#Room I might have to use that 80$ for food sometimes

[dogboy-dyke]

i should save up for a fucking machine<- does not have an income where this is feasible

[harfanfare]

I like to think that romance with Idia widely differs depending on the time you’ve been in a romantic relationship.

1. “Just started dating” stage.

If you're reading Idia fanfiction, there is an 80% chance this is the stage your relationship is on.

Idia is… treating you like a very precious stranger. He's on his toes and seeks your approval in whatever he's doing. He is going to great lengths to understand the theory of dating and your hobbies - so you can maybe share even more interests - but won’t really act on anything.

He’s constantly surprised by every romantic move you make and you have numerous occasions to adore his cherry blush and various puckles of hair igniting with pink and red. He stutters a lot and can’t focus on anything in your presence.

Idia will outright reject any suggestions for bolder moves. He’s unprepared, and although guilt is eating him from the inside, he is not up to anything you two weren’t doing as friends. Well, maybe handholding, kissing, and cuddling get a (hard) pass, but you are the only one initiating these things.

He will try his best to reciprocate effort, though.

2. “Have been dating for a while” stage.

It’s an interphase between two very different stages, so he’s a funny mix: a very shy outsider and a cocky genius at the same time.

Gaming sessions will be the centre of your couple's time. Idia regularly invites you to his dorm, sometimes even on spontaneous sessions when a new event comes up or he has found a new game that looks very cool. You share snacks, drinks, and clothes (read: you have unwritten permission to claim his blouses).

This boy would be dead without you and Ortho, and with that knowledge, you make it your mission to (somehow) tidy up his room, buy some cosmetics, healthier food, etc. If you are up to organizing a “self-care evening”, he will be hesitant at first but will be looking forward to it after a while, with some older anime. (I like to think it would be a magical girl series like Sailor Moon, Tokyo Mew Mew or Chobits, or some shoujo).

In exchange, he might construct some little gadgets (maybe anime-themed?) for you, helps you get the merch you want, and supports you in your games.

At this point, he doesn’t weigh his words much. He’s still easy to fluster, but he comes with comebacks right away. The most flirty he gets on the phone when it’s late at night and you are using a chat to talk, especially when you are not in the same room. 3. Long-term relationship stage.

He knows you are doomed to him and shamelessly takes advantage of that.

He has no claims against calling you in the middle of the night to watch him sharing his screen when he pulls for a character he wants to get in the gacha system. He believes your presence brings him luck, so he must have you when he does crucial things!

Idia disses your taste in fictional men. Sometimes, he reads the dialogues out loud from the otome games you play. He may alter them, which can make you either huff or laugh. If you read or write fanfiction, he might read them too, giving you an out loud commentary on some fragments and asking you if you are that desperate for dates so you are sending fanfiction to inspire him. If you say yes, he will hum and return to whatever he was doing before, but he might plan something out that you will preferably be able to do in his room.

Chatroom with him and Ortho is quite calm, almost polite, but your private chatroom with Idia is the most chaotic one you’ve ever been. You learned to not leave your phone openly if you don’t want to explain some inside joke with a layered backstory. An app you use to chat with Idia is the one your screen time is counted on most, and writing with Idia is your guilty pleasure.

If you are interested in IT, he might program you an app or something to help you with it! He will give you the best feedback ever, and although it may be harsh, the last thing he wants is to discourage you from learning further.

On one anniversary of your dating, he will gift you this kind of couple bracelet which lights up if the other person touches it. He created them himself. When he receives signals throughout the day, he thinks of them as a promise from you, that no distance can sever your bond.

If you bring up some serious talk, you will be bullied with memes. It’s Idia’s coping mechanism. He will plan his future with you, don’t worry, but wait for him to muster up the courage to get on one knee and ask the question.

[marleemutt]

TLDR: im a black trans artist who can use some help right now following the sudden passing of my only sister - her doberman is now the responsibility of my parents and we can use help for his food, supplements, toys etc.

Kofi (help me send Chewy orders to my parent's house)

Wishlist (literally send him things like toys, treats, etc.)

⬇️ more info ⬇️

hey guys

some of you might be aware of this already, but early October, my eldest sibling & only sister suddenly passed away due to a seizure, she had been dealing with epilepsy her whole life.

this has been incredibly difficult for me, and my family. her passing was incredibly sudden, she was only 30.

for the past month or so ive been struggling to find any motivation to draw, and barely able to work.

she was the incredibly devoted owner of a doberman named Remi(Ramsey). Me and my sister traveled 4 hours to pick him up three years ago. He's a goofball who tears up socks and needs constant supervision. My parents love him, but I can tell he is a lot of work for two people who have fulltime jobs and have lived long lives.

I'm going to try to help them take care of him as much as possible, I feel that it's the least we can do to honor my sister's memory, since she loved him so deeply.

My sister always wanted a doberman, for years she would watch videos about dobermans and talk about them to anyone who would listen.

Remi wasn't easy to raise - I shared a room with my sister when she got him in 2020, she still worked a 9-5, five days a week, so I was his nanny for most of his difficult childhood. I was his chew toy for the first year of his life about - but that only made him bond closer to me. If he wasn't following my sister, I was choice #2. Dobermans are "velcro dogs", they were bred to guard their owners, and because of this, they are fiercely loyal. I've been moved out of my parent's place for going on 3 years, and my sister had just moved with Remi out a few months prior to her passing.

A week before my sister's sudden passing, we had to board Remi at my dog daycare job while my family and I took a trip out of state. When dropping him off, although he was happy to see me again for the first time in months, the moment my sister turned her back to him he began to panic. He got through the boarding all right but my coworkers told me he would cry and wait by the door for me or her. When my sister picked him up, they said he jumped all 80+lbs into her arms.

Since my sister's passing, Remi has been directionless. He's with my family, people he trusts, but he's bored, confused, and heartbroken. My sister would often take him to the dog park, social events, on runs, etc. but my parent's can't do that in their age. If my apartment allowed large dogs, I would take him, but I can't, and I see him maybe twice a month if possible.

Ramsey's Christmas List

I made a christmas list for him of things that might help my parents better take care of him. We're trying different food brands out because he struggles with frequent stomach issues, and we can't seem to figure out what food my sister was feeding him. This list is by no means a necessity for him, but I tried to add things to help with his boredom and keep him stimulated when my parents can't give him all their attention.

i do want to state that my family is capable of providing him with the essentials to live, we arent irresponsible. i would just like to help my parents out since a 3 year old 80-90lb doberman is a lot of work to be suddenly placed on them soley. And I worry for his health and well-being sometimes - Remi has a tendency to eat/tear random objects when he's bored.

please consider donating whatever you can. Everything goes directly to him.

thank you for taking the time to read this, and possibly reblog if possible. ❤️

[ch6sos]

random choso headcanons

i <3 choso i <3 making odd ball headcanons so here u guys go

content warning mentions of "metabolism", social anxiety/anxiety (not bad though) + motion sickness, and this is not proofread and lowercase so if any of those Like makes you tingle please don't read this my sweet

he’s emo as hell, he listens to emo music. now he's the one i actually imagine listening to my chemical romance, pierce the veil, etc. (bc with nanami I feel like he'd listen to more 80s-90s rock music but this isn't about my first husband)

he suffers from insomnia and finds it difficult to sleep unless he has someone he cares about in the room or at least snuggling with him.

peacemaker: he is a peacemaker when it comes to his brothers.

"hey yuji, you should really share with him. "

"no!"

"yuji...." 

"fine."

he has an earthy aroma—he often uses colognes with earthy notes that are not overpowering (i  think he might be sensitive to strong scents).

i imagine him experiencing motion sickness. for some reason, i imagine him feeling dizzy in a car, or being unable to handle a rollercoaster without feeling extremely unwell.

would probably work at your local hot topic especially if this was set during the 2000s era where hot topic was actually catered to the alternative scene. or a tattoo shop!

several piercings. on his left ear, he has an industrial, a triple lobe piercing, and a conch— his right having a double helix piercing, a tragus, and a single lobe piercing.... and then he has an eyebrow piercing and a labret piercing :)

enjoys watching christmas movies because a lot of them are about family!

deeply family-oriented, he genuinely just wants to grow up with a family. a big one, too.

thus he may have a fear of being alone, which makes me believe that he is introverted but also genuinely afraid of ending up alone as he grows older. he values the presence of family and wants to ensure that they always surround him.

he comes across as a bit shy initially, not necessarily awkward, but it takes some time to get to know him.

still not too talkative but genuinely chill to talk to.

has a lot of accessories when he wears outfits, especially bracelets or necklaces. 

black is what you find in his closet. just black (and a couple of purples and reds but mainly black)

he be thrifting them outfit pieces too idc idc he not a shein warrior

is a bit insecure about his dark circles and markings on his face (i could imagine he still has the markings but they look more like a scar rather than what it looks like in the actual manga/anime) so he begins to cover them up with concealer sometimes.

eats a LOT of junk food and somehow doesn't gain weight. bro probably can eat a whole box of pizza with wings and doesn't even gain a pound.

he is genuinely clueless/oblivious when it comes to relationships like he doesn't know when someone's flirting with him unless they tell them straight up. and when they tell him he's like:

"...oh! me...?" because he genuinely thinks, “wow, someone likes me?!?!”

plus he would ask before initiating even after being in a relationship

“do… do you mind if i kiss you?”

“cho we’ve been dating for five months”

“oh… i’m sorry for asking… again.”

spends a lot of time on his hair !!! he has to wake up early sometimes just to do his hair. and he doesn't plan on cutting it, only trims it once in a while.

when he's home he either has it down or has it in a ponytail. he even has a silk pillowcase so it never gets frizzy.

cats or dogs— no. he likes turtles. he even has a pet turtle.

i think that he wouldn't vape or smoke the way people might expect him to. i believe he may have a weak immune system, which would make it difficult for him to engage in such activities.

socially anxious as hell bro tweaks out when he has to order at a restaurant... 

but overall he’s an anxious person, i feel like he’d suffer from anxiety a lot (as someone who has anxiety i just can tell he’d be the type to have it too)

when he dates someone he's really touchy with them because he craves physical touch. he especially enjoys when someone plays with his hair he falls asleep in a millisecond.

he loves sketching in a notebook, he loves drawing nature a lot! he likes going to the park or a forest and drawing what he sees. he also enjoys drawing people and i imagine he always draws pictures of yuji too, and he shows them to him.

tease him and his face is red, his eyes are widened, and his face is in absolute shock...

literally the sweetest guy ever; he's always looking out for everyone and makes sure everyone around him is okay

he's always cold thus needs someone to cuddle him.

is fascinated by some amphibians and watches national geographic sometimes when he knows they're going to talk about amphibians. especially frogs!

his most used app on his Black iPhone 13 Pro Max would be Spotify and he is top 0.1% listener for some underrated metal band

creative hobbies more than physical hobbies (sketching, journaling, sewing)

HE CROCHETS IDC WHAT ANYONE SAYS HE LITERALLY MADE A CROCHET ROSE FOR YUKI I D O NOT GIVE A DAMN 

when he laughs it's like a silent soft chuckle, and he usually covers his mouth when he does it

gets emotional easily, especially when he receives love. for a long time, he couldn’t believe that he would ever be loved so when he is receiving affection he gets overwhelmed and tries not to cry because he thinks “how?? why me?”

he loves holding hands. he tries not to freak out but when someone holds his hands when he’s freaking out or just in general, he loves the feeling of their warm hands against his very cold ones

apologises alot even though everything is not his fault

when he’s mad he needs time to cool off especially because he gets emotional easily. he needs time to himself before calming down before discussing his emotions with someone.

speaking of emotions, i don’t think he’d be bad at expressing emotions or speaking about it, at first yes but he begins to grow better at it and plus sometimes the way he shows emotion is more impulsive and involuntary rather than on purpose

listens more than talks because he is too busy getting sidetracked by his own thoughts or he genuinely can't talk to people sometimes

he has a fidget toy because he is always fidgeting with his fingers so yuji got him a fidget toy (probably a fidget spinner) and was fascinated with it and it didn’t help it just something he distracts himself with when he doesn’t feel like being present in a conversation or just in general

cried when yuji graduated and gave him the hugest hug of his life. and i don’t mean a few tears he BAWLED he was bawling because he was so proud of his little brother.

spends time with yuji a lot sometimes more than his own friends and they always go to the arcade or mall together

yuji got him a picture frame of him and choso posing and choso cried for several days because he couldn’t believe he has such an amazing brother

learns gen z lingo just for yuji

“oh yuji! that was very w rizz of you!”

“...what?”

“i didn’t know you had that much aura!”

I  Love Him

Missing him come back emo king

[hellfire--cult]

Request:

i’d love a sequel where there’s a bit of a “day in the life” with the new happy family, or maybe like some vignettes of them getting settled in and making their new home their own? i would literally love any more content in this universe but there’s my ideas in the hat! 🤍

-

Your wish is my command 💚

Hook!Eddie x Fem!Reader

wc 3.5K

Read the main story here. 🌟

Summary: This is what happens after everyone starts living in the home. A recap of everything that's happened until we reach the present.

You can always support your writers by hitting THE REBLOG button! 💚

You can always send requests for this beautiful couple! My ask is open!

Hooked on You: After Story

Life after was something everyone had to get used to.

The boys had to be given names, full names, and thankfully Nancy who has some contacts in the newspaper industry pulled some strings for your “orphaned” family.

You didn’t give specifics, but told her that you started dating a man who was struggling to keep his family afloat. They had no records since they were living anywhere they could, and he just picked the kids up like strays. He and his best friend took care of the kids, and that it was a coincidence in meeting when you hired a ‘cleaning service’. 

But it wasn’t just any name. 

When you showed up with a big smile to your face at dinner, while everyone was enjoying themselves with the food, you had grasped in your hands the adoption papers for each boy in the group. 

Through tears, and smiles, they had hugged you one by one, appreciating your kindness but overall, calling you a different name. 

Mom.

Eddie, whose last name he chose was Munson, was stunned when he asked if they were going to call him Dad and each boy grimaced at that outcome, shaking their heads. After that Eddie had played a game of chase with the children, playing as the big bad bear, with his hands above his head, reaching for the boys.

That was another change.

“So, this is a– what?” 

“Prosthetic. It’s not normal to have a hook as a second hand here, and this has motor sensors, so you can basically have another hand!” You had explained to him, and he was stunned at the realization that he could have his left hand back. But sometimes, he discards the prosthetic, and goes back to his hook because he feels complete with it, that’s what he had told you.

Steve, now Steve Harrington, had acquired the second mom title. Whenever you were gone, or busy, or simply tired, he took care of the boys, played with them, and helped them clean the house. 

It was summer time, but you knew you will have to enroll the kids into school soon, but you had to teach them basic things, such as the ABC, numbers, some math, a little bit of history and biology, and Eddie and Steve listened intently, giving their own teachings here and there. 

You didn’t want your boys to go into middle school without knowing at least the basics, because then everything would be too complex, so thankfully, Robin, who is a teacher, happily comes once a week to give her own teaching to the kids. You found out that Steve and her had developed a strong friendship during the two months you all had been living together.

Another thing they discovered was music.

While the kids loved normal pop songs, except for Mike who had taken a liking to punk music, Steve had loved the 80’s vibe, sticking to it, and then some 90’s, but poor Eddie had not found himself in any of those genres. He couldn’t pinpoint what it was that he might like, but it wasn’t any of that. 

You had tried almost everything, latin music, grunge, rock, techno, but he was still not feeling any of those genres. You were in your room when trying everything in his music app on his phone, and you sighed when he, once again, said he didn’t feel anything from it. 

“I really don’t know what else to play Eds…” He grabbed his phone, which you had taught everyone in the house how to use and bought one for each of them, and started scrolling. 

“There was something about that Rock genre that you showed me… Something is there, but not fully?” You frowned in confusion at his words, and you had to think outside the box. You were showing him things you liked, so maybe, you had to show him things that you wouldn’t normally listen to.

“Hang on…” You grabbed his phone again and searched for a particular playlist. You grabbed his headphones from his night table, and urged him to put them on. He was confused, but did so anyways, and you pressed play onto the playlist.

