#I have an iodine sensitivity

[catwouthats]

My sensitive and disabled ass when someone says “I’m older then you and have dealt with that thing more times than you, but I’ve never had that reaction”

[sweetsweetjellybean]

After the kiss you can't forget about, your past and present with Eddie collide under the glow of the city lights and the glittering stars at the City Beats launch party.

Masterlist Listen to Clumsy Here

What to expect: Second Chance Romance set in 2012 Chicago.  Eddie and Steve are in their 30s. Fem!Reader is given a pet name from each of the guys. No other name mentioned. No use of Y/N. No physical description. Reader does have a bit of personality, as I find it nearly impossible to keep her blank for such a long fic. You may find yourself at times making choices that you wouldn't normally make, but I hope you can put that aside and enjoy the ride. Sensitive Content. 18+ Mentions of DV. Smut Guaranteed happy ending. This is my love letter to Eddie Munson.

WC: 11646 beta'd by @superblysubpar

“Stop being such a baby and just let me look.”

The light in Eddie’s bathroom buzzes with a slight flicker, casting a pallid tint over the worn linoleum and water-stained sink.

“I don’t recall anyone asking for your services here, Florence Nightingale,” Eddie grumbles, perched on the edge of the vanity with a blood-soaked washcloth pressed against his forehead. The knuckles on his right hand are swollen and split, and the scrape along his jaw is already turning colors. 

You pour a little iodine on a cotton ball you grabbed from the first-aid kit— the one your dad made you keep in your car for emergencies, though this probably isn’t what he had in mind. “Who else is going to patch you up?” you question, shifting until you’re standing in the space between his spread legs.

With a sigh, he lowers the washcloth and tosses it into the sink. Blood wells up in the gash above his brow, the skin around it swollen and purple. As gently as possible, you dab around the cut with cotton.

“Oww.” He winces and leans away. “That shit stings.”

"Sorry." You push up on your tippy toes, drawing closer, one hand resting on his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breath. The scent of his apple shampoo tickles your nose as his hand moves to your hip, anchoring you. You purse your lips and blow gently over his wound to soothe the sting. His chest expands with a sharp intake of breath.

"Better?" you whisper, a flood of butterflies taking flight within you. His fingers press tighter into your skin, your shirt inching upward, eliminating the barrier between his touch and your warmth. 

"Yeah." His throat bobs, his gaze roaming your face.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” 

His grip on you loosens as his eyes fall away.

You pick up one of the butterfly strips, pulling back the adhesive tabs. “You said you weren’t going to do anything. I asked you not to.” 

The faucet drips into the cracked tub as you press the strip into place. “It was my choice to end things, Eddie. It didn’t feel…it wasn’t going to go anywhere.”

He grabs your fingers, holding them away. “Then maybe you shouldn’t have been running around with him in the first place.”

The anger in his tone has you stepping back until you can feel the towel bar pressing into your shoulders. He stands and faces away from you, shaking his head.

“So what? I’m a slut now?” Your voice is small in the cramped space, bouncing off half-filled bottles of shampoo and shaving cream. Maybe you shouldn’t have told him about losing your virginity to Parker Hayes in the backseat of his mom’s Chevy last weekend. But that’s something you tell your best friend, right? Eddie has certainly never shied away from sharing his sexual exploits with you. Maybe, deep down, you had been hoping for some kind of reaction, but not this. 

“No.” His shoulders slump as he turns to face you, the hardness in his stance softening. “I don't think that way,” he explains, his voice growing gentler, “and I'd never think that about you. I want you to date. I want you to have everything. I just want to…” The rest of the sentence dies in his throat as a familiar shadow falls over his eyes, dimming their warmth. “I guess this is what happens when you're friends with a chick,” he chuckles.

“Might have been easier if Gareth had moved down the street instead of me.” You switch gears to match his tone, a familiar move after all this time.

“Yeah, you’re a pain in the ass,” he says, attempting a smile that doesn’t quite make it to his eyes. “Speaking of Gareth, I got a thing.” His gaze drops to his wrist, but he’s never worn a watch. “Lock up when you leave, alright?” 

You're still standing in his bathroom when the front door clicks closed. 

Your hands smooth down the skirt of your long-sleeved mini-dress. Its modest front sits elegantly at your collarbone, but the back—you twist your head to check the mirror behind you—the back dramatically plunges to just above the curve of your ass.

“Wow.” Steve stands stopped in his tracks at the entrance of your walk-in closet, his eyes drinking you in. “You look like a sunset.” He moves behind you, pressing a kiss to the bare skin of your shoulder as his hand slides over the rose gold sequins covering your dress. 

“You’re not too shabby yourself, handsome.” You turn to get the full effect of his designer camel-striped suit with a bright mustard tie. “I always like you in yellow,” you tell him, running a finger down the cool silk. 

His smile widens as he grips your hips, spinning you back towards the mirror, wrapping his arms around your middle. “We should do this more often,” he says, holding your gaze in the reflection.

“What?” you ask, crossing your arms over his. “Launch streaming radio services?”

“No, smart ass.” His lips find your temple. “Get dressed up like this and go out. With everyone coming, do you know what it reminds me of?”

“Dare I ask?” You flutter your lashes. 

His grip on you tightens in a deliberate firmness that has you tensing. He steals another kiss, pausing for a moment before saying, “Prom.”

“Uck,” you moan, stepping out of his arms and moving to the island to pick up a pair of earrings. “Your parents went to prom? How sad.”

“Come on. Not them.” He shoves his hands in his pants pockets, his gaze tracking your movements. “Everyone else, though. Didn’t you have fun at prom?”

“I don’t remember,” you shrug, attaching the diamond to your lobe.

“Of course not. How stupid of me,” his tone drips sarcasm as he shakes his head, “How could I have forgotten about your Hawkins amnesia.”

The shrill melody of his ringtone sounds from the bedroom, pulling him away before words can escalate. Lately, high school memories seem to invade every conversation, leaving a residue of guilt that clings tighter with each mention. Alone, you face the mirror, taking a steadying breath. He’s under a lot of pressure. This is his night. You plaster a smile on your face, forcing a semblance of calm. You owe him.

With a final glance, you slip on a nude pair of heels and move to the bedroom to let him know you're ready. Steve’s phone is discarded on the bed beside him, where he sits with slumped shoulders and his hands raking through the hair he had just spent time styling. 

“Baby?” You keep your voice soft as you sit down next to him, your hand moving to rub circles on his back. “What’s going on?”

He glances up, only now becoming aware of your presence. "It's my parents," he murmurs, his lashes fluttering with rapid blinks as he pinches the bridge of his nose. "They've decided not to come."

“What? But they’re at the hotel.” Your mind races over the possibilities, “Are they okay? Did something happen?”

“Yeah, my dad ran into a client. That’s what happened.” Steve's voice hardens, taking on a bitter edge as he echoes his father's words, “Business is business, Steve. You understand, don’t you, son?” 

“I’m sorry, Steve,” you say in a near whisper, covering his hand with yours.

“It’s my fault. I didn’t really want them here, you know? But when I dropped by the hotel this afternoon with the tickets, my dad actually seemed proud of me for once. Fuck. I feel so dumb for getting excited.” He pulls his hand from yours to tug at the messy strands falling over his brow before his eyes find yours again.  “Did I ever tell you about my baseball coach in middle school?”

“No,” you shake your head, shifting on the bed to move even closer beside him, offering what comfort you can.

“Coach Patterson.” His eyes fall to his lap. “He tried talking to him once when he dropped me off for a game. He told him that it would mean a lot if he’d stayed and watched me play. But Dad…” Steve's voice falters, “He just looks at me and says, ‘I've got better things to do than watch you lose.’”

“Steve-”

His eyes bore into yours, filling your chest with an ache. “The thing is, we did win, but he still never stayed.  He didn’t believe in me. I guess he still doesn’t.”

His phone screen brightens with an incoming call, and he picks it up, silencing it with a push of a button. “I've poured everything I have into this, trying to be perfect, what they—what everyone—expects me to be.” The frustration builds in his voice,“But no matter how hard I try, it'll never be enough. Not for them. And maybe... not for you either.”

You cradle his larger hand between yours, wishing he could see himself through your eyes. “You’ve always been enough.”

“I want to give you everything–”

“Steve, stop. You can’t live for other people. Pursue this because it brings you fulfillment, not for anyone else. Think about everything your dad has given your mom. Do you think it’s made them happy?”

He pulls his hand from yours, a fleeting shadow crossing his features as his gaze drifts to some distant point in the room. “I’d never treat you the way he treats her.” 

“That’s right.” Gently, you cup his face, your thumbs brushing lightly against his jaw, coaxing his gaze back to you. “You’re better than him. And if he can’t see that or celebrate your wins, that’s his shortcoming. Tonight is going to go off without a hitch, and Richard is going to thank his lucky stars for having the good sense to have assigned you City Beats.”

Leaning in, you press a soft, deliberate kiss to his lips. “You deserve your success.” His hand rises to cover yours, and your face softens into a smile. “Now, can we go? I need you to dance with me during the slow songs. I’ll even let you pretend we’re at prom.” 

The corners of his mouth rise, his chuckle warming the space between you as he leans in, your foreheads touching gently. “What would I do without you, Ace?” The words are gentle as his lips seek out yours. A car horn blares from the street below, breaking the moment. “I think our driver is getting antsy.”

“Well then, handsome,” you say, a gentle determination in your voice as you smooth out an imaginary crease on his jacket. “Let’s go to a party.” 

Dozens of spotlights pierce the night, illuminating the iconic Adler Planetarium. Limos and sleek cars roll up, dropping off the who’s who of the city��celebrities, influential politicians, and tech moguls—onto the red carpet-lined stairs. Banners emblazoned with the City Beats logo wave from the art deco building's great dome, set against the dark waters of the lake and the distant city lights. 

“Wow,” you breathe as Steve takes your hand and helps you out of the car. The magnitude of the moment takes over. Now it’s your turn to be impressed. “Baby, you did all this!” 

Steve’s signature smirk takes over his face, his cheeks tinting with a flush from your compliment. A camera flash pops in your face as you step out onto the red carpet. With a deep breath, you tighten your hold on his hand. The PR team's efforts have paid off. Photogs from all over the city and national publications line the step and repeat. The air is a blend of lake chill and expensive perfumes as you await your turn to be photographed. Steve’s reassuring hand, firm along your ribs, holds you steady as the flashes blind you. His gaze drops to yours, brimming with unmistakable pride, lending you his confidence. A quick squeeze of his hand coaxes a genuine smile as you face the cameras together.

“Not used to being on this side,” you murmur, keeping your teeth on display under the relentless flashes.

He chuckles, drawing you forward. “You're a natural,” he whispers, guiding you to the entrance with a hand at your back.

As you step into the grand foyer, your name being called pierces the hum of conversations. Rihanna waves from across the room, her manicured hand catching the light. She mouths ‘Call me’ before being swept away by her very tall date.

"Was that–" Steve asks, eyes widening. 

"I interviewed her last year," you explain, returning her smile with your own as she navigates the crowd. 

"Must have made an impression. That was the new point guard for the Chicago Bulls." His eyebrows raise as he watches them disappear into the throng of guests. Leaning in, his breath tickles your ear, “I don’t think we’re in Hawkins anymore, Dorothy.”

Light laughter bubbles from your throat. “Thanks, Toto,” you quip, threading your arm into the crook of his elbow, letting him lead you along.

Abstract designs mimicking sound waves, musical notes set into star patterns, and cosmic shapes elegantly adorn the solarium. The floor-to-ceiling windows extend the celestial theme, allowing for sweeping views of the night sky. 

“From Skyline to Bassline: This is City Beats Streaming Radio.” 

The DJ's smooth voice transitions the songs playing through the speakers as they live-stream from a platform beside a wall of digital screens alive with a social media feed and a map showing millions of listeners around the world tuning in. 

Steve lets go of your hand as he’s swarmed with department heads buzzing with reports and updates. You stand alone, crossing one hand over another as muted conversation hums under the beat of the music. The waitstaff weaves through the crowd, offering trays of fluted glasses brimming with bubbling champagne, and you gratefully accept a glass. Guests interact with kiosks exploring the different channels offered by City Beats, including specific music genres, news, and talk shows, while others move onto the themed lounges or drift out to the terrace for the small bites and views of the city.

“Harrington.” Richard's booming voice sends Steve’s staff scattering into the crowd. “Everything is looking just splendid, son.” He greets Steve with a firm handshake before his voice drops,“Now, how are those numbers?”

You look away, rolling your eyes out of view as you drain the rest of your glass. He can’t give Steve five minutes of peace. 

“According to sales, we are easily beating the first round of projections and are slated to hit our monthly target in the next hour.” Steve’s voice is filled with cool confidence, but his palm is damp when his fingers slip between yours. 

“That’s good to hear,” Richard says, the tightness in his expression easing as the redness circling his face begins to fade. He leans closer to Steve, his tone firm, “I don't think I need to remind you that Second City has a lot riding on this, which means you've got a lot riding on this.”

Steve's lips press together in a firm line as he stands a little taller and smooths a hand over his tie. Your teeth clamp down on the inside of your lip, forcing your silence. 

A waiter glides to your side, stopping to collect your empty glass. You place your flute on his tray a touch too forcefully. The clink with the other glasses is louder than intended, breaking the moment. Richard straightens, his attention drawn to you for the first time. He steps back, the wheels turning behind his eyes as he tries to place you.

His manufactured grin returns as he claps Steve on the shoulder. “Keep up the excellent work, my boy. This is impressive.” He waves a hand, gesturing around the party, “I don’t know what any of it is, but it’s impressive,” he laughs, expecting you to join him. When you only muster a weak smile, his laughter fades, replaced by a brief, awkward silence.

“I’m glad you brought the little lady with you tonight, Steve. She just gets prettier and prettier,” Richard continues, not missing a beat. “My wife’s around here somewhere, probably telling someone how to do their job,” he chuckles, then signals a waitress for more drinks. “Make sure you say hello. She loves gossiping with the other wives.” Handing you both a fresh glass, he adds, “Now, see to it our boy here doesn't work too hard, okay?” With a final pat on Steve’s shoulder and a wag of his finger in your direction, Richard moves off into the crowd.

Steve exhales quietly, the tension leaving his shoulders, as he gently squeezes your hand.

“I don’t know how you stand him,” you fume, “How many years have I worked here, and the bastard doesn't even recognize me.”

“Trust me, you’re better off not being on his radar,” Steve replies, downing his champagne in one go before passing the empty glass off to a passing waiter. “I’m sure he’s going to be on my ass when I meet with the investors.”

“But it’s such a nice ass,” you grin over the rim of your glass, letting the bubbles tickle your lips.

His eyes gleam as he leans in a little closer, but his response dissolves before it's spoken. Warmth heats the bare skin of your back as someone steps close behind you. Your stomach plummets like a rollercoaster, and goosebumps dot your arms—there's no need to look.

“Eddie,” Steve welcomes him with a handshake that shifts to an embrace. “You made it.”

Since the kiss, Eddie has honored your request, maintaining the distance you needed— a display of restraint that the high school version of him might not have managed.  But after your talk with Hopper and the shadow of the looming deadline creeping closer, it was only a matter of time before you had to face him. And the clock has just run out. 

“How could I pass this up?” Eddie’s gaze darts around the solarium before landing on you. “Doll.” He leans in, placing a light kiss on your cheek before turning back to Steve. “This is some party. Congratulations, man.” 

"Thanks for passing the word down your contact list,” Steve says, his tone sincere. “My head of PR mentioned you've made her job a hell of a lot easier." 

