#i don’t need self help books i just need a cool saying

[sun1seeker]

i basically just “erm what the flip” my way through life

[powderblueblood]

HELLFIRE & ICE — eddie munson x f!oc! as enemies to star-crossed lovers

CHAPTER EIGHT — SEWN UP

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summary: you'd need a hacksaw to cut the tension between you and eddie, but that's not your weapon of choice this time around. a newspaper pitch, a patchwork girl and a tasteless prank all work together to make things ever more awkward between you and the boy you keep senselessly calling your friend. content warnings: MINORS DNI, THIS IS NOT SAFE FOR YOUR PURITAN EYES - reader is an ex-bitch on a journey of self-discovery through being an even more specific kind of bitch, angst in the form of an elizabeth munson mention, miscommunication, lacy engaging non-platonically with someone other than eddie, mention of lacy's surname and dad's name, REEFER RICK CAMEO, billy hargrove slander as per, violence, a humiliating prank, smut in the form of public hand stuff (f!receiving), me feeling insane about this chapter word count: 14.3k

Dear Mom,

She hasn’t got warm hands. She hasn’t got the kind of smile that draws people to her. She hasn’t got a kind word for everyone, no matter where they come from. She hasn’t got a lot of patience. She hasn’t got a fixed sense of herself–well, she does kinda. But, not totally. Not yet. 

She’s not like you.

Other cheerleaders wore ponytails and they’d bounce. But when she wore a ponytail, it swung like a sword. She used to be cruel and exacting, but now she’s just exacting. She’s honest and observant to a degree that’s, like, almost psycho. She’s a cold front, but she laughs like a lightning strike. I feel like thunder, powerless to do anything but roll after her. Can’t help myself. 

She knows what she wants, she thinks. Other days she doesn’t. I keep trying to tell her that’s okay, in ways where I don’t actually have to use the words. My words wouldn’t be as good as her words. Her words burn clean through me like a lit tip of a cigarette. 

But she does have your book. 

Y’know, I always thought it was kind of creepy the way some guys would try and look for their mom in other girls. 

So this might be a good thing. Less Oedipus-y, more ea–… 

Shit. I was gonna say something I’m so sure you’d smack me around the head for. But you’re not here to do that. I might be in better shape with this girl if you were.

Anyway. I miss you. 

Eddie Munson stands in the midst of an incredibly awkward aftermath. 

See, for two people so purportedly self-assured, he in his freakshow roguishness and you in your prim-perfect knife-edge sharpness, you’re both entirely dogshit at acknowledging… well… anything. 

You both tried to snap back to normal so quickly, with Wheeler and her science experiment pregnancy scare smashing through the ice. But the water underneath that ice is still freezing cold– and you’re both pretending you’re not gasping for air, pretending like you don’t remember gasping for each other’s lips. 

This is totally cool. This is totally fine.

And then Eddie comes to see you at The Bookstore, which has become just as routine as nearly never brushing his hair, and sees you fixing your seller’s tag to your pick of the week. Your face in that arresting, self-conscious smile that he wants to melt off with the blowtorch of his mouth. 

It’s The Patchwork Girl of Oz by L. Frank Baum. 

Now, he noticed that you would habitually drop writers’ names into conversation like they were your lit professors– Didion said this, Bukowski said that, Bronte yadda, Burroughs yadda. Always some genius-adjacent, formative-thinking, socio-politico-boffo brainwad, more often than not with a substance abuse kick that you romanticized from a safe distance.

But then you unearth this book, a green clothback cover yellowing with age and roughness, red and yellow inlaid titling blasting out a name he ought to know. It makes his visual memory brrrrrrring! like a bright red tomato shaped kitchen timer.

The Patchwork Girl of Oz was with Elizabeth Munson wherever she went. Her records were her plane tickets, her escape to another world, but you couldn’t take your records with you to the hospital. Escaping to Oz was a decent substitute. She must have read it a bajillion times; she even took to calling Wayne Unc Nunkie after the elderly munchkin who only ever had one word for anybody. And whenever Eddie would drop an egg when they were baking or come running through the house with his knees all cut up, she’d coo, “Oh, my li’l Ojo the Unlucky!”

The book lingered everywhere– on the kitchen counter of the house on Pennsylvania,on the vinyl seat of the booth at the now-shuttered Benny’s when she could afford to take Eddie for a treat, on her bedside table. 

Up until the end. 

It knocks the wind out of Eddie when he sees it on the display shelf. He does a bad job of hiding that. 

“What, too shocked to make fun of me?” you say, perching yourself on the rickety stool behind the counter, and your voice betrays a little embarrassment. “That’s a first.”

“I–... huh?” He tears his eyes away from the book long enough to catch the specks of blush high on your cheeks.

“It’s not my usual flavor, I know, but I’m capable of whimsy too.”

“Why that one?” His limbs feel stony like Unc Nunkie’s, as much as he wants to languidly lean over the counter and bother you like he always does. 

You shrug, but you tilt the opposite shoulder. A reverse, a peek behind the looking glass. He notices that about you, which goddamn shoulder is your shrugging preference. 

“I think it was one of the first books I kept checking out of the library when I was little,” you say, glancing back at the display, “It’s about this poor little kid who has to find a way to reverse a spell on his uncle who’s been turned to stone, and the eponymous patchwork girl is–”

“I know the story.” It comes out a little blunter than Eddie was intending it to. So much so that it knocks you back a beat. 

“Oh,” you say shortly, eyes flaring down at the counter. “No need to cut me off mid-stream about it.” 

Eddie winces, knowing he’s coming across as weird and stilted but with no idea how to safely climb down. “No, just– I know the story, yeah. My mom…” That is not a safe dismount, dummy! “...she… liked it a lot.”

“Yeah?” your tone stays even, yanked back from him a little. He wants to be like, sorrysorrysorry. “She ever read it to you?”

“A bunch, actually.” 

“No shit.” The corners of your mouth tick up. “Wanna hear something super dorky?”

Just the mere invitation of your little smile loosens him up a bit. Eddie twists a ring around his finger, head kicking to his shoulder as his foot kicks to the counter. “Always,” he says, squinting. 

You straighten your spine up on your stool and clear your throat. Hand goes over your heart, like you’re about to recite the damn declaration. Your eyes shutter closed. 

“Here’s a job for a boy of brains– a drop of oil from a live man’s veins; a six-leaved clover; three nice hairs, from a Woozy’s tail, the book declares; are needed for a magic spell, and water from a pitch-dark well– the yellow wing from a butterfly to find must Ojo also try; and if he gets them without harm, Doc Pipt will make the magic charm; but if he doesn’t get ‘em, Unc…” your crack one eye open. “...will always stand a marble chunk.”

Eddie is silent for… for a while. For a good handful of heartbeats, for a beat so long that makes you knit your brow up, your eyes needling into him. Eddie’s looking at you with rose-colored soft focus. His elbows are eagerly pitched on the counter now, chin in his hands. The last person to recite those words to him was his mom, her voice raspy and tired but still willing to read to him. She hadn’t smelled like herself. It was sad.

And now, your voice, with all its snippy chainmail thrown off, gone all soft and lyrical and dedicated. 

He thinks about a littler you, one he could vaguely pick out of a lineup if he really, really tried, criss-cross applesauce and pouring over that book so often that that little spell jams itself into your brain. 

The mage before she donned the mink coat.

Eddie is looking at you and can’t force his heart out of his throat. 

Well, until he can.

“Ew,” he cringes.

“What?!” you exclaim, your eyes getting all incredulous and kind of mad. 

“And they call me a fuckin’ nerd, what the hell was that?” Eddie’s laughing, mocking, not with his whole heart. But it’s enough to make you scoff, irritated with him again. 

See, you thought you were being cute and he knows you thought you were being cute. He needs to put you back in a place where you’re marginally unlikeable enough to just be a friend. 

Restore the natural order. Don’t think about how he wants to recite that same verse back to you in front of an ordained Elvis in Vegas. Because he would, in a heartbeat. If he wasn’t committed to not being stupid. 

Christ, you’re pretty. Christ, he’s gonna do something stupid.

“You are… completely undateable, you know that?” he nods ferociously, eyes trailing you as you cross out from behind the counter and head for a box of books that need to be shelved. All uh-huhs and sure, Eddies. The bell on the front door jangles and a customer passes behind him. 

He yells after you, voice traveling down whatever winding path you’ve taken through the stacks. “You with your black and white movies and your twat rock and your Wizard of Oz… baby, what crowd are you even playing to?” 

“What crowd am I playing to? What crowd are you playing to?!” you seethe, shuffling the ten-tonne box of books down the aisle with your feet. “Fucking baggie-pushing, guitar-brutalizing, board-game-...maker-...upper!”

“Woah. Wit’s unmatched as usual, Lace.”

This fucking guy. This fucking guy. You try and do one darling little thing, you just recite a little piece of a book his dead mom used to read to him or whatever, and you get verbally bashed! God forbid, god forbid you let the fucking drawbridge down for half a second! This blows! 

You’re trying to be less of a bitch, in case you idiots didn’t notice!

It’s kind of inexplicable, how sensitive you’re feeling about this. Could be that since you kissed and since you pinkie-swore with Nancy Wheeler in the bombed-out boys bathroom, you kind of felt as if you were standing on a blade’s edge with Eddie. Not knowing where to put your hands, not knowing how much or how little to joke around. Not entirely happy with your moment of madness at the Ecker trailer. Not entirely happy that it hadn’t happened again. 

But you’re not about to apologize. Not to him. Don Rickles in a battle vest over there. Must he always just poke you like that?!

“You’re undateable!” You shove a bunch of books aside on the shelf. “Me, I’m cu–...”

Right through the shelf, a customer stares at you. Your voice dies in your throat because, unfortunately, he’s looking right at you in your flurry of annoyance toward Eddie. And unfortunately, this stranger, he’s a little… 

“What were you gonna say?” he asks, closing Gravity’s Rainbow. 

“Cute.”

Guy smiles, doesn’t break eye contact with you for a second. He’s wearing a sweater. He looks fresh out of somewhere stone walled with crawling ivy. “I’d attest to that.”

You forget about Eddie– just for a second. Gesturing to Gravity’s Rainbow, you say, “Gonna attempt to finish that?”

“What’s that mean?” His grin is infectious, or maybe you’re just starved for this kind of attention. 

“Nothing,” you say, with a little more tongue than you need to, “Just, I don’t know of anyone that’s ever finished that behemoth.” 

Well, you don’t know of a lot of people that read the way you do either. But, digression. He raps a knuckle against the cover of the book and for some reason, you feel it in your belly. 

“I always finish,” he tells you. 

“Do you now?”

That’s the longest you’ve been quiet in a hot minute, and that’s the kind of thing that gets under Eddie’s skin. Chain on his jeans jangling, he starts off into the creaking labyrinth of lined-up bookcases. 

“What, did you expire back here or something…” he mutters, a little whine in his tone– play with me, play with me, even though I’m being kind of a dick to you–

He sees you, a book lying lax in your arms, your body swaying to and fro and you’re–

“--talkin’ to yourself, Lacy? Great look. Real honeytrap, if you’re lookin’ to catch some imaginary di–”

“Eddie,” you grit at him, and he spots the whole other human male you’re talking to through the stacks. Well, not just talking to. Not with that body language. 

This dude tilts his chin to Eddie. “Hey, man. I remember you. Didn’t you used to sell dimebags in the woods outside school?”

Fire flares in Eddie’s gut. He vaguely recognizes this guy– class of ‘83 or ‘82, not remarkable enough to be hateable but now, he’s certainly collegiate looking enough to be… distracting to you. So, annoying to him. 

“Why, man? You lookin’ to buy? Or just cruise some high schooler tail?”

“Eddie!” you hiss again and he scoffs like, really?! You turn back to this… whoever the fuck. “C’mon, I’ll check you out.”

“You’ll check him out, huh?” Eddie sneers, bearing over you as you pass him in the aisle. Body heat breezing right by, face a mask of sheer disgust. Impulse talks; it totally wants to just grab you and throw you behind him and– well, he hasn’t thought that far ahead yet. But he’s creative. Who the fuck even is this guy? Where did he come from?

“That you?” this guy says, jerking his head toward the staff display, toward The Patchwork Girl of Oz. “Lacy?”

“To my friends and co-conspirators,” you say, ringing up that godawful Pynchon book. 

“Which one was that guy?” he asks, watching you jot out his receipt on the carbon copy pad because for whatever reason, Ivana’s cash register is from the fucking 1800s and she refuses to upgrade to anything with a thermal printer. “Friend? Co-conspirator? … boyfriend?”

You wrinkle your nose. And don’t exactly answer, but it’s enough confirmation for him. 

“Good. Say, why don’t you jot down your number on this thing?” He pushes the receipt back to you. “I can keep you updated on my Pynchon progress. You can… see if I’m good enough to co-conspire with.” 

You like this approach. In fact, you love this approach, because you hadn’t been earnestly picked up in… forever. And he has this certain je ne sais quoi about him, something that screams moved out of state for college. You stay grinning, biting your lip for a good breath or two after he leaves the store. 

Then Eddie appears in your peripheral, like some terrible harbinger of embarrassment. 

“Undateable, huh?” you say, fully aware that he was earwigging on that whole exchange because he’s a nosy bitch and he can’t help himself. Glutton for gossip. 

“You don’t have to throw yourself at the first person who walks in the store just to prove a point, baby,” Eddie tells you, this big face of condescension. You want to smack it off him so bad your palms are itching. 

You huff and backtrack to where that box of unshelved books sits. “Maybe I’m tired of waiting around.”

—

Ronnie Ecker and Robin Buckley are looking each other in the eye, wolf-whistling furtively when you elbow open the door of the gym. 

“You’re flat. I’m telling you you’re flat,” Ronnie’s insisting, an adorable three inches away from Robin’s face. 

“I can’t be flat! A mouth whistle cannot be flat!”

It’s marching band practice. You don’t know what the hell goes on in here and you know better than to ask. 

“Would you two get a room already?” you call, heels clicking across the glossed wood of the gym. These dorks have all got their feathered hats and bibs on, a kind of half-assed dress rehearsal for some pep rally they’re having on Friday. You missed the bulletin– kind of stopped paying attention, actually. Extracurricular distraction is a hell of a drug. 

“Excuse me, this is a closed–” that’s the voice of Miss Genovese, the band teacher, stomping down from the bleachers in these tragic little loafers with the pleather peeling off. She makes it about halfway toward you, then this exasperated look washes right over her. The teacher dashes for the double doors and you point after her with a freshly painted red index finger. New lease on looking good. 

“And that is?”

“Like, the third time in the last hour,” Ronnie shakes her head, taking her flamboyant little hat off. “Biggest running theory is morning sickness.”

What, is pregnancy like, catching or something? you’re about to muse.

“It’s almost contagious, right?” Robin says, tugging at her clip-on collar, “I mean, first your whole thing and now–” 

Ronnie doesn't even have a chance to gesture for her to ixnay! before she slams pause on herself, eyes wide and all shit, did I say that out loud?! Your eyes narrow in return. That’s suspicious.

“What whole thing? My whole what?”

Ever and eternally knowing when to call it, Ronnie holds a hand up before Robin can even start to scramble an apology and serve it to you. Panther versus a precious little puppy dog– the fight ain’t even fair. 

“Nothing. Scuttlebutt bullshit, the usual,” she rolls her eyes, throws a sympathetic glance to Robin who winces and retreats. Huh.

“What’s going on with you two?” you ask, crossing your legs over the bottom rung of the bleachers.

This actually makes Ronnie’s expression soften a little– her eyes race back in Robin’s direction and you swear you catch a blush. “Also nothing! Compound nothing. Why, does it look like…”

Lips purse into a little satisfied grin. Knew it. Toldja. Point to Lacy. “Looks like whatever you want it to look like.”

Ronnie reaches forward and waves her feathered hat in your face– stop being so observant! You cough in protest– ew, I don’t know where that thing has been! 

“Whatever! What brings you to geek church?” 

“That’s what they’re calling it now?”

“Stick around, we’ll start speaking in tongues.” 

“Satanic Panic bringing about a fun new turn for the pep rally! Put some God back into that wind instrument,” you croon. “No, I actually wanted your thoughts on something.”

Ronnie raises her eyebrows and you feel like you oughta mirror her. You’re not usually one to seek out a second opinion, but the more you’ve gotten to know Ronnie, the more you see that she’ll tell you how it is. Especially now that you’ve dispersed with the whole intimidating it-girl cloud and she’s stopped pretending to be shy.

“I know. I’m shocked too.”

“I’m honored,” she swings her shoulders in girlish delight, “Dish it up, Doevski.”

“Okay, so,” you clap, hiking forward on your creaking bleacher, “I’ve been seeing this guy–”

“--this is the bookstore guy?”

A blink and a beat. “How’d you know about that?”

A face that has Eddie told me with footnotes of and he was kind of jealous scrawled all over it stares back at you. “I ‘unno, maybe I overheard…”

“Doesn’t matter.” You slice a hand through the air, no time for this right now. “Facts are facts, I’ve been hanging out with this guy,” interesting change of phraseology, considering, “and he’s a college guy–”

“If they could see you now.” The royal court of Hawkins, obviously. Older guys are generally an accomplishment. But Ronnie’s half-jesting. 

“--I know, shut up. But, he mentioned something that would absolutely rock my college applications is a really, really great–”

“--feature in the Streak?” you’d gasped out in the back of his Ford Cortina (how very European!). College guy’s mouth was on your neck and his hand was inching into your shirt, playing at a faux placket of pearl buttons. Boys can never tell a real button from a fake one, apparently, even if they go to an East Coast school. I mean, shit! You’d gleaned enough information from him over a shake at the diner; relatively well-to-do family that lived near the Wheelers on Maple and kind of underwhelming taste in lit for an English major. 

But he maintained eye contact and listened to your witty little bon mots, even if he didn’t… laugh at them. One thing led to another and thus, the backseat college advisory-slash-makeout session. 

“Yeah, yeah, they love that shit…” he’d said, moving to your mouth in order to swallow any forthcoming words. But his words had piqued your interest more than his fingers had. 

“What about an underdog story?” you said, eyes kind of hazing over in the middle distance. 

“Sure, underdog, great…” college guy grabbed ahold of your leg and tugged you into him, “We can talk more about it later, okay?”

“Okay–”

“–okay?”

Ronnie grimaces. “I didn’t need that much detail.”

“Yes, you did.” You stare at her. “I’m a storyteller.”

Ronnie chews the proposal over a little, cheeks kind of bunched up in confusion. Behind her, band geeks badly hide their hickeys and exhibit too-gangly, too-obvious body language. No inspiration to be tapped from there.

“An underdog story… on the society pages? Like, who could you possibly–”

You smile that awful, conniving smile, because you came in here armed. “Ye of little faith.”

“Oh, no,” Ronnie says, and honestly, you’re a little taken aback by that reaction, “Hellfire?”

A shrug pulls your shoulders right up, rapidly on the defense. “Why not, right?” 

“Why not– Lacy, you almost guillotined Jeff that one time he asked you.”