Eddie’s eyes widened at the sudden strum of a guitar, wild, heavy, powerful, chord after chord. You bit your lip as you stared at his face, and by the smile that was spreading on his cheeks you knew that you hit the jackpot. 

He spent an entire day listening to Metallica. Then the next day to Slipknot. Then Guns ‘n Roses. My Chemical Romance. Megadeth. Rammstein.

The man was a metalhead.

After finding their own music, they had to find their own style. The boys almost wore the same things, sometimes jeans, sometimes shorts, sometimes plaid shirts, sometimes stamped shirts, sneakers… Steve had gone for the rich boy vibe, as you called it. He likes polos, dress pants, tight denims, sweaters, maybe a cardigan.

Now Eddie, you were surprised. He liked everything black, ripped, and he loved the sound of chains as an accessory on his hip. When he found out there were shirts of the bands he started to like, he bought a ton of them, some in white, some in black. One thing that stayed authentic of Eddie, was the black bandana, which he sometimes uses on his head still, or he puts it in his back pocket.

But one of your favorite things in the whole day was going into your room, to finally be alone with him. He was always reading a book, and you came to find out that he loved fantasy. It was funny, because he came out of a fairytale himself, but yet he loves those kinds of books. He devoured Tolkien in a week. 

He would always put whatever he was reading down to welcome you into bed, embracing you in his arms, gentle kisses that always turned into heated ones because that’s another thing that happened. He couldn’t keep himself from touching you. 

And you didn’t want him to. The boys at first made gagging noises whenever he came into the kitchen for breakfast and gave you a morning kiss, lingering there more than it should, but they soon got used to it. Whenever he could, he was wrapping an arm around you, pulling you close, kissing your neck, your face, your shoulder, anywhere he saw skin. 

So you had to introduce him to condoms.

He wasn’t a fan of them, but when you remembered you two didn’t use protection in Neverland, he told you to not worry. In Neverland time is completely stopped, as well as your cycle, and that would explain why you didn’t have periods while being there. You were in such a blissful experience that you didn’t even remember about your period.

But in this world, you could get pregnant, and even if you want a kid of your own with Eddie, there was still so much to get used to for him. But still, it didn’t forbid him from touching every single night, wanting to drown himself in you, and you weren’t complaining. He was always up for trying new things, and you both had discovered many together.

You taught Eddie and Steve how to drive, but there wasn’t much for you to teach because as soon as they touched the steering wheel, they immediately got the hang of it, and Eddie even described it as easy as sailing a ship. You couldn’t believe a former pirate said a car feels like a ship. With the prosthetic, driving an automatic is very easy for Eddie. 

The kids love the pool, you bought a slide for it and a lot of floaters for them to swim in. You noticed how maternal you had gotten ever since getting the kids into your life, and it wasn’t something you thought of ever having. Now, you want more, for some reason. You always have to shake that thought out of your head because that would end badly.

Another thing you did, not very recommended in the summer, was getting a tattoo. You had tattooed your grandma’s drawing of Neverland. You knew there was a diary of hers, and she sometimes read the story from her own head, and sometimes from there and showed you the drawing. She explained she could see the island at the top of the clouds, while flying with Peter.

So you outlined it and tattooed it on your wrist. 

When Eddie saw it, he was immediately interested, knowing about tattoos but the tribe were the only people that knew how to do it. You decided to visit the shop once with him, and he got a hook tattoo on his ankle, to test the waters of the pain. After a week, you couldn’t find him anywhere for three hours, sending you into a panic, only for him to return with six more tattoos on his body, with a wide grin on his face.

“It's summer! One is already bad, you got seven!” You had yelled at him, but he just shrugged and grinned down at you.

“I’ll get even more in winter.” 

But summer was ending, as well as the boys started becoming nervous of going to school, which was a private one so they had to use uniforms for it. They complained of course, but you had promised them that the teacher they were having was going to be very patient and that you met the kids' parents of the class already and they all seemed nice and welcoming. 

A week before the start of classes, you decided it was time for a last pool party, and so, you invited Nancy, Jonathan and Robin over, where Robin mentioned she had a long distance friend visiting and she had asked if they could come over with their little sister, to which you agreed. 

So now, you were cutting the vegetables for the salads in your kitchen, as Jonathan helped Will start the fire outside for the BBQ. For some reason, Jonathan had taken particular liking to one of your kids, but that’s good, because Nancy had found herself teaching Mike how to play some chess, and Dustin was already attached to Eddie like a Piranha. 

One of your boys, though, was sitting alone on one of the lawn chairs, looking at nothing in particular, just the ripples of the water happening  on the pool. You put down your knife, ready to go talk to Lucas, but the doorbell rings, making your head snap that way.

“Don’t worry, I got it!” Steve yells as he rushes towards the door, opening it, to see Robin, a smile on his face as they hug tightly.

“Hi there Dingus.” She pulled away from the hug to point behind her back. “My friend is unloading something and he’s right here, okay?” 

“Yeah sure.” Steve turns his head to guide Robin towards the kitchen and garden where everyone is and she immediately bolts away. He hears a clear of throat and his head turns back around, only for his eyes to land on blue ones, knocking the breath out of his lungs in an instant.

“Hi, um… Hope we’re not intruding, it’s just, I’m with my sister and I couldn’t leave her alone.” The blonde man says, looking at Steve with the same hazed look in his eyes. Steve shook his head to come out of the trance he was in and smiled, putting his hand out for a shake.

“No issue at all! The boys will love her. I’m Steve by the way.” The other man smiles, his white teeth showing off as he presses his hand against Steve’s, electricity immediately coursing through their bodies.

“I’m Billy.”

“Are you going to keep flirting or…” A soft voice says from behind him, making Billy let go of Steve’s hand with a groan, a blush appearing on his cheeks as he makes way for the redheaded girl to come forward. “I’m Max.” 

“Oh hi–” Steve felt the presence of someone else next to him, and he turned his head to see Lucas, staring at the girl with a dreamy look in his eyes. 

“Hi… I’m Lucas.” Max’s lips tugged slightly up at the sight of the boy, her skateboard in hand. “What's that?” He pointed at it and she smiled widely, walking inside the house, grabbing onto his hand to guide him outside where everyone was.

“I’ll teach you!” Steve could hear her yell as he let Billy in. He closes the door only to see Billy looking all over the house with a confused frown on his face. 

“This is big… You all live here?” He asks and Steve stands next to him, nodding as he looks around as well.

“Yep. We are grateful to her, you know. We would have…” He suddenly heard some footsteps coming over and Steve turned his head to see Eddie reaching them, with a piece of bread in his hand, his other one reaching out to shake Billy’s.

“I’m Eddie.” He greets and Billy looks down at the prosthetic hand, shaking it carefully with him, and when Eddie lets go, the blonde man’s curiosity got the best of him.

“I’m Billy– Um… how did that happen?” He asks, pointing at the hand. Eddie looks down at it and then back at Billy.

“Crocodile bit it off.” He shrugs and walks towards the kitchen once again as Billy stands there completely stunned. Steve’s eyes were bulging out of his skull almost, and he was trying to come up with another excuse because that sounded way too unreal and he didn’t want Billy to think Eddie was messing with him.

“Fucking sick.” Billy says with a smile and he looks back down towards Steve. The brown haired man lets out a sigh of relief and then nods.

“Gruesome, but yeah, sick.” Billy just stands there looking at Steve, his mind completely drifting away and Steve could even sense that, as the blonde’s eyes were just gazing into his, and that was making Steve’s heart accelerate rapidly. “W-What’s wrong?”  That made Billy snap out but his face was still the same, still staring as if his eyes were not to be trusted.

“I-I don’t know, you just seem… like you came out of a fairytale or something.” Steve couldn’t help the big smile and blush that spread on his cheeks, while Billy realized what he had just said, embarrassment filling him from head to toe, stammering on his words to try to save it but Steve was just laughing, enjoying the man’s company and voice. 

You were sneaking glances through the kitchen door, a smile on your face as you bit your bottom lip. Everyone has someone in your family, your big family, and that fills you with joy. You felt an arm creep from behind you, pulling you close to a warm body. You giggle as his face immediately snuzzled in the crook of your neck, causing your skin to grow goosebumps from it. 

“Eddie–”

“Don’t spy on them. Let my second in command flirt in peace.” He says in your ear and you turn around to face him, smiling widely up at him, your arms wrapping around his shoulders.

“I’m just so happy… Everyday just feels like a dream.” You say to him, and he gives you a nod, a gentle smile spreading on his lips as he leans down to kiss your cheek, then the tip of your nose, expressing his love for you.

“I will never regret the day I thought you were Wendy and kidnapped you.”

“I should sue.” He fake gasps while shaking his head at you.

“Now, you’ve hurt me Angel.” Your eyes looked to your side, seeing everyone playing with each other through the window pane you had, and your eyes filled with tears at the sight of it all. Nothing could make it better. Nothing at all… Except.

You felt Eddie grip your side, giving it a soft press to catch your attention again. You looked at him and his eyes were nervous, full of doubt yet with determination. 

“Eds? What's wrong?”

“I know… The kids don’t call me dad… But–” He licked his lips while swallowing a big lump down his throat and your heart was almost out of your chest and you could hear its beating on your ears. He gives you a big grin as a tear already rolls down your cheek.

He grabs your hand and walks out of the kitchen to take you upstairs and into your grandmother’s room. He then opens the balcony’s door and steps out with you, the breeze already hitting you and the sun beaming down at your body.

“Close your eyes Angel.” He whispers in your ear as he lets go of your hand. Your breathing became heavy as you did as told, and you raised your head up, towards where the second star to the right is. You always wished on it, wished that it wouldn’t take your love away, that it wouldn’t take your children away, wished that everything was real and not a dream.

“Eddie–”

“Open them and turn around.” You did as told, turning to see Eddie on one knee, a box on his hand as his elbow rested on his knee. Your heart got caught in your throat as you looked at the diamond in the box, covering your mouth with both of your hands as tears started spilling out uncontrollably from your eyes.

“What…?”

“I want to be their dad. I want to be with you, forever, for as long as you’ll have me, or for as long as we live. You’re it for me Angel, you have been it for me from the moment you decided to fly towards me, towards the ship, instead of here.” He choked up on a sob and then took a deep breath to keep going. “I know it’s soon, but I can’t imagine my life with anyone else. In my eyes, into my future, you’re always there. You will always be there.” 

You dropped to your knees, as happiness flourished in your chest, smiling through your tears as you put your left hand up, putting it on display for him. You looked up at his big doe eyes, a tear slipping out of his left one as he looked down at you as if you were the only thing keeping him alive.

And you were.

“I’m ready to be Mrs. Hook.”

And when our journey is through, each time we say "Goodnight", we'll thank the little star that shines, the second from the right.

A/N: Remember you can still send requests for these two! I plan on making more little one shots for them, but this one is good so you can all know what happened after the return 🥰

Hope you enjoyed this magical little thing!

Song at the bottom is Second Star to the Right from the original 1953 Peter Pan soundtrack.

[sixofpomegranates]

☠︎ Scared, Princess? ☠︎

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Popular!Fem!Reader

Word count: 20K (Yeah, idk either.)

Summary: The Princess of Hawkins High and I hate each other, always have, but I think there is more to her... Is the Princess actually just another bullied kid who found a disguise out of her misery?

A/N: Listen, I had this joke with a Furby I really wanted to use. I tried it with a care bear and other toys to have it for the ’80s, but it wasn't nearly as funny. So: pretend turbines already exist, or make it modern!au or just ignore logistics and enjoy the joke.

CW: Fluff, Comfort, Angst, Smut 18+ | Enemies to Lovers | No use of y/n | Mentions of Past Bullying/Suicidal Thoughts/Pressure to have Sex/Loss of Virginity/Fake Friends (Reader), Neglectful Parents (Reader/Eddie), Alcohol Consumption/House Party, Fast Food Consumption, Popular Kids Being Jerks, False Accusation of SA/Incest (Eddie), !Reader being lifted up! – Smut ~ Penetrative Sex (Creampie, Unprotected, Rough, Semi-Public, Mirror Sex), mild Fear Play, Fingering, Oral (M&F), Thigh Riding, Hair Pulling, Cockwarming, Praise/Degradation, Breathplay, Spanking, mild Dom/Sub undertones, Aftercare

☠︎ The Freak's POV ☠︎

The Princess of Hawkins High. The flawless little cheerleader ranking in the social hierarchy of high school right under all sides loved Chrissy Cunningham, the Queen.

I love to tease her, push her buttons, and make her face turn into the cute little frown wherever I can. Her nose twitches when she gets angry; I wonder if she knows...

I wouldn't say I hate her, but I certainly feel irritated by her.

Always surrounded by the most popular jerks, the princess seems to constantly seek their approval. She has done so ever since her first day of school in this hell hole a year ago.

She – in fact – might be nothing other than a little puppy expecting treats for being a good girl—a preppy little puppy whose happy little smiles sometimes even tempt me to pat her.

But the little puppy is also a giant bitch at times. She snaps at me and hisses; she attacks before getting attacked. Coming too close to her would probably have me lose a finger... Maybe even my whole hand.

At the very least, she doesn't bully anyone, even though she has been a quiet bystander multiple times when her friends are busy ruining the lives of others.

She seems uncomfortable whenever she is caught in one of those situations, but she chose those friends and tolerates their shitty behavior. So, she is definitely not earning brownie points for it.

Not in my book. No... She deserves the shit I give her; the headaches brewing together storms behind does pretty eyes. I refuse to respect those who lack any respect for others.

As every day this week, there is a commotion outside the Hellfire Club's room... The prop room of the Theater Club.

A play is getting prepared, and therefore the Hellfire Club has to constantly deal with the door opening and closing. Students rush in and grab parts of my carefully arranged dungeon. They talk, they shove, they interrupt.

How is somebody supposed to defeat a clan of crazed cultists when there is that much reality intruding our fantasy?

As the door opens once more, I snap my head in its direction, roaring, "For fucks sake, can't you see that we are busy?"

The princess looks at me, dressed in this unforgiving little cheerleading uniform and a white cardigan. She holds a clipboard angled at her hip, her eyes wide at my angry outburst.

Taking a deep breath, she smiles, "I'm sorry, but as you know: This is the prop room of the Theatre Club. Having the theatre kids come in here and get their props is within their rights."

"This has been going on for a week now," I say, annoyed. "You could just get your shit when we're not in the middle of a campaign."

"Well, I am responsible for the set design and had cheerleading practice until now. So excuse me that I don't care for how convenient it is for you, Munson."

Now that she is mentioning it, she does look like she jumped around to annoying music for the last hours, her hair not perfect, the baby hairs sticking a little to her temples and forehead...

She is silent for a moment, biting the inside of her cheek; then, a devilish grin paints her glossy lips. "You could always just get a real room for your club."

I refuse to look at her any longer. Meanwhile, she's busy telling some smitten boys to carry out one of our tables.

"You know Higgins won't give me one," I mutter under my breath.

I hate it, but plenty of people know that I had to grovel at the principal's feet to ever even have Hellfire considered a real club. We don't get to request. The smartest thing to do is be as quiet as possible before Higgins shuts it down, scared I am sacrificing cats, or goats, or some shit...

The princess hums, uncaring, stepping next to me, "Well, sucks. I need the throne."

Her pink pen points with its end at my chair – my throne. I make myself extra heavy and chuckle, "Absolutely not."

An irritated look spreads on her face. "Get lost, freak; I need it for the play."

"Already gave you my answer," I smile as ill-humored as possible, then focus back on my sheepies, hoping to rekindle the excitement there was before we were interrupted. "Henderson, your turn. The cruel right hand of— Hey! Hey, stop that!"

The annoying princess is shoving her entire weight against my throne, thinking she can tip it enough for me to get out of it. She seems not to realize that I rather faceplant and take the chair with me than give her what she wants.

"Get out of the throne."

I give her a temperate shove that is already enough to make her stumble backwards. I swiftly check if she is okay, then grin at her face. "You can have it and all the other shit your selfish little heart desires when we are done with our campaign."

