#it's me hello libby time

[sgterso]

me: jyn definitely said "fuck it we ball" when they landed on scarif

my beloved mutuals: what the fuck is wrong with you

[walks-the-ages]

OP deactivated, and some of the links were broken/marked unsafe by Firefox, so here's a new compilation post of Leslie Feinburg's (She/her, ze/hir) novels and essays on being transgender:

Stone Butch Blues official free source directly from Author's website:

Stone Butch Blues, backup on the webarchive:

Transgender Liberation: A movement whose time has come, on the web archive:

Transgender Warriors: Making History from Joan of Arc to Dennis Rodman, on the web archive:

Lavender and Red, PDF essay collection:

Drag King Dreams, on the web archive:

(Also, if anyone ever tells you that the protagonist of Stone Butch Blues ""ends up with a man""........ they're transmisogynistic jackass TERFs who are straight up lying)

Please also check out your local public libraries for these books and see if they carry them, to help support public libraries! If you have a library card already you can checkout Libby and Overdrive to see if your public library carries it as an ebook that you can checkout :)

EDIT: another not included on the orignal masterpost-- Trans Liberation: Beyond Pink or blue !

annnnnd in light of the web archive losing it's court case, here's a backup of both PDFs and generated epubs a friend made:

5/26/2023: hello! I am adding on yet another book of queer history, this time the autobiography of Karl Baer, a Jewish, intersex trans man who was born in 1884! Please signal boost this version, and remember to check the notes whenever this crosses your dash for any new updates :)

6/24/2023: Two links to share!

Someone made an Epub version of Memoirs of a Man's Maiden Years, which you can find Here , as a more accessible version than a pdf of a scanned book if you're like me and need larger text size for reading--

And from another post I reblogged earlier today, I discovered the existence of "TransSisters: the Journal of Transsexual Feminism", which has 10 issues from 1993-1995, and includes multiple interviews with Leslie Feinburg and other queer feminists / activists of the 90s!

Here's a link to all 10 issues of TransSisters, plus a 1996 "look back at" by one of the writers after the journal ended, you can find all 10 issues on the Internet Archive Here !

------

8/28/2023:

"Bi Any Other Name: Bisexual People Speak Out", can be found on the web archive Here, for the 25th Anniversary Edition from 2015,

and also Here, for the original 1991 version.

Each of the above can be borrowed for one hour at a time as long as a copy is available :D

This is a living post that receives sporadic updates on the original, if you are seeing this on your dash, click Here to see the latest version of the post to make sure you're reblogging the most up to date one :)

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

October, 25th 2023:

"I began to dawdle over breakfast during shift changes, asking both waitresses questions. After weeks of inquiries, they invited me to a demonstration, outside Kleinhan's Music Hall, protesting the Israeli war against Egypt and Syria. I was particularly interested in that protest. The state of Israel had been declared shortly before my birth. In Hebrew school I was taught "Palestine was a land without peo-ple, for a people without a land." That phrase haunted me as a child. I pictured ears with no one in them, and movies projected on screens in empty theaters. When I checked a map of that region of the Middle East in my school geography textbook, it was labeled Palestine, not Israel. Yet when I asked my grandmother who the Palestinians were, she told me there were no such people. The puzzle had been solved for me in my adolescence. I developed a strong friendship with a Lebanese teenager, who explained to me that the Palestinian people had been driven off their land by Zionist settlers, like the Native peoples in the United States. I studied and thought a great deal about all she told me. From that point on I staunchly opposed Zionist ideology and the occupation of Palestine. So I wanted to go to the protest. However, I feared the demonstration, no matter how justified, would be tainted by anti-Semitism. But I was so angered by the actions of the Israeli government and military, that I went to the event to check it out for myself. That evening, I arrived at Kleinhan's before the protest began. Cops in uniforms and plainclothes surrounded the music hall. I waited impatiently for the protesters to arrive. Suddenly, all the media swarmed down the street. I ran after them. Coming over the hill was a long column of people moving toward Kleinhan's. The woman who led the march and spoke to reporters proudly told them she was Jewish! Others held signs and banners aloft that read: "Arab Land for Arab People!" and "Smash Anti-Semitism!" Now those were two slogans I could get behind! I wanted to know who these people were and where they had been all my life! Hours later I followed the group back to their headquarters. Orange banners tacked up on the walls expressed solidarity with the Attica prisoners and the Vietnamese. One banner particularly haunted me. It read: Stop the War Against Black America, which made me realize that it wasn't just distant wars that needed opposing. Yet although I worked with two members of this organization, I felt nervous that night. These people were communists, Marxists! Yet I found it easy to get into discussions with them. I met waitresses, factory workers, secretaries, and truck drivers. And I decided they were some of the most principled people I had ever met. For example, I was impressed that many of the men I spoke with talked to me about the importance of fighting the oppression of gays and lesbians, and of all women. Yet I knew they thought they were talking to a straight man" Transgender Warriors (1996) Leslie Feinberg

[rustedhearts]

battlefield (boxer!steve x librarian!fem au)

summary: you reappear in hawkins after eight months away—only this time, steve’s nowhere to be found. what happened while you were away, and why are you refusing his calls?

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

♡ the king of the ring ♡

tags: angst, hurt/comfort, breakup (though not really), manhandling (steve leaves a bruise), toxic relationship, steve sucks! but he tries to make up for it, reader (libby) wears glasses and has a little brother.

a/n: here's what i have to say about this one: the girls that get it, get it. the girls that don't, don't.

“it would help me to know, do i stand in your way? or am i the best thing you’ve had?”

—battlefield, pat benatar

hawkins, indiana october 1990

In February, you said goodbye to your family. You gave a temporary two week’s notice to the library with a firm promise to return when Steve’s first tournament had finished. You packed up your old bedroom, said goodbye to childhood forever, and stepped out a woman. Steve’s woman.

And all you knew, for the next eight months, was: Steve. Training, dieting, fights, press conferences, and endorsement deals. Steve, Steve, Steve. Life revolved around him completely.

Until October, when you returned to Hawkins, and said hello to your family once more.

You appeared on a Saturday afternoon. A crisp chill hung in the air, scented of damp soil and the sweet aroma of autumn leaves. They filled the town with rust-colored enthusiasm; the tree in front of your old bedroom window, though, was golden yellow. They made your green lawn appear like a pool of honey. And it was on your yellow lawn that your mother gazed out to find you standing, luggage in hand, staring at the door.

She dropped the duster in her hand and flew to the door, practically tumbling down the front steps to fling herself at you. She squeezed and prodded and pulled, assessing you like some sort of miracle on her doorstep.

“Oh, honey, I’m so happy to see you! What are you doing home?”

You kissed her cheek, flashed a smile, and rolled your suitcase into the house. You hugged and kissed your father hello, laughed dryly when your younger brother Nick made a joke, and strolled upstairs with your luggage. It was half of what you’d left with eight months ago. You appeared just as proportionally empty—halved. Missing, quite literally, the other part of you.

There was no Steve, and no sign of him on you. Only the big black sweatshirt he bought you from the Hot Rod cafe, paired with a white turtleneck and old, worn denim jeans from high school. You climbed into your old bed—still made with the same colorful quilt and frilly sheets—and closed your eyes, still wearing the clothes you’d worn on your flight.

You said nothing of Steve, or why you were home.

You just…slept.

♡ ♡

You slept until Sunday evening.

Until the sunlight dwindled and your father’s knuckles rapped at the door. You brought your head out from beneath the covers to peer toward the door just as it cracked open. Your father’s glasses glared with yellow lamplight.

“Honey…are you okay? You’ve been in here…—well, sweetheart, we haven’t seen you since you got home.”

You shrugged, sniffling. The sound came with a slurp of thick snot, and upon closer inspection, your father immediately noticed the swollen bags under your eyes and their reddened, bloodshot state. “Sorry,” you murmured. “Just jet-lagged.”

Your father stepped into the room, leaving the door open, and sank onto the edge of the bed.“Honey, did he hurt you? Is that why you’re home?”

Huffing, you threw yourself onto your back and let your hands flop atop the mattress. You glared at the poster of James Dean above your bed.

“No, Dad—“

“—because if he hurt you…I know people. I can have him taken out in—“

“—Dad! Stop,” you groaned, rubbing at your swollen, aching eyes. The pillowcase under your head had been soaked and resoaked with a river of tears, and now they sat in a crusty, dried trail on your cheeks.

Your father sighed, though that look of furrowed concern and disappointment lingered. You wanted to assure him he was incorrect. You wanted to promise Steve didn’t hurt you, that you were here on your own volition just to visit. But you’d be lying. And you were tired of lying on Steve’s behalf.

You hoped and prayed your father wouldn’t ask you again—because the next time, you wouldn’t be able to muster anything but the truth.

“We’re happy you’re home, honey, but…we just wanna make sure everything’s okay.”

You pushed your hair away from your face, puffing air into your cheeks only to expel it out. “It’s fine, Dad! Okay? I just…I just want to sleep.”

Your father slid off the bed, standing to full height again. He rubbed at his jaw—salt and pepper beard sounding rough and dry—and backed away.

“Alright. Well, your dinner’s in the oven to keep warm. Mom’s making pudding. Chocolate, your favorite.”

You pursed your lips, feeling guilty and small, and nodded meekly. Your father flashed a minuscule smile and headed toward the door. Maybe you could blame the jet-lag for your sudden abruptness, but that would be another lie. You’d been a bristly version of yourself ever since you left New York(…and Steve).

“Alright, honey. Sleep tight.”

“Night, dad.”

When the door clicked closed, you groaned and kicked the covers off. The room was stiff and warm, the windows firmly shut to clamp off any semblance of an autumn breeze, curtains and blinds drawn to hide the leaves. You didn’t want to see how pretty the world looked while you suffered miserably.

But at least you could shower. You could try to do that.

In your old bathroom—floral wallpaper, pink tile, frilly bath mats, potpourri on the back of the toilet tank—you stripped down bare. You clenched your fists and gazed into the mirror, and almost instinctually, your eyes fell to your left forearm. A swell of blood popped beneath the skin just in the center of your arm, appearing violet in the aftermath, indigo in spots: the shape of Steve, left bruised on you in a handprint.

You turned away from the mirror and turned the shower on, heat high. You stepped in and closed your eyes, lip caged between your teeth to cease the trembling. The shower stream boiled your tears and drained your nose. The water smelled a little metallic: old pipes gone unused.

Eyes sinking closed, you tipped your head back into the water and let it rain over you.

♡ ♡

"Who the fuck was that?"

Seated on a padded leather bench on a gym in New York City—book in hand, glasses perched on the bridge of your nose—gazing up at Steve looming over you. His skin practically steamed, drowning in a sheen of glimmering sweat, hair clinging to his forehead, overgrown and neglected on the road. Cheeks swollen with red warmth, brows creased, eyes nothing other than empty.

You closed your book and glanced off toward the back of the strange man's head, exiting your periphery. "I don't know. He wanted to know where the bathroom was, Steve."

Five minutes ago, another gym-goer came up to you, towel thrown over his hulking shoulder, and asked you where the bathroom was. He smiled a dazzling white, catalogue smile, and you pointed toward the toilets. You directed your eyes back to the book in your lap and said nothing else. Steve wailed on the mitts in the ring, answering every of Big's 'one, two' with a sharp smack of fist.

And now here he was, towering over you like you'd asked the man to dinner.

"How come every time I turn around, some creep is all over you? Huh?"

You sighed, setting the book on the bench beside your purse. Big lingered in the ring, pretending not to listen as he slurped water from a Gatorade bottle.

"I don't know, Steve—"

"—oh, so he was a creep?"

"Jesus," you groaned, throwing your head back toward the fluorescents above you. Steve had been a tangy sour taste in your mouth since you arrived in New York two days ago. "No, Steve, he was not a creep. He was just—"

"—you know, you must be doin' somethin' to invite all these guys your way."

You turned back to Steve, gaping at his furrowed frown. Surely he didn't mean that. Surely he wasn't questioning your loyalty to him. You'd done nothing but cater to him all year. You followed him around the country for his career; put your life on hold for his career; neglected and abandoned your own needs and desires for his career—only to be scolded for every wrongdoing in Steve's eyes.

"Are you fucking serious right now?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm tired of having to worry if every time I turn around, the vultures will swarm my girlfriend. They just eat you up, huh?"

You leapt to your feet, the ache to cry growing stronger by the second. His words cut deep—the implications behind them cut deeper.

"That sounds like your problem, Steve. Those are your insecurities talking, and they don't have shit to do with me," you hissed, snatching your belongings from the bench.

You were a step away from Steve when he called back out. "Hey. Hey! Get back here when I'm talking to you, Libby."

You scoffed, shaking your head furiously as you stomped toward the door. "You're fucking crazy if you think I'm gonna listen to you—"

His hand was on your arm then, yanking you into a spin. You flew into his chest, a painful collision for both of you. But you glared, serpent-like, as mean as you could muster, into the death stare of your boyfriend. You didn't like that look on his face. You didn't like the grip he had on you. It came out of nowhere.

But his rage-fits usually did these days.

"You're not goin' anywhere," he growled evenly.