True that you hadn’t had the inches of article to spare for Hellfire Club in not-too-ancient history, but, “That was then, this is now! World’s changing– and it’s topical!”

The whole Satanic panic thing really did tickle your funny bone; and you saw yourself having a little fun with that by turning the focus on Hellfire. Subverting Eddie’s cult-leader mythos to show that he is just a kid who might have a propensity for telling a good story, surrounded by other kids who want to get a word in. You’re not looking to turn the tide on his reputation or anything but maybe… y’know. You could do the admirable journalistic thing and scratch the surface a bit. Show what you’ve learned. 

It’s a challenge. You love a challenge.

“And it’s a good excuse to get in Eddie’s face,” Ronnie’s voice breaks through. 

There is a lonnng beat, one you hold like the last shoes in your size at a sample sale. Your mouth keeps going to make the words yeah, right or it’s not about him! or y’know, something to exonerate you from the notion.

“I know he isn’t…” Ronnie trails off, coming to sit next to you. “that he’s kind of being weird to you right now.” 

Go ahead and feign that ignoramus, girl. Shoulders quirking and all. 

“Oh. Is he?”

And then Ronnie says maybe the dumbest thing on the planet, regarding the abominable sitch between you and Eddie Munson. 

“You should just talk to him.”

“Ecker, there’s fruitless efforts and then there’s barren wasteland,” you scoff, “Guess which category proposing this to Eddie falls into.”

“That’s not what I–”

J’excuse, Ronnie, but you don’t care! Because this isn’t actually about anything other than getting all of those dice-throwing dorks, including Miss Ecker herself, into your damn paper. Okay?

“We have to ambush him! Element of surprise, that’s it,” you smile primly and hop off the bleachers. “I’m just going to show up at Hellfire, photographer in hand and– he won’t have a choice, will he?”

Ronnie’s expression is a mask of reproachfulness. You don’t let it shake you. You’re a cat playing with a now-endless ball of yarn, and you’re unshakeable. 

“He’s such a sucker for attention,” you say, tossing your hair, and it sounds a lot more like you’re convincing yourself than anyone else in this echoey gym, “He won’t be able to resist.”

—

Reefer Rick doesn’t call, unless it’s an emergency. All of his communication is inbound, or passed through a shoulder check and a goofy smile at Melvald’s, or a nod of the head across the pool table at The Hideout. He doesn’t frequent there so much, because Bev knows he’s a pool shark and ever since ‘Nam, his ears are a little too sensitive to all that metal racket, man! By all means, rock on, but by then I gotta go rock-a-bye myself to sleep, alright? Anyway, that’s how Eddie knows to ride over to his place, if it’s not through a call he’s placed himself. 

You need me, kid, you come and find me. 

So when Eddie gets a call that says, “We gotta pow-wow, ese,” his nerves are set on edge. Not that he wasn’t feeling bad enough, what with the fact that some douchebag in a Cortina had picked you up and dropped you off to school the last couple of days. What with the fact he had actively dogged the car down a little bit of the road from the trailer park with his van, resisting every temptation to just run it all the way off into a ditch. And what with the fact he didn’t know what to say to you about that without it coming out in an anti-missive of jealousy! jealousy! jealousy! so what he did say to you was… nothing. 

You two can’t maintain a consistent line of communication to save your lives, he realizes. There’s too much left unsaid, and the both of you are too stubborn or too scared to say any of it. Or even think it, in his case! The amount of times he’d had to slap himself sober, his brain going into overdrive thinking, if I had just told her… It’s a ‘friendship’, if you can even call it that, based on barbs and bad behavior and doing things because you know you shouldn’t. For the thrill. Right?

Like. Whatever. It’s not like he’d made tapes of a half dozen Black Sabbath albums because you mentioned you wanted to ‘study up’ on that ‘monster music’ he’s making. It’s not like you’d given him an annotated copy of Still Life with Woodpecker because he wanted to throw some ‘nonsensical curveball shit’ into a later Hellfire campaign. 

It’s not like Eddie missed you– he just… should have seen this coming, is all. He’s used to getting left in the dust while people move onto better things, or whatever. 

God, Munson, your voice taunts him from somewhere in his hippocampus, need some help nailing yourself to that crucifix?

Anyway, fuck, Rick called him. 

Rick had gotten out of lockup about a month ago– some truncated charge or another that Eddie didn’t bother asking too much about, mostly because… well, Rick hadn’t really been himself. Larger and brighter than the sun itself, the great and powerful lion of a man that oozed life ain’t shit if you ain’t havin’ fun energy, Rick had kind of dimmed. Lost a lot of weight while he was inside. Came back a little bit twitchy and fluent in Spanglish, for some reason.

Eddie was worried, because of all the adult figures in his life, Rick was meant to be the one with levity. He’d lost out on a fun uncle when Wayne stepped into his father-figure role. Al was nothing but a dangerous bit player. Rick, he could rely on. 

Thinking back to that infamous day when he had gotten loaded at Lipton Landing, before he picked up you and Ronnie, before he… well, you know the rest but, Eddie had sensed that Rick could use the company. He kind of tried to poke it out of him, whatever was wrong. Didn’t work. They had just watched The Godfather in a tense-ish silence and doofed a lot of joints. Sorta freaked him out.

Eddie’s crushing gravel on the descent to the infamously slanted Lipton Landing for his summons. There’s a hum that seems to traverse the window panes, a fond plucking work that could only belong to Link Wray. He puts the van in park and jogs up the steps to the front door, bracing himself for the pungent plume of skunk smoke that always greets him.

“Eduardo,” Rick’s voice curls around the greeting like smoke curls out of his mouth and he yanks Eddie over the threshold. Door slams, arm tightens around his shoulders. “You’re here.”

Rick’s always a handsy sorta guy–not like that!–but this grab makes him seize a little. 

“You rang,” Eddie says, voice lilting, “Everything okay?”

Rick clutches him by the shoulders and looks at him for a long, long time. Uncomfortably long. How has he managed to puff on that joint for this long without choking long. 

“No.”

And Rick begins a shuffle toward the kitchen. Eddie follows in an awkward half-step, headache threatening to bloom someplace in the back of his skull because he does not know how much more of this vagueness he can take! 

“Does it have anything to do with why you called me down here? Because, shit, I would love to get a straight answer out of someone for once!” A mirthless chuckle follows, trying to soften his desperation. 

A flick of the refrigerator door and Rick places two beers on his kitchen counter, hands bracing against the surface. “Then let’s sit crooked and talk straight. It’s about your…”

Hss. Eddie takes a notoriously mis-timed sip.

“...neighbor girl.”

Ffflp– Eddie wishes, just one day of his goddamned life, he could act cool at the mention of you. Even the suggestion of the mention of you. But no, he’s got PBR streaming from his nose like a moron and a look on his face that says uh-oh, spaghettio!

“That’s what I was afraid of,” says Rick, taking a knowingly smooth drink from his beer. 

With the heel of his hand, Eddie wipes away his spluttering mess and fumbles around for a crumb of nonchalance. 

“I don’t know–”

“Eddie,” Rick levels. God, Eddie hates it when adults are adults, and Rick hates having to act the adult even more. 

His shoulders drop. “What about her?”

“Well, when I was in the pen–local, I’ll have you know–I got approached by a very interesting man with a proposition I was powerless to refuse.”

With some trepidation, Eddie mumbles, “Oh, yeah?”

“Someone– well, let’s say me and this someone have a friend in common…”

“Rick–” Eddie’s attempting the leveling thing, but he’s not as good at it as Rick is. Or as you are, for that matter. And you’re who he’s attempting to imitate here, even if he won’t admit it.

“--a certain mutual business partner, if you will–”

“Rick.” Eddie tries to punch through the tension with the big man’s name. “It was Lacy’s dad. Right? You can just say it was her dad.” 

Rick’s brow sinks into a wrinkle. “...Lacy? The fuck kind of a dumb name is that?”

“It’s a nickname.” Why does Eddie feel defensive.

“The fuck kind of a dumb nickname is that?”

“They call you Reefer Rick.”

“That is a calculated business decision, a calling card if you w–”

“Rick. Can we close in on the point, here?” Ooh! Seems to actually work this time, much to Eddie’s relief. “I only got so many if you wills left in me.”

“Si, pronto,” Rick nods with apologetic understanding; he’s such an empath, this guy, “Long and short of it is, her pops offered me a little bit of cash and some assistance, iffin’ I promised to keep an eye on her.”

“Assistance…?” Eddie murmured out of the side of his mouth. It’s all in the way Rick says it! “Like…” Hand a loose fist. Jerky-jerk. 

“Eddie,” Rick chides, “Assistance gettin’ out. In prison, that is just called bein’ sociable. –anyway, I have this conflict of interest, with the whole surveillance thing.”

“And what is that?”

“You.” The way Rick drops it is obviously meant to cause some kinda ripple effect of realization, but Eddie’s still confused. 

“So you… didn’t take the money?”

“Huh?” Now Rick’s all confused. “Of course I took the fuckin’ money! What kind of a chump do I look like, man? What I’m getting at is, I knew that rattin’ on her also meant rattin’ on you.”

“Wh– why would it…” 

“I got eyes everywhere, man. Dig? I’ve seen what’s been happening.” 

Eddie’s heart leaps into his larynx. Eyes everywhere. And the truth was, you two had been stupid enough to be a lot of everywhere, thinking your respective trailers were the only hot zones. The Bookstore, the Hawk, Main Street Vinyl, Family Video, the diner, you name a Hawkins establishment and it has probably seen Eddie Munson and Lacy Doevski good-naturedly bickering in its aisles. 

He wonders if Rick even had eyes in the Ecker trailer. Ronnie could be a Lipton informant. That girl can hold a secret about as well as Wayne Munson can hold his liquor, which is gracefully. 

“Nothing’s been happening, we’re just–”

“Eddie.” Like a bulldozer, this guy. “I know Ivana pretty well. You ain’t hangin’ around that bookstore for the good of your health.”

“So what, you’re gonna–,” Eddie can feel himself starting to scramble, starting to sweat, backed into a corner like a hunted animal, “...tell her dad that we went to the movies a couple of times? That I go to her job, that I– that we’re–”

“What are you?” The way Rick puts it to him– rock, meet hard place. Should this really feel like such a tough question to answer?

“Friends.”

Rick draws up to his full height (tall, mountain man) and looks at him like he just shoved a cream pie into his face.

“It doesn’t matter, okay!” Eddie froths over, like a snapping dog, “We’re barely hanging out– anymore– so you can… you’re not gonna tell him anything, are you?”

Rick’s hands slowly, slowly rise, urging him to calm the yapping. No need to get into such a tizzy. Which Eddie wishes he could believe.

“‘course not, man,” he shakes his head, “Ray Doevski only needs to know what Ray Doevski absolutely needs to know.” Eddie can feel a little more weight behind that sentence than he’d like. “No reason you need to figure into this story.”

“That– that’s it? You’re not gonna tell him about u– about me?” 

“You’re in enough of a shitheap as it is, is how I see it.” A beat. Rick takes him in; really takes him in. Feels like an embrace, his stare. Concern uncrinkles the ever-present smile in Rick’s eyes. 

“Eddie, you care about this girl?”

Eddie’s mouth attempts to form around an answer, but he’s just blinking into nothing. Does he care about you? Does he care about you? He wants, needs to say no, to pfft you off, but every molecule is screaming otherwise. And Rick can sense it, operating on the extraterrestrial level that he does. 

“Then I’m real sorry.” 

“For what?” 

As if on cue, car wheels on gravel shuck Rick’s attention away from him. His eyeballs jitter in his head, heading for the door– Eddie close behind him. “Sorry for what, Rick–?!”

“Little bit for that, little bit for… this.”

Standing in the window of Rick’s living room, these two watch an offensively red muscle car skew into the driveway, making a mockery of Eddie’s beat up van. The driver’s door pops open and the first thing Eddie clocks is a blinding glint off some brand new aviator sunglasses. 

The second is that trademark Munson smile. 

—

“This is exciting!” Nancy Wheeler says, kind of flatly but with a conviction buried deep under her curled bangs. 

On the table sits two piles of playing cards, one steadily growing and one steadily decreasing. 

You two had taken to playing gin rummy when staring at paper layouts became a little too much. Technically, she actually had a say in layout and you were just nosy, but it’s a decent excuse to hang out. Though, both you and Nancy had this incredible tendency to hyperfocus on detail so hard that neither of you could pull the other out far enough to look at the big picture, so one day she tossed a deck of cards your way and said, “Deal!”

“I know,” you say, trying to focus on these melds of suits you’re making– that discard pile is looking poor, “Fresh turn for me, y’know? Less fluffy, more Didion.”

Nancy snorts softly, swapping out a card from her hand. “Who does that make Eddie? Charlie? Or Linda Kasabian?” 

A smile dances across your lips and you shrug, reaching for a cigarette before you go for another card. Usually, smoking in the newsroom was prohibited, as it was prohibited on most of Hawkins High grounds, but whenever that deck came out, you felt it was appropriate for at least one of you to be smoking. Gave a kind of Torchy Blane feel to the whole scenario which fit you and Wheeler pret-ty keenly, if you did say so yourself.

“That’s not what I was talking about, though,” Nancy says, poking Fred Benson’s empty mug toward you to use as an ashtray. 

Your eyes narrow; this could be a play to distract you from a winning hand. 

“It’s not?”

“No…” she puffs out another soft scoff, meeting your eyes over her fan of cards, “I mean the college guy.”

“Why is it exciting?” and you do want to know why Nancy thinks so. She’s a mile wiser beyond her years, even precocious enough to keep in step with you most of the time. You’d like her take. 

“Well, it’s what you wanted, right?” she tells you, watching you puff your cigarette and dig into the stock pile. “Somebody older, decidedly not a grabby high school boy– but someone with more experience, both with girls and with being outside of Hawkins. And the fact he goes to Vassar means–”

“He probably eats kitty like a maniac.”

Nancy lets out this full-bodied Merlot of a laugh, only a little color dashing over her cheeks. She’s gotten used to you being provocative on purpose because it gets a laugh out of her. So far grown out of the prude shoes you were sure she was still sporting. You’re proud of her. 

“Not exactly what I was getting at but– more sensitive to the female perspective, sure.” But then she registers what you forgot you’d even dropped. “Hold on, probably? You mean you haven’t–...”

You shrug. It’s a little withdrawn on your part. 

“Oh,” Nancy says, and seems to be leaning a degree or two towards unsurprised. That ruffles your feathers a little bit. Again, with the frigid thing. You couldn’t shake it. 

“No,” you emphasize, shucking your pitiful melds back again. “It's not as if we haven't–done things. I've copped a handful. Time is of the essence, and I take, y'know, a little more time to get there.”

“So no return on investment...?”

"Not... yet."

Nancy almost tosses her cards at you, the way she jabs them through the air. “You? You, the one who’s been preaching Betty Friedman to me, you haven't been getting–”

“Yes, me! Did you not hear me about time and the essence?”

“I know, it’s just– a little surprising.”

There have been exactly three instances of almost you tying your panties to the rearview mirror of college boy’s Ford Cortina, so to speak, and you’ve come out of each one with this desperate echo of oh well! Maybe next time! careening around your skull. Like you’re trying to convince yourself that by virtue of him not being in your grade, this has been a worthwhile way to spend your time. And listen, no misunderstandings here, it has! At least, part of it. It usually starts like this– the two of you grab some shitty diner coffee or some shitty diner food and then he takes you around in his car for a turn or two, admiring that famous Hawkins scenery (see: shuttered businesses and if you’re really lucky, that one mangy fox that feasts on the overflowing trash can near the Big Buy). You talk (you mostly talk) books and movies and say something that should be a hook of conversation but usually ends up with him screwing his face up in amusement and saying something along the lines of, “God, you’re so beyond this place.”

Which, duh. You’ve been saying this. This is the raft upon which your whole identity floats. 

The exchange dies in the air and he puts his hand on your leg and that is just… wonderful. He’s a solid B on the kissing GPA, and he’s cute and sort of funny, even if he doesn’t rally back jokes the way you’d… sort of gotten used to. Sometimes he makes a halfway-interesting observation about like, Philip Roth or somebody. But when it comes down to the minute of it, it still feels like going through the motions. Fumble bra strap, catch nail on his zipper, crank back passenger seat to climb in the back. Hey presto, you’ve distractedly jerked off a boy once again. 

You are not entirely sold on the fit of his hands on your body, even if he doesn’t look at you like he’s just solved a Rubik’s cube.

In fact, he kind of looks at you like you’re precious. Virginal precious. Innocent precious. Which you’re not totally sold on either. 

Nothing about him that makes you fantasize about what his mouth might feel like on you. What your fingers might feel like wound around his curls. His hair doesn’t even curl. There’s just nothing about him that calls for your full attention.

“Think there might be a reason for that?” Nancy, your annoyingly perceptive Nancy, presses. Goddamn intrepid girl reporter. She hasn’t stopped staring at you with that smug little look. You haven’t answered the question. “And it might be… living across the way from you?”

“Tch. What?” you snip. “I’m… having fun. What?”

“Nothing,” she smiles. “Just… gin.” 

She lays out her dazzling melds, complete with a measly goddamned three in deadwood cards and you toss your own bullshit hand to the side. A dumb amount of spades that add up to nothing scatter across the desk. An accusatory finger jams in her direction. 

“You are a fucking card shark.”

“Nope!” Nancy says, popping her ‘p’, “I just know a really great set when I see one.”

Reaching into Fred’s mug, you crush your cigarette with a little too much force. Now, how would Nancy have a read on that? you think, oblivious to your own obviousness. (Like a neon sign. Like a circus tent.) 

You hadn’t even reminded her of the catastrophic events of her thirteenth birthday which led to a whole lot of this awkwardness, which, now that you thought about it, actually implicated her in the crime of you kissing Eddie Munson ‘til you were breathless in Granny Ecker’s closet. 

If you hadn’t been born and had a birthday, I wouldn’t be in a spiral over some boy with a curl pattern like a fucking backwoods libertine. 

“You’re not clever,” you tell her, but she’s looking at you all cleverly, “Like. You’re clever, but I need you to know that you’re not clever.”

With flicking fingernails, Nancy picks up your discarded cards and folds them neatly back in the deck. 

“I’m just saying,” and the tone she takes is a little gentler now, “don’t… let yourself miss out on something just because, I don’t know, the thing you’re currently having fun with is what you think you want. What you feel you want and what you think you want are two very different–”

“This isn’t entirely about me, is it?” you realize, defenses peeling down a little bit. The Nancy and Steve of it all had been looming since your (admittedly triumphant!) visit to the war memorial that was the boy’s bathroom. Still no sign of that place getting fixed, by the by. And ever still, Nancy hadn’t told Steve about their little mission. Many a reason for that, you were led to believe. Not a lot she wanted to dissect, though.

Nancy’s face scrunches up and she stops packing the cards. 

“No. But let’s pretend like it is.” 

A groan escapes you as you sink back into your chair, a twinge of pain running along your shoulders.  

“Nance. This is all so much more complicated than you realize.”

“Try me.”