"But I need it now! I can't wait for your fantasy shit to be done; I have a curfew!"

I shrug, the desperate whine in her voice barely hitting me. "Though luck, princess."

"I'm going to tell on you," she warns me, the little angry vein on her forehead finally showing up.

"Good luck with that."

"I waited for my chance to design this set all year; I won't have you ruin this for me just because of your constant need to be a dick."

"And I won't have you ruin a perfectly good campaign that took me months to prepare just because you think you're entitled to special treatment."

"Eddie," she says again after some more props have been carried out of the room. "I need the throne for King Lear. You can have it back after the play is over."

"Yeah, nah. I'm sitting too comfortably. Like I said, come back when we're done here."

A frustrated groan leaves her throat, and I chuckle, "No need to lose your mind, Ophelia."

"Ophelia is from Hamlet, you uncultured idiot. You, of all people, should know the difference."

"Why? Because I am, too, a king that is losing his mind?"

"No, but because you are repeating Ms. O'Donall's English class for the third time now."

Okay. Ouch. Bitch?

"Eddie, maybe we should just—" I ignore Handerson's call for peace. I am not going to be the first one to back down.

"What's got your panties in a twist today, princess? Did Jason switch back to railing Chrissy again? Is that why you need to bitch at us? Can't handle that you'll always be just his side piece?"

"You're an asshole."

"And you're not intimidating without your shitty friends."

She sighs. "I need to be home by nine. Please get out of the—"

"Why? Is your daddy finally coming to visit you? Would really be a first since your family abandoned you here."

We all know that she lives with her aunt, a woman that is never home. It's the basis of her coolness. She has money, a place all to herself, and nobody can restrict the number of parties she visits.

"Well, at least mine's not doing 15, leaving me to live in a shitty trailer with my hermit uncle."

Jumping up from my chair, I growl, "Be careful what you say, bitch!"

I can take every blow towards me, but Wayne – the only father figure I've ever known – is off limits.

Although she trembles, she lifts her chin at me and snarls, "What are you gonna do, trailer trash? Beat me like your dad beat your mom?"

Without thinking, I close the distance between us, making her yelp and back against the wall. I would never hurt her... Hurt anybody... But I can live with the fact that she's scared that I might.

Being marked as an insane freak is an opportunity to set boundaries. Bullied kids develop all sorts of defense mechanisms and grasp possibilities like these. My defense is playing crazy, an unpredictable freak.

The Princess of Hawkins High looks at me with big eyes. She's barely breathing, shaking like a leaf as I tower over her. But as we both just stare and don't move, our expressions soften, and the wind is gone from our sails.

The air has calmed way too quickly, and the way she looks at me reminds me too much of myself when I'm pretending to be big and scary, although I actually just want to make it out of high school alive, with the least amount of trauma possible.

Jeff's hand on my shoulder suddenly pulls me back, far away from her. For a moment, I could swear she took an instinctive step following me.

Dustin hands her the clipboard that – sometime during our staring – must be slipped through her fingers. He apologizes countless times on my behalf, promising her the throne as soon as possible.

She nods, seeming as lost of a fighting spirit as I am, and then leaves.

"Shit, seriously. It's always the two of you. That'll end in a murder one day," Jeff sighs, patting my shoulder before sitting down.

"Not cool, man," Gareth lectures me. "If she tells Higgins about this, we're in trouble."

I wave him off, sitting back down on my chair. I actually don't feel like playing D&D anymore.

The Princess of Hawkins High... Is she another bullied kid who found a disguise out of her misery?

*****

Not thirty minutes later, I carry the throne into the cafeteria that doubles as the performance hall with the large stage across the entrance.

Nobody's here; the lights are suspiciously dimmed. For a moment, I believe that everybody has already left. Then I notice her sitting on the stage floor, tracing something onto cardboard.

The Princess of Hawkins High kneels there on all fours, butt in the air, completely unaware of my presence. Her headphones on her head and the cardboard beneath her seem to have her resign in another dimension.

My mouth becomes dry, and I lick my lips. This stupid cheerleading uniform has no right to hug her body like that. The heat in my face wanders downstairs when I think just about how good she looks in this position.

I fucking hate Jason Carver.

He plays hot and cold with her, using her and throwing her away to be with cute, innocent Chrissy over and over again.

For a year now, both girls act like it doesn't hurt them. And while I believe that this could be very true for blissfully oblivious Chrissy, the princess accepted her treatment, keeping her title and social status rather than her dignity.

It would be a lot easier for me to hate the Princess of Hawkins High if she weren't so pretty. I truly gather a great amount of self-hatred for this shit. Out of all the people, I want the cheerleader with bully friends, the one that lets Jason Carver – of all guys – use her like a cheap toy because his friends are hers and dictate her social status.

Sitting up and stretching a little, her eyes meet mine, and she yelps, making me scream in reply.

A small heart attack is truly one way to get rid of an uncalled-for boner.

Turning off her walkman, she takes off her headphones. "What do you want?" she asks with enough hostility to freeze hell.

"Brought you the chair," I answer, pointing at the obviously in front of me placed furniture piece.

She mumbles a slight "oh," and walks down the stairs next to the stage.

"Where do you want it?" I ask, lifting the heavy piece of wood.

She points at the corner next to her, and I oblige. My arrival seems to have reminded her of the "curfew" she said she has.

Closing the stage's curtains and the door to its stairs, she grabs her bag and walks outside. I follow her silently. The club has agreed to postpone our campaign.

Outside, she checks her watch, cusses as she knows that past nine, there are no buses, and starts walking.

I call her name, making her turn around.

"Hey, I can drive you," I offer.

I don't like her, but Uncle Wayne has taught me well enough not to let a young girl walk home alone at night.

"So I end up dead in a ditch?" she snarls.

I roll my eyes. "You're going to walk home on the side of the street. I don't need to drive you to have that being the end result."

She shakes her head, walking away. "No thanks."

"My uncle says it's not safe for women, especially not pretty women. The world is full of sickos and perverts."

She turns around again. "That coming from the town's freak is not as impactful as you think it is."

I sigh, throwing my head back for a moment, then say, "Stop being stubborn and get in my van. Nobody has to know I drove you."

"Why would you even care?"

"Because I am the last person to have been with you. I really don't wanna be a murder suspect accused of killing 'the pretty cheerleader with a bright future.'"

"I'd rather walk. Thanks, though." She offers me a smile and then walks away.

Fine.

Fine. Who cares?

Not me!

I hop in my van and drive out of the school's parking lot. I don't need to be nice to her. Let her end up in a ditch—none of my business.

On the other hand, though... I really don't want that to happen. Not only because I'd be suspect number one but also because...

It just doesn't feel right. I'm a freak and asshole for show, but I am a nice guy—not like Jason's bizarre version of nice guy that only ever ends with girls in the back of his car. Wayne would kill me if he knew I let a girl put herself in unnecessary danger, and I wouldn't be able to sleep well tonight, not knowing if she ever got home safe.

I groan, smacking my wheel, annoyed, and turning the van. I drive back to down the street and halt next to the princess.

Rolling down the window, I say, "Get in. C'mon, don't make me beg."

She shakes her head again. "Leave me alone, Munson." Then she puts on her headphones and keeps walking.

Jesus Christ, why is this woman so stubborn?

I turn the car again and, at the slowest tempo possible, drive behind her.

She turns around and looks at me, weirded out.

I shrug at her. "What? You didn't want to get in?!" I exclaim although she doesn't hear me.

Shaking her head again, she continues her way home.

I hit my wheel again, hating that Wayne raised me well. Life would be so much easier if I'd actually be an asshole.

"Oh, Eddie, thank you so much for making sure I get home safe," I mock the princess's voice.

"You're very welcome. But I am just doing the bare minimum," I answer as myself.

"Yes, but it's so sweet of you. Tiny dick Carver would never do this for me."

I chuckle, "I know he wouldn't. And I know it's small; I haven't skipped PE in a while and—" I pinch the bridge of my nose. "I'm fucking losing my mind here..."

An imaginary conversation with the princess, that's how far gone I am. Unbelievable. She wouldn't even stop to check if I were okay should I drive into a tree right next to her. And yet here I am, actually driving at snail's speed behind her to watch out for her.

Ten minutes into this shit, she turns around again. Shaking her head like I am the unreasonable here.

"You could just get into the fucking van!"

Of course, she keeps walking and leaves me to mutter annoyed bullshit to myself.

As we reach her house, she promptly stops, looking for something in the driveway. From behind, I see her shoulders sag.

Wiping around in her face, she turns around for a second, teary eyes glistening in my headlights.

Did... Did she actually expect somebody to be home?

Just as I try to gather the courage to get out of the van, she walks inside her big, lonely house, turning the lights on.

The Princess of Hawkins High. For so many, she is an inspiration, a clear view of what you could be if you'd only were perfect enough, had enough friends, would be loved enough...

But I think I know better. The Princess of Hawkins High is all alone.

*****

♛ The Princess's POV ♛

The Freak of Hawkins High still stands outside my home with his van as I walk into the kitchen and rewind the answering machine.

Aunt Tess had promised to be home today. I'd waited for nothing other all day than to finally hug her again. Especially since she hasn't been home for over three weeks now.

I press play and listen to the calls I missed during my day at school.

"Hey, girly," the voice of my aunt rings in my ears. "So sorry, but I won't make it to Hawkins any time soon. The deal in Japan is a bigger project than I anticipated, and — Just gonna be honest, I forgot to tell you a couple of days ago. I promise I'll be home next month, and I'm gonna make it up to you with a ton of gifts from here, okay? If you need anything, just call, okay? Great, love you."

"Hey, me again, honey. I forgot to tell you, I just put some more money in your account, and there is so much on it; I am starting to feel like you forgot how to shop? How bout you splurge a little? Make me feel less bad for not being home. Okay. Gotta go, bye."

My heart sinks, and I would start crying if I hadn't already in the driveway... When I saw that, once again, nobody's there.

I get a glass of water and gulp it down to ignore the way my throat closes up. For a second, I think I hear shuffling in the bushes outside the kitchen window but am distracted by my mom's voice coming from the recorder.

I haven't heard her say my name in a while, so my entire focus goes back to the little electronic on the kitchen counter.

"Hi, sweety. How are you doing? Your dad and I miss you terribly. We're currently in Paris, and I just know you would love it here. Work has been crazy and... Look, baby, that's why I called. I know we promised we'd pick you up and travel through Italy in July, but the firm is expanding so rapidly at the moment, and July will have us in Greece and Turkey, and maybe even China... Thing is, we'll have to cancel that trip, love. I know you were excited about it, but I can't see a way we would manage to push you between our other arrangements. How about I'll send you some extra money, and you'll have a girl's trip with Tess? My treat... Yes? Yes, I just need— Okay. Okay, sweety? I've got to go back to work. We'll talk soon, okay? Love you."

I press my lips together for a moment, then throw my glass against the wall across from me. I watch it shatter and fall to the floor.

Who cares? Not like anybody except me is going to notice that it's missing. I hate how loud I am sobbing by now, but can't seem to stop myself. I'd been really excited to spend time with my parents. I haven't seen them for months, even the last call was weeks ago.

I walk into the living room and drop onto the couch, curling into a ball. It's not like my family doesn't love me. I get everything I wish for, but I'd like to have a hug, maybe even a family dinner, instead of a bunch of cold money.

I tried to spend it all, but no matter what I buy, it doesn't help me when I feel alone, falling asleep on the couch, watching movies so that I hear people talk in this house. Being lonely sucks, and I am pathetic.

I don't know how much time passes, but after some squeaking wheels burn rubber outside my house, somebody rings the bell.

My heart thumps in my chest. I'm way too scared since watching Maniac last night. Why am I constantly doing this? I know I get paranoid when watching horror movies.

It doesn't help that I don't know if the freak's still outside. I am so not going to open the door for him. I do not intend to die tonight... Although I am not sure if he would actually do something like that.

Like, he scares me, but I don't feel like I am in danger when he's around. I actually appreciated that he drove me home—kind of.

It rings again, and this time, I get up. I walk to the door and look outside to see Amy, Jessica, and Chrissy standing there.

I didn't intend to have people over, but okay. I open the door, putting on my brave girl face.

"Hi," I greet them.

They look me up and down, each one of them dressed like they belong on the runway or in a music video, anywhere but my home, actually.

"Are you okay?" Chrissy asks quickly, hand rushing to my arm.

I nod. "Yeah. Yes, just my mom and aunt canceling on me again."

Chrissy quickly hugs me as the other two walk in.

Jessica looks around. "You sure there wasn't anything else?"

I shake my head. "No. Like I said—"

"The freak was outside your house," Amy interrupts me. "Creeping through the window."

My face heats up with the terror of what he might've witnessed, what he will use as ammunition against me at our next quarrel.

He has seen me cry; I didn't hide it well enough when disappointment hit me in the driveway. Maybe he wanted to check on me?

No. That isn't Eddie. He probably just been nosey or wanted to prank me by scaring the shit out of me because I stole his throne.

"I— Well, we... He kind of followed me home after I left school," I say, noticing how bad that sounds.

Amy's eyes widen. "Then it's good we threw some rocks at him and told him to fuck off."

"I didn't," Chrissy interferes. "I think that's mean."

"Yeah, but that's just because you wanna fuck him and see if he's living up to his title," Jessica snorts, walking into the kitchen and muttering something about the broken glass.

We follow her as we always do, Amy still going on about how a couple of girls had taken Eddie for "a test ride" before.

"You guys know how I feel about premarital sex," Chrissy squeaks, red as a tomato.

Jessica cackles, "Yeah, that's why Jason has to rail your friends instead."

We're all silent for a second. Shame floods over me like a bucket of cold water. The rumors and badmouthing will haunt me for a long time, but not as much as the guilt I feel toward Chrissy.

Jason can be very convincing, and I am apparently pretty dumb. I know he's not going to leave my friend any time soon, that I am just "his side piece," like Eddie said, but I always let myself be talked into sleeping with him...

I don't think I would even wanna date him. I just don't want to get on Jason's bad side, don't wanna lose my friends, as they were his first before mine and will stay his when the question arises.

Chrissy always forgives him, saying that he can't help himself and just is insecure and uncertain about their love, but actually, he's an asshole. And I am probably no bit better.

"Jason loves me," Chrissy insists, looking at me for support, although she knows he fucks me when he's bored of sharing a milkshake with two straws and "going steady" by holding hands.

I nod, not wanting to pop her bubble of ignorance. Guys like him never change.

"Anyway," Amy claps her hands, sitting down on the barstool. "Get ready. We'll wait."

"What?" I ask, confused. "Ready for what?"

"Tammy Thompson's party?" Jessica frowns. "God, how can you forget a party like that? We talked all of last week about it."

"Sorry. I forgot."

"You gotta be really stupid to forget this. Like, I knew you're not bright, but this..."

"Doesn't matter, right?" Chrissy de-escalates the moment, grabbing a broom and cleaning away the shards on the floor. "Just go get ready, kay?"

I hurry upstairs before Jessica can go on about me being stupid. She enjoys that I should've graduated a year before them... In another school, another life. It makes her feel superior.

I take a quick shower, do what's necessary to my hair, and apply makeup. When I walk into my bedroom, I hear gossiping downstairs and try to ignore it, too scared that it might be about me.

I put on a summer dress and matching shoes and head downstairs.

Amy and Jessica are currently listening to the voicemail left by my mom. Chrissy stands next to them, looking uncomfortable.

They are laughing, and I hate that it doesn't surprise me. I hate that I know this invasion of my privacy and the mocking are a price I am willing to pay to continue being their friend.

Looking at me, they stop their laughs and turn off the tape. They compliment my clothes and call me pretty like they didn't just revel in how pitiful I am.

And I thank them and compliment them back because that's what I do; that's how I continue to belong.

*****

I hate parties. They are nothing like in the movies. My friends don't drink or dance with me, giggle with me about nonsense...

No, we sit here on the couches with a couple of basketball players (unless they get up to help each other chug an entire can of beer or do a keg stand) and talk shit about people we don't really know.