You yanked at your arm, teeth clenching together. "Yes. I. Am. Let me go, Steven."

He persisted, fingers squeezing tighter. You coughed away a yelp, wondering if you stomped on his foot if that would loosen his grip or make it worse. You weren't sure you wanted to try—and suddenly, that hurt worse.

You never wanted to be afraid of Steve, and he promised you'd never have to be.

"Harrington," Big called sternly from the ring. He leaned on the ropes now, watching carefully.

"Shut the fuck up," Steve barked his coach's way, though his attention never left you. You pulled at your arm again.

"Let me go!"

"Let her go, Harrington."

"I said shut up!"

Eyes stinging with tears, you pushed at his chest with your spare hand, smacking your book against his bare skin. "Let go, Steve!"

You sprung loose, exhaling a weak cry when your arm came away throbbing and splotchy. You adjusted the strap of your purse on your shoulder and clutched your book against your chest, gazing at Steve like a stranger.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" you wailed, tears slipping free as you slammed into the door to exit.

He didn't come after you.

He stayed to train. You waited in the room, weeping noisily in the cold bathroom. As the hours ticked away, you found yourself dreading his arrival. Fearing what might come of it.

You scrambled to your feet, and in a rush of hyperventilation and buzzing nerves, you packed your bags. Anything you could grab on hand, anything you recognized as yours—you shoved it all into your suitcase on the floor and zipped it up. You knew, even as you slipped your coat on and rolled it through the door, that you'd forgotten most of your things.

And as you rode the elevator down, you stopped crying. You snatched the pen in your purse and hurried to the front desk, snatching a stationary pad and using the marble countertop for something solid.

Steve,

You promised me happiness, but all you've given me is pain. I can't do this anymore. I can't keep letting you hurt me, no matter how much I love you, or how much you claim to love me. Your anger and jealousy have ruined us, and I can't take it anymore.

I'm going home. Please don't follow me. Not even if you're sorry, and not even if you really mean it this time.

—Libby

"Please give this to Mr. Harrington when he comes back."

♡ ♡

"Hey, honey. Glad to see you up and...dressed! It's a miracle."

Your smile veered toward a scowl as you sank into your chair at the kitchen table, showered and in a fresh change of clothes: your high school sweatshirt from your final homecoming game, the green and gold of Hawkins High. It was still soft and smelled of laundry soap.

All your other clothes smelled like Steve.

"Yeah," you murmured, wet hair dripping on the table.

Your father shuffled into the room in his slippers, glasses perched low on his nose, just as your mother slid a cup of homemade pudding your way. You gingerly accepted the spoon, mustering the smallest grin of appreciation. You hadn't wanted to eat. You tried a packet of trail-mix on the plane and it made your stomach flop. The smell of Sunday dinner (meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and green beans) still hanging in the kitchen air made you want to throw up.

But the pudding was smooth and sweet, and you ate small bites to keep your mother happy and your father quiet. You couldn't stomach another 'are you okay?'

You kept your sleeves tucked over your knuckles as you ate, limbs hidden in your sweatshirt and a pair of linty joggers. Soon, your entire family gathered at the table, licking pudding from spoons, tapping silver against porcelain to fill the quiet. The television hummed with an evening program in the living room. Even Nick sat, slump-shouldered beside you.

Their silence was almost as bad as their pestering.

"Guys," you sighed, spoon clattering on the table. "I'm fine, okay? I don't need you to...please don't hover, okay? I'm home now, and that's that."

You bounced between their gazes with a pointed look of your own, brows raised in question. Your parents bobbed their agreement, though the sourness to their expressions leaned toward hesitation. Your little brother, Nick, however, stared at the table with pursed lips. In his own silent way, his admiration for Steve spanned past athletic abilities and bled into morality. You didn't want to give him reason to believe Steve didn't deserve that admiration. Whatever happened between the two of you had nothing to do with him as a person.

You didn't want your little brother to think differently of his idol.

Before anyone could say anything else, the phone on the wall shrilled. You knew who'd be on the other line the moment your mother stood to answer, shuffling over in her pajamas and answering with a polite, chipper tone. You inhaled deeply when her eyes cut over to you.

"Sure, she's right here. Honey, it's Ste—"

You stood to your feet, chair screeching on the tile. "I'm sleeping."

You disappeared swiftly, steps ascending the creaking stairs followed by the clamp of your bedroom door slamming. Your father looked toward your mother, who pulled the phone from her chest and cleared her throat.

"You know what? She's sleeping right now. Try back in the morning?"

Steve's voice murmured through the other line in response, and your mother glanced at your father, who strained to listen.

"I'm sure she'll call you when she's ready, Steven. Just give her some space."

♡ ♡

Monday

You woke at noon and pouted at your disheveled reflection in the vanity mirror. A polaroid of Steve was wedged in the corner of the mirror: black hoodie, hood pulled up, strong jaw, cut cheekbones, a purpled split in his lip from a prior fight. He came home to you like that, bloody and bruised. He wasn't supposed to make you feel that way, too.

You pulled it from the mirror and placed it face-down on the vanity table. The kitchen phone rang while you coated your lashes in mascara, and again as you rummaged through your closet and a half-empty wardrobe left abandoned for months. You refused to touch your suitcase or the contents inside. It all reeked of Steve. All tainted by his touch.

The phone rang as you plucked your car keys from the glass bowl in the kitchen, and you heard it again—a distant, muffled blare—as you threw open the garage door and uncovered your untouched car. You drowned it in the growl of your engine, and for a moment, you felt relieved that it wouldn't be you crying today.

It would be Steve.

♡ ♡

You went to the only place you felt safe: the library.

Two words into your explanation speech, your boss, Shelly, placed a hand on your shoulder and slipped your name tag into your palm.

"Welcome back, sweetheart." She beamed, patting your arm and directing you on your way.

You dove right in, swimming through the stacks of books at a glacial, peaceful pace. You knew the system like the back of your hand, and soon all the books were in their rightful places on the shelves.

"Libby? Oh my god, when did you get home?" Lisa, another victim of abandonment for the sake of Steve, came rushing down the aisle you were in.

You hadn't spoken to Lisa since you left, and suddenly a pang of guilt crashed into you as she wrapped her arms around your shoulders. You returned the hug and mirrored her smile.

"Just the other day," you told her as she pulled away. "It was a last minute thing."

She bombarded you with questions, too blinded by enthusiasm to be upset with you for ghosting your friendship. You told her as much as you could, wincing when Steve's name came from her mouth. And like Beetlejuice or some other demonic figure, call his name three times and he shall appear.

"Baby."

You whipped around, smile crumbling at the sight of Steve stalking your way: sunglasses on, new Cadillac keys in one hand, a bouquet of pink roses in the other. Lisa became forgotten, and the stacks of books darkened like in vignette around you as Steve closed in on you.

You dropped the book in your hand on the metal cart you'd been working on, turning away from Steve to rush down the aisle.

"Lib—baby, come on!"

Lisa watched Steve zoom past her, mouth agape with confused awe as he chased after you. Your poker face remained bitter and impenetrable as you made your way through the center aisle, skirt flouncing with every stomp of your kitten heels.

"Libby, please, stop."

"I told you not to follow me," you droned without turning around.

His keys jingled with every jog after you, cellophane-wrapped flowers crinkling in his fist. You curled your fingers into a fist of your own, nails biting skin as his scent crept your way. You were grateful it was still school hours and the library was only half empty. Half the humiliation.

"You really thought—baby, please, stop."

Thick fingers circled your wrist, skirting you to a stop far gentler than the one that drove you away. His grip, much more delicate, still made your eyes sting. You kept your chin turned away but allowed your body to stop at his will. In your periphery, his puppy-dog look begged you to pay attention to him.

Steve heaved for air. "You really thought I wouldn't come after you? That I wouldn't fight for you? Baby, please. Come on, I love you so much. I'm-I'm sorry."

Your cheeks burned white hot, lip wobbling. He was always sorry.

You pushed at his hand, urging his touch away from you. He followed your movements, and like he didn't understand, he pulled you closer. You pushed at his chest this time, insistent on space between your bodies.

"Steve, stop," you sighed, wiggling your wrist in his hold.

"Baby, please just talk to me—"

"—you hurt me, Steve."

Steve sighed, head hanging toward yours. "I know, baby—"

"—you don't know. I told you not to come after me."

Steve took his hand away, shoulders drooping. He deflated with a syrupy sigh, the heel of his palms reaching for your jaw. The metal of his car key bit into your chin, the cellophane of the flowers you wouldn't be taking tapping your cheek.

"Libby, why are you doing this? Please, I'm here, I'm sorry." His voice wavered with undeniable guilt, dripped with sorrowful regret.

But it wouldn't be that easy this time.

How many times have you stood in this position now? How many times has he grabbed your face and kissed it clean of tears he triggered you to shed? How many times has he stomped on your heart, only to glue it back together for a chance to shatter again.

"Go, Steve," you mumbled, shoving his hands away again.

He'd never seen you so withdrawn. You were almost...cold. Unfeeling. Steve recoiled like you'd burned him, hands coming to dangle at his sides. You hadn't looked at him once, and you turned on your heel without doing so.

He watched you walk away, standing in the carpeted center aisle of the library with his heart in his hands.

♡ ♡

Tuesday

Steve sat on your porch with his head in his hands, elbows digging divots in his thighs.

Big and Mikey were frantic, calling his apartment phone insisting he return before the endorsements caught wind of his sudden departure. He spent the night tossing and turning, glaring at your flowers still wrapped and tied with ribbon on the kitchen table. He'd let them die if you wouldn't have them.

He woke this morning after barely a wink of sleep and found himself here. He parked the Cadillac on the curb and tapped his fingers on the wheel, wondering if he should wait it out in there. But then your mother tapped on the glass of the window, and he rolled it down to flash her a smile.

"Steven...I think she wants to be alone."

Steve nodded, looking off toward your window. "Yeah. Right, yeah. I just...I want...I have to—I just want her to—"

"—you can stay. But if she asks you to leave, please respect her wishes."

Steve nodded again, and watched your mother's car back out of the driveway moments later. When she was gone, and the house was empty aside from you, Steve hurried to the steps. He lifted a hand to knock and paused.

He really hurt you this time, he knew it all too well. But…you always took him back. No matter what he did, you always took him back if he said he was sorry. Why was this time any different?

Steve huffed, kicking the wedge of metal under the door. Why did he always have to snap? Why did he always have to lose control? You deserved better, and if you gave him a chance, he’d try to be that for you.

Muttering under his breath, Steve fixed his hands on his hips and began to pace the porch, rehearsing before he knocked: “M’ sorry…m’ sorry for bein’—ach, fuck. Libby, m’ sorry for—“

“—do you know what you’re sorry for, Steve?”

Steve whirled around, hands dropping to his sides. You were pajama clad and puffy-eyed, a pair of glasses too big for your face slipping down your nose. Your slippers had bunny ears and lint around the edges.

“Everything, baby,” Steve breathed, taking a wide stride toward the door. “I’m sorry for everything.”

You sighed, leaning against the doorway. You crossed your arms, and as you tucked them against your chest, Steve found the bruise on your forearm. He stopped in his ascent toward you, hands paused mid-air.

“Wha—what is…did I—is that from me—“

“Steve,” you whispered, yanking your sleeve down. “Just…it’s not a big deal, okay?”

He blinked at you, shuffling back a step. “Not a big deal? Libby, I never meant—it is a big deal, baby—“

“—obviously it’s a big fucking deal, Steven. I just…I don’t wanna do this right now, alright?"

Steve understood your sudden hostility, but it still made him frown. He took another step back, stumbled this time. He couldn't swallow past his heart, thumping in his throat. "O-okay..."

You looked anywhere but him. His shoes, the tree-coated lawn, the birds swooping down. You reached for the door behind you, stepping back into the house. Steve jerked forward, jaw clenching. He wasn't used to refraining from you. He didn't know how to stop from touching you, kissing you, feeling you. He felt sick over what he did.

"Is it—can I...come back? Can we talk?" He took his lip between his teeth and gnawed, ripping skin and splitting the seams. He sucked the blood into his mouth and you tipped your head, letting it rest against the front door.

His cheeks held the faintest pink glow, eyes doe-like and melancholic. God, you were easy, weren't you?

"Yeah...yeah, Steve, we'll talk."

Steve released his lip, nodding. His hands wrung together in line with his pelvis. "Tomorrow?"

You nodded, lifting your head from the door. "Tomorrow."

♡ ♡

Wednesday

The only place in town to get coffee was Laurie's, and you sighed as you stood on the curb outside the diner. The autumn breeze whipped around you in a brisk tunnel, skipping crisp leaves across the street, bringing wisps of hair to your eyes. Steve was already inside, tapping his sunglasses on the granite tabletop, knee shaking furiously against the booth. It seemed like a lifetime ago that you had breakfast in that very booth with him, smitten with his charm and drunk on his attention.

The bell chimed with your arrival, and Steve watched you with half-lifted eyes as you slid his way. You sank into the booth with grace, reaching for a pink sugar packet to fiddle with.

"Got you a coffee. Vanilla creamer," he said, motioning toward the stained white porcelain on your left.

"Thanks."