You toss a hand through your hair, slapping your palm down on the desk. 

“Fine. But if I tell you this–”

A hand rises out between the two of you– yours, pinkie extended. 

“Not a word,” you press. 

Nancy clamps her finger around yours in a way that enforces how super-serious she is about this. The reason your usual reserve doesn’t hold up under that x-ray stare of hers is because you can tell she actually gives a shit. She’s not looking for gossip. She cares. Which is still an entirely alien feeling to you. 

So the whole thing spills out. Steve’s party, the record store, getting locked up in Eddie’s trailer and getting locked up in feelings, Roane County Quarry’s incredible acoustics, the friendship that made you fold all the neatly arranged origami parts of yourself out toward him only to realize you had no idea how to fold them back. The kiss. The subsequent awkwardness of said kiss. The college guy. The relative radio silence. The fact that…

“...I don’t feel like myself when he’s not around,” you say, lighting a fourth cigarette off your third. “Isn’t that silly? I spent all this time painting this like, fabulous eggshell of myself then this wild-eyed, smart-mouthed, catastrophic ass smashes it clean open and now–”

“All the college boys couldn’t put you together again,” Nancy nods. “You’re a very beautiful Humpty Dumpty.” 

“... does Humpty Dumpty die in the end?”

“Maybe we shouldn’t be teaching it to kids.”

“No. They should know. The fall comes for us all.”

There’s a suspended silence. You get this feeling like you’ve emptied your purse on the table and you still can’t find that thing you’re looking for, despite sifting through everything. 

“How does that even happen?” you question, biting at the skin on your little finger. Not Humpty Dumpty, the Eddie thing. It comes out idle, but you pray that Nancy, with her feelings scalpel and surgical precision, doesn't decide to answer it. 

Instead, she says, “You need a photographer for that piece.”

Thatta girl. Your dimmer switch turns up. “Fred hasn’t even okayed it yet.”

“I’ll deal with William Randolph Hearst, okay?” Nancy says derisively and tosses her eyes to heaven. She pushes her chair back. “Ask Jonathan Byers.”

“He hasn’t taken photos for us in a while,” you remark, eyes searching Nancy. She’s readying herself to leave, so totally dodging this line of questioning before you can even cast it. Clever. 

“No, he has not,” she sighs, winding her scarf around her neck, “But he’d be good for this. He knows how to capture action. And his kid brother plays DnD with mine, so this’d be, like… nice for them.” 

And this is just as much me making amends with Jonathan Byers as it is you, backwards as it may seem, you nearly hear her say. Or you’re making that up. 

Shame Nancy is so dead set on becoming the next Nellie Bly. Under the right circumstances, she’d make a hell of a normal person. 

Good thing you prefer freaks.

—

Jonathan Byers is a notoriously hard boy to get a hold of, it turns out. Nancy passed along his number (which, you actually already had but you didn’t bring that little detail up) and when you finally punched it in on the yellowing phone nailed to the wall of your trailer, it rang and rang and rang. 

Which, after the fourth time, was just rude. Do the Byers have a thing about not answering the phone, or something?

“Jonathan!” you holler across the parking lot, emerging from the passenger side of Nancy’s car this time. 

College guy was decidedly busy and despite the hanging tension, you’d toyed with the idea of asking Eddie for a ride. Alas, the boy in the Dio patched battle vest was nowhere to be seen. His van hadn’t been there since the weekend and he had been MIA from school the last couple of days, actually, which was itching at you. 

It also made you miss when you had a goddamn set of wheels at your disposal. 

Anyway, Jonathan looks at you with flaring eyes, kind of like you’ve just stuck a shotgun to his snout and there’s no hope of him making a getaway. “Um…”

Now, keep in mind that these are the first words you’ve spoken to him in a measurable high school forever, so his surprise is entirely justified. It’s just not within the beam of your patience right now. 

“Hi. Can we chat?” you say, falling in step with him as you head towards the front door. You don’t bother asking for permission, and forgiveness won’t be necessary. “I was hoping you could help me out with a piece for the Streak.”

Blink, blink. Jonathan’s grasping for words– seems to be a lot of that going around lately. 

You strike your hand through the air. “Let me put it to you like this– you are going to help me out with a piece for the Streak.”

“Why?” he asks, and it’s prickly. 

“Becauuuse,” you draw out, “I need a photographer. And god knows whenever Nicole attempted to work a lens, those snapshots were so out-of-focus they looked like an optical illusion.” 

“And, you’re not talking to Nicole right now,” Jonathan nails you, but not totally. In your mind,  you revisit flashes of Nicole recounting, in gloriously erroneous detail, those photos Jonathan had taken of Nancy. You had pretended to be scandalized and rolled your eyes, thinking what’s a little peep show among losers. 

“Even if I was,” you say, dogging Jonathan all the way to his locker, “I still wouldn’t ask her. This is important to me.” 

That avoidant Byers reserve stands strong, with Jonathan grabbing books in hurried succession. He is trying to get away from you, but that’s not happening without an emphatic yes! 

“I don’t even really–” 

“Take pictures anymore?” you pfft, pointing to his messenger bag, “Twenty bucks says your camera is in there and the film’s half shot.” 

“I don’t have twenty bucks.” 

“Me neither,” you shrug, “Spent it on that new Echo & the Bunnymen.”

Jonathan hesitates a bit, fingers strumming against his biology textbook. A thread of something long forgotten by the listening booths of Main Street Vinyl tugs between you both, but it’s not weighed down by the prospect of will we kiss about it. He kind of smiles. 

“What did you think? I haven’t gotten down to hear it yet.”

You thought it made you want a flowing dress and a place to prance. Like if the more whimsical end of Fleetwood Mac didn’t exhaust you. Those last four tracks snapped your heartstrings like suspenders, with comical aplomb. 

“Grandiose! That ‘Killing Moon’ song? It’s got Jonathan Byers written all over it,” you chirp, and mean it. “I’ll make you a copy if you put that camera to work for me.”

He shrugs, but you can see you’re wearing him down. “I’m not much for shooting pep rallies.”

“Liar. Wheeler says you’re top banana in the action shots department,” you counter, “But how about players? I think I want some portraits, too. Non-corny ones.”

“What team?” Jonathan screws up his nose. The distaste for jockery runs deep, and rightfully so. 

But you shake your head, face curving into an expression of near excitement. 

“No team. Better, and worse, depending on what side of the cafeteria you’re sitting,” your hands splay out, and for god’s sake, you feel like Munson himself, “Hellfire Club.”

Jonathan looks like his record’s skipped. Eyeballs sort of jiggle in his skull and he mouths, oh, like the association of you between Hellfire should mean something. Suspiciously like Nancy, and just suspicious period. Your eyebrows start to inch towards one another. 

“What’s that look? Does that mean you’ll do it?”

“Um,” he dillies, then dallies, “Sure. Yeah. You know, my kid brother loves DnD.”

Ah, yes. The other Byers boy, the one who’d gone missing all that time ago. You remembered. Actually, you remembered not being able to figure out how you should feel about it– how you should act, other than falling in line with the majority of people who were giving Jonathan shit at the time. You regret that now, with a chill that runs right down to your toes. 

“Could be cool for him to see, no?” you try, corner of your mouth lifting, “A little niche in the midst the high school horrors. To look forward to, y’know.”

The look on Jonathan’s face is more than a little bit screaming, that’s rich, coming from you, you were the high school horror. But he shakes it off, because he’s nicer than you are, even though he doesn’t need to be. 

“Yeah… whatever you say, Lacy. When do you need me?”

You tell him Friday and he agrees, much to your satisfaction. You’re just about to punch him on the shoulder like teamwork, buddy! before he saves you such a wildly out-of-character display by dodging toward his homeroom. 

You sail toward your locker like the bastard that’s risen alongside the cream, only to be greeted by something… strange. Scratches, all around the maudlin gray paintwork of your combination lock. Like it’d been tampered with, or something. A blaze of paranoia burns at the base of your skull, and you instinctively try to recount where your journal is… in your bag. Phew. Fine. This could be… anything. 

Fingers reach forward to twist your lock, and with the slightest touch, the door is forced open by a push from the other side. A flash of bright red, then SPLAT. Yellow, SPLAT, blue, SPLAT, SPLAT, SPLAT! You shriek a real ear-piercing shriek as at least a dozen water balloons spill out of your locker, hitting the floor with an obscene smack. Water dashes everywhere, and you’re barely able to move out of the splash zone in time. 

“What the fuck!’

Within seconds, there’s a hubbub and a crowd’s gathering, trading sickening snickers with one another as you peer into the dark of your locker. You gingerly step through the puddle, suede boots irreparably spattered, and yank the door the whole way open. There, sat atop your schoolbooks and a stray water balloon that hadn’t made the fall, is a horribly familiar set of test tubes.

In one of them sits a squirt of blue liquid and that offensive strip of plastic. And scrawled across it in clumsy black marker? 

IT’S A FREAK!

Realization hits you like Carol did, making your head swim among all the murmurs of oh my god… and gross! and told you–trailer trash and unconcealed cackles. A voice sparks up like a sizzling ember in a swathe of darkness. 

“Where’s your baby daddy at, Lacy? Get tossed in the slammer with your old man?” 

The languid tones of none other than Billy All-Balls-No-Brains Hargrove drift by you, sailing right past the back of your head as you stare a hole through the innards of your locker. Then, your stupid hippocampus gears up– Robin, mentioning ‘your whole thing’ while Genovese baby-barfed her guts up, Ronnie urging her to shut the fuck up, even Jonathan Byers was privy to this hot little piece of gossip. 

This theory that you were up the spout with Munson Junior Junior. 

How many people had seen you, stupid little you, coming out of that drugstore hiking that Advance box over your head like the championship cup? Seen you hopping into Eddie’s van– and out of it, and back in again on what now seemed like countless occasions? 

Nobody could have suspected it was Nancy’s test, because nobody saw her. They saw you. That was the whole idea. You just didn’t consider the blowback.

“What’s going on out here?” the softly-coated concern of Ms Kelley rings out in the hallway, doing absolutely nothing to disperse the peanut gallery that’s set up around your locker. 

“Lacy?” her voice points to you. Even the goddamn guidance counselor uses your beloved nickname.  

You don’t react. You don’t even know what you’re doing until you come to a couple of paces down the hallway, feeling the thin, straining rubber in the palm of your hand. Your footsteps make heavy, wet, slapping noises against the linoleum as you follow the half-slouched shouldered swagger of Billy Hargrove down the hall. 

Down, and down, and down towards the boy’s locker room and he doesn’t even register it, and you don’t even register that Ms Kelley is still calling your name–your full name, now–until she’s two dozen paces behind you, losing you in the throng of students making their way to class and you shove past half-dressed seniors in the locker room who guffaw at you in a way that feels like a knife in your gut and you yell, voice shaking–

“Hey Billy!” 

And launch the water balloon, making square contact with his smug face. 

“Cute fucking prank!”

His reaction, predictably, is way too slowww moooootion for your fucking liking, so you don’t even give him a shot to fully wipe his face off and mumble, “What the fuuuuck is yourrrr probbbblemmm, ssssllluuuutttt…” 

You just go for him with the ferocity of a jumping jackal. Hands ball in his stupid sleeveless flannel (it’s winter in Indiana, you West Coast jackass!) and you shove him against the lockers with– well, with the strength only an ex-cheerleader brimming with suffocated rage would have.

Metal clatters and one empty unit even careens over like a big tin domino and you say, “Come up with that idea all by yourself, you fucking nimrod?”

Billy just smirks at you in half-speed, mullet sopping, as if this is a come-on. “I had a little help.” 

It occurs to you that right here, right now, you could sell Nancy Wheeler down the river. You could be the you you once were, and you could say, well, primo observation skills, that pregnancy test wasn’t even for me! 

But you don’t, because a pinky promise is a fucking pinky promise.

You let go of Billy’s shirt. Step off. “You’re pathetic,” you spit, but it feels more pathetic coming from you. All that molten blood in your veins makes you want to eviscerate him and whoever else was involved in orchestrating this stupid, stupid, stupid prank. But you come up lacking. Fuck!

Tears prickle at the corners of your eyes and you start to rush out of the locker room– but you’ve given Billy a reason now, and he’s gonna follow you. 

“Shit, are you crying? Those hormones must have you really messed up, huh?” he faux-croons, the thunk-thunk of his poseur motorcycle boots following you to the back entrance, by the sports equipment. Your eyes are streaming freely now, lashes frantically blinking a path to vision. 

But Billy isn’t letting up. And like the Pied Piper of slimeballs, he’s drawing followers– not least of which include Tommy Hagan. 

“What about that college dropout you’re banging, Lacy?” his nasally tone slices through Billy’s tarry taunting. “He know you’re knocked up yet?”

“Jesus Christ, Doevski! I’m impressed,” Billy laughs, “Just how many loads are you taking?”

An abandoned baseball bat lies on the ground, having rolled out of the sports closet; instinct behind the wheel of your personal van, you stoop to pick it up and shove through the doors. You can nearly feel the breath of Hargrove and Hagan and all of these horrific, horrific boys with nothing better to do than to torture you hot on the back of your neck. 

“Not yours, that’s for fucking sure,” you manage, your voice thick. The bat, at least, feels solid in your hand. 

“It’s fun not being frigid, ain’t it, Lacy?” Billy goes on, and you squint against the sunlight as you round the building. “Tell me this, Munson teach you how to suck cock yet? ‘cause if not, I got a little time on my hands.”

Forging ahead, you cross the tarmac of the parking lot. The soft frost hasn’t even totally thawed out yet, sparkling atop the paintwork of Billy’s blue Camaro.   

“That a fact, Billy?” you say, tears drying in quick streaks in that brisk morning air, leaving rivets in your made-up face.

You use your momentum to launch one foot onto the hood of Billy’s car, then the other. You nearly slip against the icy exterior, but steady yourself fast. Bat dangling at your side. Stomp. Stomp. You stand on the roof, and turn to face this congregation of assholes. You do not let sense set in, despite it threatening to inch through the white hot flame of your rage.

“What the fuck are you doing,” Billy outright cackles and Hagan and company guffaw along with him. 

“Billy,” you sigh, a little breathless from the speed at which you’d booked it from the locker room to the parking lot, and the sheer vigor of your shock, awe and rancor, and everything else, “What the hell am I supposed to do with your limp dick in my mouth? Chew on the fuckin’ thing?”

Billy repeats himself, a touch darker now. “What the fuck are you doing.”

“I’m serious!” you say, a little shrill, a little stomp to punctuate that last word, “One thing you can say for Eddie Munson, is at least the motherfucker can get hard!” 

Motorcycle boots advance towards you, and you point the bat at him like a broadsword. 

“Do not. Come any closer. Or I’m gonna start doing some serious damage to this ugly piece of overcompensation.”

“She’s bluffing,” Hagan crows, and you turn your flaming glare on him. You wish you had a mirror– you wonder if crazy becomes you. Billy takes a pointed step forward and you raise the bat above your, head bracing for action– that’s enough movement for him. 

“Gimme that bat, you stupid fucking cunt–!” But Billy’s cut short by a body barrelling into the side of him, knocking him askew. A jangle of denim and leather. The bat slips a little in your grasp. 

“Get the fuck off of me Munson–” 

“No way to talk to a lady, Billy!” Eddie gasps, tossing Billy back and letting his limbs hang. “You kiss Karen Wheeler with that mouth?”

Billy rounds on him like a triggered animal, spittle flying.

“Some fucking lady!” he snarls, “Got downgraded to that trailer park and now her snooty ass is spreading it for half of Hawkins! Desperate! Stringin’ you along like the dumb piece of shortbus shit you a–”

Activated, you throw that bat to the fucking wayside and scramble off the fucking car– nobody talks to him like that! 

But you’re not fast enough, nobody’s fast enough, nobody can compete with how huge and booming and definite Eddie’s voice sounds when he says, smile glimmering, sun breaking through the bleak midwinter… 

“You know what I like about you, Hargrove?”  

THKUNCK. Bone to bone, fist meet fucking flesh–

“Nothin’.”

A scuffle goes up, and Eddie can’t even feel the hits of Hargrove’s hands connecting with his face, chest, ribs, wherever– all he can feel are your arms locking in vice around his waist, putting yourself in the eye of the storm in order to yank him back.

—

You got an elbow to the crown of the head, which isn’t too bad, even if you feel like a cartoonish lump should be rising there. But look at these other guys. 

Billy with a black eye that’s bulging up rapidly, Eddie with a split lip and more than a couple of scratches on his knuckles. In that fray, he hadn’t exactly considered the implications of punching a guy with all his goddamned rings on. The implications being that shit hurt like hell. There is this radiating pain in his hand, not letting him unfurl his fingers completely. 

There’s also this radiating feeling of dread cloaking his entire upper half as you sit three-to-the-wall outside Higgins’ office. You had, in Eddie’s estimation, incredibly bad timing. 

See, considering the events of his past week, he was slowly making peace with the fact that he should probably be avoiding you entirely, even if that meant he died a little inside. He should have been doing that from the jump– but you, unbuttoned and reckless now apparently, kept requiring interventions so you didn’t get killed, or worse. 

And Eddie couldn’t help himself when it came to you. Especially not when you were standing on top of Billy Hargrove’s sick Camaro, swinging a baseball bat and getting called some shit that no one should ever be calling you. 

You’re out of control. Totally unsheathed. End of your rope. Unlaced. 

And he’d do just about anything to keep you safe. 

Even fuck up his guitar-playing hand. Which is also his…

“I can’t believe you fucking suckerpunched me,” Hargrove mumbles from your left. “With those ugly fucking rings on.”

Eddie can’t help himself, the last shred of propriety knocked out round about the time a knee to the ribs had winded him. “Aw. Billy. Don’t be so hard on yourself–”

“Eddie…,” you start, tone warning in a way that makes him want to pinch you, kind of. He leans towards Hargrove, meaning he’s leaning over you. Hair brushing across your shoulder. You notice that it smells distinctively skunkier than usual. Camping out at Lipton Landing?

“--honestly! You’re no sucker!” he implores, eyes shining in jest, “You totally had that coming!”

You hear Billy seething from his end, Eddie snickering from his and launch a well-timed arm in front of both of them before they can snap at it again. 

“Cut it out, assholes! This is becoming increasingly more pigheaded.”

“And you’re the voice of perfect reason now, huh?” Eddie sneers, not giving you much breathing room. “Where’s the bat at, Babe Ruth?”

“In the parking lot, waiting to finish you off,” you grit back, nearly nose-to-nose with him, because you don’t know how to digest the guilt of his aching fingers. 

“What are you mad at me for?” Eddie hisses, a smirk threatening to break his scowl, because he doesn’t know how not to provoke you.

“Knocking her up, probably,” Billy mumbles from the side. 

“Shut up, Hargrove!” you both snap, eyes never leaving one another. 

Higgins’ door creaks open and a quietly livid Ms Kelley says, “Lacy.” She jerks her head, motioning for you to up and at ‘em. You do, but not without one last look at Eddie, cradling his hand. Round, bottomless irises meet yours for a moment, then dart away with an impact that thickens your throat. 