Oh my God, have you seen this girl's perm? Kill me now.

Is she colorblind, or why did she think that color combo was a good idea?

Look at that nerd. Who invites losers like that? Why did he even show up? As if anyone wants his ass here.

"Fuck, there's the freak again," Amy's voice makes my head shoot up from my red plastic cup filled with... I guess beer and some sweet soda, but what do I know?

And true, there he stands. A can of beer in his hand, talking to Steve Harrington, a lazy smile on his face as he nudges the girl next to Harrington... Robin. That's her name. She's a girl from the marching band. She's nice.

I didn't know they were friends.

"How the mighty have fallen," Patrick says. "Back in the day, Steve 'The Hair' Harrington, King of Hawkins High, would've never been seen with the dealing freak."

I keep staring until Eddie looks in our direction, his brown eyes meeting mine. He's so pretty when he smiles and isn't frowning at me. I promptly focus back on the cup in my hands.

Jessica, who seems to have seen it, grins. "Now don't be scared," she tells me, looking at our jock friends and telling them, "The freak followed her home today and was staring through her window when we came to pick her up."

Disgusted outcries leave the guys in our group, and in an instant, Jason reaches over Chrissy, resting his hand way too high on my thigh.

"Are you okay?" he asks, squeezing the meat of my thigh. "You should start letting me drive you home for safety. You never know what's going on in that creep's sick mind."

I move my thigh a little, but Jason's hand doesn't leave me. Instead, his fingers start playing with the hem of my dress.

"I'm okay," I mumble, clearing my throat before repeating myself and sitting up more straight. While doing so, I act as though I have to correct the placement of my dress's skirt, shoving Jason's hand away.

As uncomfortable as I am around Eddie, at least he wouldn't expect me to "make him happy" in the back of his van with him for driving me home.

I know it's a big assumption, especially since I am terrified of the freak, but if that were his only motive today, he would've driven home and not followed behind me to make sure I was okay.

"You know what you should do?" Jessica says, delighted. "You should confront Munson about the stalking. Throw your beer into his face. A little embarrassment would probably humble that loser."

Amy nods. "Yeah, put him back in his place."

I shake my head—no chance I would do something like that. It's unnecessary drama, and I don't even like confrontation. It makes me shake and shiver.

"Come on," Chance laughs. "Don't be a sourpuss. We like you better when you're a sweet one."

He and Andy high-five each other, then turn to me. "Ideally, you could also throw in something about him being his uncle's bitch."

I scrunch up my face in disgust. "I am not doing that," I hiss. "That's disgusting."

Andy shrugs. "I'm just stating the obvious. None of those freaks can pull any, and Eddie looks like a pussy anyway."

"You're sick," I tell him, biting back the urge to vomit and hate myself for hanging around with people like this. People who get a thrill out of pushing others with obscene rumors and made-up bullshit.

Amy shrugs at me. "C'mon, now you're overreacting. We're just saying that because it'll hurt him. It's like when we were ten and told everyone his mommy's a hooker."

I shake my head, putting my drink on the coffee table. "That's so wrong."

"Why would it be wrong?" Jessica asks me. "It's his own fault for choosing to be such a loser."

It's your own fault for being such a loser.

I struggle to breathe as I suppress all the memories of coming home and bawling my eyes out. Of bloody, scraped-up knees from being pushed. Of my mother telling my dad I should just start fighting back so I'd be left alone.

Starting somewhere new doesn't erase the scars of the past.

Fighting back has never worked. It only made things worse. To conform oneself is the only way to survive.

I stand up promptly, ignoring the ongoing conversation.

"Where are you going?" Chrissy asks sweetly, holding hands with her boyfriend.

"Gonna get a new drink. That one's stale," I tell her with a fake smile and hurry outside.

The yard is thankfully empty for most parts. Some couples are making out while a couple of guys play beer pong, but nobody bothers to even look at me as I grab a cold beer from the cooling box filled with ice.

I press a hand, cold from the ice, against my neck to ease the tension.

Why am I doing this to myself?

It constantly keeps getting more challenging to look in the mirror, given the company I keep. But I don't know if I will survive starting right back where I started a year ago.

I wanna take a sip of my beer, but surprise, surprise, it's still closed, the cap laughing at me. I look around for a bottle opener, but it wouldn't be my luck if I would find one.

Suddenly the bottle is taken from my hands, and I look up to Eddie, who, without trouble, removes the cap with the plastic bottom of his lighter.

I stare at him in amazement. That was so cool. I have no idea how he did that without breaking something, but it's so impressive. And useful.

He hands me the bottle back. "Thank you," I say quickly, taking a sip.

Eddie stands there for a while, and I lean down, fishing a second beer out of the cooler and handing it to him. That's probably the only reason he's still here.

He takes it which a surprised expression, muttering, "Thanks."

Then he opens the beer again with his lighter and chuckles at my staring. "I can open these with my teeth—now that would really blow your mind. But last time, I chipped a tooth and had to promise my uncle I'd stop doing it."

"It's really cool," I mumble, mentally preparing for another blow from him.

But he just grabs another beer and hands it to me. I take it confused, and once he holds his lighter in my direction, I know what's going on.

I quickly shake my head. "I– No. I– I can't do that."

He cocks his head. "Why not? I'll show you."

"What- What if I break something?"

"Yeah, because nobody in the history of house parties has ever broken something—especially not beer bottles or a lighter."

He tries handing me the lighter again. "C'mon, princess. If something breaks, I'll take the blame."

I put my beer aside. I grab the lighter and look at Eddie, in each hand one of the needed items.

"Hold the bottle by its neck," he tells me, demonstrating the tight grip on his bottle.

I mimic him, and he nods. "Now, keep your thumb there and fit the edge of the lighter underneath the cap."

I do as he tells me. "And now?"

"Use your fingers as leverage and push the lighter up."

I have to try twice; Eddie encourages me. "A little harder, princess."

And then: Pop. The cap opens.

I opened the beer. With a lighter. This is by far the coolest thing I've ever done. I didn't even break something.

I look at Eddie, pure excitement painting my face.

"That's so cool," I tell him, showing him the opened beer.

He chuckles, grabbing a fresh plastic cup and filling the beer inside. "Good to know you're easy to impress."

"That was not easy," I tell him, and he hands me the red cup.

Giving me two more closed beers, he refuses to take his lighter back. "Go show your new trick to your friends."

"But that's your lighter."

He shrugs. "Got plenty more where that one came from."

I nod, putting it in my bra for safekeeping.

As he quirks his brow, eyes for a second gliding over my cleavage, I explain, "I don't have pockets."

Taking a sip from his beer, he looks away for a moment, nodding. "Well, uhm, maybe we'll see each other later? Like, when you get another beer, maybe?"

My heartbeat rises to a threatening level again. I nod, embarrassed, terrified, giddy, excited. "Y–Yeah, sure, maybe."

I head inside, walking back to my friends, who are all invested in something Jessica tells them.

As I come close enough to hear, it feels like my heart is getting pierced by a harpoon.

Nothing changes. No matter how hard you try, things will always stay the same.

"And after her aunt calls her mommy, telling her they don't even want to see her during summer break. Well, and we come to pick her up, and she cries like she just found out Santa and the Easter Bunny don't exist. It would be sad if it wouldn't be so fucking funny."

The group laughs, except for Chrissy. "Guys, that's mean. She was really upset about it."

"Yeah, because she's a baby. Come on, Chris," Jessica nudges her. "It's not like she's one of us anyway; we just chill with her because she buys expensive shit for us, and nobody's ever home."

"And because she's a good fuck," Andy adds, punching Jason's arm, "A fuck you still have to share, dickhead."

I don't know why I was stupid enough to think they would like me at least a little.

I don't know why I am surprised to find out they were just nice to me for the money.

I intentionally had made myself the selfless, sweet person. I bought them drinks and snacks; I hosted sleepovers and borrowed them money; I bought them the best birthday presents they could've wished for...

I wanted to make it seem to them like loving me was effortless.

"I like her. She's lovely," Chrissy defends me because she genuinely has a heart of gold.

Amy nods. "Yeah, and that's why she fucks your boyfriend."

The group cracks up. Jessica directing the direction of the conversation again. "She has no personality. Seriously, a piece of cardboard has more character. Have you seen her room? It's like a hotel room. So creepy. Total Carrie White behavior."

Taking a deep breath, I don't cry. I can't give them a luck to see me cry. I walk in on their conversation, put the closed beer bottles on the table, and look at them.

Their conversation halted the moment they saw me. Now they look almost a little afraid.

Jessica hums my name, her voice oozing with fake friendliness. "What have you got there?"

"A– Uhm... I," I stammer, then clear my throat.

Just pretend you didn't hear them. Gaslight yourself into blissful obliviousness like Chrissy.

"A trick," I say, wanting to reach for the lighter hidden in my bra.

But I stop.

For a moment, the grip on my filled-to-the-brim cup tightens, and I let my impulsive thoughts win. I walk up to Jessica; she and Amy are sharing the armchair.

"Are we gonna see some girl-on-girl action, ladies?" Patrick whistles; the rest of the jocks are just as enthusiastic about the idea.

She looks up at me, grinning like I am genuinely her friend, and blowing me a flirty kiss.

In a matter of seconds, I dump the cup's contents over Jessica, drowning her fake facade in beer.

She yelps, looking up at me, absolutely furious. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

I hand her the empty red cup, saying, "Sorry, my inner Carrie White came through."

The boys who formally were cheering about a wet t-shirt contest are now quiet as well. They know I heard them and have taken offense to it.

We all stare at each other for a few seconds; Amy uses paper tissues to help Jessica soak up the beer. Jessica bitches because of her makeup and dress... Not like I bought it for her anyways.

"We were just joking," Chance says.

"Yeah, let's forget about it. We all drank and thought it was fun," Jason says, hand reaching for my waist as he tries to pull me on his lap. "Come here, baby."

I take a step back, shaking my head. Then I rush upstairs and lock myself in the first bathroom I can find.

Well, not lock...

A couple of seconds after I isolated myself from the party, Eddie enters.

I am washing my hands and trying to calm down, taking deep breaths, so I don't burst into tears or have a panic attack when I fully notice him.

"You okay?" he asks, warm brown eyes scanning me.

I nod, grabbing a neon green, fluffy hand towel to dry my hands. "Peachy."

He continues staring, and I lose my nerves. "What are you doing here?"

"Wanted to check on you."

"Well, you did. I'm okay. Now get out."

It intimidates me to be in such a small room all alone with Eddie. He is terrifying. Terrifyingly loud, terrifyingly handsome, terrifyingly honest.

"What your friends did wasn't okay. They shouldn't have said those things," he tells me calmly, not getting intimidated by my tries to get rid of him.

Good to know that he heard everything. It makes me wonder how many other guests overheard how pathetic I am.

"Well, thank you for stating the obvious. Now get lost," I bark.

"Maybe you should stay away from them. You're only getting used by them, just like Jason's only using you."

I feel tears well up in my eyes as I hiss, "That's none of your fucking business, freak."

Eddie coos my name in the softest way I have ever heard, taking a step closer. "You could do so much better than running after a jock who's only using you for the sex his girlfriend doesn't give him."

Laughing spitefully, I snarl, "Better? Like who? You? Sorry, but the last time I checked, the only pussy you're getting is a quick pity fuck or girls trying to figure out if you're also a freak in bed or if we all just call you that because you're a weird, pathetic loser."

His eyebrows knit together. "Hey, don't be a bitch to me just because you chose to have shitty friends."

"As if your friends are any better."

"They are," he growls at me. "They might not make me seem cool and desirable, but at least they don't talk about me like a little piggy bank or a fucktoy they get to share."

Impulsive thoughts take over again, and I slap Eddie across the face.

I have precisely a second to fear the consequences; then he grabs me by the shoulder and pins me against the cold tile wall.

He manhandled me so roughly that it takes me a second before I can breathe normally again. His arms are now pressed against the wall of each side of me, and I feel fear creeping up on me again.

"What have they done to you that makes you think you constantly have to attack before being attacked, huh?"

I look away from Eddie, hoping he doesn't see my lips shiver or my body tremble. But he grabs my face with his right hand and forces me to look at him.

He seems angry and annoyed, but not necessarily at me. His eyes still lay comforting on my features.

"You can't possibly enjoy being used as Jason's cumdump and having to watch him go back to his perfect girlfriend — the one he actually wants — when he's done with you."

"As if you would treat me any different, freak," I bite out, hoping to hit him right in his hypocritical ego.

For a second, he just looks at me; then his hand no longer grabs my face; instead, his knuckles delicately brush over my cheek.

"You're talking to a guy who fell in love with the first girl using him for her little test ride and needed almost a year to figure out what was going on. Why these pretty girls gave me hopes, seemed like they liked me, let me wine and dine them, but once we had sex, they didn't talk to me again... Pretending I didn't exist.

"I wouldn't treat you like Jason for many, many reasons. I am not an asshole like him; I can't turn off the fact I need to have feelings for the person I fuck; Or that I hate how much I would like you to look at me like you look at that idiot...

"But most importantly, I know exactly how it feels to get used—be a little pawn in the cool kids' game. I'd never project that pain on somebody else just to make myself feel better."

I feel seen, understood, and called out for my past behavior.

Looking away while others were treated by my "friends" like I'd been by my bullies all my life wasn't okay. I knew that. But I had just wanted to be the target no longer.

He thinks I look at Jason with love... God, the freak's a little stupid.

"You don't want me to look at you like I look at Jason," I tell him, avoiding his eyes.

He tilts his head so he can follow my gaze. "Is that so?"

I nod. "I look at Jason like he's somebody who told me he's in love with me and would break up with Chrissy so that I'd lose my virginity to him. And since then, I sleep with him because he calls the shots, and my friends are actually his friends..."

Eddie clenches his jaw. "You're right. Don't want you looking at me like that."

He's so close to me I can smell the cologne on his skin and the cigarettes on his breath. He's terrifyingly handsome.

"I'd rather have you continue to hate me then."

"I don't hate you," I whisper. He's too close to be any louder.

"But you don't like me either," he says, frowning.

"I'm scared of you," I admit, face piping hot with shame. "Y-You see right through me and call people out on their bullshit. I'm scared you'll do that with me, and I won't be able to look in the mirror again."

He doesn't say anything, so I continue to babble like a pretty-dressed fool.

"You're hauntingly pretty. I– I am really scared of what you make me feel because I want to run away from you without a chance to escape."

Eddie smirks during all of that, looking like a wild animal lying in wait for the kill.

His body shifts, now so close I could never escape, even if I'd try. His left leg moves between my thighs while the hand from my cheek now dances around my throat, ending any need for a necklace.

I look up at him. As he applies the tiniest bit of pressure to my throat, I whimper. I feel like I should run, my body tells me to flee. I tremble badly, eyes already teary as I feel myself become excited. I quickly look away.

I am excited. I am aroused, wet. Eddie does this to me with his presence. My fear of him arouses me.

My fear and the thought that he wouldn't actually hurt me... But very well could.

It feels so wrong that I whimper again, hips bucking and my sensitive clit rubbing against his thigh. I whimper again, that level of arousal unknown to me.

I look up at him again. He'd never looked away; he had studied my behavior, the rollercoaster of emotions I am currently going through.

My hands run up and down his chest, fumbling with his jeans vest, leather jacket, and the soft shirt beneath. There is no question I'd claw myself into his skin if he'd try to move away.

I buck my hips again, now shamelessly using the friction.

His head dips lower again, his warm breath spreading on my skin. "Scared, princess?" he asks.

I nod, lust drunken. "Terrified."

Then he kisses me, smiles just seconds before our lips collide.

I moan into the kiss, Eddie not needing any more confirmation that I am enjoying this.

His hands grab my hips, starting to control the way I am rocking on his thigh. His hips start rocking into me, and I can feel his clothed erection pressing against me.

My hands wander into his messy curls, his lips leaving my mouth and moving down to my neck. I moan loudly as he begins to suck at the delicate skin of my throat.

The suction hurts, causing electric shocks to strike straight between my legs. Eddie's mouth releases me with a pop, his warm, wet tongue licking over the angry spot apologetically.