He sat, hunched, like halved version of himself. Sliced by his own wrongdoings, a pile of poisoned pieces in a diner booth. His knuckles ached from punching the old bag in his apartment, eyes heavy from crying. He cracked a toe on the end of his dresser and broke a mug. He nicked his finger on a shard when he fumbled to put it together again.

Even his regret was enraged.

Steve tapped his sunglasses again, scratching at his scalp. You cupped your palms around the mug for warmth, steam fogging the lenses of your glasses. He hated that he didn't know what to say. He hated that you weren't yelling at him, throwing things at him—something. He'd let you tear his hair out if it meant you still cared enough.

"Baby...I don't know what to say," Steve sighed airily, hands resting on the table.

You clicked your shoes together under the table, watching the vat of brown liquid ripple in your mug. "Yeah."

Steve looked at you. He watched you stare blankly, he watched you breathe out. "Yeah? That's...that's it?"

You shrugged. "I'm tired of being the one to explain, Steve. I'm tired of outlining your own behavior for you."

Steve dragged a hand through his hair, huffing through his nose.

"Alright, I'm not...I'm not sayin' you should. I just—I'm just sorry. You know I'd never hurt you—"

You cut him a look: incredulous, pinched, pained. Steve tossed his glasses aside, and they skittered toward the sugar packets.

"—on purpose...God, baby, I'd never hurt you on purpose."

You rolled your lip between your teeth, looking toward your arm, bruise hidden beneath another sweater. Steve mirrored your gaze, head sagging toward his shoulder.

"Can I...can I see it?" he murmured.

You turned to him, cheeks warm. The diner clinked with cutlery, clattering with piles plates. Only a few truckers and an old woman filled the space around you.

You pulled away from your coffee and nodded, hands falling to your lap. You took another look around as Steve sat up, inhaling to steady himself, and inched toward the edge of the booth.

"Not here."

Steve followed you to the alley, keeping a reasonable distance that killed him to maintain. You rolled your sleeve up, back to the brick wall, and let Steve cradle your arm to inspect. The hand that squeezed the skin scraped gently across you now. You shivered as his breath fanned the indigo mark. It was starting to fade at least.

You were about to remark on this small relief, attempt an ill-humored joke, when Steve collapsed to his knees. Chunks of gravel skittered with his weight upon them. You gasped and flinched at his sudden movement, gazing down to find his mouth coating your arm in weepy kisses.

You were frozen in his featherlight touch, fingers barely pressing into your wrist; smattering you in wet lip prints.

"Jesus, m' sorry. M' so—" He sniffled, loud and slurping. "M' so fuckin' sorry."

You leaned into the brick for support, mouth agape and only capable of silence.

"Please f-forgive me, angel, please. I'll never do it again, I p-promise," he whimpered, eyes like shallow, pink pools of water pleading up at you.

With unsteady fingers, you lifted your right hand to his cheek. He fell into you touch, sighing into the skin. He pressed a kiss to your palm, smeared tears against your uninjured skin. He hiccuped for air, jolting with stacattoed sobs. You'd never seen him so distressed. The closest he ever came to this was in Seattle, when the mention of his mother sent him into a spiral.

You slid your hand across the nape of his neck, lifting your palm to glide down the back of his silky hair. "Alright. Alright, Steve, it's okay."

He fell forward, arms winding around your thighs, face smushed against your stomach. You buried your fingers in his hair, kneading like dough.

"It's okay, you're okay. I forgive you, baby."

Steve nodded, squeezing you tight. You ached something awful in your gut, a piercing pang in your chest. You dipped down to press a kiss on his head, squeezing your eyes shut.

And right there in that sharp graveled alleyway, you got down on your knees with him. Eye to eye, mouth to mouth, you hid your bruise beneath a sleeve again and attached yourself to him. His tears were salty and cool, sucked free of warmth by the air nipping at exposed skin. His lips were soft and tasted like acidic coffee.

Remnants of a sob lingered on his tongue when he exhaled into your open mouth. His hands were hot and heavy on your cheeks. You clutched at his hoodie for dear life. He tore away from your mouth and journeyed kisses down your cheek—open-mouthed, full of breath, a little slice of teeth. He wandered to your neck and nuzzled deep.

A ceremonial on your knees.

Your mother would have questions. Your father wouldn't trust Steve for a long time. Your little brother would never know the difference. Big and Mikey would take the pair of you back without a word, because at least their pockets would still be lined with dough.

And Steve?

Steve learned that you'd stay, no matter how bad he could be.

♡ ♡

[silly-little-gooses]

what your favorite the inheritance games character says about you!

from my humble little brain (pls don’t get offended this is a joke)

~ avery - you’re sticking with the classic. a good choice, although a bit boring. you definitely relate to her *cough* daddy issues *cough* and you dream of becoming rich. tig gave you very high standards for men and you’re questioning if they will ever be met.

~ jameson - you’re either madly in love with him or you think he’s cool and relate to his trauma. you’re definitely fun, perhaps irresponsible. you’re extremely loyal and absolutely hilarious pls marry me.

~ grayson - WE GET IT. YOU LIKE HIM. 😐.

~ xander - you have excellent taste, my friend. you definitely relate to him *cough* daddy issues pt 2 *cough* and struggle with being good enough. however, your trauma has made you funny so that’s a plus!

~ nash - to be so fr, idk if yall exist. he is a criminally underrated character. either you think you’re quirky by picking the least popular brother or you think he’s underrated (like me). nash got you into western style and now you say “howdy” unironically.

~ libby - you are an absolute legend. ik I’ve said this but you definitely relate to her trauma with parent issues and abusive relationships. you’re also the sweetest human being ever and ilysm let’s be friends and bake pastries together and have picnics in the woods yk

~ max - god tier sense of humor. you’ve also probably never cursed a day in your life and you’re glad you finally found a character that captured your escense. you either desperately want a xander in your life or you want to be the cool rich sassy single aunt/uncle. either way, ily.

~ emily - you don’t exist

~ eve - you REALLY don’t exist

~ rebecca - hello lgbtq+ community. we get it, you’re angry and angsty and you have great music taste, okay? if you’re queer, you def had internalized homophobia as a child and if you’re not queer, then you just really relate to a character with anxiety.

~ thea - you’re so cool. a bit judgy at times, but still cool!

~ alisa - I support all women’s rights and wrongs and I will support you on your plots for revenge or whenever you’re feeling stressed pooks <3

~ oren - icon. that’s you. that’s all, byeeee!

[queerliblib]

what happened to the collections on queerliblib.overdrive.com? i saved the link to the nonfiction for black history month collection so i could look at it later, but now it's just a 404 error and the "collections" menu is blank!

hello! so those different categories you see pop up on the OverDrive website and in Libby like ‘In Translation’ or ‘Asexual Spectrum Representation’ are curated lists that we build from the collection. We can also only have a certain number of these lists published at one time, so we rotate a few out each month. non-fiction for Black History Month, and our valentines list, were cycled out so we could have space to post a list for Women’s History Month.

we’re sorry that caused some confusion/frustration! the good news though, is that all those books are still in our collection. you can browse just our non-fiction here, and keep an eye out for relevant titles like She Called Me Woman, Bayard Rustin: a Legacy of Protest & Politics, When they Tell You to be Good, The Famous Lady Lovers, Black Queer Freedom, & more

[asexualbookbird]

Oh what a month for reading! Some really bad books, but also some candidates for favorites of the year! Had book club! That was fun as always! I also started TWO new fiber craft projects which I'm excited about. The Cabled crochet blanket is SO much fun and I'm really getting into the groove of it. I've learnt how to read crochet charts! Partially anyway. For this one project. It's clear I am still recovering covid because I can't do much else than sitting in bed reading lol But hey, I'm resting and having fun!

Envy of Angels by Matt Wallace ⭐⭐⭐⭐ - What a delightfully hilarious nugget of a book! Absolutely wacky! Definitely interested in the rest of the series, but it's also more of a Read When In Brain Fog so I want to save it for my bad brain days lol

Shadow of the Crown by Amber Morane ⭐ - Unpolished. Poorly written. The ending sucked. No redeeming qualities and I do not want to read more from this series or author. At least it was free.

Starter Villain by John Scalzi ⭐⭐⭐ - Another fun and silly book! Scalzi definitely has a way of writing that defines a Scalzi Book™️. Don't think too much about it, just enjoy the ride. Loved the cats, I think more authors should put genius cats into their books.

Firebreak by Nicole Kornher-Stace ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ - CRYING. SOBBING. SCREAMING. Finally read this and I am in PAIN! Very good, very feelings, this is what Ready Player One could've been.

Flight & Anchor by Nicole Kornher-Stace ⭐⭐⭐⭐ - The Prequel to Firebreak, glad I read this second so that lines could hurt me more because I know how their stories end. I'm not sure what, but this one was missing something for me that made me enjoy it a little less than Firebreak, but I still enjoyed it a lot! A great duo!

His Majesty's Dragon by Naomi Novik ⭐⭐⭐⭐ - Reread for book club! Still enjoyed it a lot! Still adore Temeraire and Laurence! The amount of times they call each other "my dear" so early melts my heart. I'd probably like this even more if I actually enjoyed historical fiction and the Napoleon wars.

Godkiller by Hannah Kaner ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ - hey. Hi. Hello. What if Geralt was canonically a woman and the demon chicken from Nettle & Bone had a Voice. What. If. This book is a part of me now thanks bye!

Again, no clear goals for March. I"m honestly having a good time just reading with whatever I vibe with. I didn't get to the Ga'Hoole books in February, so I'll put those at the top of my potential list for March, but other than that? Who knows! I definitely immediately put myself on the libby waitlist for Sunbringer I need to know how Kissen, Elo, and Ina get on. I need to know they're all okay. Please let them be okay ;-;

If you have any recommendations for books like Godkiller I am ALL EARS! Might replay Witcher III about it in the meantime.

[lyrakanefanaticwriting]

i saw your post saying you wanted ff requests, and i don't know if this is specific enough for you, if it's not, thats fine and you don't have to do it, but i'd love for you to write an averyjameson fic where avery has a panic attack during an event of some sorts (any reason; reminders of the shooting, etc), and jamie finds her in an empty hallway and comforts her with like forehead kisses and by whispering sweet nothings in her ear.

OOOOO OKAYY (and dw it’s specific enough 💗💗)

——————————————————————————

I patted down my dress, hoping to make the time pass by faster. As a result of Jamesons brushes with the law, Alisa dragged us to another fancy party to clear the air around us. The only thing was that tomorrow would mark the official day that my mom died. I wanted to get it off my mind, but it never would. That day will probably haunt me till the day I die. And having to fake smiles, engage in small talk, and pretend like I belong here just makes everything more difficult. I held in a breath as Grayson, Jameson, Nash, and another rich family that Tobias was associated with walked towards me. I forced a smile.

“Hello, Mr and Mrs. Beaumont. How are you enjoying the party so far?” I asked, morphing my face into something pleasant. The truth was, I hadn’t told Jameson that tomorrow marked the day that my mom had died because I wanted to get it off my mind. But now I sort of wished I had somebody who understood what was going on, somebody like Jameson. Mr. Beaumont flashed me a winning smile.

“It’s quite the party, Ms. Grambs. I love the venue, very nice and old fashioned.” He said, smiling. I smiled back.

“Alisa wanted this place to have a cozy, yet elegant feel. I suggested it myself.” Nash said, tipping his hat. I caught Jamesons eye and immediately his smile turned into a frown. I wondered if he could really read the sadness on my face that well, when nobody else had seemed to notice. Is everything okay? He asked with his eyes. I looked away, swallowing. It felt horrible to push Jameson out, but honestly I just wanted to be alone right now. And I can’t tell him what’s going on anyway, with the Beaumonts in front of us. Mrs. Beaumont smiles, her eyes shimmering.

“So, I heard you’re creating a Game, Ms. Grambs?” She asks me. I nod.

“Yes. It involves 7 contestants from all around the world who have a chance to receive millions of dollars, if they can complete and win The Game. It’ll be mostly riddles, puzzles, and games that require your brain power. Me and the Hawthornes, as well as Rebecca and Thea, will be supplying the riddles and puzzles.” I respond. Her smiles widens.

“Well, aren’t you a smart girl? Thinking up riddles all on your own. Your mother must be so proud. I wish I had a girl, but instead I have 3 little boys who wreak havoc on each other.” She said with a laugh. She keeps talking about The Game, but all other conversation fades into background noise as my breathing stops. Your mother must be so proud. Was she proud, my mother? I didn’t know anymore. Because I didn’t know my mother anymore. I was starting to forget her belief in me, her love for me, her laugh, and that fills me up with an emptiness that nothing else ever could. Feeling the tears threaten to burst from my eyes, I butt into Graysons and Mr. Beaumonts conversation.