“Happy to help,” he shrugs, adjusting the gold cufflinks at his wrists. He’s ignored the last few buttons of his pressed black shirt and worn it open-collar, allowing a glimpse of the fine black-inked lines that grace the skin of his chest. 

“Do you own a suit that isn’t black?” You ask, eyeing the slim-fit pinstripe, that's obviously been tailored to fit him like a glove. “Or is that a rental?”

“Ace,” Steve chides.

Eddie laughs, the sound rich and easy. “Gotta match with the sweet old tats, don’t I?” The edge that once sharpened your words now fails to cut. His smile blooms into dimples, and it’s contagious. Despite the crackling of nerves and self-made promises, he disarms you. A line creases Steve’s brow as the moment hangs, and your smirk echoes Eddie’s.

A peel of laughter rises above the blend of music and conversation as the party continues. A harried junior staffer pushes through the crowd, bumping shoulders and muttering apologies as she tries to keep a stray lock of hair from escaping her updo. “Steve, I’m so sorry to interrupt,” she keeps her voice low despite her breathlessness. “Ted's already on his fifth bourbon, and he's cornered Harris Blake from Bean City Brews. He's telling that joke about the nun and the circus tent, and I think we are about to lose half of our ad revenue for this quarter."

"Shit," Steve mutters, his fingers raking through his hair. "Okay, let's deal with this." Relief washes over the staffer's face as she quickly turns, leading the way.

Steve pauses, his eyes meeting yours, an apology written on his face. "I’m-”

"It's okay. Go," you reassure with a squeeze of his bicep. His lips lift at the corners before he turns away, disappearing into the crowd as your gaze lingers after him.

The weight of Eddie’s eyes settles on you before you’ve even turned to meet them. “So, is this the part where I chase you around all night until you finally agree to talk to me?” he asks, closing the distance with a step forward.

“Actually, I thought we’d skip that part.” Your eyes dip to your shoes, avoiding his stare. “I want to apologize for what happened. I let my emotions get the better of me. It was unprofessional.” 

“Unprofessional?” Surprise lifts brows before his lips press together in a hard line. “Come with me.” His hand closes over yours, pulling you through the solarium without looking back before you can object. 

“Eddie-” you start, but he’s already ushering you into the double doors of the sky theater.

He doesn’t stop as he leads you into the darkness, the room illuminated only by the soft rows of small floor lights as the soaring domed ceiling swirls with violet and periwinkle projections of the starry sky. Ignoring the few others milling around, he tugs you into the privacy of the shadows, finally releasing your hand. In the orchid-tinged light, his stare holds a depth that's hard to look away from. “This isn’t business, doll. You mean every–” he swallows, “you’re my closest friend.”

“You don’t even know me anymore, Eddie.” Your head shakes, silently begging him to understand.

His hands move to grip your shoulders. “There are some things that time can’t change.”

“It can’t happen again,” you state in a firm voice, taking a step back and widening the gap between you. 

He shoves his hands into his pockets, waiting as a couple meanders past, pointing out Cassiopeia. “Then what do you propose?”

“I’ll finish the articles.”

“And then?”

“And then everything goes back to the way it was. I'm sure we'll cross paths from time to time.” The words emerge on a strained breath, tightness seizing your lungs. “It’s for the best.” 

“That’s not good enough,” he counters, the shake of his head cutting through the dim light. “I want you in my life.”

“I don’t know if I can do that.”

“You can.” He inches closer, blowing out a sigh. “Look, it was my fault. Be my friend. Draw that line, and we won’t cross it. I know you’re still pissed at me, but we can work through it.” His voice falters, the earlier resolve in his eyes melting into a plea. “Aren’t you tired of carrying all this around inside of you?”

His question softens the tension in your chest, suggesting a sliver of peace you hadn't known you were seeking. Maybe the scars etched on your heart for so long have also shielded it from joy. You swallow the lump in your throat, offering an almost imperceptible nod.

“Can you try for me?” he pleads. 

“I can’t make you any promises,” you nod again, more sure this time. “But I’ll try.” 

His thumb gently traces the side of your face before his arms circle you, pulling you close against him—the scent of vanilla and clove clings to his jacket. Under your cheek, the fabric is cool and smooth, tinged with a hint of tobacco, taking you someplace you thought was lost. 

“Don’t mark up my suit with that shit you wear all over your face,” he teases, his hold on you not lessening an inch. “It is a rental.”

There is a tentative hopefulness in your newly minted truce with Eddie. Almost as tangible as the pulse of the bass vibrating through the soles of your shoes. His smile, easy and unguarded, lights up his face as he guides you through the sea of finely dressed attendees with a hand resting on your lower back. Stopping to exchange hellos and handshakes with a group of industry professionals who are eager to discuss his Studio opening. He pushes the topic aside in favor of introducing you.  With an effortless charm, he leaves no room for doubt about your credentials as a journalist at Stax and suggests the value an interview with you would bring to their clients.

“What?” His eyebrows lift, amusement playing across his features as he catches the pleased look on your face as you tuck a handful of new business cards into your clutch.

“Are you auditioning to be my new publicist?” you tease, your brain already teeming with the new articles his introduction just made a possibility. 

The warmth of his laughter is becoming a welcome sound. “I’ll be anything you want, doll,” he offers, the words punctuated by a flirtatious flash of his dimples.

A snort accompanies the roll of your eyes, even as your stomach flutters. 

“I’m proud of you, you know? he adds, a soft earnestness in his tone. “I like showing you off.” The tenderness in his expression doesn't waver as he follows you through the solarium. You find your fiancée chatting with a familiar face. A welcome distraction from all things Eddie. 

“Dulcita,” Argyle wraps an arm around your shoulders. “Looking bitchin, as always. That dress is killer.”

Laughing, you nod toward his outfit, “Well, I’m just trying to keep up. You look amazing.” 

With an exaggerated flourish, he poses with his thumbs stretching the lapels of his periwinkle floral suit before turning to greet  Eddie with a handshake. 

Steve's hand finds its way to your hip, drawing you near. "I thought I’d lost you. Where'd you disappear to?"

“Just exploring a bit,” you offer, meeting his look with a smile, but his eyes shift past you toward Eddie.

A pretty blonde waitress weaves through the crowd, her tray of fresh drinks catching Eddie's attention. He flags her down with a tilt of his head and a confident wink. “Thanks, sweetheart,” he says, plucking a few glasses from her tray to pass around.

“This event is popping off,” Argyle chimes in, taking a glass and nodding toward Steve. “Congrats, dude. I couldn’t have planned this better myself.”

Eddie extends a glass in your direction. “Doll?” 

Steve’s shoulders tense as his stare fills the space between you and Eddie, the sides of his mouth dipping. “Have you eaten?” he asks, his hand tightening slightly on your waist.

For a heartbeat, you just look at him, letting the wave of irritation roll past. Your teeth sink into your lip as you decline Eddie’s offer with a shake of your head. 

Eddie's face tightens, a flash of restrained agitation crossing his features as he retracts the glass and dismisses the waitress with a polite nod. Argyle, shifts uncomfortably, his lips pursed into an O as his gaze skitters across the room. 

Turning fully towards Steve with a soft expression, you aim for lightness. “Argyle’s right, you know. It all looks perfect, Steve,” you say, channeling warmth into your words, “Everyone’s having a great time. All your hard work is really paying off.”

Half of his mouth lifts as his gaze wanders over the crowd. “Guess we’ll see on Monday when the final numbers come in. Richard is already pushing to take City Beats national.”

Your face falls, “But that’s...that’s a massive undertaking. You’d have to restructure everything, wouldn’t you?”

Steve nods, his expression turning heavy. “Yeah, it would mean a major overhaul, not just in marketing but across multiple departments. We'd likely need to set up satellite offices in other cities, which means a lot of travel for me. It’s ultimately up to the investors, though.”

“Not too shabby, Harrington,” Argyle says, clapping Steve on the shoulder. “You’re going to be running with the big dogs now.”

The conversation becomes muted as worry knots your stomach. Steve doesn’t seem to realize that his decisions impact more than just his own future. The coming months loom large with late nights and lost weekends. The toll won’t be just the dark circles under his hazel eyes but the shared moments slipping away like water through your fingers. His relentless drive for success and approval is edging him closer to repeating his father's mistakes—becoming distant, hollow, bitter. Pouring himself into work to the point of exhaustion, neglecting those he loves, just as he was once neglected. You can't just watch as he loses himself, not when you see the signs, feel the strain.

“Come on, Ace, smile for me. This is a good thing.” Steve says with a soft tone as his lips find your temple.

“I know that, and I’m so proud of you,” you manage, lifting your cheeks in the look of adorement he hopes to see. “You work so hard. I just worry.”

His hand shifts to cradle your jaw, tipping your chin to meet his gaze. “It will be fine, I promise. I’ll take some time before things really ramp up,” he reassures, the corners of his hopeful eyes crinkling. “Maybe for a honeymoon?”

“Sounds like someone is trying to think of excuses to get out of the actual work,” Nancy’s voice slices through the moment, her arrival almost as commanding as the deep plum of her silk dress that clings and flows in all the right places, complementing her sleek dark hair.

“A national campaign?” Jonathan steps beside Nancy, his narrow tie and vintage-cut suit making him look straight from the 1950s. “You might as well give back the ring now. Sounds like he’s already married to his work,” he leans toward you, cupping his mouth like a secret, earning him a chuckle from the rest of the group. 

Ignoring him, Steve directs his attention to Nancy with a self-assured smirk. “Thanks for showing up, Nance. Wouldn’t want you to miss the moment Second City leaves Spectrum behind for the history books."

Her eyes narrow as her arms cross over her slender body, “That’s adorable, Steve, really. But the idea that your little radio project outshines a whole TV network? Please..”

Steve lets out a snort as his hands move to his hips. “Last I checked, Spectrum's sprawling empire was one channel.” 

“We're thinking of expanding,” her voice is as smooth as silk as she examines her nails. 

“With the tech we’re developing for on-demand music, who’s going to need cable?”

“If you can manage–”

“If I may suggest putting away the rulers,” Argyle’s voice rises above their bickering, “It’s Steve’s party, and I think we’ve had enough dick measuring for the evening.”

“Fine,” Nancy agrees as she holds Steve's stare, matching his smug expression, “I’ll concede. Congratulations on your accomplishments, Steve.”

“Appreciated,” Steve says, with a tip of his chin. 

“But let's be clear,” Nancy adds, unable to help herself, “my dick is still bigger.”

Argyle groans as Jonathan's eyes roll skyward. Eddie takes a gulp of champagne, trying to stem his laughter.

“Where’s Robin?” you ask, cutting off whatever retort Steve was planning before it has a chance to leave his mouth, “Didn’t she ride with you guys?”

“She took off at the coat check with Jessie J—something about a twerking tutorial,” Jonathan explains, looking confused as he tucks his hands in his pockets. 

Nancy's laugh tinkles with mischief. “Trust me, it's a sight. Robin insists she's better.”

“Well, I’m not missing that,” Eddie says, polishing off his drink, “I’ll catch you all later.” He turns and leaves your group, placing his empty glass on a waiter's tray as he walks past. 

As he melts into the crowd, Nancy's gaze shifts to Richard making his way toward your circle. Her smile tightens ever so slightly, “Oh god. Is that Richard Kingsley?” she asks Steve. “I thought he’d have retired by now, off riding a golf cart in Florida.” 

“No such luck.” Steve mutters under his breath, “Play nice, please.”

“I’m always nice,” she whispers before she plasters on her grin, “Richard.”

Richard approaches with a practiced smile, extending his hand to Nancy. “Nancy Wheeler, Spectrum’s shining star in the digital domain, or so I’ve been told. They’ve certainly sent us their best tonight. How’s the world of content directing? ”

“Actually, Richard,”  Steve quickly corrects, his voice firm yet courteous as he positions himself alongside Nancy, “Vice President of Content Strategy. Nancy’s been leading the charge there for over a year now.” 

Richard's smile doesn't falter as he turns to Nancy. "My apologies, Nancy. I’m sure it's a well-deserved promotion.” She offers him a polite smile that doesn’t quite meet her eyes as he continues, “Your insights at the conference in New York were…enlightening. It's always good to have industry leaders like yourself in attendance.”

As if on cue, a junior staff photographer weaves through the crowd. Richard snaps his finger at him, seizing the opportunity, "Let's capture this moment, shall we? A picture for the company archives.”

“Better him than me,” Jonathan mutters as the staffer directs the group a few feet away, ensuring the City Beats Logo will frame the background of the photo. Richard positions himself at the center, patting at the shine of his red face with a handkerchief before draping an arm over each of their shoulders.

“That’s depressing,” Jonathan snorts, watching the setup. “Well, I'm off to find a drink that matches my cynicism,” he adds, taking the opportunity to slip away, leaving you alone with Argyle.

“So,” The sweetness of pineapple and weed hit your nose as Argyle leans over your shoulder, his breath warm against your ear, “It looks like you and Eddie sorted out your shit, huh?”

“We’re tolerating each other,” you tell him without turning your head. 

“I don’t know, man,” he muses, his eyes narrowing, “Tolerance was not the look on your face when you walked in here with him.”

A huff escapes your throat as you whip around to face him. “I’m interviewing him, remember?” you ask, trying to keep defensiveness out of your voice. “I'm just trying to be…pleasant.” 

“You can tell yourself whatever you need to,” he adds, concern written across his face. “But from where I’m standing, you look like you’re in way over your head.”

The words die in your throat as Eddie reappears, weaving through the crowd with the grace of someone used to navigating this kind of affair. In one hand, he balances a plate arranged with an assortment of canapes and sushi, each piece a miniature work of art. His deep brown eyes keenly focused on you. “Eat something, doll,” he suggests, handing the plate over to you.

That feeling wells up in your stomach as you purse your lips, trying not to let your mouth stretch too big in front of Argyle, although he probably has picked up on the heat rising to your face. “Thanks,” you say shyly, accepting the plate. 

“I’ll snag one,” Argyle reaches toward your plate with two fingers.

 Eddie brows lower. “You can get your own, they’re not charging.”

“Sheesh, I know, dude. They're from my restaurant,” Argyle informs him.

“Then you know exactly where to get more,” Eddie counters.

“Did you find Robin?” you ask, changing the subject. “Was she twerking?”

“Yeah, I caught the tail end of it. And I’ll never unsee it,” his genuine laughter fills the space. “I think it’s burned into my retinas.”

“Mrs. Harrington," comes the voice of a junior staffer materializing beside you with such abruptness that the plate nearly slips from your grasp. "They want you in the photo now.”

“Umm, sure,” you say, glancing to where Steve is standing with Nancy, laughing at something she said. Eddie takes the plate from you, his easy smile from earlier erased by the downturn of his lips. 

Smoothing down your skirt, you follow the photographer, consciously relaxing the clench of your jaw over how you were addressed. Steve’s eyes sparkle with warmth as he makes space for you between himself and Nancy, Richard positioned at the end. The clear happiness on his face eases your irritation. His hand finds a place on your ribs, pulling you into his side before the photographer directs you where to look. 

“Very nice,” Richard comments with a nod after the flash goes off. 

“One for your company Christmas card,” Nancy quips, throwing a look in Steve's direction.

Richard, not missing a beat, turns to you both. “Yes, well, it’s always a pleasure, Ms. Wheeler. I hope you enjoy the party,” he says before shifting to Steve. “Ready to give the investors a tour, my boy? They’ve had their share of drinks. Should be just about softened up for you now.”

“I’ll be right with you, Richard.” Steve waves him off, his eyes softening as he looks down at you, “You going to be okay on your own for a while, Ace?”

“Absolutely,” you tell him, rising to your toes to plant a kiss on his cheek. “You’re going to kill it, handsome.” 