He pecks my lips, a boyish grin on his lips. "Your beautiful," he tells me, pupils so blown I believe his eyes to me nothing but black marbles.

I whimper in reply, my entire focus lying on the tightening inside me and how good the harsh material of his ripped jeans feels against my clothed pussy.

Suddenly he removes his legs from me, holding my hips in place so I can't follow him.

Annoyed noises leave my mouth, but he just smiles at me. "I know, sweetheart, but you're making a mess on my leg. We can't have that, now, can we?"

I quickly shake my head; the bathroom just lit enough to have me see the wet patch I left on his thigh. Reason tells me I should be embarrassed, but Eddie looks at me so proudly I can only think of chasing the high it gives me.

A hand leaves my hips, and Eddie uses it to palm his bulge, seeming to hope it'll relieve him of some pressure.

Our eyes meet, and he grins, "Wanna show me how much of a slut you can be? How good you can behave?"

I quickly nod, following the push of his hand, and sink to my knees. I quickly run my hands over his thighs while he unbuckles his belt and opens his jeans.

I try to reach for his boxers, already licking my lips, but Eddie swats my hand away, the slap burning on my skin.

"Don't be a greedy whore," he warns me.

I quickly nod, eyes unable to stay directed at Eddie's face as he finally untucks himself. His thick cock is painted with rough veins, the pink, leaking tip making me want to forget any formerly given commands.

"Now, what did I say?" he warns me, hand reaching into my hair and making a makeshift ponytail out of it.

"You've done that before?" he asks, and I shake my head. "We don't have to."

I look up at him, pleading, "Please. Want to."

A low chuckle leaves him. "Now that's just pathetic, baby." Still, he uses his grip on my hair to pull me nearer his pulsing cock.

As my lips barely touch him, he coos, "Don't be shy; give it a kiss."

I do as he says, kissing his tip and coating my lips with his salty precum. He looks so pleased as I lick my lips; I instantly kiss his cock again.

"Good girl," he whispers, guiding me to take him into my mouth. "Don't worry. I'm not going to hurt you, princess."

At the same moment, he tucks harsher on my hair, the feeling making me moan onto his cock. "Not any more than you want me to, at least," he chuckles, seemingly having hurt me unintentionally.

As I am comfortable with this new position, have gotten the hang of it, I try taking him deeper. He's long; I don't expect to be able and take all of him; he doesn't seem to expect it either.

But I give it my best. Eddie's hand is guiding my bopping head, grunts and praises leaving him. I almost choke, only the breathing through my nose hindering me from gagging, but I take all of him, the curly, dark pubic hair at his base, tickling my nose.

Our eyes meet as I hold him in the back of my throat, and a guttural moan escapes him. His fist hits the tile wall behind me, the loud sound making me jump and pull away from his cock.

We stare at each other for a second, a string of saliva still connecting us. Then we grin like misbehaving children.

Eddie takes a step back and pulls me to my feet. Gripping my hair again, he yanks my head back, exposing my throat. His tongue darts out, licking a broad strip up to my lips, following where the string of spit had landed.

He doesn't kiss me; instead, he smiles at me, leaving me waiting for something that never comes.

Spinning me around, Eddie holds my back pressed against his chest while he shoves the soap and small towels from the counter space into the sink. Then he pushes my upper body onto the now empty counter, my hot cheek resting against the cold marble.

I can feel him push up the skirt of my dress, Eddie's coarse hands groping my ass, and then slapping me harshly. I yelp a little, feeling him lean over to check my expression, and then do it again.

I clench my thighs together, not knowing when I will finally feel relief. Another smack comes down, this time on my other cheek. I whimper, hoping for the spanking to be over soon. Not because I don't enjoy it but because I am too riled up to wait any longer.

Thankfully, Eddie seems to have heard my silent prayer. He pulls down my panties, letting them drop to my ankles. I hear the chain on his jeans jingle and then the familiar sound of a condom wrapper.

I reach behind me, grabbing Eddie's hand. He leans forward, smiling at me. "It'll just take a moment, sweetheart. Safety first."

He tries, but I don't release his wrist. "I'm on birth control. Just– Just please let me feel you."

Eddie takes a deep breath, then nods. "Are you sure?" I nod so fast I fear dislocating something.

Standing behind me, I feel him glide his cock through my fold a couple of times, coating himself with my arousal. Then he bottoms out in me with one solid thrust.

I moan loudly, pressing my forehead against the marble counter as he stretches me out in ways I thought impossible.

Eddie shortly rests his body on mine, face pressed against my shoulder. His right hand rests next to my head; the left one runs up my thigh and waist. He solely lifts himself from me enough to reach under me and grope my tits.

He growls quietly and kisses my shoulder before he pushes himself up again. His hands glide down my back and come to a hold on my hips.

Eddie pulls me into him several times, experimental thrust having me breathless. Then he sets into a harsh and unforgiving pace.

I am so wet, the room is filled with the most obscene squelches I have ever heard. The high-pitched, already fucked-out moans leaving me surely don't make anything better.

Then, Eddie's hand tangles itself in my hair again. He pulls me up on my hands and forces me to look into the mirror.

"Keep your eyes on the mirror, baby. Watch yourself getting fucked by the freak," he tells me with a hint of resentment.

Watch the man you demonized for so long show you the gates of heaven.

I look at myself, hair a mess, lips puffy, pupils blown. I moan, every thrust coaxing another sound out of me while I feel Eddie so deep in me it makes my eyes try to roll back.

But I focus, I do as he demands, and I watch us. Watch Eddie. How his head falls back as he moans, how his hair sticks to his sweaty forehead, how his hand reaches underneath me, between my legs and starts rubbing my clit.

My insides tighten again; the coil inside me seconds from snapping. My head drops, and I accept the stinging pain that comes with it.

I already pulse around his cock when he stops playing with my clit.

He let's go of my hair as well, the hand now wrapping around my throat and pulling me up. Eddie leans down a little, ensuring I am pressed against his chest.

He's looking over my shoulder. I follow his gaze. Our eyes meet in the mirror.

"Look at that, princess. Fucking terrorized me for a year, running around and being a little bitch, and now you're so desperate for me, you didn't even let me put on a condom."

I whimper, not able to find words.

Eddie chuckles. "No, no. Don't be ashamed. It's good to know that all that was needed to have this raging bitch become a little puppy was to fuck her pussy raw until she sees stars."

"Eddie..."

He leans closer to my ear, never breaking eye contact. "Yeah, that's right, baby. Let the whole house know how badly you want the freak to come in your little pussy."

I'm on the brink of my orgasm when he says, "Fucking look at me when you come. I deserve to be the only thought in your dumb little head when you come on my cock."

And instead of keeping my eyes on his reflection, I turn my face to my right, looking straight at him.

The mirror had been a type of protection; it had kept us from looking directly at each other. We were supposed to hate each other, and maybe we would change our minds when our eyes meet. But I look at him, and all I can think of is how I don't want this moment to end.

He didn't think I'd look directly at him; the look on his face as our eyes collide tells me that... And it tells so much more.

Eddie dips his head lower, the hand from my throat now holding us up while the other cups my cheek.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers, kissing me roughly as we melt into each other.

We are moaning into the kiss, my right hand flying up and holding onto his neck, the other trying to dig itself into the marble beneath its palm.

As I come, my knees buckle, and I go limp. Sex has never felt this good, and my body seems wholly to agree, the orgasm almost knocking me out.

Eddie's hand leaves my cheek so his arm can wrap around my waist and hold me up while he keeps thrusting into me. He finally fills me with his hot cum. Forehead pressed against my side, a husky moan leaving his lips.

Carefully, he lowers me onto the counter, my cheek resting on the marble top. We're both panting, and I don't feel like I am fully back on earth again.

Eddie brushes my hair out of my sweaty face, half his weight resting on top of me. He lazily kisses my cheek a couple of times, only stopping when a smile tucks on my lips.

As he stands up, ready to pull out, I grab his hand. He instantly stills in his movements. "It's okay, sweetheart. I'm not going anywhere."

I shake my head. "Please. Not yet."

He signed, looking around a little. Then he pulls me up against his chest. With his arm around my waist, he lifts me up, walks over to the closed (and ugly decorated) toilet, and sits down.

Still inside me, his arm spreads my legs apart, hooking them over his own, so I can comfortably sit in his lap.

I am on full display, and I don't know if Eddie locked the door, but I don't care. Because his arm is still around my waist while the other lazily strokes over my naked thigh.

He leaves kisses up and down my neck and shoulder and presses his forehead against my temple. I am wholly satisfied. And the big scary metalhead seems to be too.

"You know," he suddenly speaks into the silence. "Whoever thought that fluffy toilet seat covers are a good idea is a psycho. Feels like I'm sitting on a fucking Furby."

There is a second of silence, then we both burst into laughter, making Eddie add, "The worst part it that that pervert seems to like it, given the way he tickles my balls."

"Jesus, Eddie," I laugh, holding my stomach.

As our laughter finally ceases, he presses another kiss on my shoulder. "Hey, how- how about we ditch this party and go eat a burger instead? My treat."

My heart races again, and I seriously start to question if I know the difference between excitement and fear, but at the same time, I am astounded.

He wants to spend time with me. We just had sex, he'd gotten what he wanted, and he still stayed around.

Jason had never stayed. He took what he wanted and then left.

The pain in my chest and the tears I refuse to cry let me feel just how fucked up the last year has been.

"I– My friends are..." I stammer. I don't know how to collectively call that bunch of bullies and explain how afraid I am to go downstairs again.

Eddie, however, seems to misunderstand my stammering. "Yeah, don't worry. Was a stupid idea anyways." He stands up, making sure I stand on my feet and then pulls out. "I'll go down first; just wait a couple of minutes, then you can join your friends again."

I lean against the marble counter. "Eddie, I didn't–"

He grabs one of the neon-colored hand towels and soaks it in water. While cleaning himself, he sneers, "No worries, princess. Won't tell anyone you took a test ride on the freak."

He's hurt, having built up a wall so promptly that I feel like he believes he never had a chance with me anyway. And now, he hates himself the for having gotten his hopes up.

Eddie tucks himself away, rinsing the towel with some more water before stepping next to me and kneeling down. I whimper and look at the ceiling as he pushes my dress up and begins to clean the mess between my legs.

Given the way I just let him fuck me and then sat there spread out for the world to see with him still inside me, I actually have no right to be this embarrassed right now.

"That's a nice ceiling," I blurt out to distract myself. "The only thing not neon colored or fluffy in this bathroom."

Eddie huff's a small laugh against my thigh but stays quiet as he cleans me of our mixed cum running down the inside of my thigh.

I press the back of my hand against my face, eyes squeezed shut, and just continue my mortified blabbering.

"I'd like to go eat something with you. It's just that I don't think I'll survive the humiliation of going downstairs and facing my friends after I just bathed Jessica in my beer. I am not good at confrontations, and if you don't know a way to get me out of this house by climbing out of a window or something, I believe I have to stay here until the party's over."

I interrupt myself with a whimper as Eddie brushes over my sensitive clit, then grab his hand to avoid him doing that again and look down at him.

I am met with a boyish grin on his pressed-together lips as he tries not to laugh at my short-circuiting brain. He throws the towel into the sink, and while standing up, he pulls my panties back into position.

"Want me to create a distraction? I could lay a fire... Or start a fight with Jason, restoring your honor?"

I giggle, and he leans closer, pressing a soft kiss on my lips.

"Or – if you like it extreme – we could kill two birds with one stone and set Jason on fire."

"You are crazy."

He nods. "The craziest."

"Maybe don't commit murder and get prison time just when I'm about to go out with you."

He chuckles, pecking my lips again. "Yeah, sounds counterproductive."

Eddie spins me around, back pressed against his chest and arms slung around me. I look at our reflection in the mirror. My hair is a mess, my makeup smudged, but Eddie (whose chin is comfortably resting on my shoulder) looks at me like I hung the stars in the night sky for him.

"I look like a mess," I mumbled.

He quickly snaps, "Shut up. You're beautiful."

I lean my head against his when somebody tries to open the door. We quickly jump apart, my anxiety rising as I say, "Occupied."

"Hey, we were looking for you," Amy says through the door.

"I'm fine. Just go away, please."

Eddie's hand brushes over my hair, and we smile at each other for a moment.

I don't need to be afraid.

I don't need to... I still am, though.

"Don't be a bitch and come out so we can talk," Jessica hisses, and I wonder if she's still soaked with beer or only reeks like a distillery.

I'd be oddly satisfied with both.

"There's nothing to talk about. You guys used me and are shitty friends." I look at Eddie, a proud smile on my lips.

I am standing up for myself. I don't need to be their punching bag.

"Everyone uses everyone. That's how life works," Jessica says.

Amy agrees, "You actually should be thankful that we let you to hang out with us; it's not like anybody else would ever want that."

"Yeah," Jessica goes in for the final blow, "If not for your lack of personality and annoying sob stories, then for being the basketball team's mattress. Everybody else would throw you to the curb for being a whore."

That's when Eddie unlocks the door and swings it open, towering over the two girls, growling, "You better fucking take that back."

The two girls look at him, absolutely terrified for a moment, so I step in front of Eddie. My hands are resting against the doorframe as though I could keep Eddie in and protect him from the hate we are about to receive.

"Are you kidding me?" Jessica asks, and I feel my stomach tie itself into knots.

"I– I am..."

"You seriously let the freak fuck you?" Jessica asks, this time so loud I am certain at least some of the other party guests are hearing her.

I nod a little, everything feeling numb as I am back in the position I was in a year ago. I am prey about to be devoured by monsters.

Jessica storms off, her heels loud on the hardwood floor. I look back at Eddie, who looks at me, brows knitted together. I just know he can sense the aura of panic and anxiety surrounding me.

Amy still stands there, looking at me, my disheveled appearance, and then at Eddie. As her gaze meets mine against, she says, "You didn't want it, right?"

I frown. "What?"

She repeats herself calmly. "You didn't want to have sex with Eddie. He forced you."

I feel the metalhead behind me tense up.

Shaking my head, I stammer, "No, we– I–"

But Amy interrupts me. "It's not your fault. That monster just preyed on you all day and attacked the second you were alone. We're on your side; I promise we still love you. Babe, we all know you would never let the freak touch you."

I spiral down the option I have just been given.

Lie. Lie. Lie.

Lie and tell me you were raped.

Lie so we can all pretend that nothing else happened today.

None of your actions will have consequences.

Eddie is an easy scapegoat. Nobody will bet an eye if I wrongly accuse him of assault.

Lie to save your life while ruining Eddie's.

Lie, and we will lie for you.

This goes beyond bullying. It is downright evil and disgusting... And for a moment, I think about it. Think about the get-out-of-prison card I have just been handed.

This is how far some people will go to keep their social status.

Being one of the cool kids is not worth this.

Jessica returns, all our friends with her. She has a big grin on her face, ready to shred me into pieces. This time with audience.

Jason is the first to speak, pushing past Chrissy and taking in the scene before him. The picture of Eddie and I. The mental image of us having sex.

"What happened?" he asks.

Amy is quick to cut off Jessica, nodding first at her and then at me. "Eddie raped her. Right?"

Jason's eyes are on Eddie, fury there that is solely his own righteousness. The rest of the group starts to explode into rage, throwing every possible insult at Eddie.

Jason takes a step towards us, and I make sure not to let him get to Eddie. "He didn't do anything," I say loud enough to make them shut up.

Chrissy pushes past our friends and takes my hand. "But Amy just said–"

I nod, barking, "Yes, because Amy is very sick in her head."

I make sure to look at every single one of my former friends (excluding close-to-tears Chrissy) while saying, "You are awful people. So easy to jump on the bandwagon and ruin somebody's life only because it fits your bully agenda. I am pretty sure that not a single one of you likes the others. You guys are just hanging out because you very well know that you're horrible, and none of you could ever make a single real friend."

They are silent and confused, look at each other and then at me. This felt good. No wonder Eddie is constantly calling people out.