“I’m sorry, but I have to use the washroom, If you’ll excuse me.” I say, before turning and walking towards the hall. But as tears start to shine my eyes, my walk turns into a run, and suddenly I’m sprinting down the venue towards the exit. I speed past Libby, who’s giving me a wide eyed look and calling out my name, but I didn’t care. I needed to be away from all of this, because it was killing me. I shoved the doors open, gasping as the tears start sliding down my cheeks. I run into an empty hallway and spot a table, with a large white tablecloth blocking the legs of it. I duck under it and sit there, the tablecloth blocking anybody’s view of me, and sob into my knees. The hall was empty, but I still tried my best to cry as quietly as possible. After about 30 seconds of sobbing, I heard footsteps coming into the hall. I sucked in a breath as I tried to stay as quiet as I could, while also listening to see who it was. There wasn’t a voice, but from close to me I could hear a sigh, and immediately recognized it. Jameson. He walks closer, his footsteps getting louder. Suddenly, a breath catches in my throat and I sniff without meaning to. The footsteps stop, and then get way louder. Then, a hand yanks the table cloth up, and Jameson crawls under the table to sit next to me. He doesn’t put a hand around my waist, or kiss me, but instead speaks.

“Y’know, Heiress, we’re probably gonna have to go to another dinner party because of the drama that you sparked at this one.” He said, his voice joking. I didn’t say anything, but the sound of his voice was still comforting, so I soaked it in. Then, he turned to me, a serious look in his eyes.

“Your mother is proud of you. I can’t think of a reason she wouldn’t be.” He said. I turned to look at him, the eye contact making my stomach twist, and tears started to shine my eyes again.

“I just can’t stop wondering if I’m doing it all right. Or if I’m disappointing her or not.” I say, looking down at my knees. Then, I feel his arm slide around my waist, and the touch is so comforting I sigh.

“Of course you’re doing it right. You’re living your life, flying around the world and visiting all the places that you and her had planned to go. You donated almost all of the money you inherited to an amazing cause, became the world’s youngest philanthropist, and fell in love with an extremely handsome man.” He says, the ends of his lips tilting up at the last part. I smile myself, choking out a sob-laugh. His smile vanishes as he takes my face in his hands and kisses the tears off it. Each kiss feels like a balm on open wounds, and I was starting to regret not telling him about my mother’s death date being tomorrow earlier. When he’s done kissing my tears, he stares into my eyes, with so much love in his own I shiver.

“If your mother were around today, all she would be able to talk about is how proud you make her, Avery Kylie Grambs. Never forget that.” He whispered, his voice intense. I wiped my eyes with a smile and held his hand, before bringing my face close to his and kissing his forehead.

“I’ll try not to, Jameson Winchester Hawthorne.” I whispered back, using his full name just like how he had used mine. He grinned at me and brought his lips close to mine. I gave a small nod and suddenly, Jameson was kissing me, each brush of his lips making me want more and more. Eventually we separated, and I turned my body, laying my head on his chest. We both didn’t say a word, and I allowed myself to relax and soak up the moment, while focusing on the beat of Jamesons heart. I smile, and just for a moment, imagine my mother looking down on me, smiling as well.

——————————————————————————

THIS WAS SUCH A CUTE REQUESTTT THANK YOUU 💗💗

alsoo can anybody spot the lyra x grayson line from the brothers hawthorne that i put in here? 😜

[mattias-slater]

Mattias Slater

Hello, Mattias Slater here, also known as slate. I belong to my sunshine Gigi only so fuck off.

20 years old, and very tired of being the bodyguard of the most idiotic, dumb person I've ever graced my elegant lashes upon @evelaughlin

@the-hawthorne-heiress please give the honorable asshole @thegraysonhawthorne even more hell I live for it and if possible, please send eve back to her creator 🙏

@jameson-hawthorne ticking time bomb indeed

@libby-grambs eve never spoke of you tbh

@thegraysonhawthorne the only thing I like about you is your sister and the way you rejected evelyn

@xander-hawthorne-is-the-best eve told me that you are a genius

@omg1g1 my dear sunshine ☀

@savannah-grayson you're female Grayson but better one

@theaaacalligaris eve kinda likes you idk why but don't u have a gf ?

@lyraisonthephone dunno who u are but surely going to be eve's nemesis

@motherfaxingmax I like your humor

Evelyn if you're watching this, please don't challenge Avery you're going to be floored.

acc ran by @lumine4624

[paracosmicat]

HELLO ! feed me tyrus date headcanons please !! or literally any andi mack headcanons i love seeing everyone’s thoughts <333

I WOULD LOVE TO

- TJ’s family tended to go to McDonald’s a lot so now he thinks going anywhere besides McDonalds is super fancy.

Cyrus: Should we go to Wendy’s?

TJ: Woah there, I would have worn something nicer than a hoodie if I had known

- I still love the idea of Tarty exes, that still lives in my brain, so I would love the idea of Buffy and Cyrus planning a double date and then TJ and Marty sit down like “what are you doing here?”

- TJ asks Andi to help him make a gift for Cyrus for one of their monthiversaries and it is about as awkward as you can expect because TJ keeps getting so frustrated and Andi isn’t the best teacher but eventually they have a breakthrough and it results in the best gift ever

- TJ keeps coyly asking Cyrus to come to the swing set with him and Cyrus is kind of avoidant about it until eventually he confesses that he saw him and Kira there and that it really hurt him and TJ gets to explain and apologize

- They stop trying to have milkshake dates at The Spoon after the tenth time it’s crashed by the entire GHC plus Amber plus Jonah plus Libby and so on and so forth

- You better believe that next costume day TJ goes all out to apologize. He makes the two of them do several costume changes throughout the day and each of them are disgustingly sweet couples costumes. There’s not a single person at Grant High that doesn’t know they’re together.

- TJ and Cyrus movie dates consist of High School Musical 1 2 and 3 just because I said so

[brighter-by-the-daly]

Rachel Daly x Reader

Part One: Dashed Hopes

AN: Inspired by the song “Becky’s so Hot” but when I asked for who to base it on got this from anon and decided to go in a different direction than planned

Prompt: I’m imagining this with Rachel and her leaving the Dash and transferring to Villa

AN: let’s ignore the real life timings for this one.

As you stared down at your phone ringing you debated whether to answer it or not. It was your best friend, Libby, you loved her but she always had some sort of drama going on and you weren’t sure if you wanted to deal with it today. You’d arrived home from America last week and was reacquainting with your old town. Watching as the name disappeared from the screen you were able to breathe again but the relief didn’t last long when it lit up once more two seconds later. You knew she wouldn’t stop ringing until you answered so reluctantly succumbed to the drama.

“You’ll never believe who I just saw!” she screamed down the phone. This could range from a school friend you hadn’t seen in 20 years or Beyoncé. No ‘hello’ or ‘how are you’, just straight into the gossip as usual. “Becky!” she shrieked making you move your phone away from your delicate ears. Becky used to be a friend of yours until she stole Libby’s boyfriend 5 years ago. You always liked the girl but you can’t carry on being friends with someone your bestie hates. It’s girl code. “How was she-“ you started to ask but got cut off. “No! The news isn’t that I saw Becky” this made you frustrated, just get to the point woman! “But you just said guess who I see, Becky” the overly sarcastic tone rolling off your tongue with ease. “No, (y/n) shut up and let me finish the story!” Rolling your eyes, you knew she had drama and should have stuck to your guns with not answering the phone, you just wanted a peaceful afternoon to enjoy the nostalgic atmosphere of your home town. But no. In comes Hurricane Olivia. “Stay where you are I’ll come meet you” she said hurriedly before hanging up abruptly leaving you no time to object.

The coffee shop bell dinged as the tornado of a woman found you in the corner. Asking how she knew where you were she explained she’d put your phone on her find me app ages ago. You were shocked but certainly not surprised - ever since you lost each other at a party last year she’d been highly protective of you. The woman couldn’t fight her way out of a paper bag but she means well.

“So! I saw Becky!” stumbling into the chair opposite you and dumping her bag on the table making it rock. “Yeah you’ve already told me this, why’d you have to come over here-“ you were unable to finish your sentence as she cut you off. “No! I saw Becky..” she paused for dramatic effect “with Rachel!” your eyebrows raised in a fashion that showed you were not amused with her mediocre statement. “Well that’s not news, they’re on the same team” you tried to reason with her but once again you were interrupted. “No listen to me, they were holding hands!”

“(Y/n)!” Fingers snapping in your face broke you out of the wide eyed trance staring into your coffee cup. What the fuck. Becky and Rachel? Nooo. This can’t be happening. You asked her if she was sure that’s what she witnessed but Libby was adamant that it was true - they looked incredibly coupley. God, that girl really knows how to move in on other people’s partners! Granted, you and Rachel have been over for a little while now but you didn’t expect this. You’re still not over her and she’s out there with a whole new girlfriend! It’s not even been a month! Should have known really, she always moved quickly - historically falling in and out of love fast but you just didn’t realise you were that easy to get over. You thought Rachel was the love of your life and now someone you used to call friend has swooped in on her when your side of the bed was barely cold. You tried hard to not let it get to you but your face said everything - you were hurt, sad and in need of a tub of ice cream. The fact she’s moved on so quickly made you feel like it was the day of the breakup all over again.

It was unexpected and just like any other day, you’d gone to sleep fiancées and woke up to a letter and her ring on the bedside table. Wardrobes and drawers empty. No pitter patters of Lexi’s paws on the kitchen floor. Half finished TV series that you watched together left on Netflix. She’d left your home, she’d left the team and she’d left the country overnight. This showed you her leaving was planned - she had gone to bed with you for weeks knowing she was eventually going to leave as soon as the transfer went through.

Sitting quietly in the corner of the coffee shop tears started to well in your eyes, you’d worked hard to get over her and you thought you had but all the emotions had come flooding back. Scrolling through all the unanswered messages and the photos of her on your phone your heart was breaking all over again. What’s worse is you’d just been called up for the World Cup that morning and would have to face Rachel at camp. For months. This couldn’t be worse timing. When you got the call up you were excited and felt empowered like you’d be able to be amicable colleagues for a while but all hopes of that had been dashed.

Part Two

[lyrakanefanatic]

Fic request-

Hawthorne family drama reveals Calla has a bf and then it's just a chain of revelations about EVERYTHING (Michael's slutty tattoo he got when he was drunk. hannah, calla and kylie sneaking off to a college party. Nia trying to fix Mara's oven and setting it on fire. Lucas gambling 10000 dollars in vegas. and the fact that essentially most of them have bfs/gfs)

Ik it's lengthy but would love to read it write at your leisure 🫶

OMGG I CANT BELIEVE I HAVENT SEEN THIS YET THIS LOOKS SO FUN TO WRITE 💀💀😭

——————————————————————————

It was Thanksgiving at Hawthorne house, and I was still thinking about the party from last night. Me, Hannah, and Kylie all decided to sneak out to go to a college party that my boyfriend’s brother was hosting, because we thought it’d be fun. Unfortunately, Michael caught us in the act. He promised he wouldn’t tell, but it’s Michael. Nothing lasts a secret in his mouth for long. And, if my dad were to find out I snuck out, let alone had a boyfriend, I would be dead. I was busy contemplating my life when a voice calls me back to the present.

“Calla? Hello?” My mom asks, a frown on her face. I snap my head up, my nerves shaking my body.

“What? Sorry, what is it?” I ask, praying that she didn’t find out about the party. Instead, her expression clears and she gestures to the bowl of mashed potatoes beside me.

“Do you mind passing those?” She asks me. I quickly grabs the bowl and hand it to her, my hands shaking the littlest bit. My mom seemed to sense my jitters, because she studied my face for a moment before taking the mashed potatoes from me. I released a breath of air before glancing at Michael for the millionth time that dinner, just to make sure he wasn’t going to say anything. He smirks at my nervousness, and looks away, a twinkle in his eyes.

“Hey, Gray,” He calls. My dad perks up and immediately my heart starts racing. Is he gonna snitch? Instead, Michael points to the stuffing by my dad’s plate. “Could you pass the stuffing?” He asks. Immediately, I let out a relieved sigh as I send Michael a glare, but he just grins back and adds more stuffing to his plate.

“There was such a big college party last night. This guy in my class hosted it, and almost everybody went.” Mara said, casually. She didn’t know about the fact that me, her sister, and Hannah went to that party, and immediately my heart started speeding up again. Then, her phone gets a notification and she goes on it.

“No phones at the dinner table.” Nash tells her.

“I know, I’m just checking some photos someone posted from that party last night, it was so-“ She cuts off suddenly. “Hey, that’s so weird, there’s a girl here that looks a lot like Hannah!” She says. My heart drops and Hannah, from across from where I was sitting, chokes on her water. I send Mara a look, but she’s already showing the photo to Avery, not thinking it actually was Hannah. Avery grabs the phone and looks closer, before gasping.

“That is Hannah! What were you doing alone at a college party?” She accuses. Before she can respond, my dad takes the phone from her and keeps swiping to look for more photos, before freezing.

“Well, she wasn’t alone. Calla, is this you kissing a guy in the photo, or are my eyes just tricking me?” He says, his voice calm yet absolutely dangerous. Everybody goes silent. I scramble for a response, when Kylie speaks.

“I was there too.” She says with a sigh. Good on her for not letting us get all the blame. Immediately, Nash and Libby start chastising her, but me, Hannah, and Kylie all glance at each other. We had a last resort if this were to happen, and that last resort was to throw Michael under the bus. We both nod at each other, before turning to the parents.

