were Hawkins High's infamous couple. The Freak and his Whiteboard. The first year was rough, there were more names on his skin than on mine. It began to even out in the second year. People were still jealous that we had met, and they hadn't met their "whore" soulmate or whatever their skin told them. I figured out in our third year that they were freaked out by how coated my skin was with names, but I loved them from the beginning.

The names used to tingle when they were put into my skin. I winced every time, and people called him more names to hurt me when they took notice. Every day after school, he would kiss each one to take the pain away, to put more feeling into the words than what they were said with. The horrible taunting became something for me to look forward to, and I think that freaked them out even more.

His friends liked me, and they caught on with our scheme. They teased Eddie, but for my sake. I thanked them, but bullied them back in hopes their soulmates' skin might look like mine. All at my own doing.

So the boy who made my skin almost dark with names followed me around with his sprinkling of teasing for the rest of high school, and well into the rest of our lives.