"And you know what?" I ask them, feeling a second wind of courage as I look at Jason. "I just had amazing sex with Eddie. Better than I ever had with your pathetic ass. Also lasted about three times longer. Being fast isn't always a good thing, Jason.

"I hope that one of these days Chrissy finally realizes that she can do so much better than a guy whoring around for his ego, just being with her because she'll make a nice and quiet housewife that'll do his laundry while he bangs Amy and Jessica and has Andy's mom go down on him every Tuesday since her divorce."

All eyes are on me... Well, not really.

Patrick's are on Jason as he had known Patrick was chasing after Jessica for years now.

Andy will probably pass out, vomit, or both at any moment.

Jessica and Amy look at each other and wonder how I knew they, too, fuck Jason while making me out to be the devil for having done it.

Good old Jason is very talkative during sex but sadly very inconsistent with names and the amount of details he gives about other sexual encounters.

And poor Chrissy's are on her boyfriend. It hurts now, but frankly, I think it's better she finds out what kind of man he is now than in ten years when they're married with kids.

Jason, red-faced, takes an angry step toward me, his hand twitching as he raises it. I instantly yelp, "Touch me, and I'll sue your ass so badly you can kiss your scholarship and bright future goodbye."

The jock lowers his hand and looks at his "friends," but I cut into the meat of their lies way too deep.

It's then Eddie wraps an arm around my waist and shuffles us out of the bathroom. I'm not mad at him, as he almost uses me as a human shield to deflect anything that could come from the jocks—it's for the better; they won't hurt me.

As there are a couple of steps between us, Eddie grabs my hand, and we rush down the stairs. It's early quiet. I hadn't noticed that the music was out before. At the middle of the stairs, we see multiple party guests scattered around the living room, staring at us.

Had Jessica planned on letting everyone hear how she and the rest of the bullies chewed me to pieces?

Eddie and I exchange a look and then walk down the stairs like we weren't just about to run off.

"It's not a party when there's no fight, am I right?" Eddie chuckles loudly into the room, looking at Steve Harrington, "Dude? My stuff?"

Steve hands him his lunchbox. "You two okay?"

Eddie beams at Steve, wrapping an arm around me and lifting me a little. "Have you heard her?" he asks proudly. "My girl devoured those jocks."

"Think everyone heard her. You guys should probably take off."

He sets me down on my feet again, and Steve turns to the rest of the party. "Okay, people, now that the entertainment is over, who is ready to party? I think we should make use of that sweet pool outside!"

The former King of Hawkins High has the people wrapped around his finger as he turns the music up and encourages them to follow him outside, quickly waving us goodbye.

Taking my hand in his, Eddie walks to his van with me. Grabbing his keys, he grins, "You wanna get in, or am I walking you to Benny's?" I punch his chest and let him open and close the door for me.

Putting my seatbelt on, I finally feel my adrenaline drop. That situation was terrifying. It's a miracle I didn't start to cry in front of them; the tears are sure as hell coming now.

"Oh my God," I whisper as Eddie gets in. "I can't believe I did that."

His hand moves up to my thigh. "Hey, sweetheart. Everything's okay."

I shake my head. "I just obliterated all the friendships I had."

Eddie is silent for a moment, then sighs. "Okay, you know what you're gonna do? I'll drive you straight home, and you call your friends tomorrow and tell them you were drunk and did some uppers with me."

He pats my thigh before removing his hand. "Trust me, the way their friendships work, they'll never talk about tonight anyway. You'll have a perfect excuse for going off on them, and everything will be as it was."

I look at Eddie, surprised. He doesn't protest. He even helps me come up with an airtight excuse. But I honestly don't think I want them back as friends.

I watch his jaw clench as he stares straight forward. "I– I don't want..."

"It's cool, princess. Not like I expected anything to change between us," he tells me quickly, pained laughter leaving his lips.

I nod. Of course, he didn't. "Oh, okay." I wipe away the tear running down my cheek.

Stupid, stupid. I won't cry because Eddie Munson and I just had a meaningless hookup. I'm not gonna cry because he hasn't just magically fallen in love with me.

Eddie turns the key, and the van comes to life. Loud metal music nearly bursts my eardrums, and we both yelp in shock. He quickly turns it down and looks at me, apologizing, but I am already laughing.

He joins my giggles, hand flying back to rest on my thigh. I quickly wrap my hands around it, making sure he can't move away again.

It takes a moment to collect ourselves and even longer as we just look at the other. He's so pretty.

God, I really don't want to be his enemy again.

"I'm sorry," I tell him, making him tilt his head. "I was a giant bitch to you the entire year. The things I said weren't okay, and the names I called you weren't either."

He looks at me, then checks his watch. "It's a little early for a Christmas miracle, sweetheart."

I nod. Fair, I deserve that. I have made myself as unappealing and lovable to him as possible.

"I was a bitch to you, and you didn't deserve it, Eddie."

He shakes his head. "You weren't a bitch... At least not a big one. A little bitch. But I guess that came with the company you keep. Adapting to avoid being an outcast again has its downsides."

My eyes widen. "H– How...?"

How does he know?

How does he know?

Eddie shrugs. "Instinct. You seem a lot like you're attacking before I can say something. You never really bully but are willing to look away when your friends do it because you wanna stay on their good side. Everything about you, when you're with them, is fake. And when we're alone, you are a completely different person."

He chuckles. "When we're alone, you're a cute little thing that doesn't bitch around or wants to fight me for a chair. You're even scared of me... Like, I know I can seem scary, but come on. I would never hurt you. I'm all bark, no bite. But somebody who's been bullied a ton – know that one first hand – never really counts on it to be over. So we keep our guard up."

"I'm not afraid of you because I think you would hurt me. You call people out on their bullshit, and apparently, you see right through mine... I always feared that one day you be too spot on in front of Jessica and the others, and they learn that I am actually just a loser who befriended them so that I wouldn't be their target."

I wipe the back of my hand over my now-wet cheeks; the other hand still holding Eddie in place. "I am actually a really, really awful person. Just like fucking Jessica. I'm a total hypocrite."

"Hey, don't say that," Eddie coos, but I shake my head

"It's true. I befriended the worst bullies in Hawkins High and sucked up to them so they'd like me, although that's exactly the type of people that made my life so miserable that my parent sent me to live here, thinking bullies don't exist in go-fuck-yourself Hawkins.

"I am pathetic. A fucking joke. I- I literally just got my schedules on my first day here, took a look at what the cool kids were wearing, and then skipped classes to buy clothes that would make me fit in. What kind of loser does that?"

Eddie squeezes my thigh. "A loser that thinks fitting in is the only way for them to survive."

"That's stupid," I bite. "I would've survived even if I hadn't done that."

"Can you promise that? Can you really say that you would've survived if everything would've been like in your old school? If you would've gotten bullied again even after leaving your entire life behind—including your parents? Or would you have hurt yourself?"

I look away from Eddie, tears still running down my cheeks. I wouldn't have survived. I wouldn't have been able to handle all this pain again. Every single day up to moving here had been hell. I'd come home from school and cry for hours.

My parents weren't home enough, so they hadn't even noticed when I started skipping classes just not to be in school; I stayed at home and stopped taking care of myself. I'd been a dead girl walking when they finally decided things needed to change.

"See?" the metalhead next to me says, knuckles coming up to brush my cheek. "Even if it wasn't right, you did it because you thought you had no other option. You just tried to survive with the least amount of damage possible."

"Stop being so understanding," I sob. "Makes me feel even worse."

He nods. "Sure... Okay, then, how dare you, woman? How dare you attack my sweet innocent quirk of rubbing truths into people's faces without them asking for it?"

I giggle, almost choking on my tears. "You're such a dork."

He forcefully has to remove his hand from my thigh so he can cup my face in his large hands, thumbs wiping away my tears.

As he gives me a kiss on the nose, I say, "I don't wanna be their friend again. Wanna..." I stop myself before I can say something stupid like, "I want to stay with you."

"I– I think I have a proposition I'd like to make, princess," Eddie says. "I don't know if you knew, but eight toxic friends are actually the exact trade-in price to get a top-of-the-notch metalhead freak like me. It's even enough to treat yourself to the he-might-even-ask-you-out-if-you-promise-not-to-run-away-screaming bonus."

He removes his hands and gives me room to think. "Now, why would you want that?" I ask, not understanding how he could literally hate himself that much.

Eddie shrugs. "Believe it or not, there are people that actually like you. Also, you chose me today. You were given a one-way out ticket that would've put me in prison right next to my dad, but you chose to protect me instead."

"Everyone would've done that."

"Absolutely not," he shakes his head. "You saw how badly they wanted you to say I assaulted you. Every single one of them would've loved to throw me under the bus like that. So much so that I stopped hooking up with girls because my uncle always feared that could happen.

"One pretty, innocent girl regretting having fucked the freak, looking for a cop-out, is all it would take. There are maybe ten people that would come to my defense in all of Hawkins. The rest would say they knew I would do something like that, that I always was creepy, dangerous, and that it has to do with the satanic music I listen to.

"Maybe you made some bad decisions, but you're a good person, sweetheart. And because you chose me, knowing that it would slaughter your social status, I am more than ready to choose you and keep doing it."

I nod, but before I can answer, he pulls out of the driveway, drives down the road, and adds with a grin, "I also think you're a straight ten, so... I'd be stupid not to at least try to talk you into dating me. Like, she takes my side, she's pretty, laughs at my jokes... My Uncle would say you're a once-in-a-lifetime chance for a loser like me."

"Okay, I–"

Eddie interrupts me, pretending he's deep in thought. "I will, however, have to find a way to explain to the boys how I managed to pull someone like you... Ideally, without the fact that I fuck like a god—there are some little shrimp in Hellfire, so we'll have to keep it PG, baby."

"Eddie?" I giggle, but he continues.

"I will also have to make you the Princess of Hellfire Club. Because I don't think we can keep your former title... But don't worry about that. I have good connections to the King of Hellfire. I'm just gonna roll him a joint and explain to him how cute my girl can be when she isn't trying to design the set of 'Hamlet'—"

"King Lear," I interrupt him.

He nods, a mischievous grin on his lips. "Right. The one with Ophelia."

"I am going to beat you," I warn him, making him giggle because, apparently, he does know the difference and just loves to annoy me.

"Better be nice," he warns jokingly. "I'll have a lot of persuading to do since you stole the King's throne. Won't be easy. He was very pissed about it."

I let him ramble on, not a single doubt in my mind that he is too giddy to actually let me answer. But when my ears pick up on a familiar tune on the cassette that is playing, I quickly turn the volume up.

"Uh, 'Sweet Leave'!"

Eddie looks at me for a second, then back on the road. I have rendered him speechless.

"Sorry," I tell him promptly. "I– That was rude. I shouldn't have touched the radio without asking."

He shakes his head. "No. No, it's fine... I– That's Black Sabbath."

I nod. "Yeah, I know. I like them. My aunt took me to a concert of there's when we were in London in '81. Her ex-husband was really into rock and metal. They had a nasty divorce in which she got all of his vinyls and cassettes because he cheated on her, and she wanted to hit him where it hurt. Most of the stuff is also signed. It's all up in the attic somewhere. I can show you should you want to come over someday–"

Now, hello over-sharing. What the hell was that? I can't remember the last time I rambled that much.

"Sorry," I quickly say, but Eddie's hand moves to my thigh, a pearly white smile on his face.

"No, please, keep going." I look at him, unsure if he's only saying it to be nice, but he insists. "Seriously. Wanna hear more."

"Okay... Uhm, they divorced the spring before I moved here, and my aunt still had the tickets she had bought for his birthday, so she took me to the Monsters of Rock Festival, with ZZ Top, Marillion, Bon Jovi, Ratt, Metallica... It was so cool."

I laugh at the memory. "They only had very big shirts left at the merch booth, so I got a giant one. I actually still sleep in it when nobody comes over."

"Why?"

I bite the inside of my cheek. "I... I hide all my stuff in the basement. My old stuff. Like I said, I really wanted to fit in when I moved here and thought that maybe I was the problem."

"That's why Jessica said you have no personality?"

I nod. "I never decorated my bedroom. There are some polaroids, a scented candle, and my stuffed bear but all in all, it's still the guest bedroom I moved into. Didn't want to give anyone ammunition to bully me."

I hate how pitiful I sound, so vulnerable it scares the shit out of me, but Eddie squeezes my thigh. "But that right now is who you are? Like, listening to that kind of music and being into festivals and concerts?"

"I– I don't know if that's who I am. I definitely like it, but it's not all there is to me," I say. "I like aspects of every music genre, I like traveling, I like horror movies, but also am a sucker for romance novels... Especially the tacky ones with the bare-chested guys on the covers. I also never — not once — was able to keep a plant alive. I just forget they exist and stop taking care of them.

And apparently, I like talking way too much, way too fast. But I never really wanted to talk to somebody that much so it's a good possibility that I just need to get used to liking somebody that much."

Eddie chuckles, teasingly chirping, "Oh, so you like me, huh?" I nod, and he says, "Normally I am the one talking too much, but honestly? I think I like hearing your voice more than my own, so even if you don't stop with those cute little info dumps... I think I'm good."

I giggle, ears heating up and jaw hurting from my smiling. "Now what's that smile for, baby?" he asks, grinning too.

"I don't know. You just... You make me feel..." Giddy? Comfortable? Calm? Excited?

"Horny?" Eddie asks, pulling into the parking lot of Benny's.

"No. I mean, yes, but not right now," I stammer. "I think the feeling right now is happy. You make me happy."

Eddie kills off the engine and looks at me as though I told him he just won the lottery. "Happy, huh?" he breathes, and I nod.

Removing his hand from my thigh, he harshly grabs the stirring wheel with both hands. "I– Uhm. Wow. Okay," he stutters, street lights showing his pink cheeks. "I didn't think– I... That feels really weird. Like somebody opened a shook-up can of soda in my chest. All fizzy and bubbly and that kind of shit."

I frown a little while trying to decode what he just said. "I think normal people call that feeling butterflies," I say. "Like, when your heart starts beating so fast it feels like it's jumping out of your chest."

Eddie nods. "Yeah. That's the feeling." He starts laughing, "Shit. Never had that one before."

"I think I had it for Jason... In the beginning, I mean."

Eddie looks at me like a kicked dog, and I instantly regret having mentioned Jason. Why did I even do that?

Just as I want to apologize for ruining the moment, he says, "He really did you dirty, huh?"

"It's kind of my own fault," I mumble. "I should've known that real life isn't like a shitty teen romance, where the new girl captures the heart of the most beloved jock in school.

I'm so stupid. I had known him for maybe two weeks and actually believed him when he said I was special and that he was in love with me. Let him sweet talk me into having my first time in the backseat of his car, although I wasn't even ready... And the next day, he was still with Chrissy, and he never said 'I love you' again."

Eddie's doe eyes stare at me, glassy with a hint of pain. "I won't do that to you," he promises. "I know that's a very basic promise, but I won't hurt you."

I just nod, staring at my hands in my lap. Don't they all say that? He reaches for my chin and makes me look at him.

"Hey, I'm serious," Eddie insists. "I almost started crying, and my heart did that butterfly soda thing because you said I make you happy. If something good makes me have that strong of a reaction, hurting you will probably kill me."

I shake my head, being too vulnerable for my own liking. "Butterfly Soda is a cute pop band name."

Eddie chuckles at my sentence, then asks, "Can I kiss you?"

I nod, and he brings our lips together so gently, so chaste, I melt into him without hesitation. He could hurt me but trusting that he won't shoots a thrill up and down my spine.

He pulls away, grinning.

"What?"

His smile grows wider. "I bagged the hot cheerleader. And it's not even like I didn't have the hots for you before, but now knowing that you like the same music as me and are also a little bit of a freak..." He snorts a laughter. "Jason's a fucking idiot, and I'm such a lucky bastard."

I, too, laugh a little, making Eddie kiss me again. Then he says, "Okay, princess. What kind of burger do you want? I'm gonna get the food and then drive us home."

"To my place?"

"If you're okay with it?"

I quickly nod. "Yeah, totally. I- Uhm, I want a cheeseburger with bacon. No tomato, I won't eat it if there's a tomato in it. Like, seriously."