“Michael got a giant tattoo on his arm when he was drunk!” I shouted, pointing at him. Michael gasps and immediately gives me the coldest glare I had ever seen.

“Seriously, Calla? I’m not even the one who snitched!” He shouts, throwing his hands up in the air. Jameson and Avery both start yelling at Hannah and Michael, meanwhile me and my dad look at each other. My dad and mom weren’t the type to yell at me in public, but I fear for my life on the drive home. The stare he gave me, was in a word, murderous, and I doubted I was going to see my phone in the next week or two. I gulp, when Nia starts speaking.

“Wow, you guys have some crazy dirt on each other. I’m just glad this isn’t about the fire.” She said with a shrug, before glancing down at her food. I give her a confused look, when suddenly Mara gasps.

“Wait, were you the one who set my oven on fire? You told me it was broken!” She yelled accusingly. Nia immediately notices her mistake and makes a face.

“It was broken. After I touched it.”

“Seriously, Nia? You too? Are there no normal kids left in this household?” Max complains. Avery sighs and rubs her temples.

“Well, Xavier, Mara, and Lucas, you guys seem to be the only non trouble kids left.” She says with a sigh. They all nod, but give each other looks. Lucas sighs as well before speaking.

“Mom, don’t freak out, but I’m pretty sure almost everybody here has a girlfriend or boyfriend.” He says. The entire table groans and yells at Lucas, and I’m pretty sure the adults have had enough.

“Seriously, Lucas? Well, since you want to act like you’re the ‘innocent’ one, why don’t you tell mom what you did in Las Vegas last weekend?” Michael yells, pointing at him. Lucas gives him a warning glare, before speaking.

“I didn’t do anything in Las Vegas last weekend.” He said, his voice low and threatening. Michael, obviously, either does not take the hint or just doesnt care.

“Sure you don’t. Mom, Lucas gambled 10000 dollars just at one casino!” He shouts. Avery exploded.

“10000 dollars? Lucas, do you realize how much money that is? You are all in so much trouble, you don’t even know it!” She shouts back.

“Oh I know it.” Hannah mumbles, still scared for her life.

“What was that?” Avery snaps.

“Nothing mom.” I finally look at my own mom, who really just looked disappointed, and gave me a look that said, “Really, Calla?”. I look down at my lap and randomly, start laughing. It immediately goes silent as I slap my hand over my mouth, trying to contain my giggles. It wasn’t like I was happy about this situation, but it was either laughing or freaking out.

“Oh, we are all dead.” I say, laughing harder. Hannah giggles and soon she’s laughing too. Xavier, who had stayed silent this entire time, frowned.

“I’m not dead.” He says. I gave him a look that said, ‘shut it and enjoy the fact that nobody ratted you out’, and he took the advice by looking down and not speaking again. Jameson suddenly slaps his hands together and rubs them quickly.

“Well, that was an eventful dinner. Except we should all be getting home, because we have children to ground, phones to take away, and rules to be made ironclad.” He says. Groans circle through the table, and immediately my mom speaks.

“Don’t act like we’re the ones who told you to do stupid things. You’re all grounded, Xavier and Mara being the only exception. Calla, give me your phone, get your stuff, and get in the car.” She says, her voice somehow even. I sigh, before getting up, giving her my phone, and grabbing my purse and jacket. Hannah stands up with me.

“I’d love to walk to you all to the car.” She says. My parents try to refuse, but she immediately takes my arm and walks me outside. As soon as we’re outside, she starts speaking.

“Good luck soldier. I’m lucky I have other siblings for my parents to yell at; you’re the only one in your family.” She says, reassuringly rubbing my back. I sigh, just thinking about how long I’m gonna be grounded for.

“I bet 5 dollars that I’m getting grounded for two weeks.” I say. She snorts.

“Sure. At this point, I’ll just give it to you because I feel bad.” She says. I hear the front door open and my parents walk out, my dad’s face completely unreadable. They walk past me and into the car, and I follow them. Hannah does too, probably holding off the lecture for as long as she can. She waves to us as my dad pulls out of the garage, and he drives off. There’s silence for exactly 4 seconds before he looks in his rear view mirror at me, the look on his face dangerous and threatening. When he finally speaks, his voice is the exact same, except low.

“So, where were we?”

——————————————————————————

OKAY IM SORRY THIS IS SO LONG BUT THIS IS ACTUALLY THE FUNNIEST REQUEST IVE EVER GOTTEN 😭💀💀

[the-penguinspy]

28. “How long has it been since you’ve slept?” ava x lilith

ty for the prompt, em!! hope i do these two justice :)

//

Ava makes her way up the driveway while juggling the groceries in both arms, swearing as the bulky combo of winter coat, gloves, and heavy grocery bags lead to keys slipping from her grasp and colliding with a dull clink against the welcome mat. She does eventually manage to get in without further incident (zero grocery casualties this time!) and does a big internal fist-pump to celebrate. 

It’s dark inside, and she toes her shoes off and lines them up by the shoe rack as neatly as she can before heading into the kitchen. “Hello? Anyone home?” The bags are deposited on the countertop, Ava letting out a groan of relief as she shakes out her arms.

“Lil?” She flicks the lights on and the living room is washed in a warm glow, illuminating the empty couch and neatly stacked pile of reports left on the coffee table. Beatrice must have already left to drop off Libby for hockey practice. 

The door to the den is shut almost all the way but not firmly closed, and she sees how the light from inside makes its way out. Ah – still working then. The devil works hard, but Lilith on a mission works harder and is way scarier. Way hotter, too. 

Ava knocks on the door softly. A clearing of the throat and a raspy “come in” and she makes her way into the room at the invitation. Lilith’s focused on her laptop screen, papers askew on the desk and occupying every available space, and Ava spies the empty #1 Dad mug precariously close to the edge. Ava’s socks muffle her footsteps on the hardwood floor and she collects the mug before it gets swept off. 

“Hey, babe.” She bends and kisses Lilith on her cheek, Lilith turning her head for a brief peck before focusing once more on the screen in front of her. 

Ava squints at the page count on the screen. “How’s work going?” Lilith lets out a groan immediately, her immaculate posture collapsing as she slouches down in the seat and brings a hand up to rub at her eyes.

“I think I’m done. Goddamned clients keep changing the scope of the project on the fly, leaving me to pick up the pieces on an already-tight deadline.” Lilith’s free hand automatically reaches for her coffee – eyes still trained on the document in front of her – hand grasping at the air a few times before finally looking over and noticing that it’s gone. Her head jerks as she scans the desk for the mug and does a double-take once she notices its relocation to Ava’s hand.

It’s not often that Lilith is caught so off-kilter, and Ava is worried. Sure, Lilith’s used to a hectic work schedule, constant travel, and delicate meetings with clients and colleagues both, and yes she can handle herself well, has been handling it well for years, and Ava knows that Lilith knows her own limits. But Ava also knows that Lilith caught a red-eye the night before and came in early this morning, just barely greeting Ava and Beatrice with a kiss hello and a kiss on Libby’s cheek, one hand already loosening the knot of the tie at her neck before shutting herself into the den for work. 

“–final check before sending it off.” Ava blinks, coming back to the present and seeing Lilith straighten her back to start typing up a new email. Ava’s alarm bells ring all the louder when she witnesses the amount of words underlined in red, the computer’s auto-correct working overtime to bring the page back into grayscale. 

She rests a hand on Lilith’s shoulder and squeezes gently, grimacing as her thumb presses into an obvious knot at the junction where neck meets shoulder, and she mentally notes to give Lilith a back massage later. “Hey, Lil? When’s the last time you slept?” 

“Thirty-five hours ago,” Lilith replies without missing a beat, fingers flying over the keyboard as fast as the mistakes are popping up. Ava feels her eyes widen at that and – what the fuck. Yeah, this isn’t going to fly. She opens her mouth to say something but is beaten to the punch. “Don’t worry,” Lilith reassures, badly, “I took a one-hour nap on the flight home.”

Ava places the mug down on the floor near the wall and brings both hands to Lilith’s shoulders, kneading gently at the tight muscle there. Lilith continues working but eventually her typing slows, shoulders sagging and head hanging low as she sighs and mumbles, “Ava.”

“Yes?” Ava continues with the pressure, and a hiss escapes Lilith as Ava’s thumb presses into a particularly stubborn knot. “I have to get this out by tonight, Ava,” Lilith insists, but her voice sounds strained. The exhaustion finally seeps through her words, carried on the gentle wind of an exhale. 

Ava hums. “What’s on your agenda for tomorrow?” Lilith takes a moment to think, head still bowed. “Not much. Final once-over of my notes for my Monday meetings–” a quiet groan – “and then quality time with the family. But this has to go out by tonight so that the clients can look it over and give me the feedback in case they want to fucking change anything again–”

“Woah, hey, Lil! Let’s slow down for a sec.” Ava drops to a kneel, spins the chair around so that Lilith’s gaze is focused on her and away from the computer. “Your clients probably got off work–” Ava glances at the clock on the desk, winces– “two hours ago. It’s Friday night! They’re probably spending time with their family, or chillin’ by the TV, or going out getting wasted.” She smiles, reaches a hand for Lilith’s and swipes her thumb over Lilith’s knuckles. Lilith’s brows furrow, lips downturned, frown making its presence known. 

“Point is, it’s the weekend. Your colleagues and clients are most likely taking the weekend off to de-stress and focus on themselves. Their work is important and they’ll go back to work on Monday, check their emails and attend their meetings like the good little worker bees that they are–” Lilith chuckles weakly at this– “but until then, you’ve got time to relax.” The bags under Lilith’s eyes are prominent and Ava swallows hard past the lump in her throat. “Please, Lil,” she whispers. Maintains eye contact, brings Lilith’s hands to her lips, kisses the back of each. “For me?”

A slow exhale from Lilith, but the corner of her lips turn up the slightest bit. Ava smiles in response. Score. “You make a compelling argument, Silva,” Lilith says, an unscheduled yawn butting its way in between their conversation. Her hand comes up half a second too late to cover her mouth, exhaustion overriding even muscle memory. Cute, Ava thinks, as she stands and retrieves the mug for washing, placing a lingering kiss on the crown of Lilith’s head. “Go wash up, I’ll have dinner ready in a bit,” she says.

Ava makes to leave but feels Lilith’s arms wrap loosely around her thighs, feels Lilith’s forehead rest against her stomach, and she brings a hand up to the back of Lilith’s head as they hold each other. The pause only lasts a few seconds, but in that amount of time volcanoes could have erupted, tectonic plates could have shifted, galaxies could have collided, but all Ava would have noticed was the feel of Lilith’s soft breaths on her thin cotton t-shirt, the way the fabric fluttered against every shaky draw of breath, against every stuttered exhale. Fingers interlock behind Ava’s thighs to complete the circuit and send across the silent request for company. Difficult for Lilith to voice out loud, to let the words scrape their way out of her throat, but – this type of honesty is alright, too. 

Ava strokes her hand over Lilith's hair and kisses the top of her head once more for good measure. She’s just going to the kitchen, but a parting kiss for her departure nonetheless. For luck, for love, for everything in between. 

They’ll part eventually; two earphones finally untangled through patient fingers. Ava will leave to make the shepherd’s pie that Lilith so loves, and Lilith will come out of the shower, towel wrapped around herself with hair still dripping wet over the floor to kiss Ava in the kitchen, and Ava will laugh and pretend to be annoyed, these potatoes won’t mash themselves, Lil, but she’ll wrap her arms around Lilith’s neck and they’ll kiss for a fair bit before Lilith’s stomach grumbles as a reminder.

But for now, they stay in the moment, leaning against each other. A question and a reassurance in one. 

[rawrkki]

Rawrkki's sims cc dump

Hello eveyonee!

the time has finally come to showcase my sims cc collection that i promised you all. this is all the cc i have collected from july - september. it has taken me ages to put this all together so thank you for your patience :D

Hair ::

dahlia hair , jenn hair , silas hair , helia hair , helena hair , farah buns , suki hair , cassandra hair , page braids , aventia hair , bordeaux hair , byrdie bun , haven hair set , queenie hair , julie and cassie hairs , katniss braid , flowers bun , lucia bun , rachel hair , rin hair , futaba hair , laura ponytail , henrietta hair , gladys hair , libby hair , cassie hair , bonnie hair , funke hair , the curls collection , hye hair , nia hair , camille hair , iris hair , meiko hair , alexa hair , eylen hair set , bellatrix hair , gia hair

Sets ::

(g)i-dle - tomboy set , the downtown collection , romantic pajama set , y2k style set , the solstice collection , the scream collection , winter essentials , year of the rabbit , affection set , girlieZ collection , juicy tracksuit , fairy grunge lookbook , sweetie set , the mimosa collection , meadow winds set , vellichor set , nostalgia set , the thrift set , the gossip collection , bohemian child set , karaoke set , secret society collection , lovebirds set , sunday nights collection , senior year collcetion , kumikya sweater collection , agos dress , neve set , cyber cargos , brand new set , random top collection , silky dress , luna leggings , ankle biter set , bizochito set , recolor dump (you'll have to find the meshes yourself sorryyy) , sunny skies , star collection , baby doll top , skirt collection , fold down pants , band tees , silly shirts , stripes bikinis

Makeup ::

nya eyeliner , gyaru gals , spiderlike eyeliner , graphic liner set , countess set , sour fruits set , sophia lipstick , bad bixch eyeliners , pastel y2k collection , eyeshadow n212 , sukeban eyeshadow , starliner , magbay eyeliners , nose graphic liner

Presets ::

elven ear presets , nose presets , mouth presets ,

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

Thank you all for being so patient, and im sososo sorry this took sooo long to make, ive been having some personal problems so that has taken away a huge chunk of my time. There is more i couldve included but honestly this wouldnt have ever made it out of the drafts if i tried to add all of that. If you want to see some more mods ive collected, my pinterest where everything is here: :D Thank you again for all the support, and hopefully some new content should be out soon for you guys!