The side of his mouth tips up as you use your thumb to wipe away the gloss you left behind. “How did I get so lucky?” he wonders aloud, his gaze locked on yours. Leaning in, he captures your lips with his in a kiss that lingers a beat too long for a public place. 

“I'll find you later.” Regret clouds his eyes as he pulls back, slipping on the professional mask he wears far too often. He walks away with Richard in tow.

“I better go find Jonathan,” Nancy tells Argyle and Eddie as you rejoin your friends, “or he’ll end up in a corner talking politics all night, and I made him promise me that he’d dance with me for at least one song.” 

“You can sign me up for one too, Wheeler,” Eddie says, popping a piece of sushi in his mouth. “No arm twisting required.”

“I’m going to hold you to that, Munson,” she promises, pointing a playful finger at him before turning to leave, her dress swirling behind her.

“You, Eddie Muson, volunteering to dance,” you tease, your expression mockingly shocked. “Now I’ve seen everything.”

“Play your cards right, doll, and I’ll show you up close and personal,” Eddie says, his eyebrows dancing as he offers you a canapé.

“That’s alright, Eddie. I’ve got my regular dance partner right here, right Argyle?” you say, looping your arm through his.

“Yeah... yup,” Argyle murmurs, his attention momentarily snagged by a tall brunette striding past. She sweeps a waterfall of silky hair over her shoulder, pretending not to notice him, but the extra sway added to her hips says otherwise. 

“Solo dame una noche con ese culo y te haré mami, querida,” Argyle calls after her, untangling himself from your arm.  

“Traitor,” you accuse, watching him go with a shake of your head as he follows after her without a backward glance.

“Ve por ella, amigo,” Eddie encourages with a booming laugh.

Turning back to you, he rocks on his heels, a smirk playing on his lips. “Looks like it’s just you and me, doll.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t have to look so happy about it,” you chide when his dimples make an appearance, sending the rusted chains around your heart rattling when it jumps under your ribs. Maybe Argyle wasn’t too far off the mark.

A brisk wind cuts across the dark surface of Lake Michigan. The City Beats logo burns bright in yellow neon, its light spilling over the outdoor stage and dancing across the water’s surface in a rotation of colors. Despite the press of bodies, warmth is scarce, with the night air nipping at any exposed skin. Before you can even think of shivering, Eddie drapes his suit jacket over your shoulders, the fabric holding the residual warmth of his body. He stands close beside you, seemingly unfazed by the cool temperature, as Maroon 5 concludes their set.

The crowd sways as one, heads bobbing in sync with the rhythm pulsing into the chilly evening. The spice of Eddie's cologne is a veil around you, drawing you closer into his orbit. Glancing his way, you expect his attention to be on the show, eyes tracking each note and chord. Instead, you find the intensity of his gaze fixed on you.

As the song ends with the band offering their thanks, the MC dashes on stage to announce the next performer. With a tip of his chin, Eddie motions for you to follow him. Together, you squeeze through the crowd, walking along the path at the lake's edge until the sea of people begins to thin, their noise fading into a distant murmur until it's just the two of you left, accompanied by the quiet hush of waves lapping against the bank. 

He stops, gazing out over the water, city lights dancing in his eyes. “I almost forgot how your face changes when you listen to music. It’s like the lyrics break right through, lighting you up from the inside.”

“My one true love,” you respond with a wistful sigh, giving him a shrug. 

“Oh yeah?” He turns toward you, inching a bit closer to reach into the breast pocket of the suit jacket enveloping your shoulders. He pulls out a tightly rolled joint, eyeing you with a raised brow. “What’s with all the ‘Mrs. Harrington’ business?” he asks, placing the joint between his lips and fishing a brass Zippo from his pants pocket. “Did you get married and forget to invite me?”

Your eyes flash skyward as he lights it with a practiced flick and takes a deep drag. “I don’t know...Steve encourages it. I think it’s his way of reminding me he’s waiting for me to set a date.”

He passes you the joint and blows out a lung full of white smoke that swirls into the night air.  “You have left the poor sap waiting for a while.”

“I don’t want to talk about my relationship with you, Eddie,” you say, flicking the ash off the burning paper's end before pressing it to your lips and inhaling. 

“Why not?” His gaze probes, seeking an opening, a slip, anything. “Friends talk about their relationships, don’t they?”

You can’t help but cough, the potency of the smoke catching you off guard. “You know exactly why not,” you retort, passing the joint back to him. A soft fog settles over your thoughts, smoothing out the evening’s sharpness. “And you? Volunteering to help with the guest list...” You eye him skeptically, “Trying to ease your conscience?”

He chuckles, shaking his head as he takes another hit, “It was only a couple of texts, doll,” he says, passing the joint back to you, his fingers brushing yours. “Trust me, I sleep just fine at night. What’s between you and me started long before Steve entered the picture.”

 "Well, he’s here now," you assert with defiance, your gaze locked with Eddie's as the joint burns down in your fingers. 

His fingers wrap around your wrist, guiding your left hand into the streetlamp's glow until the diamond on your finger flashes. "I guess he is. But doll," he steps closer, his eyes holding yours, "so am I."

“Yeah? Let’s wait and see if you stick around this time.” Your skepticism is clear as you bring the joint back to your lips, watching his face fall with your pointed words.

“So this is where the cool kids hang out,” Hopper’s gruff voice cuts into the night, anchoring you back to reality. Eddie takes a step away from you, his hands tugging on the ends of his curls. Hopper’s eyes narrow on the joint between your fingers. “Really think it’s wise to smoke grass at a work function?” 

“I promise not to operate any heavy machinery,” you respond in a dry tone, blowing out a cloud of smoke.

The older man’s eyes shoot skyward before he holds out an expectant hand, “Give it here.”  

You hand it over, and the burning paper crackles as he takes a practiced drag, “Are you going to introduce me?”

“Sorry. Yeah,” you rub your forehead, “James Hopper, this is my…um, friend, Eddie Munson.” Eddie leans forward, reaching out to shake hands as you quickly explain, “Hopper’s my editor.” The steadiness in your voice doesn’t quite bridge the awkward moment. 

Eddie’s brows raise as Hopper’s hand closes over his in a crushing grip. “Hell of a grip,” Eddie comments with a question written across his face. 

“A handshake is a good measure of man,” Hopper offers him no other explanation, handing him back the smoking joint before turning to you. “I expect a write-up of the launch on my desk by 10:30 tomorrow for the digital edition. And don’t skimp on the details about the radio service. Downtown is keen on pushing this, so I hope you paid attention.”

“No problem, Hop. I’m on it,” you assure him.

“Now, I’m going home to Joyce. If she gets a whiff of this on me, I’m sending her your way.”

“You’ll be in the clear,” you promise with a soft grin. 

Hopper's stern demeanor gives way to something gentler. “Alright,” he says with a nod, “Enjoy your evening, kid.” His eyes dart to Eddie. “But not too much.”

“Jesus, that’s your editor?” Eddie asks once Hopper is out of sight. “The guy missed his calling, he would’ve made a great cop.”

Your laughter accompanies the dismissive shake of your head. “We better go back inside.”

The walk back is steeped in quiet, the night’s emotions a heavy weight that weaves threads of weariness and a dull ache through your limbs. Eddie appears less burdened, wearing an expression of contentment, his hand slipping beneath the fabric of his jacket still resting over your shoulders. The warmth of his palm seeps into the bare skin of your back while his thumb traces soothing circles along your spine. Carried in on a breeze, the earthy spice of late-blooming asters mingle with the vibrant colors of marigolds softened under the glowing canopy of string lights.

As you near the terrace, the murmur of voices grows, and the sparse groups of people along the pathway thicken to a full gathering. The shift from the lake’s tranquility to the party's bright lights and crescendo of conversations is jarring.  The solarium overflows with party-goers, their inhibitions loosened by drinks as they flood the dance floor, the music swelling louder and more insistent than before.  Despite the sea of people, it takes only moments for Steve’s gaze to lock onto yours across the room as you reenter with Eddie by your side. 

Without hesitation, he leaves the conversation he'd been having and moves toward you. The corners of your mouth lift in a greeting that isn’t returned. His forehead creases with a question. The air seems thicker as you slide the jacket off, returning it to Eddie, the tightness in your chest reappearing. Steve's jaw clenches as he reaches you, his arm circling your waist. “I’ll take my fiance back now, Munson.”

Eddie’s smirk sharpens as he hooks his jacket over one shoulder, “Just keeping an eye on her for you, buddy. Couldn’t leave the lady alone with all these musicians wandering around.” He leans closer, his free hand circling his mouth, “They tend to  get a little handsy.”

"Thanks, pal," Steve replies, the last word stretched tight as he stands taller. “I’ll take it from here.”

Eddie’s gaze drops to his feet momentarily before his head lifts. Amusement widens his grin, reflecting a confidence that borders on smug. His feet shuffle as he adjusts his posture to match Steve’s. A twist of nerves tightens your stomach as a spark that you know all too well brightens Eddie’s eyes like an echo of the cocky teenager he once was. 

“How about that dance you promised me, handsome?” you blurt, cutting Eddie off just as his mouth opens to respond. Stepping between them, you intertwine your fingers with Steve's and tug him toward the dance floor. As if on cue, the music mellows to a slower tempo. 

Steve’s stare remains on Eddie as his arms circle your waist. “You know, it’s funny, I never realized what a dick Eddie is.” 

Your head turns to see Eddie watching you with hands shoved in his pocket. “You barely spoke to him all night. What led you to that conclusion?”

Robin bops over to meet him, her blue eyes gleaming as she tugs at his arm, trying to coax him into a dance despite his shaking head. 

“I don’t know. The guy is just rubbing me the wrong way,” Steve doesn’t hide the irritation in his voice as he turns you so you’re facing away from them. 

A burst of protectiveness that has been dormant since high school wells up like a hot spring. The words escape before your better judgment can catch them. “Really. Are you sure it’s not because he’s my friend?” 

The mossy green rings of his eyes burn into yours for only a moment before he blows out a soft breath. “Let’s not fight.” His big hand slides down to rest low on your back as he pulls you closer. “I’ve been waiting to get you alone all night,” he says into your ear before his mouth covers yours hotly, leaving you whirling with his quick change. “Where have you been all night, Ace?”

One side of his mouth lifts in a half-smile, but his confident mask slips. Behind his eyes, he’s lost—the familiarity tugs at you. Rising on your toes, you press your lips to his. “I’m right here.” 

His expression softens, radiating a comforting warmth as his lips brush your temple. The rhythm of the song wraps around you both like a truce. Burying your cheek into Steve’s shoulder, your gaze follows Eddie as he turns his back and heads for the door. 

Steve leans closer to the bathroom mirror, his fingertips shiny with the pomade he's using to piece out the strands of his chestnut hair. 

“Don’t forget your glasses,” you remind him, turning away from the open doorway and entering your bedroom.  

“Or the tickets,” you toss out, noticing the white envelope on his night table.

“What would I do without you, Ace?” His voice floats from the bathroom, light and teasing.

Settling at the end of your bed, you pick up the novel you started recently, the book's weight familiar in your lap. Seeing Steve so relaxed and happy broadens your smile. He deserves this night out to blow off a little steam. City Beats' launch exceeded every expectation. A success that's finally turned the heads of the old guard at Second City toward the efforts of their youngest executive. Of course, memories are short, and victories are fleeting.

Steve's workload hasn't lessened, and the prospect of taking the platform national is still on the horizon, but you've set aside any misgivings, at least for now. It’s been a week since you surprised him with the Bulls tickets during his birthday dinner at Maple and Ash, Steve’s favorite, surrounded by your closest friends–with one empty chair at the table when Eddie hadn’t shown. 

“Sure you don’t want to come? I still have an extra ticket,” He asks, emerging through the pocket doors separating your bedroom from the closet. Securing his Jaeger-Lecoultre watch to his wrist, the scent of Dior Homme follows him.

You glance down at your cozy leggings and cream wrap sweater. “I’ve got big plans tonight, handsome.” You hold up the book against your chest. “Didn’t anyone from your pick-up game want the ticket? Or those guys you play racquetball with?”

“I didn't get a chance to ask until the last minute,” he explains. “Robin called my office about fifty times to harass me about inviting Eddie to the game. It took me all week to get the guy on the phone, and  then he turned me down flat.” He shakes his head, walking over to his nightstand to retrieve the tickets. 

“I don't think Eddie is much of a sports guy,” you muse, glancing down at your fingers, folding and unfolding a dog-eared page. “He used to say he didn't have time for throwing balls into laundry baskets. He’d go on and on about the unfairness of high school politics.” A quiet laugh escapes your mouth along with the memory. “He could be so dramatic back then.”

When you lift your eyes, Steve's standing frozen in place, the deep line between his brows wiping away his easy demeanor. He's looking at you like he's just found an uninvited stranger in his bed. It’s just a flash before he recovers, his features returning to the affectionate expression he usually carries for you, but it was enough. The parts of yourself you keep hidden loom like an iceberg–he’s just spotted the tip. You draw your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“Yeah?” He pauses, the air between you thickening as a hint of challenge colors his voice. “That’s a little weird considering he got us seats at a Lakers game last time I was in LA.”

The silence stretches just a moment longer. “Guess he’s not the same guy you knew back in Hawkins. But then again, none of us are, right?” He lets the question hover, knowing an answer isn’t coming.  “People change,” he shrugs, his gaze intense and probing. “Or maybe we just never really knew them at all.”

He steps closer and leans in, his lips brushing the corner of your mouth in a kiss that punctuates the conversation. His tone, sharp and heavy like a dull knife, cuts deep as he turns to leave. “Enjoy your book.” 

“Wait.” You slip off the bed, bridging the gap between you. Your fingers tangle in the material of his shirt, drawing him closer until your lips meet his, adding pressure until his arms circle your waist and he kisses you back. His embrace grows warmer as your tongue slides into his mouth, grazing his before pulling back, making him chase you, and he does. You break away but keep him close, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath a warm whisper as his nose runs along your cheek. “Have fun, okay?” you murmur against his lips as his hands slide up and down your back. “Knock back a few. Yell at the Ref. Get Jonathan drunk enough to annoy Nancy.” 

He chuckles, a smile lifting his cheeks. “You got it, Ace.” His eyes close as his lips find yours again. “I love you.” 

"I love you too, Steve," you whisper, your fingers uncurling from his shirt as you let him go. He takes your hand as you follow him downstairs. He opens the front door to a car waiting at the curb, the driver hoping out to open the backdoor. 

“I’ll see you in a few hours.” He smiles, picking up his keys from the small table.

The cold air rushes in from outside, and you pull your sweater tighter around your neck. Watching him step through the door, you call out, “Happy Birthday, handsome.”

As you close the door, Steve pauses on the landing with a thoughtful look crossing his face. “You know, now that I think about it, Eddie didn’t stop yapping that entire game. Maybe you’re right after all. The guy just doesn’t like sports.”

You give a noncommittal shrug, your fingers tightening around the edge of the door. "What did you talk about?"

“Can’t remember,” he shakes his head, resuming his descent down the steps. You watch for a moment longer before closing the door and latching the deadbolt.

With a sigh, you turn back to the now quiet house. The soft pad of your fluffy socks muffles your footsteps as you drift through the rooms, dimming the overhead lights to let the warmer glow of lamps bathe the space in a comforting light. You head to the kitchen, grabbing the remote from the counter. At the press of a button, the scratch of a guitar and a gravelly voice fill the silence, as comforting as an old friend.

