When the Discord community server for @asleepyy's delightful Oopsie!Omens comic put out a contest for a banner, there was absolutely no way I could resist making something. Even better, I actually had an idea for what to draw!
Azazel's and Jophiel's designs are modifications of their comic appearances and of the clothing designs from @flipp-ppilf. The scenes shown were the requests of various people in the chat (except for the Globe. That one was mine).
This was incredibly fun, and I'm really excited to see what everyone else creates!
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It’s a long summer’s day—August 1985, to be precise—and all Eddie Munson wants to do is leave a broken down fridge in the junkyard.
“I don’t know if you can dump those here, actually,” comes a voice from somewhere above.
Eddie looks up and seriously contemplates the possibility that he’s contracted heatstroke while straining to remove the fridge from the back of his van.
Because surely that’s not Steve Harrington sitting up on the roof of an old school bus like it’s a perfectly normal thing to do.
“And what are you, Harrington? The junkyard inspector?”
Eddie pushes the fridge with the sole of his shoe until it topples over with a satisfying clunk into the dry grass.
Steve cups his hands around his mouth, cheering like a sports commentator. “What a shot!”
Okay. Maybe Eddie’s not the one suffering from heatstroke after all.
Or maybe this is just what happens to some people after graduation: you lose the social hierarchy of high school, and then before you know it, you’re surveying the Hawkins junkyard like it’s gym class.
Poor guy.
Eddie should really just leave him be. But… well. He’s intrigued.
“And where’s the stuff you were dumping, Harrington?” He puts on a mock grave expression, folds his hands as if in prayer. “Your car die on you?”
“Uh, no. Just.” Steve shrugs. “Just hanging out.”
“Mm-hmm, yeah, you sure picked a nice place for it. Wait, this isn’t one of your tryst locations, is it?”
Steve wrinkles his nose. “Ew, no. Tryst? Can’t you just say make-out spots like a normal person?”
“Nope. Honestly, where’s the fun in that, Harrington?”
Eddie gets a bit closer to the bus, squinting against the sun. There’s a brief moment of shadow thanks to a passing cloud, and he can suddenly see evidence of what must’ve been a huge bruise healing across Steve’s face.
Steve heaves a great sigh; Eddie gets the impression that if he wasn’t here, Steve would’ve flopped backwards, using the roof like a sun-lounger.
“Hey, uh. Are you…?”
Steve makes a face. “Just ignore me. It’s the heat, man. I get… antsy.”
Eddie does not point out the fact that Steve definitely has a massive, air-conditioned house in which to escape from the sun.
“Uh-huh,” he says slowly and hopes it sounds enough like, “Meaning…?” without being too obnoxious about it.
Steve looks down at him, and for a moment it’s almost like he’s sizing him up—not in, like, a gym-class-intimidation kind of way, more…
Eddie’s not sure.
But a flicker of something definitely crosses Steve’s face—something almost vulnerable, maybe—and then it’s gone.
He mimes aiming an imaginary gun at Eddie, one eye closed, and drawls in a ridiculously bad Russian accent, “I would tell you, but I’d have to kill you.”
Eddie’s surprised into laughter. Where was this personality at school? In hiding?
“Fine. Keep your secrets, Steve Harrington.” He raps on the body of the bus, as if they’ve just met in a parking lot instead. Something normal. “Enjoy your, uh… lookout spot.”
Steve smiles, raises a hand. “See you, Munson. Hey, what was the shit you used to say?” And it must be a trick of the light, the sun in Eddie’s eyes, because for a moment it looks like Steve actually winks at him. “Here be dragons.”
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