Love you alll

-Atlas

[birgittesilverbae]

the sun is a miasma of incandescent plasma (fic: dads)

for @smokestarrules

//

"Dad, what happens when you die?" Libby settles down on the couch beside Lilith, her hands folded together in her lap.

Lilith takes a moment to lean forward and lay her phone down on the coffee table, trying desperately to gather her thoughts. "Do you remember what it was like before you were born?"

Libby's brows pinch together, her face serious. She ponders the question for a moment that seems to stretch into aeons, giving Lilith time to develop approximately seventeen new stages of grief, and then she shakes her head. "No, I don't."

"Well, it'll be like that."

Libby's eyes go wide, her bottom lip trembling, tears pooling.

Lilith tries valiantly to hide her grimace behind pursed lips. "Why are you worried?"

"Because I'll be dead."

Lilith brushes the hair back from Libby's face and thumbs a tear from the corner of her eye. "Libby, darling, you weren't worried about it before you were born. You won't be worried about it then, either."

"Oh." Lilith holds her breath, but Libby just nods to herself. "Okay. That makes sense, I think."

Lilith tries not to let her sigh sound too relieved.

//

Lilith stares blankly out the window for a solid fifteen minutes before finally picking up the phone. She hits her first speeddial and kicks her feet up on her desk.

"Hello–"

"Why was our five-year-old asking me about what happens when we die?" Lilith asks by way of a greeting.

"I'm sorry?" Beatrice's audio sounds a bit tinny for a moment, and then it's clear again. "Sorry, in the middle of a workout, had you on speaker. What did you say? … Lilith? Are you still there?"

Lilith shakes herself out of her reverie and repeats the question.

Beatrice lapses into silence and Lilith tries her best not to envision her, straddling a weight bench in their home gym, towel around her neck, a sheen of sweat–

"We were talking about the lifecycle of stars the other day," Beatrice says, and Lilith has to scramble to keep from dropping her phone. "About how one day the sun will die."

"Beatrice." Lilith tips her head back and groans. "Please tell me you made sure she understood the timescale of that."

Beatrice is very, very, very quiet for long enough that Lilith has to check to see that the call is still connected. "Oh," she says finally in a small voice.

"Jesus Christ, Beatrice."

[zukossocialskills]

hello i'm starting to read the atlas six so i thought that it would be a good idea to share my first impressions of each character based only on the official art. do not bully me, i'm probably wrong about everything

N°1: Callum Nova

he looks like a rich kid bc he's blonde and has a champagne thingy

punchable

smug probably

he also looks like he loves himself

typical talented kid turned egotistical asshole??

OR MAYBE A NIKOLAI LANSTOV KINDA GUY that would be amazing

N°2: Tristan Caine

"look at me i'm tough"

also punchable

but maybe he's just a misunderstood troubled kid with a bad childhood and idk

he has definitely killed people before

kaz brekker type of guy

emotionally constipated

he and the previous guy hate each other

N°3: Parisa Kamali

obviously likes books

the nerdy one

probably the one i will relate to

has beef with the first one

knows how to makeup

is also shipped with that man

N°4: Reina Mori

cute as in pretty

shy but only bc she won't talk to anyone

plants

mad all the time

autism

aroace

N°5: Nico de Varona

leo valdez/james potter variant

makes fun of everyone

"i'm actually dead inside"

acts like he loves himself but my man fights against his own emotions everyday and is constantly losing

probably the love interest of the main female character tbh

basic but cool

adhd coded bc in books there's always the autistic coded and the adhd coded

N°6: Libby Rhodes

main female character

enemies to lovers w grown leo valdez

has time powers

has no friends

doesn't know how to makeup but nerdy girl teaches her bc women supporting women

probably had an "i'm not like other girls" phase but now she's really nice

feminism(tm)

N°7: Gideon Drake

gay gay homosexual gay

secretly a monster based on the doodles

or maybe he can talk to monsters??? idk what this book is about

had a crush on emotionally constipated one but obviously didn't work

uwu-boyed by the fandom

autism

[moonchildreads]

small town

Chapter 15 - Don't You Want Me

IN THIS CHAPTER: Illicit library naps, a sleepover, and Important Questions get asked [7.3k]

WARNINGS: fear of coming out (lighthearted, everything turns out okay), self doubt, bisexuality? idk if that's a warning but if you haven't noticed yet, eddie and dot are both bi lol

A/N: happy pride friends! i swear to god i didn't plan for this chapter to be out and proud in june, i set the outline in stone months ago but i'm taking it as a happy accident. sorry for posting a day late, yesterday was Not Great but we should get back to friday updates this coming week. enjoy <3

masterlist - prev - next | playlist

You know I can't believe it When I hear that you won't see me

Monday, May 12th - 1986

The rainy spell that haunted Hawkins at all times continued throughout most of the Monday, up until lunch time when it finally relented. The sky was still mostly dark with heavy clouds hiding the sun while the Hellfire seniors stood just outside the cafeteria doors, waiting for Eddie to be done with the conversation he was about to engage in so they could head to their next classes. All four of them - Dottie, Gareth, Donny, and Jeff - were staring pointedly at him as he approached the cheerleaders’ table.

“Got the goods, Cunningham?” Eddie raised his voice to call Chrissy’s attention.

“Yup! Got ‘em right here!” she said, smiling brightly and reaching into her pocket to grab the remaining prom tickets she’d promised to save for him. He gave her the money and she accepted it gracefully, but when he leaned forward to grab the tickets, she snapped her hand back, lifting it over her head. “You better suit up, Munson, or I’ll personally block your way in.”

“We’ll dress up, I promise,” he said, crossing his heart. “Scout’s honor.”

“You’re not a Scout, Eddie.”

“You don’t know what I get up to in my free time,” he snatched the tickets from her hand and began walking backwards quickly towards the doors. “See you around, Chris! Have a good day, ladies!”

Not a beat had passed since he’d walked away before Chrissy’s friends surrounded her, gossiping loudly about the situation they’d just witnessed. The Freak talking to their Captain? Who did he think he was?

“Ugh, he’s so… scruffy! Why do you let him talk to you like that?” Libby, a junior tumbler said, crossing her arms and burrowing further into her cheer cardigan.

“What do you mean? He was perfectly polite,” Chrissy defended him. “He just wanted to buy some prom tickets.”

“He shouldn’t be talking to you anyway, you aren’t in charge of selling them,” Melissa, a senior flyer and Chrissy’s second in command, scoffed. “I bet he’s not even gonna go, he probably just wanted an excuse to be near you. God, he’s such a freak.”

“I’m on the Prom Planning Committee, it’s more than okay if people ask me about tickets. And don’t call Eddie a freak anymore. It’s not right,” Chrissy said, stomping away to her next class.

“What the fuck is wrong with her?” Libby turned to look at her senior.

“I don’t know but she thinks she’s hot shit since that Ohio State cheer clinic she went to during Spring Break. I don’t like it,” the flyer replied, but Chrissy never heard her, already busy getting her books out of her locker.

Eddie was pulling out of his driveway to take Dottie home after their usual after school study session when she asked him to drop her off at Gareth’s instead. She mentioned they were having a sleepover at his house so they could work on a Chemistry project that had to be delivered during first period on Tuesday, and that didn’t do anything to calm the little knot Eddie was beginning to recognize as jealousy that formed at the pit of his stomach. The rational part of his brain, the one that knew there was nothing going on between two of his best friends, was at war with the dumb side that wanted to stop the van in the middle of the road and throw a tantrum. He settled on gripping the steering wheel until his fingers hurt when he saw her hug Gareth hello like she hadn’t seen him in years; the younger boy waved at him like Eddie’s heart wasn’t cracking at the slightest hint of being undesirable.

Oblivious to his friend’s feelings, Gareth guided Dottie inside towards his living room where his phone was so she could call her Dad and let him know she'd arrived safely. Once James had been informed of his daughter’s whereabouts, the teens got to work on the coffee table until Gareth’s dad came home from work. Gareth’s mom, Lydia, was a sweet looking woman with bright blue eyes her son had inherited and a big blonde hairdo. She really enjoyed being a hostess, which is why she had gladly slaved herself away in the kitchen all afternoon making a sweet and sour brisket she claimed was her specialty.

"Okay, so we're thinking regular crackers, marshmallows, cereal, toasted bread, untoasted bread, and dry pasta?" Dottie read from their notes.

"We should add something that we know is unhealthy, just to test it out."

"We have marshmallows."

"Yeah, but those are full of air, they'll probably burn really fast. We need something more dense, like… uh…," Gareth thought hard about what they could find in his pantry and still came up with nothing.

"D'you have peanuts? With the shell?"

"Peanuts are unhealthy?"

"I mean, not really, no, but they are, like, high in fat? And I bet the shells burn well."

"Let's do peanuts then," he nodded, jotting it down onto their notebook.

Their last project of the year was free choice, and after perusing a few science magazines in the library, they had settled on building a calorimeter. Truth be told, they should have done it earlier but between Mother’s Day, Hellfire and Dottie spending so much time with Eddie helping him get ready for his exams, Monday night before the project’s due date had to suffice. Gareth had asked his Dad for help to build two calorimeters, which were ready to go on the desk in his bedroom along with the blow-up mattress Dottie would be sleeping on right next to his bed. His Mom had been a little hesitant to let them bunk in the same bedroom, but her son had brought up a good point: his sister, Gretchen, would positively lose her mind if a stranger slept in her bed, so Gareth’s floor was a good compromise as long as they left the door wide open.

When Gareth’s dad, Gavriel, arrived home from a long day at work, dinner was almost ready to be served. Gareth was in the middle of an animated rant, explaining to Dottie about a very special part of their meal he had begged his Mom for to mark the special occasion. He had never really had a sleepover before, and even though they’d be up late into the night working on their project, he was still very excited at the prospect of hanging out with someone he considered one of his closest friends with no time constraints or adult supervision.

“You said you’ve never really tried Jewish food before, so I asked my Mom to make these for you,” Gareth explained, carrying a big plate to the dining table where they usually sat to do homework on Wednesdays, Dottie trailing behind him carrying cutlery and bread.

“They look like hash browns,” she said, peering at the mystery food.

“They are better than hash browns. These are called latkes. My Mom only makes them during Hanukkah, but honestly, I’d eat them every day if I could.”

“Didn’t know you did Hanukkah,” Dottie frowned. “Didn’t you say you went to your Grandparents’ for Christmas last year?”

“Yeah, we do both! And neither, now that I think about it,” he frowned too, like he was just realizing something about his own traditions. “We’re not really religious, I mean… We celebrate, but it’s more about family and getting together. We mix both sides.”

Gavriel was Jewish and Lydia was not, which in turn made their children half-Jewish. This was something Gareth’s friends were aware of, but didn’t entirely understand since they never really talked about what it meant. This, coupled with the fact that the youngest Coleman hadn’t really had close friends until he reached high school and joined Hellfire, led to his now very apparent enthusiasm while showing Dottie everything that made him… well, him. He didn’t consider himself spiritual in the broad sense of the word, but being Jewish was one of the only things he had always known about himself, the part of his identity that no matter what happened would always be his and he was proud of who he was.

Dottie sat at the dinner table with Gareth and his parents to share a lovely meal together and wondered for the millionth time in her life what it would be like to have siblings. She knew her friend and Gretchen, his older sister, hardly saw eye to eye: she was outgoing, sporty, had a lot of friends and a loving boyfriend, and Gareth was nerdy, shy, and obsessed with horror movies to a degree people that didn’t know him too well found off putting. Despite these differences though, it was clear from the way Gareth spoke about his sister that he would gladly walk through literal fire for her, even though he was the first one to chew her out every time she came home and left enough hair to make a wig on their shower wall. He put two latkes on Dottie’s plate, one with applesauce on top, the other one with sour cream and waited for her verdict, big blue eyes shining with excitement.

“Which one’s your fave?” Dottie asked him, holding the one with sour cream like Lydia was doing across from her.

“I’m not gonna tell you, you can’t be biased,” Gareth scoffed, fork halfway to his mouth full of decadent meat. “Gotta form your own opinion.”

“I’m gonna try them both, I just wanted to know which one you liked more,” she defended herself before trying a bit without any sauce first, just to get a feel of the texture. “Okay, yeah, I see what you meant now. These are better than hash browns.”

“Told ya,” he grinned. “Now try it with the sour cream.”

“Gareth, don’t be pushy,” Gavriel warned, but there was no need, she was already on her second bite.