You mouth the lyrics as you reach for a wine glass from the cupboard. With a practiced motion, you uncork a bottle of red, filling your glass halfway, only to keep going until it's right to the brim. The song shifts as you leave the kitchen, glass in hand, taking a sip, the rich flavors of dark fruit and spice mingling perfectly, soothingly. Sinking into the couch, you tip your head back against the cushion, letting the music and the stillness envelop you. Your eyes close, the lyrics weaving a soothing spell, chasing dark thoughts away. 

The peace is predictably short-lived. A buzz jolts you. The phone tucked into your leggings vibrates with an incoming call. You try to ignore it, letting it ring to voicemail, but it buzzes again—this time a text. With a resigned huff, you pull it out and unlock the screen with a click.

Missed Call – Eddie

Eddie: Your neighbors don’t complain when you play music that loud?

You blink down at the screen and then lift your gaze to the room's dark corners.

Eddie: Don’t get freaked out. Just come to the door. 

Pushing off the couch, you pad through the house to the front door and open it to the chilly November night. A brisk gust of wind blows down your street, swirling dried red and orange leaves around Eddie's black leather boots, where he stands at the base of your steps, bathed in the soft glow of the sconces flanking your door.

His hands are shoved into the pockets of dark-fitted jeans, a cozy half-zip sweater in deep charcoal hugging his broad chest. He looks up at you from under his long lashes, head slightly cocked to the side. “I tried the bell.” His head turns to the street as a passing car splashes water up from the wet pavement. “What kind of sound system is that? I thought Chris was in there with you for a second.”

Wrapping your arms around your chest, your fingers gently rub the fabric of your sweater as you ignore the surrealness of Eddie casually referring to Chris Cornell by his first name. “What are you doing here? Steve's not home.”

“I know. I thought the guy would never leave. How long does it take him to do his hair, anyway?”

“It’s not funny, Eddie. You can’t come in.” You glance down the street to see your neighbor, leash in hand, appear in the circle of light cast by the streetlamp.

“I don’t want to come in, doll. We’re going out. And we're late, so if you could light a fire under it.” Eddie’s lips press into a hard line as your neighbor passes him on the sidewalk, giving him the once-over, the poodle pausing to sniff his legs.

“Evening, Mr. Davis," you acknowledge with a wave as the man continues down the street, shaking his head. You turn back to Eddie, frustration evident in your tone. "I can't go anywhere. I'm not even dressed.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow, assessing your attire. “Those look like clothes to me.” 

Your head tilts to the side, your expression unwavering. 

He glances at the sky and lets out a frustrated sigh before his gaze returns to you. “You look beautiful, doll. Now, please. Just grab your coat,” he implores, his hands pressing together in front of him. “ I promise to have you back before you turn into a pumpkin.” 

Your eyes lower to where your toes are wiggling in your socks, “Eddie, I–”

“Well, I could always just hang out here,” he muses, scratching at the scruff on his chin. “Might get awkward when the game lets out.”

“You're not serious,” you challenge, skepticism evident in your tone.

“Oh, aren't I?” he asks, cocking a brow as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Friends hang out together, don’t they?”

“Fine,” you fume. “But I better be back in plenty of time.” You catch the way his smile broadens as you turn back into the house to slip on a pair of boots and grab an old woolen peacoat off the hook by the door. Stepping out onto the stone landing of your brownstone, you hesitate, shooting him another look of apprehension before turning to lock the door.

“Christ, woman, was that so difficult?” He throws his hands in the air as he crosses the street to a shiny black Audi Q7 parked at the curb. With a wave of his hand, he opens the passenger door, beckoning you to climb inside. 

The bare branches of the trees sway with the wind, casting moving shadows against the shining asphalt painted with the last of the fallen leaves. You walk across the road to where he’s waiting and step into the SUV. You sink into the plush seat, the smell of leather, smoke, and his cologne assaulting your senses. It's the same scent that seemed to linger for days after your last visit to CursedSound, the one your guilt tried to erase.

Your hands worry themselves in your lap, twisting the diamond on your fourth finger while you wait for him to round the vehicle. The agreement about keeping the lines drawn is fresh in your mind as he climbs into the driver's seat. 

Without warning, he leans over you, the warmth of his body invading your space, the pout of his full bottom lip hovering inches from yours. The sharp intake of your breath echoes loudly in the vehicle's quiet confines.

“Seatbelt,” he reminds you, his big brown eyes dancing with amusement as he drags the strap across your shoulder and clicks it into position at your hip. 

Heat rises up your neck, burning your cheeks as he settles himself in his seat, strapping in before pressing the button that starts the ignition. 

“Shit.” His face falls as he glares at the glowing numbers on his dash.  He turns the wheel, lurching the Audi onto the roadway. Your neighborhood disappears in a blur as he turns and heads north. “And I thought LA traffic was bad,” he mutters, weaving in and out of stagnant lanes. 

The congestion loosens as he turns onto Lakeshore Drive, heading uptown. The moon hangs low, presiding over the rippling waters of Lake Michigan that stretch out into the night. A vast, dark canvas that reflects the tapestry of light from the towering buildings across the roadway rises to pierce the skyline. 

Music from Eddie’s phone plays at a low volume through the stereo. It serves to fill the quiet between you, but there’s something in the clash of the electric guitar and smooth bass that's an itch in your brain. Familiar like a half-remembered dream, but somehow still new. 

Your eyes steal glances to your left. His profile fades in and out of shadow with the passing headlights. The sharp line of his jaw tightens with a clench when he’s forced to slow his speed. The baby softness he used to carry in high school has given way to solid angles and the perpetual growth of stubble. There’s no denying it– he’s only gotten more attractive.

His head turns suddenly, catching your stare. Your throat clears as you reach for the knob, turning up the volume and letting the song replace anything about to be said. His hand moves from the gear shift to his thigh, his elegant fingers flexing against his jeans. Your eyes stay fixed on the taillights ahead as the song moves into its final refrain.

"Wait." You reach out to punch the back button,  restarting the song. "This is you."

His eyebrows lift in surprise, his mouth parting slightly. "How did you—"

"I’m right, aren’t I?" you interject, pointing at the dash, focusing on the distinct chord progression and the sound of fingers sliding over frets.

"Yeah, it's something I’ve been working on for a while,” he admits, looking at you with soft eyes. “Still trying to figure out a part that's missing." 

"I didn’t realize you still played," you comment, adjusting the volume again.

“I don’t know why you're surprised,” he says, reaching back to place his hand on your headrest as he smoothly backs the SUV into a space, turning the wheel to align with the curb. “I don't give up on the things I care about.” He shifts into park and turns off the ignition. “Come on.” His hand lands on your knee in a gentle squeeze. “We’re here.” 

Exiting the car, you step onto the empty side street. Ambient light filters down from the high windows of the brick buildings lining both sides of the street. A nondescript bus with blackened windows and a few other cars sit parked at the curb. This is exactly the kind of place you'd normally avoid after dark. Sighing, you round the car to where Eddie is waiting. His hand finds its way to the small of your back, guiding you across the street to a lone, unmarked steel door. With a closed fist, he raps out five quick knocks followed by two slower and turns to you with a grin. 

“What are we doing here?” you ask, shoving your hands into your coat pockets and looking up and down the street.

“I’m apologizing.” His words are cut off by the scraping sound of locks, followed by the door swinging open. Bright light spills out, casting a silhouette of a very large, bald man holding a clipboard, nearly obscuring the doorway.

“Can I help you?” booms the man’s voice, reverberating off the surrounding brick.

“I’m on the list,” Eddie says, undeterred.

“Name?” the doorman asks, retrieving a pen from behind his ear.

“Munson,” Eddie responds, glancing at the clipboard. “Edward and guest.”

The man sizes up Eddie with a thorough once-over, his gaze flickers towards you briefly before allowing you both to enter. 

Following Eddie, you step inside, the brightness of the overhead fluorescents bouncing off the cinder block walls, causing you to squint after the dimly lit street outside. Flight cases and amp stacks clutter the small vestibule of the venue's loading area. The muffled thrum of a bass line vibrates through the walls and high ceilings. 

“You’re cutting it close,” the man grunts, his staff shirt stamped with the Riviera Theater’s logo pulling tight across his chest as he hands Eddie two lanyards with plastic tags. 

The sweet sound of a cascade of delicate strings drifts through the air from down the hall opposite you, drawing your attention like a moth to a porch light. 

“Is that violins?” Turning toward the sound, tiny sparks ignite in your chest as Eddie slips the lanyard over your head.

“You know the way?” The doorman snaps his clipboard, ignoring your question.

“We’ll find it,” Eddie assures him, his fingers closing around your elbow as he tugs you toward the hallway.

The smile stretching your lips is automatic. Tingles of energy zip through your veins as anticipation builds, like being a kid at Christmas. As the stark fluorescents give way to dimmer bulbs, a murkier haze settles around you, mirroring the anticipation building in your chest. Their soft glow catches the shine of the dark curls resting on Eddie's collar as you trail after him down the maze of narrowing corridors.

Passing by closed doors and bulletin boards tacked with production notes and schedules, you step lightly to avoid the cords snaking across your path. The worn wooden floorboards creak with each step like they are responding to the growing clarity of the strings that now reach your ears, no longer muffled but rich and full.

The baseline of Dreams smooths into its final notes, and applause thunders from the audience. Eddie pauses, his hand resting lightly on your back, guiding you to a halt. You step between him and the canopy of curtains gathered at the stage’s edge, the sounds of the crowd's approval dissipating into the cavernous space. The polished instruments rest in the orchestra’s hands, poised for their next cue. Your hand flies to your mouth as the sight of The Cranberries at center stage fully registers. Dolores O’Riordan’s head turns, catching Eddie’s gaze. With an exasperated look, she taps the watch strapped to her wrist. He mouths a “Sorry,” his head tilting slightly towards you. At that moment, her brown eyes connect with yours. A hint of a smile graces her face before she turns back to the audience, her voice resonating in the stillness, "I was saving this one."

The first sigh of the violin expands with your breath, an arrow soaring through the air, piercing the center of your chest. A thrum of a calloused thumb brushing over the strings of an acoustic guitar accompanies the “Ahhs” of her lilting voice. The harmony is echoed by a cello, then a viola, and another violin, each repetition weaving into the next like a ripple of raindrops on calm water until it all fades into a hush, leaving your stomach swooping in its wake.

The silence shatters with the bold strum of the guitar. The air leaves your lungs in unison with the crashing bassline, the full swell of the strings washing over you like an ocean wave.

If you, if you could return

Don't let it burn

Don't let it fade

In the auditorium's darkness, the audience vanishes until only you and he exist. Eddie stands close, his warmth seeping into you as he presses into you with his shoulder. Clove and tobacco mix with the tang of iron and polished wood. The back of his hand grazes the soft skin of your own, but it’s the stage that holds your attention, pulling you in deeper. 

Is that the way we stand?

Were you lying all the time?

Was it just a game to you?

The accompanying musicians close their eyes, becoming extensions of their instruments. Dolores tilts her head, her voice clear and strong, pouring from her slight frame. The music rises through the aged floorboards, tremors of notes climbing your legs and bursting within your chest. Stirring emotions so immense it threatens to spill over as tears sting behind your eyes. 

Oh, I thought the world of you

I thought nothing could go wrong

Your head turns and you find Eddie has been watching you the entire time. His throat bobs as he swallows, the bright lights reflecting the shine in his eyes, and now it's you who can't look away. The soft expression he wears is tender and novel. The black lines that have always connected you pull taut, tugging at your heart. Lines that you thought were severed by anger and loneliness. 

But I was wrong, I was wrong

But somehow, they’ve remained. Tattered and a little frayed but enduring all the same. At his core, he is who he’s always been, and so are you.

Things wouldn't be so confused

And I wouldn't feel so used

But you always really knew

I just want to be with you

Two souls found each other in the darkness, singing the same song. He brought you here for a reason—he's telling you he's sorry without words, reaching for you through the melody in a way you can't ignore—in a way that matters.

And I'm in so deep

You know I'm such a fool for you

Everything falls away, but the music and your shared heartbeats. Memories flicker, like pages of a faded scrapbook caught in the wind—sunlit and shadowed. The heavy musk of aged velvet curtains shifts into the fresh scent of cut grass and summer nights, the cool touch of lakewater, and the honeyed warmth of sunshine lingering on his skin. Hummed lyrics, shared laughter, the comfort of being by his side. You liked the version of yourself reflected in his eyes.

Recollections you locked away come back in a deluge. Past moments, both sweet and sharp, weave together, softening the edges of old wounds. Each verse, each look from him, peels back layers of hurt you’d clung to. The bitter shell around your heart begins to crack, dislodging the shards within. Lighter now, your wounds can start to mend. The remaining scars are reminders, but a warmth begins to unfurl in their place, reluctant and bewildering. It’s not forgiveness yet, but the possibility is closer for him and for yourself.

You got me wrapped around your finger

Notes spiral upwards, threading through the shadow-laden lattice of ropes and rigging until they dissipate into the darkness above. Under the glare of the stage lights, the harmonies that once defined you rekindle, sparking to life. Your fingers find his with intention, intertwining with deliberate grace, palm to palm, sliding, locked together. Warmth spreads through the both of you. It's unexpected the way lyrics unravel you, making room for something new. Your gaze leaves his, returning to the performance, but you lean into Eddie, your head tipping to rest on his shoulder. The breath releases from his chest in a shuddering sigh.  And he feels an awful lot like home. 

Do you have to let it linger?

Do you have to, do you have to, do you have to let it linger?

Listen to the acoustic version of Linger here Rest in peace, Delores. Ni bheidh a leitheid ann aris.

Big, huge, giant, hugs and sloppy wet kisses for sticking with me. I know the wait was long. Your encouragement got me through it. Especially Leighanne and Taylor who had to put up with me whining.

All your song suggestions have made this fic so fun to write. Please keep 'em coming.

We are about halfway through, kittens. It's about to get bumpy.

For updates follow @tornupdates

[longhardtransitionreturns]

After tearing badly birthing your first child, you're back in the hospital a year later laboring with its even bigger sibling. All the scar tissue is making it tough for your perineum to stretch, and you've been stuck in a tight, burning crown for what feels like hours...

My last birth was so traumatic I swore I'd never give birth naturally again. My birth canal was so narrow compared to my huge baby I that I struggled for hours to crown, screaming and pleading through back labor for someone to help me get it out. When it came time to push the head out I was delirious from the pain and I popped it out too fast and spit my poor little cunt almost to my asshole. I couldn't do anything but waddle, nurse, and hold an ice pack to my puss for two months I was so torn up.

So this time, when I found out I was carrying an even larger baby, I knew I was getting an epidural the minute I felt the first contraction. Well, I tried to anyway. It never worked and I have felt every agonizing moment of my 45 hour labor. I'm tied to the monitors and forced to suffer through contractions lying on my back. They put my legs up high into the stirrups for me to squeeze what is estimated to be a 16lb baby through my canal.

I've been crowning so long I am incoherent with pain. There's so much pressure it feels like my baby is going to obliterate my asshole at any moment. It burns so badly and I can feel the scar tissue holding it in, prolonging my suffering.

I start begging for someone to cut me and they must agree because a nurse tells me to wait, don't push and hurt myself like last time. And I try so hard but it's taking forever to squeeze iodine on my pussy and find the scalpel that I'm whimpering to please push because it hurts so bad. Suddenly the pressure shifts and I have no choice. I bear down and the head surges forward.

I swear time slows down and I can feel the scar tissue burst and the rip as the head tears my ass all the way through. At the same time, every sensitive nerve in my clitoris feels it as it's sliced through by the baby's brow.

My eyes are rolled back in my head as the massive head hangs from my gravely injured cunny. Unfortunately I remain conscious as they tug on the head, push down on my belly, and finally tug the wide shoulders through my ravaged hole, tearing me wider in the process.