"Tomato in burger equals death. Got it. Fries and a milkshake?"

"Yes, and yes."

"Let me guess, strawberry?"

I gasp, appalled. "How dare you?"

"Chocolate?" he guesses again.

"Vanilla. Vanilla and nothing else in the world. Strawberry. Do I look like a strawberry girl to you?"

Eddie giggles, "Well, to be fair, you also didn't look like an insane person to me a few minutes ago."

"Let me guess, Munson, you like chocolate?"

He nods, "And strawberry and vanilla. Can't do wrong with me. It's a milkshake; I drink it. But I only dip my fries into chocolate shakes."

I blink at him. "You dip your fries into your milkshake."

"Yeah, the sweet and the salty balance each other out."

"You have a real nerve calling me an insane person," I laugh, reaching into my bra and handing him my credit card. "Here, your disgusting eating habits on me."

Eddie's smile vanishes, and he shakes his head. "Nah, keep it, sweetheart. Told you it's on me."

"It's okay. I have too much money anyway. My aunt is actually getting worried if I don't start spending it," I assure him, but he shakes his curly head again.

"Sweet thing, even if I'd accept you paying for it, they won't let me pay with a card that has somebody else name on it."

"But I'm giving you my okay. Chrissy used it too one time, and nobody cared."

Eddie frowns, and he stares out the windscreen for a moment. "It's not your card that is the problem. It's me. You won't find any place in Hawkins that will let a Munson pay with somebody else's credit card. My old man made sure of that."

"Oh," I mumble, watching how his face is drowning in shame. I'd known his dad was in prison and had used it for ammunition in fights before but, honestly, hadn't thought that the town was treading Eddie as if he was solely his father's son. Doomed to repeat his mistakes.

"Yeah. They'd probably call the cops without thinking twice, and that would end our cute little date in a heartbeat."

"Kay," I say, unbuckling my seatbelt. "I'm going in with you." Eddie looks at me, confused. "If I'm in there with you, they know you didn't steal my card."

"You know that means you're going to be seen with me, right?"

"You gave a whole speech about how I'm now your girl and what we're going to tell your friends."

He shrugs. "Well, yeah. Mostly because I like hearing myself talk and think I have banger jokes, but... I don't know. Am not as confident as I thought I was."

"Want me to tell you that I don't mind being seen with you?" I offer, making Eddie grin.

"I mean, you could hold my hand when we go inside. That's something couples do. Maybe I'll lay my arm over your shoulders and kiss your cheek too."

"Yeah, we can totally do that," I agree. Before pulling down the visit and looking at the mirror. "I need to fix my makeup, though."

"Say no more," Eddie smiles, pulling the still-damp neon green hand towel from his pocket.

"You stole Tammy Thompson's towel?" I ask.

He nods proudly. "It's our towel now, baby. Not like she wouldn't have thrown it away, given that we used it to clean ourselves after fucking in her bathroom."

Grabbing a clean corner of the towel, he spits on it before bringing it to my face and cleaning away the dark streaks of makeup on my cheeks.

"I should be more grossed out by this than I am," I tell Eddie, making him laugh.

"Nah, you enjoy having my spit on your face."

"And what makes you think that?"

"Because you're a freak. My freak, to be exact."

Eddie leans back, checking if he removed all of the mascara, then nods, happy with his work. He presses a kiss to my lip and then gets out of the van, running over to my side and opening the door for me.

*****

"Please tell me that's a joke!" I squeal, sitting next to Eddie on the floor of my living room.

He shakes his head, dipping another fry in his chocolate milkshake. "Nah, honest earned money."

"You ate a worm for ten dollars," I exclaim, making him chuckle.

"Yeah, because I was twelve and stupid. Today I would charge at least twenty bucks to eat one," he tells me proudly.

"How about I give you fifty, and you promise to never eat a worm again?"

"Deal, sweetheart." Grabbing my hand, Eddie shakes it eagerly, a boyish smirk on his lips. "See? Eating worms is already bringing in profits."

The Freak of Hawkins High has me laughing at all his stupid jokes, makes my heart flutter at every pet name he gives me, and the thought of him ever leaving makes me sad.

Maybe somewhere down the line of tonight's disastrous events, I have lost my mind. Maybe there was a rift in reality, and I ended up in a parallel universe... But somehow, I feel like myself again. Although she is a girl I bearly know at the moment, she feels familiar.

Somehow Eddie has found his way in the middle of all my chaos. He stands in the eye of a hurricane I created by trying to be the social butterfly I never was supposed to be.

The more time he spends with me, the more I feel grounded. I start feeling real again. I am not a butterfly. Maybe I am a raven, a rabbit, or a fox... Or maybe I am a girl that likes to use silly metaphors because they sound poetic. Who knows?

Cleaning up after our royal feast of burgers, fries, and milkshakes, I wash our plates. Eddie standing behind me and nipping at my neck. His teeth graze my skin, softly biting it.

Laying the clean plates aside, I lean back against his chest and sigh. He replies with a cocky chuckle.

"Can I ask you something, possibly very dirty?"

"Anything," I sough as my face heats up, and I try looking at him, but he holds me too securely, kissing my cheek and then my temple.

"I know we now established that you're positively afraid of me and know I am not going to hurt you... But when we were at the neon bathroom of horrors, I recall you saying you want to run away from me without a chance to escape."

I nod. "I– I know I said that, but that's not a question."

Eddie squeezes my waist, making sure to tickle me. "Oh, I'm sorry for trying to ease you into the conversation."

I giggle, and he stops as I try to move away. Sitting me on the kitchen island behind him, he steps between my legs, bringing his face close to mine. "Did you mean it?"

I quickly shrug, making him lecture me, "No, baby. Use your words. Work with me here."

"I know it's weird," I finally say, embarrassment burning my face. "I– I don't feel it with anybody but you, but it's really confusing."

Eddie's brows knit together. "Does it turn you on when you're scared of me, sweetheart?"

I nod, breath stacking as his hands glide up my naked thighs. "Want me to hunt you down like prey?"

I whimper, making his ego swell. "Maybe we could drive out to lovers lake sometime, and I chase you through the woods... Would you like that, princess?"

I nod eagerly. God, I should not feel myself becoming this wet when thinking of him like that.

As he raises his eyebrows, I remember to use my words. "Yes. Would like that very much."

Taking my jaw in his hand, he brings out lips together, grinning and whispering, "Kinky little thing," before kissing me so gently I could melt on the spot.

As he pulls away, he kisses the tip of my nose, then asks, "Want to show me your bedroom?"

"Are you going to stay?" I ask naively.

Although I am fully aware of my bedroom showing ending with him inside me, my heart yearns for a closeness I didn't think I was able to allow.

Eddie's warm eyes look at me, surprised and enamored. Almost as though I turned down hands full of diamonds just to hold a small rock, he'd handed me.

"Good luck trying to get rid of me," he laughs, pulling me off the kitchen island and setting me on my feet.

I grab his hand and pull him upstairs, turning off the lights downstairs as I do so. If I have my way, we're not coming down again until morning.

As we enter my room, Eddie looks around. He is underwhelmed. Massively underwhelmed. I can see it hidden under his pitiful attempt of keeping up a neutral face.

"Is it that bad?" I ask. "Did I ruin the mood?"

Eddie quickly shakes his head. He pulls me to his chest, kissing the top of my head. "Of course not, baby... I just understand now what Jessica meant by cardboard personality. It's really like a hotel room."

I look at the white, empty walls, the basic sheets, and the almost empty bedside tables with solely lamps and alarm on it. "Didn't want to risk having something I like and then get made fun of for it," I admit.

"Gonna make sure you'll never have to do that again, okay? You're too perfect to make you hide," Eddie tells me without any judgment in his voice, so sincere it feels like an oath.

He pulls himself away to look at the teddy bear sitting on my desk. "Now, who's that guy?"

I quickly grab his hand before he can touch my bear. "That's Frank. Please don't touch him. He's starting to fall apart. Have him since I was a child."

Eddie grins at the one-eyed bear, who's missing an ear. He points out the safety pin keeping the filling in his head, "Frank's short for Frankenstein?"

I shake my head. "They promise me for three years now that they'll help me patch him up."

"They?" Eddie asks before nodding. "Oh. They. Family's really leaving you hanging, huh?"

"They're– They just work a lot."

"You should still be their number one priority. You're their child." He runs a hand through his hair, trying not to talk himself into a frenzy. "Shit. When I started living with Wayne, he quit his job as a trucker and started working at the plant, doing night shifts so he could be home with me during the day."

"They make sure I'm cared for, though. I have tons of money. Can buy whatever I want," I defend my parents and aunt.

Eddie sighs, annoyance in his words. "Not everything can be fixed with money. Somebody should've been there to tell you that after you changed schools."

"Are you mad at me?" I ask, worried about the change in his demeanor.

His expression quickly turns soft. "No, no, no, princess." Cupping my cheeks, he says, "I just hate how you had to fend for yourself. After trauma, a kid needs somebody to trust and feel safe with, somebody who shows them they're there for them. You can't just give them money and a fresh start in a new town and think shit doesn't catch up with them. Your parents should've known better."

"Was your uncle that person for you?"

Eddie nods, sitting down on my bed with me. "Mom and Dad were really bad for each other. Saw a lot of nasty, toxic shit happen between them," he sighs, taking a deep breath before continuing. "Dad always had a foot in prison, and every time my mom would say we were not going back to him, yet we always did.

"After she got sick and eventually died, Dad didn't sell his stuff anymore but took it. The crimes got worse, his patience as thin as a knife's edge. My mom wasn't there anymore to cash in the beatings, so I got my ass handed to me a couple of times because I was too hyperactive and tested my luck.

"CPS got involved after Dad once again stole a car and that time robbed a diner, shooting the waitress, and I ended up with my dad's older brother. Wayne's cool, though. Took me a while to understand that you can get in trouble, and it ends with a stern talk and not with losing a tooth.

"Man's as linear as they come. Has never even gotten a speeding ticket. Would've probably ended like my dad, wouldn't it have been for him."

I swallow harshly. "Now I feel like a real piece shit for picking at your family when we'd fight."

Eddie shrugs. "Not like I didn't rub it in your face that you're being neglected."

"I'm sorry."

He presses his lips together. "I'm sorry, too."

I turn on the lamp on the bedside table, get up, and turn off the big light. My bedroom is now sparsely lit by warm yellow light. It seems cozier like this.

Walking back to Eddie, I climb in his lap, him not wasting a second to let his hands roam my body. We kiss, Eddie, pulling me into him by the waist, hips grinding up against me.

It feels like hours pass; the chance is high that that is actually the case. We sit in the middle of my queen-sized bed. Layer by layer, we have shed our clothes until we sat fully naked in from of each other.

Our legs are partially tangled, and there is nothing we hide from each other. I am the most vulnerable I've ever been. But I feel safe.

We still kiss, hands gliding over the smooth skin, exploring. Eddie's fingers glide in and out of me, while I moan into the kisses, returning the favor. We take breaks to collect our breath, using that time to admire the naked person before us.

The next set of kisses has Eddie back me against the pillows. My hands have captured his face to ensure he has to come with me.

He takes place between my legs as if we'd never meant to be together in any other way than this. As though we never had been at war with each other and ourselves while ensuring the other would succumb to madness.

Pulling his fingers out, he moves them to my lips, watching nearly enchanted as I take them into my mouth and clean them from my own wetness.

As he enters me, it feels like everything else, every growing pain of character, every touch by somebody other, and every spite-filled encounter washes away.

Eddie's movement is nothing more than pure lust and a sign of how long we've waited for the other. Our bodies pressed closely together, fingers, nails, and teeth digging into delicate skin like holding on to our sole lifeline.

The past and, with it, Jason, Jessica, and everyone else is nothing more than part of the tedious prologue before Eddie and I.

The night is filled with promises, whispers of sweet nothingness, and the call of each other's names. Only once we're wholly exhausted, have taken and given everything we can, can we bring ourselves to stop.

Our sweat-covered bodies are still tightly wrapped around each other. A kiss or two still stolen with the greatest efforts to ignore every sore muscle and the burning of our raw, scarlet lips.

Brushing wet hair out of my face, Eddie lies next to me, his fingers dancing over my face. The storms feel like they have surrendered to the fact that this is meant to be.

We're no longer fighting it and letting the other in. The Freak and the Princess of Hawkins High... We never stood a chance anyway.

*****

Opening my eyes the next morning, there is a total of forty-five blissful seconds. Birds are singing, a soft breeze is blowing over my skin from the window Eddie must be opened, and the sun is shining.

Then I roll over, and my hand touches the cold pillow next to mine. I sit up, look around, and notice the lack of clothes on the floor.

Not only that, Frank the teddy bear is gone too.

My heart is beating fast.

A voice in my head laughs at me, while another tells me I've been played. Last night and this morning, make sure to leave me with an unsettling whiplash I try to ignore.

I get up, quickly throwing over my dress from last night, and walk down the stairs.

Maybe I am freaking out over nothing.

"Eddie?" I call through the house but am met with no answer. "Eddie?"

He's not in the kitchen, the living room, or the garden. There is no message on a notepad or a missed call. I call and call until my voice cannot hide the reality of things.

I am alone.

I walk back upstairs, tears running down my face as I change the sheets, close the window, and take a steaming hot shower. I need to get every memory of him off my body.

He left.

He fucked me and left.

Eddie fucking played me. He let me let my guard down and stabbed me in the back.

I shouldn't even be surprised. I've been nothing but a bitch to him all year. He saw a chance to get back at me and took it.

After my shower, I put on my baggy festival shirt and panties and put on a horror movie while I cry my eyes out on the couch.

I cry over the loss of my teddy bear. I cry over how real last night felt. I cry over the fact that I have effectively burned every bridge and am on my own... Just like I always was.

I gave Eddie so much of myself, thinking he would be different, not like Jason. But men are all the same, apparently.

*****

☠︎ The Freak's POV ☠︎

Sneaking in through the ridiculously loud squeaking door, I kick off my shoes. The hardwood floors seem like they are worth more than both my kidneys on the black market, so I don't want to risk anything, even though the princess told me not to worry last night.

I put the plastic bags I carry with me in the kitchen and catch a glimpse of my girl lying on the couch. The loud credits of a slasher on tv seem to have canceled out my arrival.

I walk in, smiling at her. The second she looks up, my smile falls.

"Hey, sweetheart, baby, are you okay?" I ask worriedly, closing the distance between us and falling onto my knees before her.

Did her former friends call? Another heartbreak by her family?

She takes a shakey breath, whimpering, "What are you doing here?"

I look over my shoulder toward the kitchen and back at her. Her eyes are red, her cheeks wet. How long did she sit here and cry? "I– I was out. Was up before you and got us some breakfast."

"You left," she whispers.

"Only for a little."

"I– I thought..."

As her voice dies, my eyes become wide. The princess had thought I wouldn't return.

"Shit. Baby, no, no, no. I was just out getting some stuff. I left you a note." She shakes her head, but I insist. "I did."

I pull her up from the couch, dragging her upstairs. I did not tiptoe around this morning and search for sticky notes and a pen like an idiot for this to be the outcome. For her to be upset.

Entering her bedroom, I walk straight to the nightstand on her side of the bed.

Okay.

Fair.

No note.

The princess still stands there at the door, looking like she has been absolutely miserable since she woke up—which is no surprise if she thought I ran off after promising her the world last night.

She showered and wears this shirt that would make a better dress. Lilac-colored ones replace the sheets from last night, and the severity of what she went through hits me like a brick.

The princess thought I used her and left.

Just like Jason fucking Carver.

The bane of my existence.

God, I hate that guy.

I turn to the nightstand again. I know I placed the note there. I'd stuck it on her alarm so she'd see it. I drop to the floor, looking under the bed.

Nothing.

But there, almost completely behind the nightstand, shines the neon pink traitor. Wind must've yanked that piece of shit up and thrown it behind it.