Gareth waited with bated breath as she switched to her other latke, this one with applesauce. He watched her chew, her face giving away nothing while she wiped her hand on a napkin. A few moments of silence went by, both Lydia and Gavriel looking at each other with curious eyes, their son’s eyebrows going higher each second that ticked by. He had never been particularly patient, and Dottie was making him sweat for her review.

“So?” he asked, leaning towards her. “Which one’s better?”

“Are you gonna throw me out if I don’t agree with you?”

“Dot.”

“Sour cream’s better,” she said, and he groaned loudly. “It’s not that applesauce is bad, I just liked the other one more! The chives in the cream make it feel special. Thank you for making these for us, Mrs. Coleman, they are great.”

“Oh, you don’t have to thank me, sweetie!” said Lydia, beaming at the praise. “I like them with chives better too.”

“You are both so wrong,” Gareth said, looking at his father for support. “Tell them they’re wrong, Dad.”

“I like them with both sauces,” Gavriel declared before kissing Lydia’s cheek. “Your mother is a great cook, just eat and be grateful.”

“Ugh. Got no allies in this house.”

“Finish your dinner, Gare, it’s getting cold,” Lydia said, knowing better than anyone else how dramatic her son could be.

As the dinner progressed and his parents chatted with Dottie, eager to know more about her, Gareth couldn’t help but notice just how different it was to have a female best friend than to only have multiple sweaty metalheads around all the time. He loved Jeff, Donny, and Eddie, and he was pretty confident that he would go to war for them if they ever needed him to, but there was a soft quality to his friendship with Dot he had never really experienced before, not even with his sister. He felt less pressure to be traditionally boyish, could have longer, deeper talks and not have to worry about anyone making fun of his feelings when they overwhelmed or confused him. And truthfully, it wasn’t that he couldn’t be 100% himself with the boys, but having a girl in their tight-knit group had meant they were now a lot more careful about how they approached certain topics, or how they behaved in general.

No more farting around in each other’s faces when they got into the van or pausing to stare at boobs during Fast Times at Ridgemont High - they were much more in tune with each other now, noticing the little things they would have easily disregarded before, like Jeff’s apprehension towards the big brother he had once looked up to and tried to emulate, or Donny’s budding excitement at the thought of joining his family’s business after graduation. Or perhaps it hadn’t been Dottie at all who had changed the dynamic of their group, and they had simply, well, grown up. Graduation was just a month away, after all.

After dinner, Gareth’s parents retreated to their living room to relax after a long day while the teens gathered their supplies and slipped outside to the garage to do the practical portion of their project. Gavriel had spent a couple of hours on Saturday helping his son build all the necessary parts for two homemade bomb calorimeters; mainly they had just drilled holes into cans and hoped things would fit in once assembled. Once everything was in place, they got to work with the ease of two people who had been lab partners for a while and knew exactly what their tasks were: Dottie was in charge of the charts and Gareth of the equations. They were both equally excited about the burning though.

“God, this smells like a s’more,” he groaned, the barely there fire under their can of water consuming a marshmallow.

“I don’t like s’mores,” she said, jotting something down on their chart.

“You are so weird.”

They were both sitting in the driveway in front of the garage, the pavement under their jeans a little bit chilly from the day’s overcast sky. They had already burned the bread (toasted and untoasted), cereal, and dry pasta, and were now moving onto the remaining foods, the sickly sweet marshmallow scent mixing with the smoke in the night air.

“So…,” Gareth began, measuring the temperature of the water in the can.

“So?”

“Heard Eddie got you a ticket for prom.”

“Yeah,” she said, nonchalantly. “We got into an argument last week and he wanted to make it up to me.”

“Are you two going together now?”

“No, we’re still going as a group. He just did something nice for me.”

“Sure,” he smirked. “Something nice. Absolutely not strange at all.”

“Just spit it out, G, what do you actually want to ask?” Dottie turned to him with a tired expression.

“What’s going on between you two?”

“Nothing!” she said, a little bit too defensively, which made him lift an eyebrow in response. “Nothing is going on, I promise. We’re just friends.”

“Dot, come on,” he shook his head, big curls swaying back and forth. “Are you seriously telling me that you two aren’t swapping spit during your dates? He bought you a prom ticket, he takes you to dinner all the time, he might as well have fucking tattooed your name on his left tit.”

“Okay, first of all, ew. Swapping spit, really? God have mercy on however kisses you,” she ducked to avoid a marshmallow to her head. “Second, we don’t go on dates. We get together to study and sometimes we eat together, that’s it. Nothing inappropriate has ever happened, so knock it off, okay?”

Gareth saw her jaw clench and decided to drop the subject entirely, switching topics to their current assignment and the different smells certain charred food reminded him of. They completed their work quickly and efficiently, packing up for the night before retreating to the safety of his bedroom. He offered her his shower and Dottie accepted it gladly, desperate for a few minutes alone to clear her head. He fished out clean towels from the hallway storage cupboard, and sent her on her merry way to the Jack and Jill he shared with his sister, wondering if maybe he’d mistaken the signals he’d gotten from watching two of his best friends interact with each other.

Dottie was spiraling. There was no other way to describe what she was doing while staring at the big bottle of hair conditioner in Gareth and Gretchen’s shared bathroom. The water was scalding, leaving her skin pink and her fingers pruny but she didn’t attempt to move from under the stream for several seconds. Had she really been that obvious? Could people tell that she liked Eddie? Could he tell? What if he didn’t know, but found out and was disgusted about it? She’d shared so much of her past lately, what if he used it as a weapon to hurt her? Oh, but Eddie wasn’t like that. He could be mean when he wanted to, but never to his friends, or at least not intentionally. He could be harsh sometimes, but he didn’t mean to hurt anyone. And besides, he’d offered up his life story to her too so that meant he trusted her. But what if he started hating her? What if he hated that he’d confided in her while she was secretly harboring this big ass crush that seemed to grow every day and left her breathless every time their hands touched? What if -

“Dot? You okay in there?” Gareth’s voice cut straight through the madness swirling inside her head.

“Y-yeah! I’ll be out in a sec!”

“Okay! You want egg cream?”

“What?” she turned off the water and wrapped herself in a fluffy baby pink towel, padding closer to the door.

“Egg cream, it’s like an ice cream float but with no ice cream. Like foamy chocolate milk. You wanna try it?”

“Uh, okay. Sure!”

She could hear him walking away towards the kitchen, socks cushioning his steps, and quickly changed into her pajamas trying to come back down to the present. Gareth had always been incredibly nice to her, and she considered themselves to be pretty close. She thought of all the boys as her best friends, but Gareth and her had immediately clicked in a way that was different than with the rest of them. Jeff was very much an equal, a calming presence, the friend she turned to when she was nervous and needed advice, and he sought her out for comfort as well, their relationship shaped around a sort of gentle give and take. On the other hand, Donny was the big brother she’d never had, guiding her in D&D when she felt particularly lost, sharing music with her, and helping her become more confident in her own skin. She’d return his affections with endless enthusiasm and curiosity, their friendship based on mutual admiration and genuine fondness. And Gareth… Gareth was the rambunctious twin she’d always dreamed of. They bickered incessantly, she’d steal his sweatshirts and then let him copy off her homework, and he’d threaten to burp in her face only to then steer her away from bullies in the hallways. Out of all their friends, he was the most likely to give her his real opinion on something without filtering it, and that’s why when she hung up the towel to dry, she decided he deserved to know the truth.

“Hey,” he said, looking up from the glass he was pouring chocolate syrup into. “You can have that one, I didn’t make you a big one in case you didn’t like it.”

“Thanks,” Dottie smiled lightly, and he smiled back. “What did you say this was called? Creamed egg?”

“Egg cream,” Gareth snorted. “It’s chocolate milk, but with seltzer. It sounds crazy but it’s really good, I promise.”

Dottie took a small sip and scrunched her face instantly making him laugh. With a confused expression, she went in for a second sip, and then a third one. She wiped the foam from her upper lip and set the cup down.

“It’s not gross, but it’s not good either.”

“Yeah, it’s kinda weird, right? That’s why I like it. It’s better with Fox’s U-Bet, but I only have Hershey’s,” he said, before taking a big gulp and downing half his glass in one go. “Ready for bed?”

“Can we take down your Freddy Krueger poster? It gives me the creeps.”

“You’re such a baby,” he teased her, but he was already on his way to his bedroom to unpin it from his wall.

They settled in for the night after brushing their teeth while sharing the sink, playfully bumping each other with their elbows for more space. Gareth not only took his Freddy Krueger poster down, but also his Night of the Living Dead and The Evil Dead posters while Dottie fluffed her pillow, the air mattress bouncing softly every time she moved. They lay in the dark for a few minutes, moonlight barely giving shape to the bumps in the bedroom before she turned to him.

"G?" Dottie whispered, not wanting to wake him up if he'd already fallen asleep.

"Yeah?"

"If I tell you a secret, you promise not to tell anyone? Not even the guys?"

"Of course," the sheets shifted against his legs as he rolled onto his side and she saw his hand extend until it was right next to her. "Pinky swear."

She lifted her own hand up and linked pinkies with him, shaking on it once. He stayed on his side, squinting in the darkness to see her profile but she never spoke. He thought she'd maybe dozed off, but the blow-up mattress began crackling when she turned on her side to look at him. A car sped down the street illuminating the room and both teens stared at each other until the lights dimmed again. Gareth could tell, if only for a brief moment, that she was terrified of what was stuck in her throat.

"Do you… do you wanna, like, come up here?" he asked, thinking of how he used to climb into his sister's bed when he had nightmares as a kid. Gretchen would always protest against it, but when he woke up in her arms after the sun had gone up, he knew she didn't really mind that much.

"Yeah. Yes, thank you. Just for a bit, though."

"Just for a bit," he repeated, moving back towards the wall and leaving space for her to crawl under his covers.

They lay on their sides sharing a pillow, their heads so close they could have smelled each others’ minty breaths if they just inched forward a bit more. By all means, the situation should have been extremely weird, but it wasn't. There was no rush, no expectations, just two friends waiting until one of them was brave enough to spill some truth into the midnight. Only mild nervousness at the conversation that was about to unfold could be found on Gareth's bed at that moment.

"I think I like Eddie," Dottie said, breaking the silence and bracing for an impact that never came.

"You think you like Eddie?"

"I… no. No, I know I like him. I like Eddie."

"Okay. And he doesn't know?"

"I haven't told him, so I hope not."

"And you don't know if he likes you back?"

"I was kinda hoping you'd help me out on that."

"Well," Gareth began. "Not sure I can. I've known him for years and he just doesn't talk about that stuff with us. Not since Polly Sue at least."

"Polly Sue?"

"This girl he liked back when we first met him. They were in junior year, I think they sat together in class. He asked her to prom and she laughed at him in front of everyone," he explained. "It was really bad. Her friends made fun of him for like a whole week."

"That's horrible."

"He never talked about girls again after that. I know he's kissed some after gigs but it hasn't happened in months."

"Maybe he found someone he likes?" she said, chest seizing at the thought.

"I don't think you have anything to worry about. He's literally spending all his free time with you, so you must be doing something right. I bet he likes you too, but he’s too awkward to say it."

"Yeah? You think so?"

"Yeah! Come on, he'd be a dumbass if he didn't like you back. You're great!"

"You have to say that, you're my best friend," she nudged his leg with hers.

"As your best friend I have to also tell you that you're a freak for not liking latkes with applesauce."

"You're the freak, you sleep with socks on."

Both teens giggled at the absurdity of their fight, Gareth swinging a leg over her hip while she gave him a hug with her left arm only, the right one tucked under her head. He hugged her back, also with one arm, his chin barely touching her forehead.

"You know, if you really want to know, you could just ask him," he suggested.

"I can't walk up to him and go "hey Eddie! Do you like me? Oh, why am I asking you say? Don't worry about it, just curious!". Like, I'd literally rather fucking fall into the quarry."

"I'm not saying you should ask him like that, smartass. You could just ask him if he likes anyone, it’s a friendly question."

"And if he says he does and it's not me?"

"Then you know and you can move on. But honestly, I don't think you should worry. He got you a ticket for prom, he's getting all his grades up for you. I think you're good. Just, keep going like that, y'know? Show him what he’s getting with you if he grows some balls."

"You're really smart sometimes, you know that?" she teased, but her voice was full of fondness.

"Eh, I have my moments," he grinned.

They chatted for another hour, gossiping about things they'd heard in the hallways and making plans for the summer after graduation, the places they wanted to see, the food they wanted to try, the people they wanted to meet. Dottie slipped back into her mattress when the yawns became frequent, sheets cold but heart warm with the knowledge that if everything failed, she'd always could count on Gareth to be her best cheerleader.

Tuesday, May 13th - 1986

If Eddie thought dropping Dottie off at Gareth’s the previous night was bad for his blood pressure, he had no way of preparing himself for the absolute shock it was to see them hanging onto each other near Jeff’s locker where all his friends were congregating before their third period. Gareth was barely awake, clinging to Dottie to keep himself upright despite his head lolling onto hers every few seconds. Dottie looked equally sleepy but seemed to be less in danger of falling to the floor, shoulder tucked under his armpit and locking her body in place. All of that would have been enough to give Eddie a heart attack, but the fact that she was wearing Gareth’s oversized Van Halen sweatshirt tucked into her overalls had his brain firing in wild directions.