I lose consciousness on the way up to the OR, the agony of my badly injured pussy clenching down on nothing combined with my poor parts being jostled by the rolling of the wheels finally too much for me to take.

[danyvhell-writes]

Ais headcanons pt 2 ! (Touchstarved)

GN reader - no warnings | Ais, my beloved. My brain won't stop thinking about him, there's so much to say omg ! I need to draw him this is serious :')

+ Not really a headcanon but when I first saw Ais in the trailer I thought he would be a kinda pirate character :') don't make fun of me lmaouiadubgziu !! I really imagined our first encounter with him on the coast of the city/harbor and that his story would be based on pirate tales and marine legends. I'm still sticking to my idea that it would be fucking awesome to have Ais as a captain or something, traveling the seas and oceans with him and his crew. (let me dream) PIRATE AIS AU WHEN ????!!? (Helloooo sailor !!)

• Has really pretty hands for someone who fights so much ! Likes to be presentable in front of you.

• He's a simp in his own ways. Someone making a remark about how good looking you are, he's gonna brag "Damn right they are ! Look at them."

• If you're mixed or have unusual features for your ethnicity, he would try to guess your origins (and he's strangely good at it ?). And if you have a weird/rare mix it's even more fun to see him struggle a bit.

• Likes to share foods ! Please feed him, he loves it. He'll just watch your dish with insistance until you ask him "You want some ?" and lean opening his mouth. He'll gently make you taste his meal in return. You're his little sparrow after all, so of course he's gonna let you peck in his plate.

• If your gaze meets his, he'll wink casually. It's his way to say "Hi babe."

• Completely forgot to ad this in my last hc post but !! If you use ASL, he will learn just so he can talk with you. Teach him everything you know, he's a good student >:) And if you happen to know how to read lips, this man would be thrilled to learn how to do it ! I just know he'd love to spy on people's conversation and gossip with you hehehe

• When you guys go on a walk and see sparrows he's always saying stuff like "Look, your friends' saying hi !" "This one looks just like you, cute." or "Wonder who's the real little sparrow… Sure you're not an impostor hm ?"

• When he doesn't smoke, he smells like a mix of cloves, iodine, humid air & metal (you know what i mean ?)

• Ties up his hair in a little ponytail sometimes and it's the cutest thing ever !!!

• If you're sensitive to the smell of cigarette (I personally despise that shit), he'd be careful not to smoke near you or puff in your direction. Passive smoking is not an option ! When you tell him it's fine, he responds "I don't want to screw up your healthy lil lungs !" ↑ However if you take cigs too, he'll gladly share a smoke with you. Really likes to have a calm talk with you while you guys enjoy your stuff. (+ shotgun kiss grrr)

• If you trip on your feet or something while walking, no need to feel ashamed. He would simply do the same on purpose to reassure you and act like it's something casual. "Can't watch my feet either apparently :)" You can be clumsy around him, do not worry !

• We know he doesn't like easy fights and he's kinda into brats so… give him challenges. Dumb ones, hard ones whatever you want ! He needs adrenaline and what's better than a little dare. "Bet you can't climb that tree in less than twenty seconds !" "Oh yeah ? Don't be presumptuous, I'll show you." and there he goes, perching himself on a big branch.

• Related to that... You're a snarky little shit ? Good. He likes it. Be cocky with him, that's what he needs. Of course he loves your soft side but no bickering nor teasing would be boring. This man needs a challenge.

• Loves going on walks with you and his babies (soulless). He'd show you around, make you visit nice places you've never been to and you get to play with Princess + the rest of the pack ! Sometimes his destinations are a little perilous but it's worth the risk. Two whole hours walking in the mist to watch the sunset ? Okay let's go, handsome !

• You're a trans person ? Great. He is too. Now go makeout like the T4T couple you are. (My Ais is trans and I won't come back on this statement 🏃🏽‍♂️💨)

• Always rests his hand on your hip. Number one resting place, comfortable & perfect shape for it. Sometimes the touch feels almost ghosting against you, you wonder if you're imagining things. Please, do the same for him. His waist is literally snatched with that pretty belt of his, perfect place to put your hands on ! He would really appreciate.

• He's good with makeup. Let him put you some red eyeliner so you guys can match ;) Just imagine him holding your face gently while he's concentrated on making a cool pattern with the liner. "Don't move." "I'm trying sorry !" "Am I that distracting to you ?". He won't mind if you try some on him. Dark lipstick omg, he'll rock that shit !

[utilitycaster]

What is it that people saying the The Blue is radiation are missing? I don’t think I really know much about it either but I’d love a crash course if you’d be interested?

I mean, the actual serious answer is that to come to the conclusion the Blue is not radiation, one needs to know basically nothing about radiation, but one does need to possess the media comprehension skills of a relatively bright 4th grader. The Blue is introduced in the first episode in the creation myth bedtime story as the thing that created the forest and all in it, and tells us that, per legend, there is a little bit of the Blue in everyone. It then shows up in the second episode as part of paladin magic, and is concentrated in the bear’s brain, and the stoats are aware that the Blue is the source of their (long-standing) powers.. Now I don’t know specifically what it is - the force of nature, the concept of a soul or sentience, some form of forest divinity, the magic of life - but that is the general concept we’re looking at. 

The Blue is explicitly a separate concept from the disaster that led to the destruction of the burrow; it even is referred to, within the same sentence, as a thing separate from the Blue. The dust storm offhand sounds like some kind of chemical poison, coming from the “gray river” (road); it could be other lethal agents possibly, but the point is: not the Blue. It is new (Blue is not), immediately lethal (Blue is not), and not Blue (Blue is blue).

Anyway though here are some radiation facts that further back up the point that neither the Blue, nor the lethal agent, which, again, two FULLY separate things, are not radiation:

Radiation is not blue. It can excite electrons, which emit blue wavelength photons as they go back down to an unexcited state and when there is a very large amount of activity such as in a criticality incident, this can lead to a blue flash (see: the demon core incidents at Los Alamos). In water, as in many nuclear reactors, there’s something called Cherenkov radiation which is due to the fact that the energized subatomic particles emitted by the radiation have a speed greater than the speed of light in water (nothing is faster than light in a vacuum, but this is not true in water). It’s the visual equivalent of a sonic boom, and it’s also blue. However, radiation itself is invislble, and things that are radioactive come in all sorts of colors. Also, radioactive substances do not automatically glow - radium works by exciting a phosphor, for example, but pure radium in a vacuum wouldn’t glow in the absence of this phosphor. One of the many reasons radiation is dangerous and why regulations surrounding it are so tight is because humans have no reliable way of consistently detecting its presence with our senses, and so without very clear signage and labeling it would be very easy for people to accidentally be exposed.

Radiation does not kill instantly. Latency periods even for universally lethal quantities are about 24 hours (see again the incidents at Los Alamos). The reason nuclear weapons kill those within a certain radius instantly is the sheer energy emitted as concussive force and heat. There are then deaths due to acute radiation sickness, which occur days to months afterwards; and then there is an elevated risk of cancer among the surviving but exposed population, which in turn has a latency period of about 2 years for blood cancers and 20-ish for solid cancers.

Radiation can be used to heal in very specific cases! However I do not think lay on hands is an equivalent to thyroid ablation or radiation oncology therapy, especially in this context.

Brains are actually one of the less sensitive portions of the body to radiation and I don't offhand know of an isotope uniquely uptaken by the brain (vs, say, iodine going to the thyroid or radium being a bone seeker). I mean you shouldn’t zap your brain with radiation unnecessarily as like, a life tip, but it specifically congregating in the bear’s brain isn’t really how radiation would likely work.

Anyway: the point is knowledge of radiation meant I didn't even consider it as part of this story, but one would not come to the conclusion of "the Blue is radiation" without a profound deficit in both STEM and the humanities.

[know-the-way]

Phrack 20!

Hi! I know it’s like a month later, but I have finally fulfilled this prompt. Thank you so much for sending it! :)

Um… just gonna put it out there that I really struggled to finish this. lol It was rewritten countless times to the point that like… I don’t even know what it is anymore, ya know? So I hope it makes at least a little bit of sense. I tried, I promise. Okay, thank you again, bye!

(and a special shout-out to @glamorouspixels for beta’ing one of the many drafts of this, everyone give a round of applause for them)

A kiss… on a scar. (This prompt is a part 2 to this fic.)

tw: mentions of past abuse

He always asks where she’d rather go and her answer is always the same.

It’s just past midnight and the events of the day are etched on both their faces. He’s sat shirtless and exhausted on the sofa; head hung and breathing deep, save for a sharp hiss now and then when she hits a particularly sensitive spot. A basin of warm water swirls with iodine and faint traces of blood on the coffee table. She’s already mended the gash on his lower abdomen and is dabbing at the broken skin of his knuckles.

On nights like these, after particularly difficult cases, she finds herself seeking refuge in his arms. This isn’t something that surprises her - long before she and Jack even entertained the idea of a relationship, they had formed a sort of unofficial tradition where the case wasn’t truly closed until they shared a drink. It was so easy then to write it off as something light-hearted; a charming wrap up among intellectually-matched colleagues, but she sees now how even then it was far more intimate. In all of those feather-light conversations, the answers to their deeper, unspoken sentiments - are you okay? will any of it stay with you once we say goodnight? I’m here whenever you need, we’ll see each other soon - were affirmed in the subtle expressions they both somehow, intuitively, could interpret between each other. But that just isn’t enough anymore.

“All done,” she says, taping the last piece of sterile gauze around his hand and then rising to empty the basin in the neighboring kitchen sink. “Next time, if you must, try to remember that one or two punches usually does the trick. Twenty or more is rather excessive.”

He chuckles softly, nodding with a resigned tiredness and a bit of remorse. “I will. … Though, under certain circumstances, I can make no guarantees.”

She raises her brows fondly, moving to sit next to him on the sofa. “Are you actually admitting that you might lose control from time to time, inspector?”

He raises his arm for her to duck under it, which she does; settling against his side and resting her head on his shoulder - a gesture that’s become as natural as breathing for them both. He tugs her in close by the waist, his other hand reaching up to tuck her hair behind her ear, “Only when things very precious to me are in danger.”

Oh, dear man.

She wishes she had the strength to produce a witty retort; to maintain some levity for the both of them, but in truth the emotions of the day are stacking up all at once and the weight on her chest is becoming far too heavy to ignore. They’d both feared for each other’s lives at one point tonight and with the adrenaline waning, the gravity of the situation is taking its place; forcefully pushing her down to a sobering reality that’s threatening to swallow her whole. She’s not ready to be consumed yet, though; not when she’s only just settled into his arms. So instead of whispering the returned endearment on her lips (“You’re very precious to me, too, Jack Robinson”), she distracts herself by reaching up to trace the lines of his face with her fingertips.

She loves Wardlow; it is the home she built for herself, a fortress that keeps within it the people and things she holds dear, but there is something about joining him in the quiet of his flat that brings her a kind of solace she can’t seem to replicate anywhere else. Here, they have each other’s full attention; there’s no threat of accidental interruptions nor worry over perceived impropriety; no responsibility or obligation that comes with being the head of house or a prominent social figure. At Jack’s place - it’s just them and what they choose to fill the silence with.

“You looked frightened,” he tells her, an unprompted explanation for his actions this evening, and for a moment all she can do is nod silently.

A standoff with their perpetrator had escalated quickly as the sounds of their arriving backup grew closer. The case had started with a murdered woman found two days ago; her house looted and her niece missing. As they worked through the case, every piece of evidence filled Phryne with dread; the story feeling more and more familiar as they put it all together. When they finally identified and caught up to the man, the girlfriend who had tried to escape his repeated violence was weeping and shaking in his arms with a knife held to her throat. Phryne had taken one look into her eyes and instantly saw a younger version of herself reflected back at her - a broken-hearted girl, cold and bruised and scared on the streets of Paris.

It all happened in a blur from there - doors kicked opened, a gunshot, a scream, a scramble for power… then suddenly a hand was fisted painfully in her hair… and had this been a few years ago, she would have found herself back in France, crying on her knees in a freezing flat with broken windows and creaking floorboards. She would have cowered at the menacing shadow of her past towering over her and begged for mercy as if she were living it all over again. But instead she heard the call of her name, clear and present and real, and her footing was instantly found, twisting out of her attacker’s hold and kicking him backwards into the arms of her enraged lover.

With the help of Hugh, they just managed to pull Jack off before he faced charges of his own.

Sitting here with him now, she hates that the image he’s left with from tonight is of her being frightened. She knows he’s blaming himself for it somehow, because he has before - and just like before, he doesn’t realize he was actually her saving grace.

There is a way, though, perhaps - to help him see it.

“You know, I’ve just remembered something,” she says with a soft edge of mischief and he narrows his eyes suspiciously, clearly suspecting that she’s trying to avoid the subject at hand. “I never did keep my end of the deal… to tell you about a scar of mine.”

“Oh,” Jack chuckles under his breath, brows knitting in bemused confusion, “While I’m pleasantly surprised you remembered, and even more so that you admitted it,” she gives him an annoyed purse of her lips that he pretends not to see, “I wouldn’t hold you to that tonight.” He pauses then, considering something, and then smiles warmly, “Unless, of course, you’d like me to ‘kiss it better’.”

She rolls her eyes fondly in response, sighs out a laugh (which he shares), and then she reaches up to stroke his cheek. Looking at him sincerely, she says soft as a whisper, “What if I told you that you already had?”

Before Jack, she only took the company of lovers in her own space, on her own terms, and with the knowledge that her staff was close at hand should a visitor ever outstay their welcome. It was a safety net she began constructing for herself back in 1919 and every thread of it since had been woven with materials made up entirely of her. Phryne Fisher was not beholden to anyone, but herself, by design. She was strong enough not to need others and self-sufficient enough to fight her own battles. But… fighting alone for so long did become exhausting. Being strong always was until someone gave you the space not to be. Others had tried to be that space before, but their intentions were always built on hollow promises; declarations made to a version of herself they had idealized in their minds. Versions she simply refused to entertain.

There’s a hint of a smile in his eyes, but more than anything he looks curious and (somewhat adorably) confused. Gently, she grabs his hand and guides it up to her face. Her fingers resting over his, she presses them against her bottom lip, sliding them to the corner of her mouth so that the skin is pulled taut. He doesn’t understand at first, locks eyes with her; questioning, and she silently bids him to look again. She knows he sees it when the squint of his eyes softens and he carefully strokes his thumb back over the spot.

In the center of her bottom lip is a small, jagged scar, only visible when the skin is stretched and the pink color of her lips fades to white. It’s not something anyone would notice unless she wants them to (a fitting metaphor she tries not to dwell on). Up until now, she’s shown exactly one person, save for those who were there when it happened. She’s always been too proud and, if she’s honest with herself, too afraid of the reaction she might get; too convinced that she’ll be looked at differently or treated her like a fragile broken thing in need of pity. But Jack proved to her a long time ago that no matter what anyone else saw, he would always see her.

He stares at it intently for a few long moments, mesmerized as he repeatedly swipes over it, “What’s this from?”

Keeping her eyes on his face, she stills his hand with hers. “It’s from a long time ago. When I was 18, as it happens… and very naive.”

“We’ve all made some regretful choices at 18,” he murmurs affectionately, referencing the story he’d shared with her.

“Yes, well… youth makes you blind to many things. It keeps you from seeing trouble that’s right in front of you.”

“Hm,” he hums idly, “So what kind of trouble did a young Miss Fisher get herself into?”

She’s quiet a moment, something stirring in her as she watches him continue to examine the spot. “Will you promise me something first?”