His poor hand, you find yourself thinking.

“He needs an ice pack…” you find yourself mumbling, Kelley shuffling you into Higgins’ office. The principal sits behind his beat-up desk, fingers steepled. You absently wonder if he’s been campaigning for a new, shinier, possibly more oaken desk because this doesn’t paint the picture of threatening figurehead that he so clearly wants you to tremble under. 

You accidentally kick the thing, crossing your legs as you sit. “Sorry.”

“You should be,” Higgins declares. Here we fucking go. 

“Permission to state my case?” you attempt. This hadn’t been your first time in the principal’s office; minor classroom infractions, a saccharine we’ll do everything to help that we can after your dad’s arraignment, but this time was certainly the worst. 

“Denied,” he shoots you down.

“Permission to submit a plea of temporary insanity, then,” you try, patting at the sore spot on the crown of your head. “You know this doesn’t bode with my track record. You think I climbed on top of Billy Hargrove’s car completely compos mentis? Please.”

A tense silence from Higgins’ and Kelley’s end.

“You saw what Hargrove did, didn’t you? That disgusting prank?” 

Again, nada.

“I’m a honor student, for Chrissake!” you exclaim, and Kelley plucks herself from the windowsill behind Higgins’ desk. 

“Were an honor student, Ms Doevski,” she corrects. “Your grades have been slipping since– the events of the last couple of months. You’ve dropped cheerleading, you’ve made really puzzling false claims about peer tutoring, you…”

“Yes! Yes, the events of the last couple of months, if by which you mean familial imprisonment, then yes, I’ve been a little distracted!” 

Higgins kicks back in his seat just as you hitch forward in yours, too angry to be pleading but too desperate to defy. His turn to mutter here we fucking go.

“I can turn this around,” redirected to Ms Kelley and her ever-sympathetic expression, “I can turn this around.”

“College applications deadlines are within touching distance, Lacy.” She of little faith. 

“I know that!” As if your hands aren’t itching every time college guy mentions Ithaca or… wherever the fuck it is he goes. As if that isn’t a crack in the assuredness that you were going to take flight out of this town in a spectacular fashion.

“Ladies– can we dispense with the hysteria and deal with the here and now?” Higgins insists and you and Kelley, despite your opposition, share a look.

World class, this guy. Top of his field, asshole-wise. 

“Two week suspension should do it,” he says, jotting something down. 

You open your mouth in protest and Kelley quells you– you’re in no position to start bargaining down. 

“Technically, she didn’t do anything,” and for good measure, but pressed, “Sir.”

“She climbed on top of that boy’s car with a baseball bat!” Higgins barks; now who’s hysteric?! “She had intent to do harm!”

“It was justified.” You can’t help yourself. 

Kelley stares him down, and that woman’s charm is something that should be studied in a fucking lab, because he relents right away. 

“Two weeks of Saturday detention, then. Christ. Am I going soft?”

You shake your head, all the knots in your body releasing just a little bit. You try to dig out what’s left of your once-famously refined charm, while simultaneously dashing towards the door before he can change his mind. 

“Au contraire. You’re a paragon of masculinity, sir. Regan could take a hint. Door open or closed?”

Higgins grimaces. “Send in Hargrove. Tell Munson he’s suspended. I don’t have time for both of those pricks today.” 

Eddie’s voice travels through the crack in the door. “I heard that, sir.” A beat. “I miss you, sir.”

You bite back a deeply reluctant laugh and jerk your head toward Billy. You’re up, champ.

Then, it’s the two of you. You and Eddie, Eddie and you. Alone, save for the ever watchful jam jar eyes of Janice the secretary. Eddie is still nestling one hand in the other like it’s a baby bird with a broken wing. Shit, you really hope it isn’t broken.   

“You’re suspended. They told me to tell you.” It’s a statement made to turkey-stuff the silence more than anything. 

The way Eddie lolls his head back makes you want to reach out and push it in the opposite direction. You don’t know why. 

“You’re a regular town crier, ain’t ya.” 

“Hear ye, hear ye.” 

A leaden pause. Your hearts might have thumped both in time just now.

“Wanna get out of here?” he asks.

“No leaving school grounds,” Janice unhelpfully squawks. 

Eddie gets up, drawing himself to his full height. Your eyelids flutter. There’s a little purple around that cut on his lip, which you bet is starting to throb something awful. You feel dwarfed beside him, and he uses his good hand to turn you by the shoulder and shuffle you past the nosy secretary’s post. 

“I meant the sick bay, Janice,” Eddie pelts, giving each vowel sound a hard flick. “I’m wounded. And she’s apparently pregnant. Or didn’t you hear?”

—

The nurse’s office is tiny and cramped, smelling of bleach with a glaring fluorescent overhead. Eddie has a hard time figuring out why anyone would come here to feel better. Especially given that Nurse Lydia is barely ever present. 

Eddie carpes the opportunity to slam himself down on her rolling saddle chair, gliding into your path as you try and snoop around for first aid materials.  

“I don’t think you should be driving that thing,” you remark, “You could be concussed. You’re acting concussed.” 

“It’s keeping me awake!” 

Eddie watches you, digging through drawers and pulling out tongue depressors, your teeth making an indent into your bottom lip. Your eyes are doing that darty thing, quietly frantic in place of an apology. You don’t know how to say sorry you got wailed on by Hargrove for me. Instead, you’re acting like he’s bleeding out. 

“Lace, just wait for the professional.” 

The clip of your nickname makes you toss your stare over your shoulder, hardness framing your eyes like mascaraed lashes. Eddie stops rolling around at once.

“I am the goddamn professional, as far as you’re concerned.” Your little chin jerks towards the exam table that’s beat into the corner of the room. “Get on the bed.”

Whack-a-mole. Woodpecker. Other euphemisms for his cock developing a pulse. Eddie has to physically restrain his jaw from dropping. 

“Yes, Nurse Ratched.”

Scoffing out a little fuck you!, you go about scrambling together supplies and Eddie obediently launches himself onto the bed, the ancient thing creaking beneath him. When you finally approach him, you seem to be holding a lot of alcohol pads. 

The look before you admit to a shortcoming is one he wants framed. You always flick your eyes around like a guilty cartoon character, like Betty Boop on her way to gaining a doctorate in the pretentiousness of the English language, and pout. Lean your neck in, like you’re swearing him to secrecy. 

“I actually don’t know anything about first aid. Beyond the rudimentaries.”

Eddie chuckles. “You were a cheerleader. You were getting thrown in the air a whole bunch, if I recall. Feels like you should know how to like, resuscitate.”

“Rudimentaries, I said!” and you grab his injured hand a little roughly, alcohol pad torn out and ready, “Like, I obviously know alcohol disinfects a wound, ice for a bruise… I don’t know how to, like, reset a bone. Besides…” 

You inch closer to him now, wiping at his torn and tender knuckles a little too carefully. They’re just stupid cuts, Eddie thinks, his breath beginning to shallow. 

“...that Cat People remake was premiering at the Hawk the day we had first aid training. Like I was going to miss that.” 

He can feel heat radiating off your body, a core change for cold little you. Feel the fabric of your skirt brush the rip in his jeans. A little choked, he mumbles, “Cat People is a remake?”

“Based on the 1942 original,” you nod, flicking the tiny used pad in the nearby trash can. “I like it. But I like that David Bowie song more.”

“That song sucks.”

“You’re injured and wrong. What a shame.” Your fingers close around Eddie’s wrist and slowly, slowly press his forearm to his chest. “Keep that elevated.”

“It’s not broken,” and he’s staring at the quiet tremble in your bottom lip.

“Could be sprained,” head cast down again, tearing open another pad, and he can smell your hair, “Does it hurt?”

Eddie doesn’t answer right away, because he’s waiting for you to look back up. Because he thinks he’s going to carpe something else. 

You fall for it, and your eyes sucker him in. He feels weak in the joints. You repeat yourself. “Does it hurt, Eddie?”

He just nods, boyishly. Nearly passes out when your fingertips tilt his face towards the light. Skin buzzing underneath them, you peering at his mouth like you know what you’re doing. The slit in his lip feels raw and strained. 

“This’ll hurt, too,” you murmur, and he feels your breath against his jaw. A sharp prick from the alcohol against his cut doesn’t make him wince– worse. As you swipe the cotton against his bottom lip, he whimpers. Unh.

Oxygen stops short in your throat, hearing that. That noise. It sends a wave of motion through your lower body. You’re leaning awfully close to him, closer than you need to be. In fact, his knees are settled either side of your hips. How did that happen. When did that happen. How did you allow this. 

How are you allowing your fingertip to trace against his lip, alcohol evaporating without a hope or a prayer. How are you allowing yourself to look at him through the fan of your lashes, his injured hand still obediently propped against his chest. His good hand pressing into your lower back.

You taste the vagueness of the disinfectant on his lips as he presses them into yours. 

Jerking back, you’re not far enough away from him to create a distance that matters. All you see are Eddie’s eyes, flickering open, apologetic in themselves. About to tell you he’s sorry.

No.

Hands fly, one woven in the curls at the base of his skull as you kiss up into him, tongue an impolite peak. This is not the closet; this is arguably far more dangerous, with the nurse’s door still open a courteous gap. This is the harsh light of day. This is Eddie’s hand moving your skirt further up the curve of your ass. 

He’s grabbing onto you as best a one-armed man can, and your hand travels in turn. A jagged, fevered path drawing up his thigh until, under your palm, is the hard outline of him. The pressure of your hand over the denim-bound curvature of his cock makes him groan sharply, the sound pressed against your cheek. 

Face angles back for a look at him. Because this is bad, mindless, reckless, stupid. And he’s always worth a look.

You spot a tiny speck of blood on the pink of his lip from where his cut had split. 

And your curious tongue flicks at it. 

Eddie’s eyes flare. You, unable to unglue your stare from his, suck his lightly bleeding lip between yours. Fragile. Crushable. 

He did this for you. 

No one’s ever cared, or known you enough, to do something like that for you.

Desire moves you like a shockwave and your hand leaves his crotch to help you clamber onto the exam table, clamber into Eddie’s lap. 

Downright idiotic. 

You cast a glance to the door, Eddie’s fraught breath puffing against your neck. 

Thought you were a smart girl.

You look right into his face, the poster boy for sheer distraction, pre-occupation, skin-searing annoyance, nervous charm, surprising wit, magnetism, oh my… and feel his fingers edging far past the hem of your skirt, past the binding top of the thigh-highs you’re wearing because it’s fucking laundry day and stopping at the gusset of your panties. 

He can feel how wet you are.

Lips a breath away from each other, one set bleeding, one set housing a gasp. Eddie nudges his forehead against yours, the both of you blind to consequence.

“Just friends, right?” His breath is jagged and unconvinced, and your hips kick toward his hand. 

You do not answer.

Unbruised fingers push the fabric covering your radiating heat aside and you have to tighten your grip around the back of his neck so as not to tumble over. Eddie is not deft, because this isn’t the moment to be deft. He plunges two fingers into the plush of your pussy and looks to you with pleading eyes. Eyes that say, is this good, eyes that say, don’t make a sound.

You nod in the affirmative to both and he drags his digits out slowly. Rhythm picks up and you’re clenching around Eddie’s hand in a matter of minutes, lower muscles seizing and het-up moans being gratefully swallowed by him. Pad of his thumb moves to create rough, clumsy friction against your clit that elicits a sharp, high, wanton ah! from you, grinding against him in an unquenchable search for more.

“Does he do this? Does anyone do this for you, Lacy?”

Eddie’s eyes keep searching you for approval and you’ve lost the ability to appease or deny him– all you know is the blind, nonsensical want that’s pouring out of you is being lapped up. Lapped up. His tongue, you want his tongue everywhere, but it’s working at your earlobe, your neck, sucking, whispering, “Just friends? Lacy?”

And when you cum, it’s fast and hard and suffocating, an achievement you’re close to angry at him for– because no one has ever been able to break you apart that fast. 

Or at all.

He can never know. He’d be so insufferable about it… some bare fragment of a thought passes through your brain, synapses busy firing elsewhere.

You’re rocking against him through the crest, pressing your forehead to his with such a force that you’re frightened it’ll splinter, you’re murmuring, “Eddie… Eddie, d–hmn, fuck…”

And you can tell by the way he’s attempting to press his body against you that he wishes he hadn’t bust that stupid fucking hand of his, so he could hold you properly– and you’re right. You’re right, you’re always fucking right, but you told him to keep it elevated and he’s going to do what you say.

He’s got no choice when it comes to you. 

He needs you safe. Needs you happy. No matter what.

Which is why he’s got to pull this bullshit move. 

Eddie is patient and watches you regain a little consciousness, faster than he’s sure you’d like. He extracts his hand and, sticky with you still, wipes it on the thigh of his jeans. Heart thundering in his ears, he tugs you into one more breathless kiss and wonders if you can still taste the rust sharpness of his cut in between your lips. He’s strangled himself against cumming up till this point, and this doesn’t help matters. An imperceptible spot of pre-fun lies in his lap but the thing is, the really fucked thing is–

Eddie gently shoves you away, mind silently babbling for the right thing to say. I’m sorry is something you’d see right through, get off is too harsh, oopsie is too fucking whimsical–

But you, ever-perceptive you, you realize your place. Knock yourself back into reality so fiercely that he’s afraid it’ll bruise you, lovely, awe-inspiring you that just softened into his hands like that. You clumsily clamber off the exam table in a hot flash of rejection, which– no, god, no, he doesn’t mean that…

“I–”

“No, I know,” you grit, prickly all over. Thumbing at the edge of your blurred lipstick. “I know. I certainly know.”

Eddie dares to look at you and you dare to look back at him. His lips looking worse off from you, but at the very least kissed. At the very least kissed, but you could cry with the empty feeling inside you. A cavern of a girl. You nod curtly, like this is the conclusion of a particularly charged run-in of acquaintances, not like you wanted him to swallow you whole moments ago. 

Slipping out of the nurse’s office, you run right into the myth that is Nurse Lydia. 

She looks tan. 

“He’s,” you struggle, “He’s waiting for you.”

—

Cheating out sick from school and taking a shift at The Bookstore following the latest in a series of apparently neverending aftershocks was probably not the smartest call– but hell, you’re fresh out of smart calls.

Ivana smells a rat, and she doesn’t take to rats lightly, so she gives you your space. 

The morning ticks on at a pace that feels supernatural; like you’re witnessing outside of your body, like you can’t orient yourself in the right direction. You attempt to arrange and rearrange poets from alcoholic to puritan. You sell someone a copy of The Fountainhead without giving them their free blistering evisceration of Ayn Rand. 

You’re at a loss. A shameful, dangling loss that almost makes you feel pious. Like you should go to confession. 

Bless me, Father, for I have sinned… I let my one-time best friend, current-cloudy object of my affection get beat up for me then bring me to climax in the nurses’ office. 

You retread the same sentence in your over-thumbed copy of Save Me the Waltz like a table corner you keep stubbing your toe on. 

We couldn’t go on indefinitely being swept off our feet.

You said it, Alabama. Something’s got to land.

And, because someone down there wants you dead, land it does. 

The bell of the store’s door clashes upon opening, and all of the energy draws toward one magnetic point. A shock of silver hair, standing on end catches the lamplight, glowing almost eerily. 

You feel a zzzzip of static. The air feels charged.

He doesn’t face you right away. Kind of slinks into the place, edging along the shelves. 

“Say, Lacy. Ballpark me somethin’,” his Southern drawl is barely contained within the Midwestern flatlands of his accent, bursting through the baseline like a corpse that hasn’t been buried deep enough. “How long… do you think…” His fingers tap along the worn spines of the display, creeping closer to the counter, “...it would take… to read all these books?”

The lilt of his voice is so familiar that you recognize it instantly. Even the way your name falls out of his mouth. Like a funhouse mirror, a distortion of a voice you’d come to…

Well. Let’s not get into that. Let’s get into this.

A roguish smile with a couple decades of road wear on it and a tacky Hawkins High class ring on his finger. You could’ve sworn Eddie told you he dropped out. 

“How many years in the big house with nothin’ better to do?” He finally stops and pivots on his heel. The way he looks you over makes you nauseous and lightheaded, like he took a long, long sip out of you. Jammed a straw in your jugular and sucked. 

Lot of blood play happening ‘round these parts.

“Hello, Al.”

“Hello, sweetheart. You filled out.”

author's notes: christ alive. i mean WELCOME BACK! i really missed you guys. happy new year, thank you for keeping me on the level with writing this chapter, it was so much FUCKING harder than i anticipated! was it too much warped angst? are the feelings complicated? does the pope shit in the woods?!!!!! you betcha. anyway, be seated for today's lesson - "less oedipus-y, more ea--..." there is an ending to that joke that i felt was too crass for the moment but if you can guess it you win a prize - the patchwork girl of oz is the seventh book in the wizard of oz series by l. frank baum! obviously. it's actually a laugh riot, you should check it out. scraps, the eponymous patchwork girl, is a full tilt lunatic who's kind of a bit of me. but theoretically, the patchwork girl made out of a thousand different scraps of everything else... bit of lacy innit - the mage in the mink coat is self referential lmao we've gotten to THAT point in the story - gravity's rainbow is a book that guys i dated used to recommend to me constantly which is like infinite jest for people who are ran through - i'm really fucking with college guy at this point, making him drive a ford cortina. because i think it is ugly - the plot of the annotated book that lacy gives eddie, still life with woodpecker by tom robbins, is... interesting eye emoji eye emoji. tom robbins also wrote even cowgirls get the blues which was adapted into a feature film starring, say it with me, robin's mom - the link wray song that soundtracked the lipton landing visit in question - "charlie? or linda kasabian?" go ahead and read the white album by joan didion for me wouldja buddyroo, just like lacy and nancy already have - fun fact, i played a two person game of gin rummy with myself to get into the mindset for this chapter. i suck at it - torchy blane is another one of my pre-code wonders-- glenda farrell plays an intrepid newspaperwoman, and this character actually went on to inspire lois lane from superman - and I KNOW some of you are going to be mad at lacy for fucking college guy, but... shit happens when you're a booksmart lovedumb eighteen year old that can't face up to her feelings! i don't wanna hear it! - fred benson i love you baby! i'm almost sorry i called you william randolph hearst, newspaper magnate and all around lunatic and the inspo behind the diss track citizen kane, but i'm not! - nancy wheeler has a photo of nellie bly in her locker where a photo of her beau should be - so echo & the bunnymen's 1984 album ocean rain is obviously most famous for the killing moon (jonathan byers you ARE my donnie darko) but may i point your attention to motherfucking seven seas - OH YOU KNOW I (EDDIE) HAD TO DO IT TO 'EM. this was shameless but i've had this in my heart for over ten years babe - for the purposes of this timeline, you know eddie is keeping higgins in pills. which is why he hasn't been kicked out of hawkins high so fast his lunchbox would combust - nurse ratched, obviously from one flew over the cuckoo's nest and that ill-fated ryan murphy series....tf was that...but also from this fucking sick tune! - save me the waltz is by zelda fitzgerald! my loves, thanks for hanging in for this chapter. i know it was a wait, but i hope you enjoyed! i also know it was a little more angsty pants than my usual fare-- but look baby. we need grist for the mill, okay? as always, reblogs, comments and likes are FIERCELY appreciated! love u all so much. my little hellcats. to die by your side etc

[cemetery-sunset]

Cullen Family Helping You Through a Depressive Episode [headcanons]

divider from: @saradika-graphics

🧣Carlisle

- The most logical one to be honest

- Being a doctor, he knows how important it is to keep you healthy

- He keeps you fed/watered/nourished, makes you whatever food you want and brings it to you in bed

- Carlisle always makes sure that you have a cool glass of water on your bedside table

- He also helps you stay clean; he will offer to hop in the tub or shower and bathe with you, or if you asked him to he would just wait in the bedroom getting some pajamas for you

- He’ll brush your hair for you, but he’s not a very good stylist so dont expect anything more than a simple braid (and even that would look a little wonky lol)

- Offers to lay with you, if you accept he will hold you so gently and lovingly

- Continuously praising you and telling you how strong you are and how good you have been doing

- Sometimes he will read to you while you cuddle, any book you want 

- He's always there for you, he never hesitates to help you whenever you need

- Sometimes he knows when you start spiraling before you do

- He knows just the right things to do and say to help you calm down

- He’s surprisingly scared that you’re going to do something stupid if things get too bad. He hides his fear well, he doesn't want you to worry about him on top of everything else

- Always tries his best to help you and stay by your side for as long as you need

🐴Jasper

- He can feel that you’re feeling down, without you even telling him

- Never try to hide it from him, cause thats never going to work. He always knows what you’re feeling, and he is always on red alert whenever he feels literally any negative emotion from you

- Jasper is a quiet person, so he isn’t very forward or aggressive about his approach, his is more subtle but still very much effective

- He doesn’t really say a lot, it’s his actions that speak volumes.