"Hey, man," Donny said, standing next to Jeff.

"Hey. You two good?" he asked the tired duo.

"Hi, Ed," Dottie smiled at him sleepily, and Eddie felt his insides turn to mush. "We got an A+."

"First A+ I've gotten since middle school," Gareth muttered, eyes closed but with a satisfied grin on his lips.

"Probably the last one too," Jeff teased, making the curly haired boy blindly lunge at him.

The sudden movement dislodged Dottie’s comfy stand, making her wobble against Eddie's side, left hand coming up to clutch the front of his shirt softly. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders to help stabilize her, but truth be told, he just wanted to hold her and it seemed like a good enough excuse. She didn’t seem to mind, letting herself relax into his soft embrace.

"Sorry," she said, stifling a yawn. "We stayed up really late last night, I'm exhausted."

"I can see that. You wanna skip Calc and take a nap in my van?"

"We can't skip Calc, finals are in a couple of weeks."

"Princess, you're dead on your feet right now."

"We aren't skipping Calc," she said firmly. "I'll nap in the library during fourth."

"Okay," he chuckled. "I'll wake you up for lunch."

Eddie didn't have the heart to wake her up after she fell asleep. Once fourth period started and they were free to study wherever they wanted, he dragged her towards a dark-ish corner at the back of the library and worked on his drawing portfolio quietly while she snoozed on the carpeted floor, her head resting on his lap. She slept straight through fourth period and lunch, and he made no attempts to rouse her from her slumber before the bell rang signaling the start of the last period and the end to their shared classes for the day. He walked her to her Home Economics classroom where Donny was waiting to fully wake her up with a bone-crunching hug, and hurried towards the Biology class he shared with Jeff who asked about their absence at the lunch table with a worried expression.

By the time they all reconvened in the parking lot at the end of the day, she was looking much more alive and he was hungry as hell. They didn’t stop to get snacks as they so often did, choosing instead to share Dottie’s BLT and chips she’d packed for lunch and the brownies she’d made during Home Ec on their drive to the trailer. She didn’t even wipe his tepid bottle of water before taking her own sip, and he hung onto that detail for far longer than he should have. Who could care about her wearing Gareth’s clothes when she lifted a bit of sandwich to his mouth while his hands were busy switching gears and pulling into a turn?

Wayne, as always, was happy to see her and gave her a big hug when they walked into the trailer. Dottie offered the last piece of brownie to him and Eddie could have sworn the old man thought about bringing out adoption papers right there and then. He left them to chat while he rearranged the mess in his bedroom and then the two teens retreated to the dry comfort of his bed, looming clouds threatening to rain again after it had drizzled all morning. Nobody had told Dottie the midwest was this goddamn rainy before she’d made the big move, but she’d much preferred it to how hot she knew summer was going to get as the days went by. She finished her homework for the day quickly and Eddie let her wander around his room while he steadily worked on his, Biology textbook open next to his knee.

When he was on his last question, he noticed she seemed to be bouncing with energy, keeping herself busy by rearranging his tape collection again. He snapped his textbook shut with enough force for her to jolt her head up, and as soon as he’d cleared his bed from any stray papers, she jumped on it, kneeling in front of his crossed legs with shifty eyes and rosy cheeks.

“Okay, spill. You look like Gareth when he overhears something juicy in the hallway,” Eddie said, leaning back onto the wall behind his bed and crossing his arms.

“Speaking of Gareth,” she began, and Eddie waited patiently. “We were talking about prom last night, and, well, it doesn’t really matter, but I was just wondering if you… because we’re all going together as a group, right? But you got me my ticket and I didn’t want things to be awkward if you did so I thought-”

“Princess, I’m so lost right now.”

“Right. Sorry,” she said sheepishly. She took a deep breath while she rearranged her legs to sit criss-cross in front of him. “I was just wondering if there was someone you liked, you know? At school? Because you got me my ticket and I’m really grateful, but I don’t want to ruin things for you if you want to get a date or something.”

“Did Gareth tell you I liked someone?” he narrowed his eyes in confusion.

“No! No, I asked him about- I can pay you back if you want,” she wrung her hands on her lap.

“You don’t have to pay me back,” he said, sitting up. “I don’t… there isn’t anyone I want to take to prom. I want to go with you. And, y’know, the guys. Hellfire Class of ‘86 and all that, right?”

“Yeah, no, I just thought…,” she chewed on her lower lip, not knowing where to take the conversation. “It’s okay if you wanna go with someone else.”

“Do you want to go with someone else?” Eddie asked, wary.

“I wanna go with you,” she said, and looked up at him suddenly. “Hellfire Class of ‘86, l-like you said.”

“Okay,” he said, untangling her wrung fingers and pulling one hand into his. “Good. Nothing’s changing then. You don’t have to pay me back.”

“Okay,” she repeated. “Good.”

Eddie pulled her by her hand until she fell forward into him, legs tangled on top of his blanket and arms around hers. Where were these questions coming from? Had Gareth mentioned something to make her doubt that he wanted nothing more than to take her to prom? He couldn’t wait until the moment he got to sit next to her in his van with her fancy dress on and a love stricken smile on his face. Dottie settled comfortably on his chest, the side of her nose pressed to his sternum, cheek squished against the soft cotton of his shirt. He wondered if she felt it too, that inexplicable pull between them, that overwhelming need to be close, to feel the heat coming off from each other’s skin.

One time very early into their friendship, Mike had mentioned that it was strange how touchy they both were with one another considering they hadn’t known each other for long. Eddie was someone who never hesitated to pull a friend into his arms, always play fighting with the boys, not entirely understanding what the phrase “personal space” meant. He was loud and boisterous, and he was equally showy in his affections regardless who was on the receiving end: Eddie Munson didn’t half ass anything - anything that mattered to him, anyways. Dottie on the other hand was much more reserved, but still didn’t shy away from physical contact. She was always letting her head fall into someone’s shoulder, consistently linking her arm with her friends’ while they walked through hallways, giving everyone strawberry chapstick kisses on their cheeks as a goodbye. But even after Dustin had pointed all of this out to Mike and everyone had agreed with his assessment and dropped the subject, Eddie had never stopped thinking about it.

In more recent times, he’d begun hoping that maybe all the work he was putting in was actually coming to fruition. He still had a long way to go in his eyes, but he couldn’t complain about the fact that he was currently holding the girl he was secretly in love with while laying on his bed, in the room she had helped clean, with his tummy full of the food she’d prepared. Would it really be too much of a sin to push things further a little bit? To start figuring out where he stood compared to everyone else in her life?

“What about you?” Eddie asked, hand coming up to brush her broken curls out of her face.

“Hm?”

“Do you like someone at school?”

“Not really, no,” she muttered, and he could feel her heart rate pick up under his own chest.

“What about Gareth?”

“Ew,” she said instantly, making him snort. “I love him, but I don’t like him like that. He’s like… Like an annoying brother. Did you know he snores?”

“Be glad all he did was snore. I’ve heard him fart in his sleep and it’s not pretty,” she chuckled. “Be honest now though,” he paused dramatically. “Do I snore?”

“You don’t snore,” she lifted her head, chin hovering where her cheek had been. “Do I?”

“Yeah. Thought we were gonna get kicked out of the library today, it was like an earthquake,” he said, making her gasp and slap his side. “No, you don’t snore, darling. You slept like a baby.”

“What about you though?”

“Do I sleep like a baby?”

“No - Do you like someone?”

“Not really,” now it was his turn for his heart rate to pick up. He hoped she couldn’t feel it under her hands that were now between her chin and his chest.

“What about Chrissy?”

“What about her?” he was confused.

“Dunno. The guys said you weren’t friends until recently and I just wondered. She’s pretty.”

“I suppose so, yeah,” Eddie thought about Chrissy for a bit. He did think she was pretty, but in the same way he thought a sunset was pretty. Nice to look at, pleasant to be around, but not particularly breathtaking. Not to him at least. He hoped Jason Carver thought Chrissy was as stunning as the way he thought Dottie with her wild hair lying on top of him right now was. She deserved that kind of adoration. “I don’t really see her that way. She’s a good friend, though. I told her she should talk to you, I think you’d get along.”

“Why?”

“Why I think you’d get along?” he asked for confirmation, Dottie nodded. Because I’m in love with you and she’s gonna be my maid of honor slash best woman slash whatever that shit’s called at our wedding. “You’re in World History together, right? You’re both sweet, and kind, and caring. And you both like Elton John. And Queen!”

“Everyone likes Queen.”

“Yeah, but not everyone has their records. I don’t. You could talk about that with her, she owns all of them. She says her Dad always gets a new one for her when he’s on a work trip.”

“You really are good friends with her, huh?”

“Like you and Gareth,” he said, wanting to make it clear his eyes were not wandering. He didn’t need Dottie thinking he wasn’t interested in her. “Well, maybe without the sleepovers.”

“Isn’t it dumb though?” Dottie said, furrowing her brow in mild irritation. “How people just assume that if you’re friends with someone of the opposite sex you must be into them?”

“I mean, sometimes friends like each other.”

“Sure, yeah, but not all friends do. Like, no one thinks you and Jeff are dating and I’ve seen you two almost kiss sharing a mic. If you did that with Chrissy, people would think there’s something going on.”

“Dot, you know exactly why people think that,” he lifted an eyebrow. “Fuck Reagan, remember?”

Dottie sat up immediately, looking very rigid. He took his time sitting up too, but took it as a win when she grabbed his hand and began playing with his rings. It almost looked like she was preparing herself to drop a bomb on him, and he couldn’t help but think that it wasn’t necessary. He knew what she was gonna say before she even opened her mouth, because whatever she looked like right now, was exactly how Eddie looked like a few years back when Wayne found a very special magazine he’d bought in Indy hidden underneath his bed amongst all the other ones he didn’t care to put away properly most of the time.

“Eddie, there’s… there’s something you should-”

“I know,” he said, thumb ghosting along hers. “Me too.”

“You too?” she said, confusion and hope mixing in her eyes. He nodded.

“Darling, you love Rocky Horror. That’s kind of a dead giveaway.”

“I like musicals,” she tried to pull back her hand but he held on.

“You do. But we both know it’s not Rocky and Brad you’re into when you watch it.”

“And,” Dottie swallowed a big lump in her throat before continuing. “-that’s okay with you?”

“Why would I care? It’s not like I watched it for Janet,” he revealed, a knowing smile on his face.

“So you like… boys?” she asked, wanting to turn all the cards on the table upright.

“And girls,” he said, her eyes snapping back to his. “And you like girls?”

“And boys. Like you.”

“Like me.”

They stared at each other for a few seconds before she let out an airy laugh, like she had been holding it for a while. Eddie wondered if he was the first person she’d ever told this to. Maybe someday he’d tell her that Wayne wouldn’t care either, and when it happened, she’d tell him that her Auntie Rachel didn’t mind as well, but for now, this shared secret would stay between the four walls of Eddie’s bedroom that no longer smelled like mold or vinegar. It smelled like home.

“Have you…,” Dottie began, not knowing how to ask. He picked up on what she meant instantly.

“Yeah. A couple of times at The Hideout. The guys don’t know though.”

“Do you think they’d have a problem with it?”

“I’m not sure, but I don’t think I’m ready to find out yet,” he said honestly. She nodded in agreement. “Have you?”

“Just one time. A kiss at a party. We were playing Truth or Dare.”

“Real steamy,” he joked, and she pushed him lightly.

“I was fifteen, okay? It was enough to send me into cardiac arrest.”

“I bet. I thought I was having a weird trip my first time. Didn’t help that we definitely smoked some strange shit before.”

“I feel silly now,” she admitted. “I thought you’d be upset.”

“Come here.”

He opened his arms and she crawled between his legs, squeezing his middle. He rocked them both side to side for a bit to make her giggle and loosen up. Eddie had a good feeling about where they were headed after this and let himself enjoy it, knowing that the knot in his stomach he’d identified as jealousy had begun unraveling. She didn’t like anyone at school and now she knew that he didn’t either. This was good. Things could grow on fertile ground, and he was doing a damn good job at prepping the soil. It was time, he felt, to turn up the heat.

“Hey,” he said, and she hummed in acknowledgement, not lifting her head from his shoulder. “So, you know my birthday is this week, right? Jeff was telling me today that we could have a movie night in his basement. You game?”

“On Thursday?”

“I was thinking on Friday after Hellfire. And on Thursday you can come over and we can, like, hang out? Wayne said he’s gonna get a cake, and I’d kinda really like to spend the day with you both. Nothing big. We can still do homework and stuff, I mean, I’m only halfway done with my portfolio and-”

“I’d love to come. Count me in, birthday boy.”

“Great. I’ll tell Wayne later.”

Later that night, when Dottie was tucked into her own bed after two long days filled with very interesting conversations, she pondered on Gareth’s words. Show him what he’s getting with you if he grows some balls, he had said. Just before she fell asleep, a sudden thought entered her brain and stuck to the front pushing away everything else. Maybe I am the one that needs to grow some balls.

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