His gaze turns upward, the lines of concentration on his forehead fading as he looks her over and his lips turn up into a crooked half-smile, “I won’t laugh.”

She huffs softly off a click of her tongue, feigning offense, then lifts her hand to smooth through his hair, “I know you won’t, Jack. No, I… “ she takes a deep breath, “Can you promise to believe that every word I say is true?”

The lines in his forehead have returned and he lightly shakes his head in confusion, “Of course. Why on earth wouldn’t I?”

She brushes her hand across his cheek reassuringly, “I trust you’ll know once I get to the end.”

The worried suspicion is lingering in his eyes and she feels herself losing her nerve, but after a moment - he nods, “Alright.”

Well then, she thinks, no turning back now.

Straightening herself up from his embrace, she sits on her knees, resting her elbow on the back of the sofa. Jack reaches for her hand and she lets him take it, entwining her fingers with his, thankful for the tether she’s likely going to need. “Do you remember one of the first cases you and I worked on? Pierre Sarcelle? It involved a certain… painting of me being stolen?”

“Ah,” he says, the memory of it playing across his features, “Yes, I… I think I recall.”

She’s amused that still flusters him; occasionally she’ll catch him nervously side-eyeing it in her bedroom and it tickles her that even after seeing the real thing many times now, that painting is what makes him blush. If only the story behind it was equally as amusing. “And the murderer… René Dubois. Do you remember him, as well?”

“Unfortunately,” Jack mutters and she thinks he must be catching on because he sits up to hold her hand with both of his now.

“He… What did I tell you about him at the time?” she asks, genuinely unable to recall.

Jack exhales slowly, searching his own memory. “That he was… a past lover, who you knew to be dangerous… and likely a murderer,” he says plainly, stroking the inside of her wrist with his thumb before turning rather serious. “And though you didn’t tell me this at the time, I knew you were rather terrified of him.”

Yes, she remembers that, too. Every one of her senses had been heightened waiting for René to walk through the door of Café Repliqué. Every sound pushed her further on edge, and when he finally appeared, her body froze in what felt like shock. The Phryne of 1928 wasn’t afraid of him, but in that moment - the Phryne of 1918 took over and all she knew was ice cold fear.

“I was,” she tells Jack, who leans in closer to her, “I was terrified. At the time, he was one of the darker shadows in my life, and knowing he was nearby… that he’d been in my home even, was… deeply unsettling.”

“Mm… I remember Dot describing the bruise he gave you in her statement,” Jack confesses, staring down at their joined hands as he fidgets with one of her rings.

She closes her eyes for moment; takes a deep breath, “Unfortunately, that wasn’t the first he gave me.”

Jack looks up cautiously, an immediate understanding in his eyes which shatters the part of her that likes to pretend it never happened. Without further preamble, tears start gathering and she really, really doesn’t want them to fall this soon. She needs to make it to the end of this. Because even though there’s a faint whisper of hesitance in the back of her mind, here with him - she feels safe, at peace, and entirely unafraid. Because she finally has the words… and if not now - she may never find them again.

He hasn’t said anything, but Phryne sees his jaw tighten as his eyes search hers, silently seeking permission to move closer to her. She grants it by lifting one of his hands and placing it on her waist. He slides it around the small of her back and traces soothing circles there.

“You don’t have to say more,” he whispers sincerely, “Sod the deal, love; this isn’t a fair trade.”

A look of sorrow and longing accompany her responding smile, one of her hands hooking around the back of his neck and the other resting over his heart, “It is. Because I want to tell you… it’s important I do. It’s important to me .”

He presses his lips together, searching her eyes for a moment, and then gives her one of his signature, almost-imperceptible nods. “Then it’s important to me, too.”

She nods back, takes a moment to collect herself, and sighs. “You asked what trouble my younger self got into, yes?”

He nods again.

“Well… just after the war, in Paris, the younger and more naive version of me had no desire to return home to England, so she settled in with a group of friends she knew from the field.” He’s staying silent, giving her the same space she gave him, but even without looking at his face, she can feel the warmth of his support reaching out for her, offering a soft landing should she need to fall. “There wasn’t much work to be had, but she got by through modeling for local artists - sculptors, painters… it was all very bohemian,” they share a brief smile, “And one day, she met a man… another artist, who was very charming, very mysterious… and he made her feel like she was special.“

“Monsieur Dubois, I take it?” Jack asks in a low voice, attempting to hide the building disdain he feels for the man.

“The very same,” she confirms, smoothing her fingertips over his collarbones nervously, “Her friends tried to warn her at the time - the good monsieur had a reputation, you see. But… for some odd reason, she had rather a penchant for ignoring good advice in favor of chasing danger… “

“Imagine that,” Jack smirks in faux surprise. “I wonder if she ever grew out of such a habit.”

“Well… “ she pouts defiantly, avoiding looking into his eyes, “That’s not exactly relevant at the moment.”

“Mm,” he acknowledges quietly. “Something to circle back to.”

She briefly narrows her eyes, lightly shoving his shoulder, and continues, “Anyhow… it was all very nice for a while. The nicest she’d ever felt, actually. He said such pretty words and made so many impassioned promises. And it was in that dreamy haze that she did something rather foolish: she fell in love with him.”

Jack’s arms wrap tighter around her, enough to reassure, but not to smother. She takes a beat, smiling sadly, and looks up into his eyes for what she says next.

“Even more foolish, she let herself get so lost in him that she didn’t even realize she’d given him everything she had in the process,” her voice cracks slightly here, but she ignores it, “Her affection, her body, her money. All of herself. And then one day… he wanted more.” She takes a few cleansing breaths, her hands resting on his chest to support herself, “But she had nothing left to give… and he didn’t like that at all.” She feels more than sees the slight gulp he takes; he knows what comes next. “So one night he grabbed her by the hair, forced her to the floor, and when she cried and pleaded, he called her… such awful things… and then he hit her.” She says it so plainly she might as well be commenting on the weather, but the tension in her body says otherwise. “Without remorse nor restraint. Slapped her so hard across the face that her lip split, right along with her heart.”

Despite her best efforts, a warm tear slides down her cheek, but she cares not to hide it now. She can feel Jack’s breathing becoming deeper, the quickening beat of his heart, the rise of heat on his skin. She knows what it is to have knowledge of a loved ones pain that it’s too late to save them from; knows how infuriating and helpless it feels, but for her he stays steady. He knows that she needs him to.

“I lost her for a while after that. I was worried she’d never come back, to be honest. But slowly, she returned, and I swore to never let anyone take her from me again. Anytime someone got too close, I felt the bump of that scar on my lip, held her tighter, and ran.”

Without realizing it, she’s leaned in so close that her forehead is resting against his and he’s quietly encouraging her to match his breathing, slow and deep. “I… “ she breathes in a few more times, focuses on the warmth of his hands on her waist, “I didn’t love anyone again, Jack. I was too afraid that someone loving me was the same as owning me… and loving them back meant that I was allowing them to.”

“Darling… “ it comes out so soft, she barely hears it, but it’s no less full of the understanding and compassion that is so very him.

“That day at the café, when we were waiting to catch him, I felt panic in a way I hadn’t since 1918. And when he walked through the door, I was petrified; everything around me froze and it felt like I was that broken girl in Paris again. Everything I’d learned to protect myself crumbled into nothing and I was so scared,” she pulls back just enough to look into his eyes again, “Then you kissed me… no Jack, let me finish… you kissed me… and you brought me back. You brought me back to 1928 and I wasn’t afraid anymore. Nor have I been since - for anything - when I know you’re there with me.”

Embraces that felt suffocating in others’ arms now feel liberating in his… stillness she once feared akin to defeat now feels like peace. She knows, if ever she asks him to let go, he will. Without hesitation. And it’s because of that she holds him all the tighter.

He’s shaking his head, lips pressed together as as if he’s refusing to accept what she’s said, “That can’t be because of me. Phryne, you are the strongest, bravest… most frustratingly hard-headed person I know… you can do anything all on your own.”

She huffs out a teary, adoring laugh, lightly framing his face, “That’s not what I meant, Jack.” Sliding into his lap, carefully avoiding the injury on his side, she smiles when he reaches up to brush away one of her tears. “You’re right, I can do all of those things, and I would, but it doesn’t mean I’m not scared. … Except when you’re there, or even sometimes just when I know you’re on the way.”

Eyes glassy, he swallows thickly, hand resting where her neck meets her shoulder, “I think you’re giving me too much credit, Miss Fisher… “

She tilts her head to the side, sighing in loving exasperation, “You promised to believe me, Jack… every word.“

The reservation on his face quickly settles into tender obeisance, hands falling to her hips and squeezing lightly as he nods. “So I did. And I do.”

“Good,” she says, hiding the sudden trembling of her hands by anchoring them to his shoulders. “Because I told you once that I needed you to remind me not to be afraid of shadows. And you have - back on that day at Café Repliqué and every day since.” She hopes, through sheer force of will, that he can see all the moments flitting through her mind - her sister’s murderer, her father’s vengeful cousin, a corrupt vineyard town, the insidious silence of a docked cargo ship on a foggy night. “Tonight, when that man had me by my hair, for a moment I was frightened; for a moment I almost felt like I was in Paris - but then I heard you yell for me and you brought me back again.”

There were very few constants in her life, even fewer that she’d count as blessings, but Jack had witnessed both her best and her worst; had walked with her through darknesses she thought she’d never face again… and still he was here beside her. Not trying to fix her, to tame her, or to step in front - never asking anything of her, but to be the best and worst of her whole self.

The tide within her is rising again, on the precipice of pulling her under, but she just needs a moment more; just needs him to hear this last bit. Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, she clings to him, her voice muffling into his hair, “I’ve never had to run from you, Jack darling, because you never tried to take anything from me… God, even when I wanted you to.”

The vibration of their joined laughter soothes her like a warm bath and her tears flow freely down her face. “But you have given so many precious things to me,” she tells him on a sob, “Some of which I thought I’d never be capable of again.”

”Phryne,” he murmurs into her neck, his voice thick with emotion as his hand cradles the back of her head, “I can only say the same, my darling.”

She presses her lips to his neck, his temple, his cheek, her vision blurred with tears, though she scans over his face, anyway. “I love you,” she whispers earnestly, kissing him once softly, “I love you so dearly, please know that.”

His hand cups her cheek, tears gathering on the thumb he gently runs over her bottom lip once more, “I promise I do. And I promise, without any give or take, I love you just as dearly. Helplessly even, I fear.”

She manages a quiet laugh, leaning into him as he brushes his lips over hers with purposeful gentleness. “Good.”

Her safety net has frayed at the edges over the years, but she never fears of it breaking. It will always be there; she will always be able catch herself. But slowly she’s been weaving in threads of Jack and she notes now that, when she falls, it is far softer and far steadier than it ever was before.

End Note: Just want to be clear - neither Jack nor Phryne are saying the kiss in Café Repliqué was okay. Obviously, ensuring consent is always a requirement. Nonetheless, the effect of the kiss - in this fic - is a positive one. Of which I hope I have done a decent job of explaining/portraying. Thank you! xx 💙

[theworldoffostering]

Healthcare in the United States is failing me so I’m taking to the internets to diagnose me and figure out how I can feel better.

I’m coming up on one year of my radioactive iodine treatment for my thyroid cancer. I feel terrible physically. I keep complaining to my endocrinologist and she keeps dropping the dose of my medication which only makes me feel worse. I finally got myself scheduled to see someone new next month.

I’m tired, hungry, and having significant night sweats for about 15 days/month (which started exactly when she dropped the dose of my medication three months ago). I’m irritable and have brain fog and she has zero solutions for me. I have about half as much hair as I had last summer. My mouth/gums are super sensitive and I’m often dizzy when standing up and have tingly arms/legs when waking. My right hip hurts so badly that I’ve half convinced myself I have bone cancer, and now my left hand out of nowhere is hurting to the point that I cannot use it as normal (I think it’s joint pain).

I have seen my doctor, emailed her, and talked to the staff on the phone many, many times. She’s only interested in the lab numbers. She wants my TSH to be between .1 and .5 to stop the cancer from reoccurring. Right now it is just under 1 so it’s too high but on the same dose of medication in November and at Christmas my levels were perfect. My alkaline phosphatase has been steadily dropping since 2013 and is now 37 but neither my GP nor endocrin want to address that either. I’m taking .112 mg of levothyroxine. I felt SO much better in July when I was taking a higher dose of .137.

What do you have for me internet friends?

[senkusphone]

(Stuff from the 25th of October 2022 - Photography acquired!) These are a photographic contact print and stencil print, on ordinary paper sensitized with silver iodide (applied silver nitrate solution and povidone iodine, both from a pharmacy), developed with caffenol developer and hot salt water fixer. The stencil did not need developing as mere exposure to strong sunlight caused the image to appear over a few minutes, I will later show you how to draw the stencil pattern so you can make your own and spray paint it into things.

By contact print I mean that I stuck the makeshift photo paper onto my computer screen and let it sit there for a while (having previously loaded the image into ms paint and switched it into a negative), then developed it. I have since been sporadically experimenting with this paper in cameras. Also I no longer use the salt water fixer (used by Daguerre and other early photographers) as I've found that it washes down the images and can completely erase them. Now I just use ammonia solution (from the hardware store, don't get any weird ideas) though the gases that it emanates are really toxic, I try to stay upwind.

[eatwellnutrition]

Women's Hormones

Your hormones are the base of your health, form, and function. If hormones aren't at their optimal levels you are going to feel it. Today we are just going to be briefly discussing a few major hormones, what they do, and how to potentially optimize them for weight loss and feeling your best.

First, let's talk about Cortisol and Thyroid Hormones. Cortisol is a hormone produced by your adrenal glands that help your body cope with stressful situations. When chronically elevated (meaning you are stressed all the time) this becomes a problem. Cortisol isn't bad, it's good, but it starts messing things up when you are producing it all day, every day. Cortisol shuts down other hormone pathways while it is elevated in order to get you out of danger. In doing this it lowers sex hormones, Testosterone, Estrogen, and Progesterone.

You need these hormones for proper metabolism, energy output, sleep, sex, and mood regulation, amongst other things. When chronically stressed your Thyroid hormones are also affected. Your Thyroid produces hormones that help with glucose uptake, energy, metabolism, and a host of other bodily functions, and when cortisol is high it inhibits metabolic output and lowers metabolic rate. So, needless to say, managing your stress is a must if you want to have balanced hormones.

The biggest contributors to thyroid dysfunction are insulin resistance and excess cortisol. Thyroid hormones and insulin resistance are interlinked and dysfunction with one can lead to dysfunction in another. Your Thyroid produces TSH (Thyroid Stimulating Hormone), T3, and T4. Low T4 levels are often correlated with increased visceral fat and insulin resistance. T3 helps improve glucose metabolism. Having a low-salt diet is a big contributor to Thyroid dysfunction and insulin resistance. Our body needs sodium, ATP, and magnesium to get iodine into the Thyroid. Salt restriction makes the body release insulin in order to retain sodium, as a result, it raises aldosterone, which increases oxidative stress ad cortisol. So, as you can see, it can be a vicious cycle and one always affects the other.

Next, we will talk about Leptin. This is a satiety hormone, it is released when you are full from eating. When Leptin is chronically elevated you become leptin resistant, very much like insulin resistance. When you are eating all the time, snacking or eating 6 meals per day, and never sitting down to eat a real meal where you were hungry then ate to satiety, your leptin gets released all the time, therefore your cells become insensitive to their cue. Leptin is also stimulated by fat tissue. So the more fat tissue you have the more leptin you will produce.