- His love language is quality time and touch, so he is always by your side

- He is definitely the type to ask if he can touch you when you start to spiral. If you’re panicking, he asks to give you a hug; if you dont feel comfortable with that, he’ll just hold your hands

- Jasper has never been more grateful for his powers than those times when you feel so down and self hating

- It hurts him so much to feel all that pain and suffering you feel for yourself, and/or in general

- He enjoys quietly cuddling together, which always seems to improve your mood

- If things are really bad, he will hum some old country songs from his childhood, but thats very rare

- The biggest thing he does is to use his powers to help you, but he doesn’t do it to much because he doesn’t want to control your emotions, he just wants to help you know what i mean?

⚾Emmett

- My favorite himbo <3

- His biggest thing is to distract you and get your mind off of whatever is hurting you

- He will be the one to offer cuddles before you even ask, he hugs you so tight and starts talking about everything and nothing

- Emmett would be the first to help get you out of bed

- He would make a huge effort to keep you fed, he just wants to keep you healthy

- If you’re feeling up for it, he likes to take you on hikes in the woods. It’s a simple thing but it helps you focus on something else

- If you don’t want to get out of bed, he is perfectly fine just cuddling and watching something on tv

- He will whisper sweet things into your ear

- Telling you how much he loves you

- He focuses a little less on the actual situation and more on hyping you up in general

- Like he will compliment your personality and appearance. He will go over everything he loves about you and every single part of your body and tells you why he loves all of it

- He loves to cover you in kisses and doesn’t stop showering you in praises until he knows for a fact that you’re feeling better

🎹Edward

- Would either be the sweetest, most comforting man ever or a distant, super cold one

- There’s no in between, sorry about it :/

- Sometimes he would be almost suffocating with how worried and close he would be

- He wouldn’t leave your side for a second, always doing anything you need

- But sometimes it would start to make him start to spiral

- Like he would start to worry that he’s not good enough to take care of you and you dont deserve him

- After he sees how stupid that thought is, he sees how much you need him in this hard time so he steps up to the plate and starts doing much better

- He doesn’t know how to cook, but he’ll buy you any food you want

- He will gladly cuddle and praise you whenever you need

- Sometimes he will even play you some piano, to help you drift off to sleep

- He would surprise you with a song he wrote for you

- Even if he doesn’t want to force you to do anything he would persuade you to get out of bed

- Both of you sit at the piano and she will teach you a thing or two

- But usually he likes to take you on walks in the woods, his favorite thing to do is just lay in the field with you and feel the cool breeze and your warm hand in his

- It brings him peace. Being there with you and knowing that he’s helping you feel better

👑Rosalie

- She is similar to Jasper with the more subtle approach

- Rosalie understands what it’s like to have those really bad days because she’s had them

- She will help you stay clean and eat something

- Rosalie would take baths with you and brush your hair, doing it up in a beautiful style

- Usually people see her as the cold, stubborn type of girl, but she’s much more than that

- She knows what it’s like to feel that broken

- That’s why she offers her help in any way she can, anything you want, it’s yours

- It’s the little things for her

- Like she’ll make you a simple sandwich or just be cuddling with you

- A bunch of those little things just keep adding up and she doesn’t stop there

- She would bring you gifts to try to raise your spirits

- She’s a little awkward in her approach to showing you this much affection, thats why she does a bunch of little things rather than huge declarations of her love

- It’s more of an unspoken understanding about how much she loves you. But when times like these hit, she realizes that you need her reassurance and love more than ever

- She puts in a huge amount of effort into those small gifts and actions, just to make sure you know she loves you and will always be there when you need

🌖Alice

- I know that all of the Cullens know what it’s like to feel broken and hurt, its just that some know the feeling more than others

- Alice definitely knows that feeling

- Sometimes she sees that you’re going to have an episode before it even starts

- So she starts gathering all the supplies: your favorite snacks, blankets and anything else you need

- She is super worried for you but she hides it with her positivity

- She will give you makeovers and take care of you, without you even asking

- The makeovers are her favorite because not only is it a way to get your mind focused on other things but it’s an easy way to help keep up your hygiene with the showering and the self care she helps you with

- Sometimes, if things are looking really bad she will get really worried that something bad was going to happen

- Then she sees a vision of everything being okay in the future

- She very much enjoys wrapping you in tight hugs and whispering nice things to you

- Everything from “You’re so beautiful inside and out, i love you so much” to “everything is going to be okay, we’re going to get through this together. I’ve seen it”

🥀Esme

- Dare i say: she would take a much more maternal and protective approach

-  I dont want to say she forces you to eat and drink but she definitely makes you stay nourished

- She is more than willing to make you anything you want, she just wants to help in any way she can to make you feel better

- She will help you bathe and cuddle all day if you need

- Cuddling is her specialty, she makes it even better because she likes to sing quietly

- She likes to hum and sing you cute little songs until you drift back to sleep

- As much as she doesn’t want to force you to do anything, she does make you take regular walks and get outside every day

- The movement and fresh air are very important

- She will make a picnic basket and take it on a small hike, just the two of you

- Esme would gladly make your favorite food (or try to) and have a cute little picnic to take your mind off of things :)

[gyutarling]

INFINITE

late night adventures with beomgyu...

♯ — beomgyu x gn!reader ⋆ fluff ⋆ wc 1.7k

warnings! — cursing, mentions of burning things, mentions of ghosts and death, catcher in the rye slander (not srs if u like that book thats cool!), a little pretentious, jokes about dating a senior citizen, lowercase intended, not proofread

note — went ballistic after gyu made an insta..... save me manic pixie dream boy..... save me....

“gyu, where are we even going?” you enquired. frankly, you were still a little grumpy from being woken up at 3 in the morning, with beomgyu outside your window holding your shoes, wordlessly telling you to follow him.

when no reply came after several pauses, you glanced over next to you, only to find him completely zoned out. you were about to open your mouth to snap at him, patience spreading thin from the sleepiness, but then he smiled.

“the library, we’re sneaking in.” he turned his eyes back to the road ahead after making eye contact with you, mischief still heavy on his cheeks.

what he said took you a few seconds longer to process. “oh, okay— wait. what?!” in your befuddled state, you stopped in your tracks, “what do you mean by ‘sneaking in’? why the library?” honestly, you were more surprised that you didn't have more questions, but then again, this is beomgyu, you wouldn't put something like this past him.

beomgyu casually fixed his bangs, “sneaking in as in, we’re gonna not-so-legally enter the library like, right now.” he stopped in front of said building, you didn’t even notice you had been walking for so long. “and the library because there's a book i wanna burn.”

you almost shouted out a question, if not for beomgyu placing his hand over your mouth when he saw you staring at him with wide eyes. “hush! we might get caught!” his hand dropped after he felt your tongue touching his palm, “gross! anyway, do you have a paperclip i can borrow? kinda need to pick this lock before we do the actual ‘sneaking in’ part.” he held out his hand as he inspected the lock.

“what the fuck? are you insane?!” you opted for whisper shouting instead. you take it back, just when you thought he couldn't get any crazier, he proves you wrong with his stupidly perfect smile that seems to grow wider with each late night adventure. “first of all, why did i have to come with? could you not have done this yourself? i don’t wanna get in trouble again.” you said with a roll of your eyes.

“this is a two-person operation! besides, it’s more fun this way. so sorry in advance if i do get us into trouble,” beomgyu whispered back, and by the dimple peeking out from his smirk, you can tell he didn’t mean his apology.

you let out a relenting sigh and handed him a paperclip, “okay, but second of all, what book got you so enraged that you just had to sneak into the town library at such an ungodly hour just to steal and burn it?”

“it’s not like it enraged me, i mean, books are supposed to make you feel intense things, so i would have liked it if it did enrage me,” beomgyu mindlessly spoke while fidgeting with the paperclip, “it’s ‘the catcher in the rye’, borrowed and finished it recently, and i don’t know, the main character is just such a whiny ass bitch boy. he’s got this whole self-loathing, self-aware hypocrite persona going on, and throughout the book he pretty much just talks and drinks and pities himself. i think the author tried to make him too relatable, to the point that he became unrealistic, if that makes sense,” he rambled on, “the only part i liked was near the end, the part with his sister was actually pretty well-written.”

“so you are enraged,” you couldn’t help but giggle at his mini rant, “you’re cute when you ramble, by the way.”

“hm, i’d say the word would be ‘unimpressed’, i just don’t like it.” he pretended to inspect the lock closer, yet still failing miserably at hiding his reddening cheeks. a few minutes after poking and moving the paperclip around inside the keyhole, you heard a click, and seconds later, you two were inside the pitch dark library. “alright, we’re in. the rest should be fairly easy.”

“hold on, one more question,” you realised as you took out your phone for the flashlight, “why didn’t you just do this when you still had the book? why did you have to return it and then come back?” you were too far into the theft and arson two-person operation to be angry at beomgyu for dragging you into it at this point. you were happy to be hanging out with him anyway.

“hey, this might make me a criminal, but i’m not a heathen. i return my shit, never had an overdue book in my entire life,” beomgyu bragged, “mrs. librarian is basically my best friend.”

“and yet you don’t know her name?” you laughed at his antics.

“i believe in the magic of mystery,” he said in an exaggerated fancy accent, “besides, names and such formalities are for first dates, which i might score one soon, heard her husband’s been out a lot.”

“gross, dude! she’s like 78!” you couldn’t help but to playfully shove him.

“and yet she remains such a radiant beauty, her prune-like visuals never fail to amaze me!” beomgyu emphasised even more, and you both couldn’t help but let out loud laughs you weren’t supposed to.

“how romantic, even shakespeare wouldn’t have been able to be as eloquent as you. save it for her, though, i don’t wanna hear about how you’re into an old, saggy woman who’s pushing 80.”

as the laughter died down, you two decided to split up to look for the object of beomgyu’s hatred. you were a little unsettled by the dark, this was a library after all, a very fitting place for a victorian ghost to haunt.

just when you were about to let out a breathy laugh at your own absurd thoughts, you heard a creaking noise. you quickly turned off your phone’s flashlight, this was it, you always knew beomgyu would lead to your downfall by baiting you to some supernatural entity. he probably made a deal with the devil and offered up your soul. no, scratch that, beomgyu is the devil himself—

“boo!” you let out a squeak and fell backwards, startled as you saw beomgyu with his flashlight shining from below his face. you breathed heavily, trying to catch up with the shock as he let out silent cackles. beomgyu might be even more evil than the devil.

“oh man, you should’ve seen your face!” he spitted out between laughter, but that abruptly stopped when you two heard the jingle of keys. you looked at beomgyu, panic still in your eyes, but for a different reason this time. you were still on the ground when he helped you up and dragged you to a corner, sandwiched between two bookshelves as he covered your mouth.

you didn’t know if you were dizzy from being out of breath, or the distance (or the lack thereof) between you and beomgyu. one hand covering your mouth, one hand on your waist to keep you steady, his equally fast breaths on your cheek. if you weren’t insane enough already, he gave you a reassuring squeeze, and leaned his forehead on yours from exhaustion. you wanted to stay like this forever.

of course, your dazed moment was interrupted by the lights of the library turning on, and then came the sound of approaching footsteps. your anxiety returned, and beomgyu glanced to the side just to quickly turn back.

“change of plans. fuck the book, we’re booking it.” he smiled. honestly, how can he have time for word play in such a predicament?

“what—” at that, he grabbed your hand and bolted out from between the shelves. you could hear the shouting of someone, presumably the security guard, but the buzzing adrenaline was louder. beomgyu hurriedly bursted through the doors that you both came in from, with your hands still connected, then down the streets. your legs burned, but at that point, you two were laughing like crazy. in the small, empty neighbourhood, well into the night, you swore you could take on anything if you had beomgyu by your side.

slowing down, he continued to hold onto your hand as you came to a stop. inhaling and exhaling rapidly, the rush died down and you noticed the delicate snowflakes that nipped at your skin. beomgyu seemed to notice as well, he stood up straight and stared upwards, mesmerised by the fluttering whiteness.

“it’s the first snow,” he mumbled, “you know, they say that seeing the first snow together with someone means you’ll be with them forever, and any wishes you make will come true.” he looked back at you, and you found yourself admiring his twinkling eyes.

“that’s pretty,” you smiled at him, “did you wish for anything?”

“yeah, i wished that you were mrs. librarian instead— hey, ow! i’m kidding!” beomgyu dramatically rubbed his arm after you very lightly and playfully punched him.

“moment ruined.” you said, unimpressed as beomgyu giggled.

a comfortable silence fell over the two of you as you continued watching the snow, it’s light enough to not be too cold, but cold enough for beomgyu to pull you closer to him, close enough for the moment to feel real.

“sorry you didn’t get to take out your burning anger on the book.” you slightly chuckled as you remembered the events of the night.

“it’s alright, didn’t matter too much to me,” he shrugged, “i didn’t even hate the book that much, just wanted an excuse to drag you out with me.”

you looked at him, stupefied, “so you couldn’t just ask me to hang out during the day like a normal person? what if that security guard was secretly a victorian ghost protecting the library? and what if said ghost happened to die from a thief who burned their house down?” you started exaggerating to show that you weren’t actually mad at him.

beomgyu jokingly scoffed at your silly rambling, “normal is boring, and from your whole spiel just now, you’re clearly not normal either, weirdo.” at that, you both smiled at each other.

beomgyu is truly beautiful, but especially when he smiles. the way his nose scrunches, pinkish from the cold, eyes turning into crescents with tiny sparkles in them. the way his lips curl up, matching the wispy ends of his soft-looking hair, framing his face perfectly. his smile is truly perfect.

in that moment, all you could feel was beomgyu and the world, both infinitely yours.

PERMANENT TAGLIST (italics = can't tag!) @malswrldsworld (send an ask to be added!)

[hyperref-lex-ia]

Things you can’t do when you’re mute (partially for the pnf community partially cause i was just thinkin about it):

- Phone calls (yes they have TTS apps that can do this but a) they cost money to remove ads that physically interrupt you and b) people are stupid sometimes and constantly ask if you’re still there even when you introduce with the fact that you’re mute and to give you time to type)

- Fast food drive throughs

- Communicating while carrying things

- Communicating while driving (unless you are with someone who can understand sign/one handed sign)

- Asking people if they need help quickly without stopping them and having them wait for you to type

BONUS, doable things that are just kind of annoying:

- Paying for gas with cash

- Buying things at a register instead of self checkout

- Really just paying for anything in cash

- People acting like I am deaf when I am actively listening to music with large over the ear headphones loudly and having to point to my ears and do a thumbs up (this usually get the point across)

BONUS TWO, things that are cool that have happened to me:

- A hispanic guy (this is relevant) came up to me at a gas station who had seen me paying for gas inside and I guess heard me blasting my music and started speaking to me in spanish. I understand enough spanish that i was able to get that he was asking if i was mute, then he asked if i understood spanish and i shook my head, and he switched to english and started telling me about a seminar he went to on mutism. He was very sweet and it made my day

- The woman who is always working at the panda express I frequent at my school learned how to say a few things in sign presumably because I go there a LOT

- A little girl at the summer camp I went to who connected with me heard another kid ask me why I was using my phone to speak and said loudly “Some people can’t hear and some people can’t speak its a disability”

- Another little girl at the same camp kept running out into the hallway and the teacher was older and worried more about keeping an eye on everyone than her comfort so I offered to watch her in the hall. I sat down with her and asked her if she was overstimulated (in a way a small child would understand) and she nodded. I don’t remember what I said next but she signed me too. I signed asking if she signed and she signed back “a little”. I explained why I couldn’t speak and she said she was the same. I nearly burst into tears for this child and the connection we had. I spent the rest of the day with her. She spoke quietly to other kids but with me she would just smile big and point to things she wanted to show me. We read some of her favorite books quietly sitting next to each other.

- Teaching kids the ASL alphabet, they are always so eager to learn

If anyone is mute or has recently gone mute or has non verbal episodes I am here with you. There’s nothing wrong with us. I love you.

[munsonsduchess]

Monster Smash

summary: you meet eddie at a house party and the night takes an unexpected turn warnings: underage drinking, recreational drug use (weed), face sitting, oral (f receiving), semi public sex (eddie and the reader are in a room at a frat house during a party) w/c: 977 a/n: surprise bitch! another halloween fic! honestly with the amount of ghostface content on tiktok these days it was kind of inevitable we'd end up here, i was originally just going to post the other halloween fic but this one wouldn't leave me alone

It was Halloween and you were having the worst time. You didn’t know anyone at this party your roommate had dragged you to, citing that you needed to get out more, the drinks were shit, the music was shit, honestly you were tempted to just sneak out the back door of this frat house and claim you’d met somebody if your roommate asked the next day. 

You sighed and took another drink from your lukewarm beer and pulled at the hem of the black dress you were wearing. Usually you didn’t feel self conscious in the things you picked for yourself but being, less petite, than some of your peers and wearing something your roommate had picked out so you could both wear matching costumes (you got to be the bad witch) in a room full of obnoxious frat bros made you feel slightly … less confident than normal. 

You were about to cut and run when a guy appeared in front of you wearing a Ghostface Costume,

“What’s your favourite scary movie?”