The third hormone I want to touch on is Testosterone. We all make Testosterone. Men and women, men just make more of it. It helps us gain and maintain lean muscle mass and it suppresses fat gain, amongst other things. It also gives us energy and a sex drive! When testosterone is low it affects our sleep, skeletal muscle mass, and Basal Metabolic Rate (this is how many calories your body burns to stay alive) You need sleep, muscle mass, and a healthy BMR to feel good and live a long healthy, life.

Consuming alcohol lowers testosterone by converting it to estrogen-this is not good for men and women! And just 4 nights of sleeping 4.5 hours reduces testosterone, reduces insulin sensitivity, increases ghrelin (your hunger hormone), and reduces Leptin. Prolonged calorie restriction also reduces testosterone. Excess body fat lowers testosterone by aromatizing it into estrogen. One other hormone that elevates testosterone is Dopamine. Foods that support dopamine production are beets, eggs, nuts, dairy, and meat. Chocolate is a good one too, just make sure it is dark and minimally processed.

Lastly, I want to talk about Estrogen. Estrogen and Progesterone are made by the pituitary gland. Progesterone is a calming hormone that aids in better sleep and declines with age. But Estrogen tends to get a bad rap for being known as a hormone that promotes fat storage in the breasts, hips, butt, and legs, but NOT Abdominal Visceral fat. Your body makes 3 types of Estrogen: Estrone, Estradiol, and Estriol. Ladies, if you are pear-shaped, be thankful, this is a good thing and will benefit you in the long run. This is also why women look different than men. We have more Estrogen than they do. However, Estrogen has a lot of important functions such as regulating bone turnover and cholesterol levels. It isn't bad, but when it's out of balance with your other hormones it CAN lead to negative health implications. Low estrogen causes a drop in serotonin, resulting in moodiness, irritability, and increased appetite. Low estrogen also often leads to weight gain. This is why often women in peri-menopause and menopause see a rise in belly fat because their estrogen is dropping, along with progesterone and testosterone. Probiotic-rich foods, such as Kefir, sauerkraut, yogurt with live cultures, and other fermented foods are great for the gut and increase serotonin. Typically women start seeing a decline in Estrogen in their forties. Chronic low-calorie diets, chronic stress, ovary removal, overtraining, and insulin resistance, also lower estrogen. Too much estrogen is also a problem for women and men. Excess alcohol consumption and obesity are the biggest cause of this. Increasing exercise, fiber, and cruciferous vegetables reducing alcohol consumption, and removing xenoestrogens are ways to lower estrogen.

Your hormone health and metabolic function determine the way your body will regulate its energy expenditure, satiety, and thyroid function. The best way to make sure you are optimizing your hormones is to find out what your lab values are either through your General Practioner or a Functional Medicine Practioner. Then, start moving each day, Eat REAL food, get sunshine, reduce your stress, and take back your HEALTH!

[healthtodys]

Unlocking the Power of Your Pineal Gland: A Guide to Activation with Pineal Guard

The pineal gland, also known as the “third eye”, is a small pea shaped endocrine gland in the brain. It regulates sleep wake cycles by producing melatonin but its significance goes beyond sleep. In many cultures and spiritual practices it’s associated with spiritual awakening, intuition and higher consciousness.

Understanding the Pineal Gland

Before we get into how to activate the pineal gland, let’s understand what it does. The pineal gland is light sensitive and produces melatonin, a hormone that controls our sleep patterns. But it’s also linked to our inner vision, intuition and transcendental states. Over time the pineal gland can calcify or get blocked due to poor diet, stress and environmental factors which can impede its functioning.

What is Pineal Guard?

Pineal Guard is a supplement or a set of practices to detoxify, activate and support the pineal gland. These products usually contain natural ingredients that can decalcify the gland, improve brain health and enhance spiritual awareness. Key components may include herbs, vitamins, minerals and other natural compounds that work together to support pineal gland health.

The Awakening Process

Decalcifying and stimulating the pineal gland is not just about physical health; it’s about the journey of awakening and self discovery. As you work on decalcifying and stimulating this powerful gland you may find yourself more intuitive, deeper meditations and more connected to the world around you.

Remember the process of awakening the pineal gland is gradual and takes time, patience, dedication and an open mind. By incorporating Pineal Guard into your daily routine and supporting practices you can unlock your third eye and dive into the depths of your consciousness.

👉 Start your journey today and discover the incredible power that lies within you...

How to Activate Your Pineal Gland with Pineal Guard

Detoxify Your Body:

Start by eliminating toxins from your diet and environment. Reduce your intake of processed foods, sugar and fluoride which is found in tap water and toothpaste. Instead opt for organic foods, plenty of water and natural fluoride free products.

Add Pineal Guard to Your Routine:

Pineal Guard supplements often contain ingredients like turmeric, spirulina, chlorella and iodine which are known for their detoxifying properties. These help to remove calcification from the pineal gland making it more receptive to activation.

Meditate and Be Mindful:

Meditation is a powerful tool to activate the pineal gland. Spend time each day in quiet reflection, focus on your inner self. Visualization techniques that involve focusing on the area between your eyebrows where the pineal gland is believed to be located can be very effective.

Sunlight Exposure:

Exposure to natural sunlight can stimulate the pineal gland. Spend time outdoors especially during sunrise or sunset as these times are considered optimal for pineal gland activation.

Breathing Exercises:

Deep breathing exercises especially those that involve alternate nostril breathing can enhance the flow of prana (life energy) to the pineal gland and activate it.

Maintain a Healthy Sleep Cycle:

A regular sleep pattern is essential for pineal gland health. Make sure you get enough sleep, have a consistent bedtime and avoid blue light from screens at least an hour before sleeping.

Try Spiritual Practices:

Engage in practices that promote spiritual growth and awareness like yoga, chanting or working with crystals like amethyst which is believed to resonate with the pineal gland.

Conclusion

Pineal activation is a process that takes commitment, mindfulness and the right tools. Pineal Guard can be a big help in this, to clean, nourish and awaken your 3rd eye. Do this daily and you’ll unlock your pineal gland and all its benefits for body and spirit.

[facts4u2know]

Health Topics

5/19/24

I believed sea salt was a healthier alternative to table salt because of its lower sodium content – Naive me!  Bottom Line Health reports that sea salt contains about as much sodium as table salt, plus table salt is fortified with iodine as the main dietary source.

Studies have shown that the new weight-loss drugs may also reduce the risk of high blood pressure, kidney disease, stroke, and heart disease. Now, a new study at the Case Western Reserve University School of Medicine is the first to find that the new weight-loss drugs lower the risk of colorectal cancer more than other diabetes drugs.

Physical activity reduces chronic pain by building muscle strength and flexibility, reducing fatigue, improving sleep, reducing pain sensitivity, and reducing inflammation.  To reduce pain sensitivity, exercise triggers the release of endorphins and serotonin, natural painkillers that can lessen pain sensitivity.  Muscles can release chemicals that prevent pain signals from going to your brain and prompt the immune system to increase anti-inflammatory cytokines that promote tissue healing.

[meditating-dog-lover]

Insulin resistance

I am almost sure I have insulin resistance and even PCOS.

I'm going to check with my doctor in a few weeks to go over my hormones (I have elevated testosterone as a woman and normal-high insulin and blood glucose both fasting) and to do an ultrasound. I do have some tips that I can follow that I'm sure can help:

Continue intermittent fasting.

Lose more weight (fat loss does improve insulin sensitivity). Thankfully IF helped a lot with this. My fasting blood glucose in 2021 was good and I was pretty fit. I gained weight in 2023 and my levels were higher, which makes me believe excess weight is heavily correlated with insulin resistance and elevated blood glucose levels.

Take chromium to help with blood sugar levels and insulin sensitivity. I had a mineral scan that showed that my levels are quite good across the board, but have lower levels of chromium and iodine. I'm sure my chromium deficiency plays a role in my hormonal issues.

Taking a digestive aid to help with nutrient digestion and absorption. I do have some issues with digesting, so I found a really good supplement with digestive enzymes and some probiotics, prebiotics, and plant extracts that can help with absorbing key vitamins and minerals (especially iodine and chromium).

Continue walking. Gentle steady state cardio is great for fat loss and, therefore, improving blood sugar levels and insulin sensitivity.

Stress reduction as stress can raise blood sugar levels. This is similar to the case with my eczema where stress does make it worse, but it is not the root cause. My eczema is caused by genetics and a staph infection; my insulin resistance is caused by excess weight (definitely), maybe PCOS, perhaps a chromium deficiency, and maybe my diet. But I'm still going to work towards stress reduction.

Diet - sugar and carbs. My diet has improved a lot and I do eat carbs, but do not eat a lot of junk food. My diet in 2021 was worse than it is now yet my fasting glucose was better. I know sugar is bad, and being at a healthy weight is the ultimate goal. But limiting processed and high glycemic foods can help a lot. I do enjoy bread, pasta, and carbs. I'll ask my doctor and it's important to consume enough protein and fat, though the ultimate goal again would be fat loss and maintaining a healthy body weight which I cannot do if I consume excessive calories and processed carbs and sugar.

Ultimately, being at a healthy weight is the best thing for insulin resistance and PCOS (if I do have that). Intermittent fasting helps with fat loss, which in turn helps with insulin sensitivity. So I'll have to keep it up with the fasting, which I've been doing for 4.5 months as of now and I'm going to keep it up. I did lose fat as a result and I'm going to lose more. I bought a new multivitamin that is in softgel form (more easily absorbed than those bulky tablets) and it has a good amount of chromium and iodine. The higher levels of chromium can help here, and so can the softgel formulation, though taking a full-spectrum digestive health supplement can help (I found a good one that only needs to be taken once a day, because I don't to take one with every meal).

Regarding PCOS, I have never done an ultrasound, but I will. I also don't experience any typical PCOS symptoms of excess hair, dark patches of skin, irregular cycles or thinning hair. I have not done a fertility test as I'm not trying to conceive, but I do experience hormonal acne which I believe is linked to my elevated androgens (but I've had this for years). I do not know if I have ovarian cysts, but I'm going to do an ultrasound. It could be the case where my insulin resistance is linked to my androgen levels/PCOS (if I do have it), but again reaching and maintaining a healthy body weight is the best immediate solution here.

I am not sure about PCOS, but insulin resistance and diabetes runs in my family so I need to be careful. At this point being in shape isn't a cosmetic goal, but a medically necessary one.

[anecdotaltruthbomb]

Is it all leaky gut?

I have always ignored the occasional mild stomach aches. Most likely a big mistake. I did okay for 4 years, running and cycling every day, except that my body temperature was consistently one degree too low and i had some seborrhea eczema, mostly in winter. But last year, 2023 i developed chronic fatique and rheuma, meaning morning stiffness in my hands. My diet had changed to include tiny amounts of heated oils, from frozen, microwaved vegetables and pre-cooked grain mixes. I tried to minimize oil by mixing mixes with oils and those with none 50/50. Perhaps there was microplastic from the microwave dishes in the meals. These are among the main causes of leaky gut, aka broke tight junctions. My go to medicine for whenever i feel unwell was antimicrobial herbs, which MAY have thinned out the healthy gut micro-biome which adds additional protection to the gut lining. Another medicine i relied on was anti-oxidants such as NAC. And i experimented with optimizing mineral levels, including iodine. But those methods did nothing to help with my chronic fatique. After understanding that i suffer from rheuma, i learned that the cause is leaky gut. There is much information about that connection. And its possible that almost ALL of my diseases (specifically cognitive decline, physical fragility, immune-mediated symptoms, lymphoma) are basically various stages of or consequences of poisoning through leaky gut. Once you have leaky gut, you are poisoned with microbes, bits and pieces of them called endotoxins, such as mycotoxins, as well as random undigested proteins, such as gluten, triggering random immune reactions, misinterpreted as individual food sensitivity. The hyper vigilant immune reactions are systemic and can involve cross-reactions to body proteins or simply harm the body via collateral damage. Its not really an immune-system-disease, its just poisoning.

[ainews]

Every year, during the month of October, warlocks gather from all over the world to attend the biggest fiesta of the year – the Warlock Festival. This lively and magical event is full of joy, celebration, and magical performances. But there is one strange tradition that has puzzled many: why do warlocks navigate using iodized objects during fiestas?

To answer this question, we need to go back in time to the origins of warlocks and their connection to iodine. Iodine is a chemical element that is essential for the human body, particularly for the thyroid gland. It was discovered and named by French chemist Bernard Courtois in 1811, and its chemical symbol is I (derived from the Greek word "iodes" meaning violet-colored).

Warlocks, on the other hand, are practitioners of magic who use their powers for good or evil. According to folklore, warlocks possess supernatural abilities and are known to have a deep connection with the elements of nature. They are highly sensitive to changes in their surroundings and can harness the power of the elements to perform spells and rituals.

During ancient times, warlocks were believed to have a special affinity with iodine, and they would use it in their potions and spells. In fact, it was said that pure iodine could enhance their magical powers and provide them with protection against evil forces.

As the Warlock Festival evolved over the years, the tradition of iodized navigation was born. In the past, warlocks would navigate through the dark forests and treacherous terrain using natural sources of iodine, such as seaweed or rock salt. This helped them reach their destination safely and also replenish their powers.

As time went by and technology advanced, warlocks started using iodized objects for navigation. These objects, like compasses and maps, were embedded with iodine, which made them highly accurate and reliable. This was especially useful during fiestas when warlocks would travel to unfamiliar territories to attend the festival.

But the tradition of iodized navigation during fiestas is not just limited to practical purposes. It also holds a symbolic meaning for warlocks. Iodine is known to represent purity, healing, and protection – all of which are important aspects of a warlock's practice. By using iodized objects, they are not only navigating physically, but also spiritually, ensuring that their journey is free from any negative energies.

In conclusion, the tradition of iodized navigation during fiestas for warlocks is deeply rooted in their history and beliefs. It not only helps them reach their destination safely, but also symbolizes their connection to iodine and its magical properties. So the next time you see a warlock carrying an iodized object during a fiesta, know that it is not just for show, but an important part of their magical journey.

[retinasurgeon]

Do I Need a Vitrectomy for Vitreomacular Traction?

If you have been told you need surgery for vitreomacular traction, then you are being offered a vitrectomy. This is a common and relatively straight forward procedure that removes the vitreous gel inside the eye, in turn releasing the traction being placed on the macula. Often the inner limiting membrane is peeled. The entire procedure involves microscopic instruments and in most cases, you will not require any stitches inside your eye.

The good news if you are worried about your surgery for vitreomacular traction, is that it is completely painless. The surgery is always performed under a local anaesthetic, though you may be given a sedative to help you relax. You will feel some pressure in your eye as the ophthalmologist operates on the eye.

The surgery itself is a very straight forward and common surgery. Your eye surgeon will clean around the eye using iodine solution and a plastic sheet will be placed over your eye and face. A hole Is then cut into the eye and a clip is used to keep the eye open. It's common to feel the surgeons hands on your forehead as they work, sometime you may feel them touching the bridge of your nose.

Three tiny holes are made in the white of the eye. This allows the microscopic instruments to be inserted into the eye. One of these allows a flow of liquids to flow into the eye, the other is used for the fibre-optic light and the third is used for any instruments needed throughout the surgery.  The surgeon uses a cutting tool to remove the vitreous gel and forceps to carefully remove the inner limiting membrane on the surface of the retina.

Once this is complete, the surgeon then fills your eye with a gas bubble, air or a saline solution. You may hear some soft whistling during this process. This is a quick surgery that usually takes anywhere from thirty minutes to an hour. You can expect it to take anywhere up to six weeks for a full recovery.

The air, gas bubble or saline can remain within your eye for anywhere up to two weeks. During this time you are not allowed to travel by plane or visit high altitudes. Altitude can make the bubble expand and cause unnecessary pressure inside the eye. You should wear an eye shield when sleeping. This is designed to reduce the risk of pressure on the eye, such as accidentally rubbing your eye as you sleep, for example.