“The Exorcist, 1973. A masterpiece in horror cinema” you responded without thinking. You hadn’t actually expected anyone to talk to you, after being basically ignored all night

“That’s, yeah that’s a really good pick” the guy pulled his mask off and you found yourself looking into the face of the local weed guy, Eddie Munson. 

Everyone you knew, yourself included, bought their weed from Eddie. His stuff was guaranteed to be the best and not laced with anything it shouldn’t be,

“It’s the line from the homeless guy in the subway ‘can you help an old altar boy father’ and then later on when they’re in Regan’s bedroom and she says the same thing in the same voice. Chills. Literal chills” 

“Such a good movie. They don’t make movies like that anymore, y’know? Halloween, Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Rosemary’s Baby” 

“Have you seen X? Or Pearl? They have the same kinda vibes but are totally modern movies” 

“I’ve seen X. Massive Texas Chainsaw vibes” 

“Right!” 

You ended up finding a quiet corner with Eddie where the two of you could talk about horror movies for the rest of the evening. You’d honestly never really found anyone who loved horror the way you did so it was amazing to be able to vibe with someone like this. 

⊱ ────── {.⋅ 👻 ⋅.} ───── ⊰

The party raged on into the wee hours and by now both you and Eddie were feeling the effects of the beer and few joints you’d shared. You were feeling pleasantly buzzed and enjoying the attention of an attractive man, even if it wouldn’t go anywhere. 

“It’s so cool that you’re into horror, most people get freaked out or maybe enjoy those like conjuring movies”

“Ugh. The Warrens are the absolute worst, by all accounts they just scam people and then use their stories to write books and make more money” you gestured widely around the room, “how fucked is that?”

“Totally fucked” Eddie agreed 

“You know I almost didn’t come tonight but my roommate kinda forced me to” 

“Remind me to send your roommate a fruit basket or something as thanks then” Eddie said, “cause this is definitely a way better night than I thought it was gonna be”

“It’s so cool to meet a friend tonight” you agreed, “but aren’t you like ‘working’ the party?” 

Eddie laughed and you had to admit you loved the sound. You wondered if he would want to still be friends after the party was over,

“You’re cute. I mean sure it’s great talking like this but honestly, I saw you standing on your own and seriously couldn’t understand why cause just the sight of you in that dress had all the blood in my body run south. I mean, the fact that you’re awesome on top of being drop dead hot is a bonus”

Your brain short circuited for a moment and you couldn’t quite believe what you were hearing,

“So, you wanna get a room?” 

“Absolutely I do”

Eddie smirked wickedly at you before helping you off the couch and pulling you behind him to the main staircase and along a corridor to an empty room. 

⊱ ────── {.⋅ 👻 ⋅.} ───── ⊰

“Sit on my face, come on” Eddie grinned at you, taking one of your hands and pulling you towards the bed. 

You followed the tug and threw one leg over the bed and balanced on your knees. Before you could even try to think about how much weight to bear down you felt Eddie grab your hips and pull you down onto his face forcefully. 

There was no way you could focus on anything but the way Eddie licked into you hungrily. His hands on your hips dug into the flesh there and you threw your head back with the intense feelings, moaning loudly. 

“Oh my god Eddie”

Beneath you Eddie made a muffled noise which you assumed was positive since he didn’t stop what he was doing for even a moment. 

You wondered briefly how he could breathe but the thought left your mind as quickly as it had arrived when Eddie’s nose brushed against your clit and you saw stars. 

Eddie continued to suck and lick you through your orgasm and the aftershocks, the oversensitivity made you want to pull away but Eddie held you firm coaxing yet another orgasm from you until your legs began to shake. Only then did he allow you to pull away and catch your breath,

“Holy shit” you panted, trying to regain some of your self control,

“That’s only the warm up act baby. It’s just you and me and no one is gonna hear you when you scream my name as loud as you want to” 

This was definitely a way better night than you’d thought it would be when your roommate forced you out tonight. 

After all what was Halloween without a few screams?

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

omg yes please write something for bodhi, i’m trying to find something because he just sounds such a nice person and hope he appears more in the next books, i also love xaden but i think he belongs with violet so i don’t wanna interfere there ahaha

If u want ideias idk maybe like a new student who was also obligated to go to the riders quadrant and she’s a sunshine and so he got a soft spot for her even tho they shouldn’t fall in love because that quadrant is ruthless u know? ahaha

At the first glance

Bodhi knew it was done and dusted the moment he caught a glimpse of your hair twirling across your face as you tried to keep your posture steady while on the parapet. For some reason the moment his eyes caught a glimpse of you that was the only thing he could look at. The only thing he could focus on. And something about that exact moment made his heart clench.

He had watched so many cadets cross that path. He was done flinching. Done caring that much. Bodhi too had mastered that cold expression Xaden wore but something about you, had made him lose all of that cool demeanor. A stone chipped beneath your feet making your right leg dip and Bodhi took a step forward without even thinking. "What the fuck are you doing?", Xaden hissed beneath his breath. But Bodhi didn't as much as stopped to listen, stepping closer to the very end of the parapet, to get a better look. "Bodhi", Xaden called out once more.

Your body swayed as your eyes darted down. Fatal mistake Bodhi thought to himself. A scream left your lips as you tried to find your footing, panic making you even more clumsy. "Eyes up here", Bodhi shouted through the wind. He could hear Xaden walking closer to him but he wasn't gonna budge. "Hey, eyes up here!", he shouted at the top of his lungs. And that's all it took for your frightened gaze to dart up.

From your frail body, Bodhi could tell that you had never even planned to be here. Pale skin was yet another indication that you spent little time outside. So there was no way you had magically woken up and chosen this fate for yourself. "You got this, you're almost there", he shouted as you rose back up to your feet. "We don't do this, Bo", Xaden pulled at Bodhi's arm but the male yanked it free instantly, "You interfere and I will throw you over the edge". Something gleamed in Xaden's eyes. For a second Bodhi was convinced that he was going to be the one airborn but not on his dragon this time. However, all that Xaden did was back away as he scowled at the crowd that had formed, making the noisy group break apart.

Bodhi's eyes were back on you as you neared the very end. Only now did he catch a glimpse of your damp cheeks. The bleeding lip no doubt from you biting it hard as you tried to concentrate. He knew the rules, he couldn't interfere. Couldn't help. No upper hand was allowed. Yet the closer you got the more Bodhi's hands itched to reach forward. You gasped as the solid ground neared. Nearly crashed into the rider waiting for you on the other side.

Bodhi's arm instantly wrapped around your lower back as he lifted you off the end of the stone ledge and into the solid balcony. Your knees buckled but Bodhi held onto you firmly. His other hand brushed over your damp cheeks, "Pull yourself together till they mark your name, then I'll find you a safe corner", he whispered, softly, blocking you from the rest of the people there. All you managed to do was nod as you pretended to shove him away, trying to take self-assured steps.

Bodhi met Xaden's eyes across the room. The look was displeased, to say the least. But they were family. They understood each other. So Bodhi didn't need to plead. Didn't need to pull any strings, at least not for now, to keep you safe. "Name", Xaden asked. You braced yourself against the table. The wing leader knew that hazy look all too well. "Name cadet?", he repeated. You blinked a couple of times, "Y/n Y/l/n", it was barely a whisper.

A loud cry echoed from behind you. Some gaps filled the room as the cadets rushed towards the windows. Someone no doubt had fallen and death strangely entertained people up here. Xaden looked at Bodhi, with a quick nod, pushing past you. And then you felt hands on you. You tried to move away, push yourself back but it was for nothing. "No, please", you breathed out but a hand quickly clasped over your face. Then the darkness of the side corridor fell upon you. "You're safe, I won't hurt you", Bodhi muttered, looking over his shoulder.

You eyed the man in front of you. You heard stories about the riders. About the brutality of it all. Bodhi turned back to you, "I'm Bodhi, you did good out there". You swallowed thickly, "I nearly fell...", you muttered. "But you didn't, you just can't show anyone your weak spots", his hands held onto your forearms, "The moment someone sniffs out your weak spot you're dead", Bodhi himself frowns at the coldness in his tone. Your eyes gloss over with nee tears that rip at Bodhi's heart.

"I never wanted to...", you brace yourself against the wall, looking so small that Bodhi had to fight an urge to wrap you up in his arms and snarl at anyone who looks at you the wrong way but he knows that wouldn't get you far. "I'll help you get through this", he said firmly. You shook your head, "I have nothing to give you", you wiped the tears away quickly. Bodhi simply smiled at you, "Let's call it a partnership at first glance", he extended his palm to you. You looked at him with confusion in your eyes for a moment before you shook his waiting palm, "Welcome to the rider's quadrant, sunshine".

[crowsoundsonly]

can i join you?

pair: soft!loki x fem!reader

word count: 1.5k

summary: loki takes really good care of you on your period :')

warnings: nudity but nothing graphic! mentions of periods and period blood, ooc!loki honestly because i wanted him to be mega soft and sweet

a/n: hey guys! i wrote this a minute ago and am impulsively posting it because i am too tired to proofread it lol. it is just super self indulgent and everything i needed today so i hope it is what you need today :)

Your day had been plagued with one unfortunate event after the other, the crowning jewel of the ugly tiara you wore being the surprise arrival of your period. You didn’t expect it for another week, and it struck with a vengeance, worse than you have experienced in years. Wanting to simply crawl in bed with your favorite book, you manage to make it through the day and to the rest you ached for.

Curled up in a ball with the lights low and book in hand, you hear footsteps and a knock on the door. You call out, “Come in!” not wanting to remove yourself from the comfortable position you finally found. The door clicks open and you throw a glance over your shoulder when the footsteps near the bed.

“Hey, love,” Loki says softly, swiftly moving to lay on his side in the empty space beside you.

You hum and smile, happy that he decided to stop by your apartment. “Hey,” you whisper back, sighing as he reaches over to stroke your cheek, obviously sensing that you are not feeling well.

“How was your day?” he asks, already knowing the answer.

“Not the best, but that’s okay. There’s always tomorrow, right?”

You find yourself often trying to hide yourself from Loki, not wanting to burden him with your mortal trivialities. He has never given you a reason to think that he does not want to hear about them, but you can’t help but feel that he would not be interested. 

At your words, he eyes you suspiciously, sensing rather acutely that you are downplaying your struggles, and asks “What happened?”

“Things were just not going my way today, that’s all. And I don’t feel very good. I,” you paused, considering telling him why. You figure that he is thousands of years old, so he is not unaware of the condition, so you finish your sentence. “I started my period.”

He sighs in sympathy, reaching out again to stroke your side. 

“Is there anything I can do to help you feel better?” he asks, continuing to run soothing fingers over your hip, slipping his fingers under your shirt to skim over your stomach. “Have you showered yet? That might help.”

You shake your head as your eyes fall closed at the feeling of his cool knuckles brushing below your navel. He leans in to kiss you softly as he continues to massage your stomach gently before pulling away and grabbing the book from your hands. “Come on,” he says, linking his fingers in yours, tugging you off of the bed and into the bathroom. 

“Can I join you?” his voice comes out more tender than you have ever heard it. All the bite in his voice seeps away when he talks to you, a low and gentle tone replacing it.

You consider his words. It won’t be the first time he has seen you naked, but you feel gross and bloated. But, you think about his fingers in your hair, massaging your body as the warm water patters over your shoulders which outweighs your thoughts of apprehension.

“Please,” you nod.

Loki smiles at your response and begins helping you get undressed. Grabbing the hem of your shirt, he pulls it over your head, dropping it to the floor beside you. Nothing about this feels sexual, but everything about this feels intimate. He is not rushed at all, seemingly enjoying comforting you in the best way he knows how at the moment. He helps you unhook your bra as you start shimmying out of the pajama pants you had thrown on as soon as you stepped through the door of your apartment. 

You move to turn on the water in the shower, leaving your panties on until you are ready to hop in, not keen on having blood drip down your legs and over the floor in front of your boyfriend. You can hear him removing his own clothing behind you. When he finishes, he hugs you from behind, tucking his nose into the crook of your neck as you wait for the water to heat up. With every touch, he can feel you relax into him.

When you deem the water ready, you slip out of your panties and into the spray of the water, Loki trailing in behind you. You moan at the feeling of the warm water hitting your skin, and you can hear Loki chuckle at the sound. Cheeks heating, you turn to have your back to him, facing the shower of water. 

“Sorry, love. I’m not laughing at you,” Loki says as he reaches for the shampoo, “I love seeing you happy and feeling better.”

With shampoo lathered between his palms, he reaches into your hair, massaging his way over your scalp, fingernails scratching ever so slightly. Another moan falls from your lips at the sensation. You whisper his name, almost reverently, your mind thinking of nothing but the feeling of his hands on you. He guides you to turn around and rinse out your hair under the water, his hands helping the suds rinse out. Your hands find his torso, your grasp on him rooting you to reality.

Loki continues to gently and carefully wash your hair before grabbing the bar of soap, lathering it between his hands. His hands glide over your back, tracing your spine to the small of your back, massaging there for a moment. You brace yourself against the wall of the shower, your head falling against the tile. His hands push their way over your shoulders and down your arms before tugging you to turn around. He lathers more soap in his palms and smooths his hands over your chest, thumbs flicking over your sensitive breasts, causing you to arch into him ever so slightly. 

At this, he leans in for a chaste kiss, pouring his tenderness into it, expressing how much he loves you in such a simple action. Loki breaks away to kneel in front of you, placing a soft kiss to your hip, skimming his palms over your stomach. He lathers more soap then sweeps his hands down your legs, rinsing away the pink trails on the inside of your thighs. 

You marvel at his willingness to take care of you so keenly, not bothered by the blood, by the way your body has changed because of your period, or your lack of desire for intimacy in the way you normally express it. He seems completely content in attending to you without any hint of want of anything in return.

When he is finished, he stands again, finding your lips, enjoying the sigh you let out when he does. You weave your hands into his hair, intending to do the same thing to him what he just did to you. Loki, suspecting this, stills your hands with his own, whispering, “It’s okay. This was just for you. Let’s get out and get you back in bed.”

His words cause tears to well in your eyes, his tenderness and your hormones getting the better of your emotions. He kisses your cheek then steps out of the shower, reaching for the towels in the cupboard. 

“Loki, I forgot to get a new set of underwear,” you say as he wraps you up in the towel. “I don’t want to drip on the carpet.”

“Of course, sweetheart,” he says before padding away to fetch you clean panties. He returns with your most comfortable pair and fresh pajamas, practically reading your mind.

“How did you know this is my period pair?” you ask with a laugh in your voice, holding up the underwear, too comfortable at this point to care about sounding ridiculous. He did just spend the last twenty minutes tenderly attending to you in the shower, so you think that you have unlocked a new level in your relationship.

“I pay attention, you know,” he replies slyly, “I’ll let you finish up.” With that he leaves the bathroom, closing the door. You sigh, already feeling leagues better than you did an hour ago. You wonder how you are so lucky as to be allowed to see this side of Loki which is so gentle, kind, and attentive. 

When you are ready, you go to lay back down in bed, finding Loki already dressed and waiting for you beneath the covers. You tuck yourself into his side and wrap around his torso, hooking a leg over his. 

“Thank you,” you whisper into his neck.

“You’re welcome, love. Anything for you” Loki hums, pulling you closer while reaching to grab your favorite book from your nightstand. He flips it open to the bookmarked page, and begins reading aloud. You close your eyes, enjoying the sound of his voice, and before long, you are fast asleep in his arms. 

a/n: thanks so much for reading! let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!! check out MY SLEEPOVER going on right now !!

taglist: @buttercupcookies-blog, @kats72, @mischief-dream, @iamlokisgloriouspurpose

[vhagarlovebot]

─── ★ : there’s something about teasing modern!aemond in a hot summer day while he works at the local bookstore that you like a little too much.

it’s the middle of summer, which means days are longer and hotter than usual, and you can’t stand the heat. not anymore. however, you’ve recently found a way to use it to you advantage. something silly but very rewarding. that’s the reason as to why you woke up early to finish your chores quickly, leaving the rest of your day free to go to your favorite place in town. at least until the summer ends.

the bells on the front door announce your presence to aemond, who’s leaning behind the counter with a book in his hands, glasses almost on the tip of his nose. you don’t notice—too focused on how pretty he looks—but he grows incredibly flustered at the sight of you wearing nothing more than your shorts and the upper part of your bikini.

“slow morning?” you say, walking to the counter and leaning on it. you look too pretty, too desirable.

aemond clears his throat, leaving the book aside. “where are you going?” he tries to play it cool and not show you how hard he is under his pants by the view of your breasts being perfectly squeezed between your crossed arms on the counter.

“the beach,” you answer quickly, tongue darting out to wet your lips as you see the book he has just left beside him. “what were you reading?” you raise your eyebrows, walking behind the counter and reaching for the object, your silk skin brushing against his for a split second.

“uhm… nothing important, really. i lost interest after the second paragraph.”

you chuckle, looking up at him. “you have one for me? i don’t want to fall asleep on the beach like last time.”

“oh yes,” aemond smiles and walks away, searching one book for you. once he’s sure you’re not looking, he finally breathes.

aemond hides behind one of the bookshelves in the back to try and compose himself, but as soon as he closes his eyes you are there, this time completely bare in front of him. aemond groans, cock twitching in his pants, and he can’t help it—he really can’t—so he, ever so slowly, lowers his hand to palm himself, trying to find some relief for the aching between his legs.

“aemond?” you look around but he’s nowhere to be seen and you immediately feel self conscious. going to see him without a shirt was too much? he really didn’t reacted, didn’t tell you anything.

“yeah?” his voice comes from behind one bookshelf in the far corner of the store. “i’m… looking for a book,” he sounds breathless and it makes you frown as you slowly walk towards him.

“you need help? because i can be very helpful.” you’re pretty sure you hear him whimper, immediately stopping in your tracks. is he… no. he can’t be. the mere thought of him touching himself while you’re there makes a heat run through your body. “i’d be happy to help you with anything.” you emphasize, your own hand running down your front, over your breasts and erected nipples.

“you can’t—” he cuts himself off, biting his lower lip as his hand moves faster under his pants, feeling his whole body tensing. “fuck,” it’s pathetic how he has to bite his hand when he spills on his hand. it’s pathetic how ast he reaches his climax with you just a few feet away from him. he’s so fucking pathetic.

you don’t hear anything for at least two minutes and you are ready to call for him again, ready to finally stop the teasing and tell him all about your fantasies and dreams where he’s the main character, when aemond finally comes out from behind the bookshelf, face scarlet, hair messy and glasses foggy. the view makes you close your legs, panties getting wetter and wetter.

“i found it.” he says and you have to bite your lips from smiling. he looks fucked out and it’s something you’re definitely going to be dreaming about.

aemond gives you the book without making eye contact, which you find cute. and it also gives you the little boost you needed to keep doing what you started doing the first day you entered the bookshop and found him standing behind the counter talking about books with some clients.

“thank you,” you say, giving him your biggest smile. but he doesn’t see it because he’s too focused looking at his hands. “oh and aemond,” walking to the door, you wait until you finally see his blue irises. “your fly is open.”

[bitchesgetriches]

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[katelynnwrites]

Got My Mind On Your Body (And Your Body On My Mind) | Ona Batlle

warnings: mild smut

word count: 1978

summary: you’ve constantly got ona’s body or more specifically her abs, on your mind and neither of you would have it any other way

chosen song: cool for the summer by demi lovato

a/n: requested, bonus chapter 4 of you were bigger than the whole sky (you were more than just a short time)

You run your hand over Ona’s abs, feeling the way her muscles tense as you do so. The both of you were lying on her bed, you reading a book and Ona studying for an upcoming test.

As you continue to absentmindedly trace the contours of her abdomen, your girlfriend lets out a shaky breath, (slightly) regretting her decision to let you freely touch her body.

She loves having your hands on her but it was making it really really hard to keep her composure. Ona just wants to kiss you silly.

Except that she couldn’t right now because she had to concentrate on her studying. You were unintentionally making it so difficult for her and she sighs, stopping you gently.

‘I’m sorry.’ You say immediately, pulling your hand back and staring at her with wide eyes.

Your girlfriend is the most important person in your sixteen year old self’s life and you hated to think that you had somehow upset her.

Ona shakes her head.

‘Don’t be sorry. I love it but you’re making it really hard for me to concentrate.’ She apologetically tells you.

The brunette bites her lip, ‘Can I make it up to you later amor?’

‘You don’t have to.’

You smile and kiss her lightly.

‘Focus on your work, I’ll still be here to cuddle you later.’

Ona returns your smile, ‘Gracias mi amor.’

******

The very first time you notice that Ona has abs is from the quick glimpse you get as she changes out of her sweaty jersey and into her clean shirt.

You swallow hard and try to focus on anything other than your girlfriend’s very very hot body.

It’s an entirely unsuccessful attempt (that results in you nearly knocking over a water cooler because fifteen year old you was not very smooth) and when Ona affectionately wraps her arms around you, planting a sweet little kiss onto the top of your head, you blush furiously.

Ona kisses you again, this time on your cheek before she whispers, ‘You’re so cute when you blush mi cielo.’

******

After Ona finds out that you have a (pretty big) thing for her abs, she does more core exercises.

She also wears more cropped tops.

You think she’s trying to drive you crazy.

And Ona is. She is rather impatiently waiting for you to break.

It happens after she asks your opinion on which bikini she should wear for the team bonding at the beach.

You had come over to her house to do homework and when you walk into her room, it’s to find her standing in front of her mirror, in a white bikini.

‘Ona…’ You gasp, eyeing her figure appreciatively immediately.

You can feel your cheeks heating up and you need to touch her. (you always craved the feel of her skin against yours but now it was overwhelming).

‘Do you like it?’

You shake your head slightly but before Ona’s expression can fall, you place your hands on her waist.

‘I love it. You’re so gorgeous.’

Ona smiles and leans in to kiss you before suddenly pulling away.

‘Wait I got to show you the other one! You have to help me decide which one to wear tomorrow!’ She excitedly says.

‘The other one?’

There’s panic in your voice and you’re the epitome of a gay mess as you watch Ona go into her bathroom to change. (you can’t see her so you don’t know that your girlfriend is smirking, knowing exactly what she’s doing to you).

Ona’s abs are almost always on your sixteen, nearly seventeen year old self’s mind.

But after Ona comes out of the bathroom, you know you’ll never be able to get the image out of your mind ever again.

‘Fuck.’ You breathe (it’s honestly a miracle you were able to breathe).

Your girlfriend looks so proud of herself and she does a little twirl to show off for you.

‘Can I kiss you?’

It’s a rather desperate question from you but the brunette’s face lights up.

‘Please.’

Ona fights back a smile so that she can kiss you back properly. It’s a good decision because you refuse to break the kiss, eagerly and passionately kissing your girl.

‘Bebé.’ She moans, catching onto your plan quickly.

You up the intensity of your kisses and Ona whimpers, bringing her hands up to your chest to stop you for a brief moment.

‘Got to close the door mi amor. Joan’s home and I don’t want him to come in.’ She breathlessly explains.

‘I’m not stopping you.’ You tease, slowly bringing your lips down to meet hers again.

Ona lets out a rather undignified noise (more of a squeak really) and tries her best to kiss you and rush to lock her door all at the same time.

As soon as the door closes and the lock clicks, you press Ona against the door.

She moans, tilting her head back with closed eyes.

You kiss and suck on her neck, hands running over the exposed skin of her waist.

‘Mi amor.’ Ona pants, bringing her hands up so that she can tangle her fingers in your hair.

She tugs on it none too gently and you whimper her name softly.

There’s a moment where you and Ona just stare at each other, breathing heavily but with big cheesy grins on both of your faces.

Your girlfriend catches her breath first and with a mischievous look, starts to kiss you again.

She slips her hands under your shirt, stroking your skin and making goosebumps appear.

‘I love you.’ She murmurs, in between kisses and you moan her name.

‘Take your shirt off. Please mi amor!’ Ona begs.

The Spaniard needs more skin to skin contact with you, she just needs to feel your skin on hers.

You’re more than happy to please her, raising your arms up so that Ona can tug your shirt off.

The brunette fullback practically throws your shirt across the room and that makes you giggle.

‘I’m enthusiastic okay?’ She defends.

You laugh harder and Ona rolls her eyes, pressing her lips onto yours to shut you up, in the best way possible.

‘Te amo.’ You gasp, the intensity of Ona’s kisses building the warm feeling in your stomach.

Ona pulls you towards her bed and with a smirk, pushes you onto her bed.

She straddles you and you moan. The combined feelings of her body weight on you and her long hair tickling your cheek as you smell her perfume, it makes you feel like you’re in heaven. Being under Ona further builds the warm feeling in your stomach and you buck your hips upwards uncontrollably.

Your girlfriend whimpers into the shared kiss and you turn your head to the side to break it, gasping, ‘Stop. I-I need to stop.’

Ona sits up immediately, running a hand through her tangled hair.

Her lips are kiss swollen, like yours and she reaches out to hold your hand.

‘Are you okay?’

Worry is evident in her voice and concern etched all over her features.

‘Sí. I just had to stop because if we didn’t, I don’t think I would have been able to stop.’

Ona’s eyes widen and she whispers, ‘You want me that much?’

‘Of course mi Oni.’

The blush on your cheeks darken, letting your girlfriend know that you meant what you were telling her.

Ona grins, pressing a gentle kiss into your forehead.

‘Well I can’t wait for the day my parents and my brother aren’t home so that we don’t have to stop.’

Your cheeks are tinted pink but you manage to answer, ‘I promise that when that does happen, I’ll make sure I wear something a lot nicer than this for you.’

Ona frowns slightly, ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. You look beautiful just like this.’

‘Gracias mi amor. But I’ll still pick out something more appropriate.’

‘You don’t have to but whatever you choose, I will absolutely love on you.’ Ona promises.

******

‘You are drooling.’ Lucia teases.

You panickedly straighten up and wipe the back of your hand across your mouth immediately.

‘I was just kidding.’ The Manchester United forward laughs, making you flush a bright red.

She looks across the gym at Ona for a moment before remarking, ‘She does have an amazing set of abs though.’

Your gaze is drawn back to Ona who is casually wiping the sweat off her face with the hem of her training jersey, exposing her toned stomach.

‘She really does.’ You mumble.

Lucia laughs again, louder this time.

‘Okay little miss gay panic. Focus more on your weights and less on your fiancée.’

******

‘You’re insatiable.’ You moan as Ona puts a hand under your shirt, palming your breast immediately.

‘I need to make up for lost time.’ She cheekily says.

You’re so glad that she has forgiven herself that you can’t even be mad at her.

‘Ona. Ona babe we’re gonna be late. We c-can’t.’

Your breath catches on the last word, Ona clearly having an overwhelming effect on you.

‘We can be late.’ Ona whines but you firmly shake your head.

‘We were already late last time and I really don’t want to have to put up with our teammates’ teasing all night again mi amor.’

Ona uses her thumb to stroke your skin and it’s so sensitive that you shiver.

You bite your lip, not wanting to give Ona the satisfaction of hearing you moan her name while partially chiding her for her actions.

Your wife sighs.

‘Fine.’

She takes a step back from you, fixing your clothes so that you look presentable again and less like you just had a teenagers’ makeout session.

‘Gracias mi amor, I promise to be naked for you all night okay?’

Ona’s eyes light up and she nods eagerly, rushing off to go and change into the outfit she had chosen for the team dinner.

******

Having finished touching up your makeup (Ona had smudged your lipstick with her earlier activities), you’re sitting on the kitchen counter, waiting for the brunette when she calls out, ‘Close your eyes.’

‘Why?’

‘Trust me amor.’ Ona says, an undercurrent of laughter in her voice.

You do as says and eventually hear her footsteps come right in front of you before she says, ‘You can open your eyes now.’

From the way she’s grinning at you, you just know that she had chosen that particular outfit to make sure her (absolutely glorious) abs are on full display for you.

A tube top and tailored trousers paired with a blazer you were sure she had stolen (Ona would say it was borrowed) from you. Her signature hoop earrings completed the look.

‘Mi amor…’ You groan, reaching for her eagerly.

Ona steps back with a loud chuckle.

‘No. No touching. You said no making out so that we won’t be late.’

‘Ona come on. Just one kiss por favor.’ You plead.

‘Nope. You have to wait till we come back.’ She sings, already making her way to the door.

Your wife gives you a teasing wink and you make a frustrated noise, hurrying after her and desperately willing the hours to pass quickly, just so you could be back home with your love again.

******

There’s a tiny smile growing on Ona’s face as she feels you slip a hand under her shirt to rest on her stomach.

Her smile widens when you subconsciously flatten it to get the full effect of her abs.

‘T’estimo.’ She murmurs, pressing a kiss onto your shoulder.

You’re still asleep and Ona gently pulls you a little closer, reveling in the feeling of being able to hold you.

It’s fairly early, the faint sunlight coming through the curtains not quite enough to wake you yet so Ona kisses your shoulder again and closes her eyes, content to fall back asleep with you in her arms.

Spanish Translations:

amor - love

gracias mi amor - thank you my love

mi cielo - my darling

bebé - baby

mi amor - my love

te amo - i love you

sí - yes

Catalan Translations:

t’estimo - i love you

[sevcasejay1chicago]

Well in that case.... I’m gonna send you this idea... if it sparks inspo... sweet. If not or you don’t want to take such requests at the moment that’s totally cool too.

What about something where the reader is working a couple jobs like waitressing and bar tending or something while also going to college. During finals she’s working and studying and neglecting sleep and self care. Buck and Eddie start to get worried. So they convince her to come hang out at the station. She ends up collapsing (maybe on the stairs? And gets a minor concussion) due to exhaustion and dehydration. Once she gets home they both insist she just relax and nothing else. Lots of cuddles and bringing her food and water and basically only letting her up to pee. Ooh and maybe they give her a bubble bath... very spa like with candles and they do all the work and wash her hair for her and everything...

Over worked and under paid- Eddie Diaz and Evan Buckley

Authors note: A few things.

1. I’m sorry this took so long. I’ve been so busy and I’ve only been able to write in short periods.

2. I know this isn’t my normal One Chicago content, but I love these boys too and you asked, so I (very lately) delivered.

Warnings: possible wrong medical jargon, passing out, over working, vomiting, concussion, FLUFF

———————————

The boys are nothing short of proud and amazed by you. You are working part time as a barista at the coffee shop down the street from the station and frequently bartend for a friend at the bar that the 118 goes to every now and then. On top of your busy work schedule, you are also going to school online full time, helping take care of Christopher when Buck and Eddie are at the station, and trying to make sure you do your part around the house. If you asked Buck and Eddie, they would say you do too much in the first place and the house is something they can take care of, but you feel obligated to do your part.

Finals week has always been tough for you, but this is the first year that you are working two jobs and going to school full time. Buck and Eddie have been trying to help you as much as they can, including making sure you eat and drink, but they have been having a hard time getting you to slow down and sleep. Your mind just goes and thinks through all the stuff you need to be studying, so you are often sneaking out of bed to do so, much to Buck and Eddie’s dislike.

One day, Chris calls Eddie while he is at the station to express his worry. You had picked Chris up from school and brought him home like normal, but you didn’t get him a snack and sit down to help with his homework like you always do. He always tells you that you don’t have to, but you always do it anyways. With you forgetting this, the parlor of your face, and the bags under your eyes, Chris is worried something is seriously wrong with you.

Eddie has Buck call you as he calls Carla to come hang out with Chris. Buck calls you an Uber, saying you’ll be staying at the station and they want to help with everything, so you’ll just ride home with them. You cave, thinking that they are all gonna help you study, but not knowing their plan to get you to sleep or rest at the very least.

You arrive with your book bag on your back, still in your jeans and black tee from work earlier. Buck and Eddie hear Hen greet you and go to meet you at the top of the stairs. They both go running down as they watch your eyes roll into the back of your head as you drop with a loud thud, your forehead smacking against the railing as you go down.

“Y/n!!” Buck, Eddie, Hen, and Bobby yell. Buck and Eddie run down to get to you as Hen grabs the kit from the ambo and Cap runs up the stairs, having just come in the side door after getting something out of his personal truck.

Bobby is the first to make it to you and carefully holds your head in one hand while checking your pulse with the other. “She’s tacky and has labored breathing.” Bobby announces to the room. “Hen, give me the collar and then go get the rig ready.” Bobby instructs, passing you off to Eddie to steady you as he calls for Chim. “Chim. I need you on the floor. Y/n’s down. We need to go to the hospital.” He says, then after hearing a quick copy, he switches the radio to the dispatch frequency. “Dispatch, this is Captain Nash with the 118. Do you copy?” Bobby says, waiting for the copy from Maddie at dispatch before continuing. “Maddie, Y/n just collapsed at the 118. We are loading her and taking her to the er. Take the house out of commission.” Bobby says, standing as Buck finishes putting the collar on you and Eddie helps him hoist you into Evan’s arms.

“Copy you. Keep me posted. Dispatch out.” Maddie says.

Buck gently lays you down on the stretcher as Eddie takes a towel from Hen to gently wipe the blood from your face. Your eyes flutter as you groan, trying to swat his hand away. Hen chuckles as Bobby shuts the doors and Chim takes off with sirens blaring.

“Baby. Baby. Shhh. Stop mi amor.” Eddie murmurs, cupping your cheek in his hand as Hen places a pulse ox on your right hand. “It’s okay. We gotcha. You passed out baby.” Eddie explains as Buck clutches your hand and tries to keep his cool next to Eddie.

“Mmmm. Ed-ddie.” You moan, leaning into his touch. “D-don’t f-feel well.” You murmur, trying to push yourself into a sitting position. You don’t even have to express the way your feeling as your face turns ashen and your eyes widen.

Buck immediately pulls a puke bag from the dispenser and puts it around your mouth. “Alright baby. I gotcha. Just do what you gotta do.” Buck says, taking your hand again as you reach for him. It pains him to see you in so much discomfort.

Your breathing gets faster as the nausea builds. You vaguely hear Hen talking to Eddie about you possibly having a concussion as you begin heaving, crying out in pain when you can catch your breath. Your hearing is equivalent to being under water, but you can tell that both Eddie and Buck are trying to sooth you as tears stream down your face. Once you push the bag away, Eddie gets onto the stretcher with you and puts a towel on his neck, allowing you to press your forehead into his neck as much as possible with the collar still on.

Once at the hospital, Eddie ends up having to ride with you into the ER since you won’t let him go. They basically force you to untangle as nurses and a doctor want you moving into a bed to begin assessing you. Buck and Eddie stand at the top of the bed, both lightly touching you somewhere to let you know they are still there, while the doctor examines your head and does a spinal test. After many tests are done, fluids are given, and you get well educated on concussion protocol and the importance of taking care of yourself, you are finally released into the care of Eddie and Buck again.

Bobby was thoughtful enough to grab the guys go bags and drive Buck’s jeep to the hospital. Once you are cleared, the 118 is back in service, but Buck and Eddie are relieved of duty for the time being so that you can be taken care of. Buck drives back home with you curled around Eddie in the back seat. They gave you a sedative in the er and something for the pain, so you are practically knocked out. That is, until you get home.

You sleepily clutch onto Buck as he takes you from Eddie’s arms when you arrive home. You immediately bury your face into his neck to hide from the street lights now that it’s pretty late into the night. Eddie opens the door and disappears into the kitchen as Buck sits down with you on the couch.

“Chris?” You murmur, wondering where your son is.

“Carla has him at her house. Just relax sweet girl.” Buck whispers, kissing you on the forehead.

“Mmm.” You hum, snuggling back into his embrace.

“Alright you.” Eddie says, coming in with a tray of food and drinks. “Toast for you ma’am. I put butter on both, just to help settle your stomach. I also got you your favorite flavored water.” He says, handing you the water first. “Drink.” He says gently, before turning back to the tray. “A sandwich and water for both of us too.” Eddie says, handing Buck his sandwich when his boyfriend makes to grab for it, but you whine at the shift, so Buck settles back down.

You lay on Buck’s chest, nibbling at your toast and drinking your water when prompted. He could care less that you are getting crumbs on him as long as your comfortable and eating. Once everyone is finished, Eddie goes to clean up, leaving you and Buck back on the couch. You yawn, rubbing your face into Evan’s shoulder, causing him to chuckle.

“Alright baby. Bath and bed for you.” Buck says, standing up with you once again. “Eddie! Gonna go get her cleaned up.” Buck calls, nodding as Eddie replies with an okay.

You started to protest, but Buck is quit to shut you down.

“No ma'am. You just chill out. You need to relax and let us take care of you for once.” Buck says, sitting you on the bathroom counter in the master .

“But I-“ you begin to say, but you are cut off by Eddie as he saunters into the bathroom.

“You will relax and let us take care of you.” Eddie says, coming to stand between your legs. “What happened today could have been avoided if we put our foot down. Now, you will allow us to pamper you and give yourself time to rest. Okay?” Eddie says, lightly connecting his forehead with yours.

You close your eyes and sigh gently. “Okay. I’m sorry.” You murmur, bottom lip trembling as you fight back tears.

“Shhh mi amor. It’s okay. We are just worried, that’s all.” Eddie whispered, gently capturing your lips in his.

“Just let us take care of you. Okay?” Buck adds, coming to your side and kissing the side of your head. “Now, let’s get you in the bath while it’s still hot and I’ll even light your favorite candle. Okay love?” Evan says, trying to get you in bed as quickly as possible given that your eyes are having trouble staying open.

You nod and allow Eddie to undress you. It’s definitely not easy to let yourself get taken care of. You’ve grown used to fighting through this rough patch and hiding it the best you can from your boys, but you love them and they love you. Luckily, that just might save your life.

That night, the boys gently wash your hair. Eddie sitting on the edge of the tub behind you, caging you in with his legs as he gently massages your scalp. Buck washes your body, gently rubbing your sore muscles as he goes. They don’t stop until you are practically asleep against Eddie’s knee. Buck scoops you out of the tub while Eddie goes to throw your pjs in the dryer to warm them up. They then both help dry you off, gently brushing and blow drying your hair. Once you are all dry, they put you in your pjs, which consist of one of their fire shirts and your undies. Then, they get dressed themselves before getting in bed with you and settling in for the night, knowing that you are safe and sound in their arms.