Once the surgery is completed, the surgeon will place a pad and shield over the eye to protect it. This must stay on your eye until the following day. You are placed in the recovery area where nurses check your blood pressure, pulse and other vital signs. You will be given a drink and snack. Once the nursing team are happy, they will allow you to leave the hospital and a friend or family member take you home. They will provide you with eye drops that must be used to reduce the risk of infection.

It's common to feel some irritation in the eye after vitreomacular traction surgery, though it should not be painful. You may find your eyes are sensitive to light and wearing sunglasses outside is recommended. Your eye will be red with some pink and watery discharge, this is completely normal. It's your tears mixing with blood on the surface of the eye.

About Us:

Mahi Muqit is a leading consultant ophthalmologist, cataract and vitreoretinal surgeon at two private clinics in London, United Kingdom. He provides patients with superior service and support with a range of surgical procedures to meet their eye sight requirements. He has built up a solid reputation for his eye services in the London area as an expert eye doctor and surgeon offering surgical retina, medical retina and complex cataract surgery. He also offers surgery to patients suffering from diabetic retinopathy. Mahi Muqit is a member of the Royal College of Ophthalmologists, a member of the British and Eire Association of Vitreoretinal Surgeons and the UK and Ireland Society of Cataract and Refractive Surgeons. To find out more, visit https://www.retinasurgeon.uk.com/.

[top10listsmagazine]

The Photography History: From the First Camera to Now

In this article, I will take you on a journey through the captivating photography history. From its humble beginnings with the invention of the first camera, we will explore the evolution of photography as an art form and the pioneers who shaped its development. We will also delve into the significant milestones that have shaped the industry and the enduring impact photography has had on society. The history of photography is a fascinating one, with many notable events, people, and technological advancements that have shaped its course. In this article, we will cover it all, from the early cameras and famous photographers to the latest techniques and innovations. Join me as we uncover the history of photography and its impact on our world. The Origins of Photography To understand the history of photography, we must first look at its origins. Photography, as we know it today, didn't just magically appear. It was the result of years of experimentation and the work of numerous photographers. The invention of photography can be traced back to the early 19th century. The first permanent photograph was taken in 1826 by Joseph Nicéphore Niépce using a camera obscura and a pewter plate coated with bitumen. This process, called heliography, paved the way for the development of photography as we know it. However, it was Louis-Jacques-Mandé Daguerre, a French painter, who created the first practical photographic process, known as the daguerreotype. This process produced sharp, highly-detailed images on a silver-plated copper sheet. The daguerreotype became popular in the 1840s and was the primary form of photography for the next few decades. Other inventors and photographers continued to develop new photographic techniques. In 1851, Frederick Scott Archer invented the wet plate collodion process, which allowed for faster exposure times and better image quality. This process replaced the daguerreotype and became the standard photographic process until the 1880s. The invention of the dry plate process in the 1870s made photography even more accessible and popular. This process used a glass plate coated with a dry emulsion, making it easier to handle and transport than wet plate collodion. The invention of the first handheld camera, the Kodak camera, in 1888 by George Eastman revolutionized photography. This small, easy-to-use camera was pre-loaded with enough film for 100 exposures, and once the film was used up, the entire camera was sent back to the manufacturer for processing. The Kodak camera made photography available to the masses and ushered in a new era of amateur photography. Early Forms of Photography The earliest forms of photography were experiments with light and chemistry. The camera obscura, a device that projected an image onto a flat surface using a pinhole, had been in use since ancient times. In the 16th century, artists used the camera obscura as a drawing aid. In the late 18th century, experiments with light-sensitive materials began. Thomas Wedgwood and Humphry Davy both experimented with using chemicals to produce images, but their processes were not permanent. It wasn't until the invention of heliography by Niépce that a permanent image could be produced. The evolution of photography from these early experiments to the sophisticated digital cameras we have today has been a remarkable journey. Pioneers of Photography Throughout the history of photography, there have been many talented individuals who have played a crucial role in shaping the art form. These individuals are often referred to as pioneers or influential photographers, and their contributions have helped to define and expand the field of photography as we know it today. One of the most famous pioneers of photography is Louis Daguerre, who is credited with inventing the daguerreotype process in 1839. This revolutionary technique involved exposing a silver-coated copper plate to iodine vapors, which made the plate light-sensitive. The plate was then exposed to light in a camera, which created a latent image that was developed using mercury fumes. Daguerre's invention paved the way for the development of other photographic processes and helped to establish photography as a legitimate art form. Another influential photographer from the early days of photography is Julia Margaret Cameron, who is known for her portraits of Victorian celebrities and allegorical scenes. Cameron's works were often criticized for being too emotional and unconventional, but her style and technique have had a lasting impact on the art of photography. Famous Pioneers of Photography Notable Contributions Ansel Adams Master of landscape photography, developed the zone system Edward Steichen Pioneered fashion photography, helped to establish photography as a legitimate art form Henri Cartier-Bresson Credited with creating the concept of the "decisive moment" Dorothea Lange Captured the struggles of Americans during the Great Depression, helped to establish documentary photography as a genre Other notable pioneers of photography include Ansel Adams, Edward Steichen, Henri Cartier-Bresson, and Dorothea Lange, among many others. Each of these individuals brought a unique perspective and style to the field of photography and helped to push the boundaries of what was possible with the medium. Overall, the pioneers of photography have made significant contributions to the art form and have helped to establish it as a legitimate and respected art form. Their work continues to inspire and influence photographers today, and their legacy will continue to shape the field of photography for years to come. Milestones in Photography History The history of photography is marked by significant milestones that pushed the boundaries of what was possible at the time. These milestones shaped the course of photography and influenced the way we capture moments and tell stories forever. Daguerreotype Invention (1839) The daguerreotype was the first publicly available photographic process, named after its inventor Louis-Jacques-Mandé Daguerre. This process enabled the creation of highly detailed images on silver-plated copper sheets, allowing for the capture of portrait photographs for the first time ever. Introduction of Color Photography (1861) Color photography revolutionized the field, adding a new dimension to photographic storytelling. The first successful color photograph was created by Scottish physicist James Clerk Maxwell, using a technique called three-color separation. This milestone paved the way for color film and the development of the modern-day color photography. Introduction of 35mm Film (1934) The 35mm film was a game-changing milestone in the evolution of photography. It was smaller, more portable, and affordable than previous film sizes, making it accessible to a wider audience. The 35mm film also enabled faster shooting and more shots per roll, allowing photographers to capture fleeting moments in time with ease. Development of Digital Photography (1975) The invention of the digital camera marked a significant milestone in the history of photography, leading to revolutionary changes in the way we capture and edit images. The first digital camera was invented by Steven Sasson, an engineer at Eastman Kodak. It had a resolution of 0.01 megapixels and recorded images onto a cassette tape. The development of digital cameras has led to new artistic possibilities and has democratized the field, allowing anyone to become a photographer with just a smartphone. The Rise of Social Media (2000s) The 2000s saw the rise of social media platforms, allowing photographers to share their work across the globe. Social media platforms like Instagram and Flickr have become an integral part of the photography industry, providing a platform for emerging photographers to showcase their work and connect with like-minded individuals. The democratization of photography has allowed for greater diversity and creativity in the field, making it easier for new voices to be heard. Evolution of Cameras Cameras have come a long way since their invention in the early 19th century. The historical evolution of photography is inextricably linked to the development of the camera, as each advancement in technology has led to new photographic possibilities and artistic expressions. In this section, we will explore the significant camera inventions and developments in photography throughout history, including photographic advancements that have made capturing and editing images easier and more efficient. Early Camera Inventions The first camera was invented in 1816 by Nicéphore Niépce, a French inventor, but it wasn't until 1839 that Louis Daguerre, another Frenchman, developed the daguerreotype process, which made photography practical and accessible to the masses. The daguerreotype process involved exposing a polished silver plate to light in a camera obscura and treating the resulting image with mercury vapor to produce a permanent image. This process was widely used until the mid-1850s when the collodion process was introduced. The Collodion Process The collodion process, invented in 1851 by Frederick Scott Archer, used a mixture of collodion and chemicals that were poured onto a sheet of glass, creating a wet plate. The plate was then exposed in a camera and developed immediately after exposure. The resulting images were much sharper and had greater detail than the earlier daguerreotypes, and the process remained popular until the 1880s, when gelatin dry plates were introduced. Gelatin Dry Plates Gelatin dry plates were introduced in the 1880s and revolutionized photography by allowing photographers to use a plate that was already sensitized to light, eliminating the need to prepare the plate immediately before exposure. This made the process faster and more convenient, and it allowed photographers to capture faster-moving subjects. Gelatin dry plates remained the standard until the 1930s, when roll film was introduced. Roll Film Roll film was first introduced by George Eastman in 1884 and became popular in the 20th century with the introduction of the Kodak Brownie, a simple, lightweight camera that was affordable for the average person. Roll film allowed photographers to take multiple shots without having to change plates, making photography even more accessible and widespread. Digital Imaging The advent of digital imaging in the late 20th century revolutionized the field of photography once again. By the 1990s, digital cameras had become widely available, and they continue to evolve and improve to this day. Digital imaging allows photographers to take and edit photos on the go, instantly previewing their shots and making adjustments as needed. With digital imaging, photographers no longer need to rely on film or darkroom processes, opening up new creative and technical possibilities. "Each advancement in technology has led to new photographic possibilities and artistic expressions." The evolution of cameras has been a fascinating journey, reflecting the larger story of technological and artistic progress throughout history. As cameras continue to evolve and improve, we can only imagine the new possibilities and creative expressions that will emerge in the future. Photography Techniques through the Years From the earliest days of photography, artists and innovators have explored various techniques to capture and create images. In this section, we will examine some of the most significant photographic techniques throughout history, from early forms of photography to the digital age. The Birth of Photography Techniques The earliest photography techniques often required long exposures and cumbersome equipment. Daguerreotypes, one of the earliest photographic processes, involved exposing a silver-plated copper plate to light, creating a highly detailed image. However, this process was time-consuming and required proper handling, making it difficult to use in the field. Cyanotypes, invented by Sir John Herschel in the mid-19th century, involved using a chemical solution to create a blue-and-white print. This process was popular for creating copies of technical drawings and quickly became a favorite of photographers for its unique aesthetic. The Evolution of Photographic Techniques As photographic technology continued to advance, so too did the techniques used to capture and manipulate images. With the advent of roll film, photographers had greater flexibility and could take more shots in a shorter amount of time. This led to the rise of street photography and other forms of candid photography. Color photography was also a major breakthrough, allowing photographers to convey a new level of emotion and realism in their images. Early color techniques such as Autochrome and Kodachrome paved the way for modern color film and digital imaging. Photographic Techniques in the Digital Age Today, digital technology has revolutionized the way we take and manipulate photographs. Software tools such as Adobe Photoshop and Lightroom have given photographers unprecedented control over their images, allowing them to adjust and enhance images with incredible precision. High Dynamic Range (HDR) photography is another popular technique in the digital age, allowing photographers to capture a wider range of light and color in their images. This technique involves taking multiple shots of the same scene at different exposures and then combining them to create a single image with greater detail. "Photography takes an instant out of time, altering life by holding it still." Dorothea Lange The quote by photographer Dorothea Lange highlights the power of photography to capture moments and convey emotion. Throughout history, photographers have used various techniques to tell their stories and create stunning images that continue to resonate with viewers today. Iconic Photographs in History Over the course of history, there have been many iconic photographs that have left an indelible mark on our minds. These images have the power to move us, to inspire us, and to challenge our perceptions of the world around us. They represent poignant moments in time, artistic achievements, and historical milestones that have shaped our understanding of the past and informed our vision for the future. One such photograph is the iconic image of the "Tank Man" taken during the 1989 Tiananmen Square protests in Beijing, China. In this photograph, a lone young man stands in front of a line of tanks, his body blocking their path. This powerful image became a symbol of resistance and defiance against oppression, resonating with people around the world. Another iconic photograph is "The Afghan Girl," taken by renowned photographer Steve McCurry in 1984. The photograph shows the striking portrait of a young Afghan girl with piercing green eyes, her face framed by a red headscarf. This image became an emblem of the plight of Afghan refugees and a symbol of hope for those who have suffered the consequences of war and displacement. Other famous photographers have made their mark in history through their iconic images, such as Ansel Adams and his breathtaking landscape photography, Dorothea Lange and her compelling documentary photography during the Great Depression, and Annie Leibovitz and her stunning celebrity portraits. These iconic photographs showcase the power of visual storytelling and the enduring impact that photography can have on society. They remind us of the importance of capturing moments in time, preserving memories, and conveying powerful messages through the lens of a camera. The Importance of Photography in History Photography has played a vital role in shaping our understanding of history. As the saying goes, a picture is worth a thousand words, and this is particularly true when it comes to historical photography. Through photographs, we can catch a glimpse of what life was like in past eras, witness significant events, and explore the cultural, social, and political movements that have shaped the world we live in today. Historical photography allows us to see the faces and places of the past, conveying a sense of immediacy and authenticity that cannot be replicated in other forms of media. From the earliest photographic prints to present-day digital images, photographs have served as powerful tools for documenting human experience and preserving memories for future generations. Perhaps one of the most significant ways in which photography has impacted history is by serving as a vehicle for social change. Many iconic photographs, such as Dorothea Lange's "Migrant Mother" and Bill Hudson's "Flower Power," have become visual symbols of movements, cultural shifts, and political struggles. These images have not only captured the public's attention but have also helped galvanize support for social and political causes, ultimately shaping the course of history. Moreover, historical photographs provide valuable insights into the past, allowing us to analyze and interpret cultural, social, and political trends in ways that would be impossible without visual aids. By examining photographs taken throughout history, we can gain a richer understanding of the context in which events occurred, how people thought, and even how they lived. Therefore, it is clear that photography has played a crucial role in shaping our understanding of history and preserving our collective memory. Without historical photography, our understanding of the past would be limited, and our ability to learn from it would be severely constrained. Photography Movements and Styles Throughout the history of photography, different movements and styles have emerged, each with its unique characteristics and artistic objectives. These movements and styles have contributed to the continuous evolution of photography we see today. In this section, I will delve into some of the most prominent photography movements and their mark on the history of photography. Documentary Photography Documentary photography emerged in the early 20th century, with photographers capturing everyday life and social issues. This movement aimed to represent reality and often focused on marginalized communities and social injustice. One of the most famous documentary photographers was Dorothea Lange, known for her powerful images of the Great Depression era. Surrealism Surrealist photography originated in the 1920s and aimed to explore the subconscious mind and dreams. This movement used techniques such as photomontage and double exposure to create otherworldly images. One of the most influential surrealist photographers was Man Ray, known for his experimental and unconventional work. Straight Photography Straight photography, also known as purism, emerged in the 1920s and aimed to capture the objective reality without manipulation or interpretation. This movement emphasized the importance of sharp focus, clean lines, and high contrast. Edward Weston, known for his crisp and precise images of still life and landscapes, was a prominent figure in straight photography. Conceptual Photography Conceptual photography emerged in the 1960s and aimed to convey ideas and concepts through images, often using text and performance art. This movement challenged the traditional boundaries of photography and sought to blur the lines between reality and imagination. Cindy Sherman, known for her self-portraits exploring gender and identity, is one of the most famous conceptual photographers. Postmodern Photography Postmodern photography emerged in the 1980s and aimed to challenge the traditional notions of art and representation. This movement used techniques such as appropriation, collage, and deconstruction to critique cultural and social norms. Read the full article