————————

Tag list:

@treehouse-mouse

@shadowmeadowsworld

@sorry-i-spaced

@zephyrmonkey

@allisonargent144

@amie134

@lane-rodgers-barnes

@pensfan5871

@dumb-fawkin-bitch

@marvel-and-chicago-fan

@daggersquadphantom

@stellakiddsblog

@100yroldteenagers

@senjoritanana

@celtic-shadow-wolf

@starset21

@mrspeacem1nusone

[fuumiku]

Day 2 : Role Swap

Ok I have thoughts for this one bear with me. He’s a mage with a half-foot guild still but his activism is especially targeted towards half-foot mages specifically since they’re rare and so looked down upon (and the two are correlated).

Marcille scouts out places all Tomb Raiser style for lost treasures and knowledge, keeps maps and written info etc in her book. She’s still much of a scholar but more in an archeologist sense, she wants to discover the truth of dungeons and see if it could revolutionize the world. She’s a buildings and engineering nerd instead of magic nerd. She hypes herself up as a passionate cool rogue adventurer like in books✨ Chil thinks it’s a silly and unstable profession. All her um, grace and agility when doing headstands and dancing are coming through with this new role of hers.

Chil does need to borrow mana and so they hold hands a lot. I am so taking advantage of the mana transfer thing. "I’m out of mana, you’re an elf and you never use magic, give some to me! You have so much, don’t be selfish!!" -inparty fight breaks out as he chases after her and she runs away- I imagine that’s just kinda how he and half-foot mages roll? Dunmeshi-typical worldbuilding monologue that explains how "Most people don’t even use their mana, they don’t even learn magic. If you give me your mana I’ll be able to do more magic, win-win, no harm done." I imagine you have to be magic-savvy to be able to transfer mana to someone but it’s fine he can just steal it methinks 🌟 So he gets to be the one who’s very casual about physical touch. He does NOT want to be a healer it stresses him out but ah shit there Falin goes.

More AU details under cut

You’ve heard of onion knight now get ready for onion mage Y’know the saddest part of mage Chilchuck is that he wouldn’t use explosion spells

You know how Marcille uses her staff to grab people by the neck or head sometimes… Chilchuck would have a free choking stick he can use to make people listen to him. He can REACH THEIR NECKS . It doubles as a walking stick for his old man back… /j And a weapon, sort of. I think staff more than lance, but long weapons like that suit him I think. Holding the monster at bay with a 4 feet long stick like "Stay BACK!! Go for my party members shoo shoo!!!!"

From my observations, staffs for magic all have a ‘hole’ at one end, oh size, shape, material and form varying. For example both Marcille and Rin have a similar hoop, but Falin’s is a lantern which imo the metal frame of it and the glass form this hole I’m speaking of. Maybe it’s like, the staff condenses the magic inside the hole and helps channel it and give it form? What I’m saying here is I didn’t decide what it was made out of but I like to think it’s carved wood so it can be homemade but unique to him.

Marcille and Chil both fight in battles, but he stays where it’s safer and does long distance spells only. Marcile uses daggers probably… But yeah her role’s more being a scout rather than a fighter, while Chil’s role is being a magical fighter and his expertise on magical creatures and such.

I think he’d be self-taught, where it’s his own magic system… I think he likes theory more than vibes and working at the whims of creatures, so maybe elven with an half-foot script? He doesn’t seem like the type to get buddy-buddy with spirits much A bit like his cowl it’s like he always has a part of home with him a bit with his half-foot magic… He’d have sucked at the beginning, it’s pretty experimental magic, but he made it work and tbh he’s a Big Deal for it. Learning on the field ofc ofc he’s no honor student

I think the racial prejudices tension would be worse, because he’d be nervous of the whole ‘half-foots who get too curious about dark magic get taken away’, and I think as a half-elf who doesn’t do magic it might be uncomfortable for her to deal with how the half-foot is better at it than her and how her mana would have had better use with him instead of her? Idk brainstorming. I def think she’d habe more of a complex about being a half-elf… Still with existential dread and still Hopes to find a cure to death, but she goes about it through artefacts etc rather than magic. I’m unsure how her career would turn out that wqy exactly because job stability and academia are important to her, but yeah I think she went to school on an agricultural and history level and focused her research on that front? And then she could become that adventurer scholar who explores to pierce secrets of the world and ancient civilizations trope yeah I think that’s the angle.

Maybe his plans for the future after quitting being a dungeon diver would be teacher/mentor instead of shopkeeper 🤔 One one hand oh god have mercy on his blood pressure, on the other he likes contributing to his community and would want to encourage half-foot mages and pass down his knowledge and expertise I think. Empty nest syndrome where…- OHHH mage Meijack……. I was thinking becayse Meijack followed in his footsteps in canon but it could suit Puckpatti and Flertom too… Their dad would have shown them some magic tricks hehe. They can be a magical girl trio in my heart, Powerpuff Girls energy…

A rogue has gotta be able to make intricate af braids and updos with their fingers (ignore how in canon Chil is just barely decent at them nvm). I was thinking maybe one of Marcille’s lockpicks is Ambrosia-shaped… Or maybe it’s an hairpin. Maybe she keeps her lockpicks as pins in her hair but they’re easy to grab… Getting more gimmicky by the second but my heart yearns for it I cannot lie. I ended up doing something close to canon for Marcille’s outfits but at first I imagined she’d wear stuff more akin elven fashion, short dress with pants, light material, though also with a leather armor breastblate. She has long gloves like the ones that look fancy, maybe even up her upper arm rather than just forearm ooh… Also her little pouch, which actually contains stuff this time around (lockpicks). They still have matching pouches yay

In that last doodle Chilchuck weaved her a little familiar with twigs… So it is magical but it’s hers, and it’s a second stand-in for Ambrosia. Maybe a golem… It’s very silly and prob not real in the au but the thought of it is really cute. Someone on the discord said Fantastical Beasts Pickett which yesss lmao, it’s like a pokemon for "(lock)pick it!" I love arts and crafts Chilchuck so much. Sew clothes. Weave twigs. Woodcarve. Necromance a frankenstein. He can make himself a new wife (/J I AM SO /J)

Also for Izutsumi: I think the reverse of a ninja is a bard. Take that as you will. Angry bard who grew up in a troupe……

[exhuastedpigeon]

November 24 - Dec 1

Welcome to my second weekly Buddie fic rec list! Here are the fics I read or reread this week that I liked the most! The lists are tagged as ‘Han’s Buddie Recs’ and 'Han's Weekly Fic Recs'

Newly Read

Batting a Buck & Change by Daisies_and_Briars / @cal-daisies-and-briars Teen || 15.5k Eddie and Chim embark on a “Dad’s night out” to watch baseball at a sports bar, and after a few too many, Eddie accidentally lets his feelings for Buck slip.

It’s Not the Roaring Dream, It’s the Silent Lightning by giselleslash/ @gigi-gigi Mature || 15.2k (or the one where Buck is married to Eddie in a coma dream and he doesn’t want to let the dream go.)

wanting was enough (for me, it was enough) by bigfootsmom/@bigfootsmom Explicit || 13.2k Eddie is back at work and everything is going great. Except he's in love with his best friend and can't have him, so things actually aren't all that great.

He's made it this far with wanting but never having Buck, so he'll be fine.

But when the offer to have a threesome with said best friend arises, Eddie can't not take it, right?

What could go wrong?

Eddie/Buck/Lucy threesome with so many Buddie feelings

the next best thing by wikiangela /@wikiangela Explicit || 9k Buck accidentally sends a nude and a spicy text to Eddie - things escalate from there.

S P I C Y !!!!

Out of Order, Still In Line by callmeewbie /@callmenewbie Explicit || 6.2k When Buck finally gets to the Clinic, the long awaited release doesn’t seem to come; cue Eddie to the rescue.

SPICY!!

i come with a softer answer by hattalove/@hattalove Teen || 5.7k in which there is a frog, and a fair, and an eddie who allows himself to accept what he deserves.

coax the cold right out of me by oklahoma/@malewifediazTeen || 2.6k “You know,” Eddie begins, running his fingers through Buck’s damp, frizzy curls, “when I booked this cabin for the weekend, I had plans for us to fuck real nasty by the fire.”

Buck laughs—an ugly, congested noise that sounds like it hurts when it gets caught in his chest—and tips his head back to meet Eddie’s gaze in the low light of the blazing fire. His big blue eyes are puffy and his cheeks are red, hot by the fire and chapped by the wind; he looks like a kid, almost, sitting on the floor and wrapped tight in a large, black fleece blanket with nothing beneath except a pair of boxers and fuzzy socks.

“Well,” Buck croaks, “we’re still by the fire, at least.”

let me cradle your body (be a safe place to rest) by thewolvesof1998/@thewolvesof1998 Gen || 1.9k What starts out as a normal 118 gathering ends with Buck sitting on Eddie's lap.

This fic is so soft, it feels like falling asleep in Eddie Diaz’s lap.

stay here honey (i don't wanna share) by HungryHungryHippo/@hippolotamus Explicit || 1.8k || Lutalia OR Natalia helps soothe Lucy after a rough shift

This fic is so hot I needed time to cool off after reading it. 

In my defence I was left unsupervised by Spotsandsocks/@spotsandsocks Mature || 1.3k Buck gets bored and decides on a new look.

Can we just say the rest with no sound by devirnis/@devirnis Gen || 1.3k It’s late by the time Eddie finally pulls up in front of his house. In the passenger seat beside him, Buck is still staring blankly out the window, showing no indication that he’s aware they’ve arrived at their destination.

He’s been like this since they left the hospital. Quiet, still. Despondent.

Rereads

let’s hear it for the boy by hattalove/@hattalove Teen || 56.2k in which eddie attends a self-empowerment group for gbtq men to supplement his therapy, and is empowered to: forgive himself, say "i'm gay" to his own reflection in the mirror, accidentally adopt an adult, make fried rice, and tell his straight best friend that he's in love with him. not necessarily in that order.

This fic is so special to me. It has one of my favourite lines from a fic of all time - “you don’t realize what the world is doing to you until long after it’s already done”. 

in the night we trust by glorious_spoon/@glorious-spoon Explicit || 29.2k Or: Eddie and Buck start sleeping together when they're all stuck at Buck's place during lockdown. It still takes them almost three years to notice that they're in love.

The Scroll of Saint Barnabas by Amiril/@runawaymarbles Mature || 15k The day of the shooting, Eddie got stuck in a time loop. But that was three months ago. He's completely fine now.

One of the most unique time loop fics I’ve read. What happens once you’re out of a time loop? How do you move forward?

WIPs

The Lost and The Found by Spotsandsocks/@spotsandsocks Mature || 28.3k || 3/10 chapters posted

Eddie Diaz was born a shifter, of the wolf variety, and he loves his life. Visiting his Abuela one summer he meets a new friend but not long after that everything in his life gets turned around and hard choices have to be made. Eddie faces his responsibilities and does what he has to do.

Shifter AU, my beloved! As of adding to my rec list, three chapters have been posted! Be sure to follow Spots so you can read snippets when she shares them!

[luffyvace]

Hey! Can you do cute domestic headcanons with Kurapika and a female reader? 🥹 if ya feel like it <3

THANK YOU SO MUCH ANON THIS IS MY FIRST EVER REQUEST!!

(i wrote this three times and it crashed and deleted let’s try this again🧍‍♀️)

ENJOY!!

lets say this is during a time where he isn’t actively hunting the phantom troupe

also we’re going with where you guys are moved into a apartment together

for your safety he has security measures installed and teaches you how to fight if you don’t know how

if you do, great!! you two train together

especially if you know nen

that aside

kurapika’s love languages are:

acts of service

for this really he’s just a super helpful and motherly partner

feeling sluggish? give him your to do list he’ll do it all

feeling unwell? he’ll nurse you back to health

need to get this done but too busy? he’s got it

truly a caring lover

for quality time

he likes reading, shopping, cooking, cleaning, going on walks and cuddling with you

anything with you really

it is quality time after all

i feel he would also have a little bit of words of affirmation/praise in there

more so to you

”wow your so analytical and intelligent”

”your such a cheerful person, spreading happiness wherever you go”

”your so persistent towards your dreams….how admirable!”

or if you have impressive hobbies/talents or skills

”this only took you ____to learn?? your a genius y/n!”

”wow your self taught? your a natural!”

for your physical appearance he compliments your clothes and hair more than anything

not because he doesn’t love your beautiful eyes or sunny smile

but for example, when he saw melody, he didn’t see her as ugly or pretty

he just didn’t know she was a woman 😭

see what i mean? he just sees his girlfriend in a beautiful dress.

in his mind it’s less superficial

hope that makes sense

”you look stunning!”

“you did something new with your hair, i like it :)”

”is that dress new? it suits you y/n”

if you compliment him back he’ll be bashful about it

as for cooking

if your the better cook you make breakfast/dinner and he makes lunch

and vice versa

being the better cook comes with lots of praise 💖

he’s willing to learn more and is open to criticism if that’s the case

but if not abs he’s more skilled in this aspect he’ll teach you and give you tips

with cuddling you had to initiate it first

you came up to him while he was reading a book on the bed and snuggled up to him, laying your head in his chest and getting under the covers as he wrapped an arm around you, continuing to read

it gave him butterflies

he definitely likes to cuddle more often after that

sometimes even initiating it himself

he came up to you while you were watching tv on the couch and put his head on your lap/shoulder and you started to play with his hair

he also likes headpats

he gives you one and if you return the favor it makes him very happy ☀︎

bath time!!💗

he would be very nervous and shy about bathing together at first and makes sure your comfortable 1000 times

he doesn’t peak at you or look down

such a gentleman 🦋

if you want to add bath bombs or bubbles that’s fine by him as long as it’s noting messy

he’ll scrub your scalp and places that are hard for you to reach

would appreciate the same but doesn’t know how to ask

he does eventually after bathing together a couple times

“um..y/n? there’s this spot i can’t reach…could you get it for me?”

if you like to do makeup he would find it amusing to watch

ask to put some on him and you’ll be met with a polite refusal

although, ask for him to put it on you and he won’t decline

doesnt know much

knows a few basic things but gets some mixed up—it doesn’t look terrible tho

the result actually isn’t bad

eventually you meet his friends

killua isn’t all that interested in you, yourself- more so what type of person caught kurapika’s eye

unless you prove yourself to be cool right off the bat (liking chocolate robots or skateboarding)

leorio a simp 🧍‍♀️

may or may not “playfully” flirty with you. he cuts it out when kurapika straightens him out tho

he wouldn’t accept your offer even if you did flirt back- he’s too loyal to his buddy :)

gon is curious and the most interested in you

asks you all sorts of questions 😭💖

gon and killua can be a handful so i hope your patient, or at least not a hot headed person.

if they give you a headache kurapika sets them straight

he apologizes for the inconvenience in your own home

also gon and killua eat a lot-

but it’s fine because you send them grocery shopping which gives you some peace and quiet

that is until they come back with chocolate robots and snacks for dinner

so you and kurapika end up going shopping yourselves—leaving leorio in charge

which leads me to my next topic- shopping!!

kurapika is a responsible shopper, he stays on budget and doesn’t get distracted from the list

if you can do the same? great!!

if not you get stuck on cart duty

your job is to make sure no one steals the cart, put the items in the cart and..!

SCAN THE ITEMS!!🤩

if you want to ride in the cart he wouldn’t mind but would find it childish and a bit embarrassing

don’t forget you left leorio in charge..and gon and killua did NOT listen to him…😭

your house is a mess- they jumped on your bed, had a pillow fight, ate whatever snacks were left and went through all your stuff

“uhh- whoops!”

I REALLY HOPE U ENJOYED THESE ANON IT TOOK SO LONG TO GET OUT-

MY APOLOGIES FOR THE WAIT THANK YOU FOR BEING PATIENT AND MY FIRST REQUEST!! ♡♡

[copperbadge]

Now that I’m home and avoiding work, notes from the Europe trip in terms of travel and...for lack of a better word self-care, but it’s really more like, accessibility centered around being a) anxious and b) over forty. 

-- The ability to do laundry was nice. I’d anticipated it would be helpful but not nearly as helpful as it was. Also having a fridge was super convenient, and having an oven was a nice perk in London and Rome. 

-- I planned to be able to do laundry so I only brought five days’ worth of clothes, and some were ‘disposable’ which was also convenient -- I brought my oldest underwear that I would have thrown out soon anyway, an extremely old pajama shirt, and at least one pair of trousers that was, as it were, on its last legs. That all worked fantastically; when I ran out of room in the suitcase on the last day of the trip I just tossed the trousers, and I’d already thrown out most of the underwear. 

-- I was more self-conscious than anticipated about my language limitations, which led to a lot of avoidance -- not anything I really wanted to do, like museums and the football match, but things I could have done, like eating out or going into shops. It was mostly to do with the look people got on hearing English out of my mouth. So either I need to learn more basic phrases or be more prepared for the look. (To be fair, in Rome I would say mi dispiace, sono American and they’d immediately be cool.) 

-- My stash of granola/protein bars was clutch, and going to a grocery store for staples was also very helpful. Turns out wherever you go, even if they don’t have Diet Coke, they almost always have babybel cheese.

-- No day trips between cities. Going from London to Cambridge and back for the day was great; going from London to Amsterdam to Paris in a single day was not. If I’m going somewhere new and not going back somewhere familiar at end of day, I need to get there, sleep, have a full day there, and leave either that evening or the following morning at minimum.

-- Relatedly: I don’t have to do this thing anymore where I book early departures or late arrivals because they’re cheap and don’t use up my vacation time. They only make me anxious. From now on even if it ‘wastes’ a day, I only book travel that departs and arrives during daylight hours. It’s always fine, nothing bad happens, but the anxiety is Too Much.  

-- The tablet and bluetooth keyboard in lieu of a laptop worked well. It wasn’t much lighter or more compact, but I was less worried about theft and because it charged via USB I didn’t have to wrangle an extra cord, I could just unplug my phone and plug the tablet in. That configuration also fit in my very small bag where a laptop wouldn’t, so I could carry it in my bag while in transit and not have to get my luggage out of the rack. 

-- The Very Small Bag (a map case) worked fine but while I didn’t need a bigger one I could have used one with more pockets. I was always losing the exact thing I needed in the jumble at the bottom of the bag. I think for longer trips I prefer a small messenger bag that has both a reasonable main cargo compartment but also pockets for stuff like passport and spare battery. 

Overall, a lot of the stuff I’d planned went off well, so at this point it’s less about logistics -- what to pack, how to pack it -- than it is about arranging things to lower anxiety and make transitions easier. That kind of thing sometimes you just need to experience in order to know how to handle it, so that’s fine. Next time I won’t be angry about Amsterdam when it’s not Amsterdam’s fault, or stuck waiting for a bus late at night at Rome Termini.