I quickly get up and hand it to her. The princess takes a second to read:

"Out to get breakfast and take Frankenstein on a ride. Gonna be back in a heartbeat. — E. ♡"

As she looks up at me, her beautiful eyes fill with tears again. "I thought you wouldn't come back."

I rub the back of my neck. "Didn't mean to upset you, princess. Next time I'll put it somewhere better, kay? Promise."

A tear runs down her face, and I am quick to cup her cheek and wipe it away. Her fingers wrap around my wrist while she nuzzled her cheek into my palm.

My heart flutters and my chest feels fuzzy (that whole butterfly-soda condition really feels more like a medical emergency than anything else). She's the most gorgeous when she lets me see her vulnerable side.

"You kidnapped my bear," she finally whispers, and I chuckle, pressing a kiss to her hairline.

"No bearnapping took place, baby. We just went on a little shopping trip."

"Told you he could fall apart at any moment..." she huffs.

I wrap an arm around her, and we make our way down to the kitchen. Opening one of the plastic bags, I hand her her stuffed friends.

She sits down on a barstool by the kitchen island and carefully pats his head. "Thought you took him as a souvenir."

We're seriously doing something wrong if women think that low of us.

I should beat the shit out of Jason.

I look at her, obviously fake annoyance on my face. "Now, what was so hard to understand when I told you you're now stuck with me?"

She shrugs, and I dislike that I understand her uncertainty. It will potentially take a while of me being the most annoying, clingy piece of shit until she gets it. But okay. I'm good at being annoying and clingy. I'm totally up for the challenge.

"Why did you take him with you?"

I grin, flipping over the plastic bag—an array of needles, threats, filling, and fabric tumbles onto the counter.

"We're fixing Frankenstein," I announce, opening the little paper bag with the replacement eye and showing it to the princess.

"Really?" she asks in disbelief. "But– I can't sew."

I spin slowly, pointing out my battle vest's patches. "Lucky for you, I am a God at it."

"And you know what to do?"

I nod. "The lady at the store helped, and we picked out a matching fabric, threat, and eye. She's also the reason I didn't get the demon-looking cat eye. She said she thinks my girlfriend could get scared should I put it on her teddy bear."

"Girlfriend," the princess whispers, the softest smile on her lips.

"Of course. You traded your shitty friends in for me, remember?" She nods, making me sigh in relief. "Good. Amazing, actually. Because your boyfriend also got you these!"

I pull a couple of posters out of the second bag, unrolling them to present them to her royal highness. "Black Sabbath, Metallica, and – of course – Corroded Coffin."

She giggles, grabbing the Corroded Coffin one and looking at mine and the guys' hand-drawn masterpiece. "So I'm hanging my boyfriend's band on my bedroom wall?"

"Hey," I tell at her jokingly. "If my girl isn't supporting me, then who is?"

She nods. "You're right. Gonna be a good rockstar girlfriend."

"An extremely hot one, too," I say, wrapping an arm around her waist again. "We're gonna be the bi-awakening for a lot of people, sweetheart."

"Sounds good." The princess leans forwards, capturing my lips with hers, and I feel my knees buckle.

No matter how cool I pretend to be, she makes me fucking melt. And now that she doesn't bite anymore, I can finally indulge myself in her.

Wrapping her legs around my waist, I set Frankenstein on the counter and carry my girl upstairs.

Throwing her onto the freshly made bed with which she tried to erase the memory of us, I crawl on top of her while taking off my jacket and shirt and throwing them aside.

I kiss her softly, feeling her hands glide over the massive searches she marked me with last night. They burn like hell, but each ounce of pain feels good. The princess marked her territory.

"You wanna paint your walls before we put the posters up?" I ask her. "Or would you rather get some wallpaper?"

She looks around for a moment then her stunning eyes meet mine. "You know how to put up wallpaper?"

I shrug. "I mean... It'll probably look like shit, but sure. If you want it, I'll figure out how to do it."

I have an unbelievable, lovesick audacity that makes me believe I could do anything her precious heart longs for. Fuck, having her like me is an ego boost that will probably go to my head.

No. Nope. It's already there.

The way she grins up at me, fingers cradling my face... I am fucking invincible and apparently really good in the sack.

"Didn't you say you got breakfast?"

Way to bring me down to earth.

I frown for a second, thinking of where I put the waffles, eggs, bacon, and pancakes I got at a nearby diner.

"I- Uhh..." Yeah, I have no idea. "Either it's still in the van, or I left it at the diner."

The princess starts laughing, throwing her head back into the sheets. I use that moment to gently bite her neck, licking over the bite mark with my tongue.

"In my defense, I was busy thinking about the bear and if I can pull off making a little Hellfire shirt for him," I speak against her skin.

My girl lets out a sigh. "But what will the King of Hellfire say when he finds out you're making them for non-members?"

"Frankenstein is an honorary member," I inform her, sitting back on my legs and pulling her onto my lap. "His human is the King's woman. The Princess of Hellfire."

"Shouldn't I be the Queen then?" she asks, quirking an eyebrow.

I lick my lips, pulling her face closer. "Don't get greedy, princess. Being the Queen is something that you earn."

Her lips split into a smile. "And how do I earn it?"

I place a kiss on her right cheek. "By being kind." Another on her left cheek. "By being yourself." And I place the final one on her lips. "And by staying with me for at least a month. Gonna crown you Queen as my one-month anniversary present."

"Sounds like a cop-out, so you don't have to buy me something," the princess teases.

I gasp, appalled, and push her off my lap. "You're gonna regret that one, princess." She looks at me with big eyes. "Gonna give you a 10-second headstart. Better make sure I don't get you."

While slowly standing up and moving towards the door, she grins. "What happens when you caught me?"

I slowly stand up as well. "Then I'll eat you alive, princess. Make sure you really regret being an ungrateful little slut."

Her breath hitches, and she squeals as I make a sudden move in her direction. We grin at each other, both our eyes darkening with lust, then she bolts out of her room and down the stairs.

I chase after her multiple times feeling her shirt or skin on my fingertips. She is laughing, screaming, and squirming as I finally grab her.

Placing her on the dinner table, I force her back against the cold wood while I step between her legs. "Now I got you, sweetheart," I chuckle deeply. "No point in running anymore."

I take a step back and spread her legs further for me. Kneeling between them, I bite the inside of her thigh, while I make my way to her center.

The fighting spirit has already left her. My girl whimpers as I pull her innocent little panties aside and am met with her arousal glistening in the daylight. I lick my lips before I dive in, her hands quick to grasp for my hair as she moans loudly.

*****

The Queen of Hellfire.

The Freak's girlfriend.

For many, she used to be Hawkins High's Princess, somebody they aspired to be. They don't understand what happened, why she gave up her title, and now plays with the terrifying King of Hellfire.

They don't get how he managed to get the Queen's family to approve of him, like him, so far so that they even wanted to pay for his college education. How he gratefully declined (of course) and instead got them to pay for the first of many Corroded Coffin albums.

He didn't even need to ask. He brought the Queen's smile back on her face and that is worth the world for her family.

Not that anyone in Hawkins ever understands anything. Like, how the ex-cheerleader became best friends with a bunch of nerds, Robin from band, Steve Harrington, and future star journalist Nancy Wheeler.

But as the Queen of Hellfire learned, it doesn't fucking matter what others think as long as she is happy and has the King on his knees for her, worshipping her divine form.

She's fucking mine. Forever.

Suck it, Carver.

More Eddie Munson Content? [Click for Mastlist]

More of me? Nice! [Click for my Main Masterlist]

Want to fangirl with me? Give feedback? [Click here]

Eddie Munson Taglist: [empty]

[tssidesfics]

Credit to @wisecolorthing for helping me come up with this nightmare crack fic. I can't entirely remember how we started talking about it but the conversation wandered to Remus in a Spencer's and this was born. It is pure crack. Completely ludicrous and ridiculous while also being completely in-character because we're talking about Remus, here.

*

God should have skipped the flood and just unleashed Remus on the world a few thousand years early.

Then again, humanity might never have recovered at that point, so what do I know?

Welcome to my little circle of hell, everybody. Yes, you are all correct that my relationship with the others can be best surmised with the "this house is a fucking nightmare" vine, but you don't get any points for it because it's not hard to figure out. I subsist off coffee, spite, and sarcasm (but differently from Janus, who subsists off wine, spite, and sarcasm) and exist solely to, in Remus' words, "vibrate like an overripe chihuahua on meth and five espressos with a dildo turned on up its ass"--AKA I am an anxious mess when I'm not spiraling ever-deeper into the bowels of worst-case scenario-ism. I live in a very weird gay man's head with my roommates, some of which (Logan) feign sanity 80% of the time and the other 20% conduct deranged experiments on furniture, food, and sometimes people like he's the last mad scientist left and has to preserve his culture. Some of them are actually (mostly) sane, like Patton (although we have to affectionately--and in Rage's case, literally, but they have a complicated relationship--beat on him to make him start crying when he needs to, so all things are relative). Some are just plain weird, like Roman (seriously, he's not even a type of crazy I can qualify, he's just unhinged). Some delight in feigned psychopathy (Janus). Some really need anger management therapy (do I seriously need to clarify?...actually, yeah, Logan could use some too). And some, AKA the problem child of this fever dream, defy description, but a DSM-5 edition bursts into flames every time they get a very specific little lopsided smile on their face--the one that slowly dawns like panels of light until it's blinding and suddenly nauseating to look at. That feeling is always proceeded by destruction of property. Always.

And of course Janus and Rage are gleeful enablers. Is it any wonder why I yeeted myself off the first exit ramp out of that 24/7 Mardi Gras festival?

In case it was not made shockingly apparent by literally everything about me, hi, I'm Virgil. Kill me.

My Nightmare #347 began with Patton yanking himself out of Thomas' head into the passenger side car-seat with a giddy smile on his face. "Hi, Thomas!"

Thomas screamed and jumped so hard he swerved. I neglected to appear to him physically--given I didn't want to make matters worse--but I did start fluently cussing and climbed the wall.

"Patton!" Thomas righted to the car as a cacophony of honks chastised him. "Hi, buddy. Next time, not in the middle of traffic!"

"Oop. Sorry, Thomas." At least Patton was appropriately contrite. I didn't often consider him an asshole--"cinnamon roll" is so apt he literally turns into a cinnamon roll sometimes--but today, I could make an exception. "I was wondering if we could all hang out with you at the mall today."

"Pat, it's hard enough with you guys providing running commentary on my every social interaction in my head," Thomas pointed out. "I'd like to just enjoy seeing Joan again while they're in town and I will have to corral at least five of you if I let you out."

"But Thomas..." Patton whined, bouncing frustratingly in his seat. "The Mindscape is boring!"

"You can bake an endless amount of cookies and turn it into whatever you want. I literally don't see how it could ever become boring."

"Logan won't let us change it from your living room."

Thomas sighed. "What are the chances I can convince Logan to lighten up a little?"

I snorted so loud Thomas heard it.

"Thank you for your contribution, Virgil." Thomas rolled his eyes. "If I let the rest of them out, do you promise you won't let them get into any trouble?"

I squawked. "You're expecting Patton to control the others? Are you insane? Patton couldn't control a drowsy teddy bear!"

Patton popped back into the Mindscape to turn hurt eyes on me. I crossed my arms. "No," I said. "I stand by what I said. Your backbone is made of silly putty."

"All right, Virgil," Thomas interjected before Patton could crank up the Guilt Trip'O'Meter as high as it would go. "You raise a good point. Why don't I leave you in charge?"

"I would rather crawl into a hot and rot, thanks."

"C'mon, I can feel how stir-crazy you're all getting. It's making me more antsy than usual."

"I don't see why that's a problem, considering you have never sat still anywhere a single day in your life. Someone could hold Joan over a barrel of piranha telling you they'd drop them if you couldn't sit still for an entire five minutes and it would be all your fault that Joan died."

Too late, I realized my mistake. Remus cackled loudly and sank out somewhere I didn't want to know but had to follow lest he murder the literal only reason Thomas had ever gotten me remotely under control.

"Why would you do that?" Thomas asked dully.

"You see why it's a bad idea to expect me to control these lunatics?"

Logan sighed, adjusting his glasses and snapping his folder closed. God knew what went on in those things; we only got independent internet access when we manifested and he certainly couldn't raid a bookstore without manifesting, yet he always had one in his lap, diligently working. It was morbidly fascinated. "Honestly," he grumbled. "Thomas, I believe that yes, your mental health would benefit from letting us manifest as a group. I can control the others."

"Logan," I began. "Buddy. Pal. My guy."

"Call me three of those ever again and there will be scalpels plunged into locations you do not want to think about."

"You cannot control them," I told him. "History has demonstrated multiple times that the only person who can control us is Thomas, and he's going to be busy catching up. He's going to let go of Remus' leash. Do you really--and I mean think about this--do you really think the time you want Remus off Thomas' leash is in a mall?"

"Fine. Then we'll leave him behind. At least venting some of--"

"He'll just start shooting off intrusive thoughts like a machine gun. You let more than one out, you open the floodgates."

"You're being paranoid."

"Funny that. I can't imagine why I'd be paranoid. Sounds completely unlike me, I'm normally so laid-back."

"The sarcasm was unnecessary."

"You're finally learning when I'm sarcastic." I was impressed. "Nice, Lo. I was getting worried."

Logan clicked his pen menacingly.

I grinned. Logan was easily one of my greatest allies in the Mindscape--Roman was insufferable, Janus, Remus and Rage were out of the question, and Patton could be obnoxiously patronizing--but never let his capacity for violence be underestimated. I once saw him take Roman's katana to a bundle of sticky notes because one of them gave him a paper cut. Despite that capacity for violence, however, I delighted in pushing his buttons.

"Are we manifesting today?" Roman called down the stairs with barely-restrained delight.

"Unless you can guarantee Remus won't set the mall on fire, hell no!" I called back up.

There was a long moment of silence. "Remus, I'll let you have Mrs. Snuffykins for one night if you behave yourself if we manifest!"

I had absolutely no idea what that was--I wanted to think a stuffed animal, but with Roman and Remus, all bets were off--but Remus' ecstatic screech was enough to tell me I probably didn't want to find out.

Roman looked back down at me. "He'll behave."

I arched an eyebrow.

"Prince's honor."

"Historically meant shit, Princey."

"Yes, but not Disneyally."

"That is not...remotely a word," Logan said, somehow a mix between dumbfounded and awed.

"Look, I'm just not optimistic that letting Remus out when Thomas isn't keeping an eye on him would end in anything except Thomas going to prison for arson, murder, or public indecency. Or worse."

"I'll keep him in line," Roman vowed. "Please, Virgil? I'm going stir-crazy in here, we all are."

I crossed my arms.

Roman pouted.

I snorted.

Roman glared.

I arched an eyebrow.

Roman slumped.

I grinned. "Deal with it, everybody. No manifesting. Get comfy. Janus, think about pushing your luck and I am ripping out each individual one of your scales and burying them in places you don't want."

"How delightfully Remus of you. Except for the part where you'll actually follow through on the threat."

"From Remus it wouldn't be a threat, it would be a bonding activity."

"Speaking of," Patton said shyly. "Didn't Remus run off after you said something about Joan getting hurt, kiddo?"

My eyes bugged out of my head. I sighed and hung it. "Why is it always me?" I mumbled and sunk out to chase Remus through the Mindscape.

~*~

After fishing out Remus' limbs from a pond of piranha he'd dismembered himself into when he heard me chasing after him, I borrowed some super glue from Roman's room and stuck him back together. It should have fixed him up good as new but it was Remus and any attempts I made to change things around here were easily superseded by one half of Creativity. Which meant Remus was now walking around with his penis glued to his forehead, fully erect.

Not as much time had passed by the time we returned as I expected. Which would have been great if not for the fact that the Conscious Mind was conspicuously quiet. All the dishes were clean, there wasn't any crap on the floor, and there were no Sides milling about. I could have taken the time to check each of their rooms upstairs but why waste the time when I knew exactly where they all were?

"Roman, you are in your thirties. A store called Forever 21 is not for you," Logan was saying after I manifested in the general direction of the others. "Hello, Virgil."

I glared. "What did I say?"

"Aw, but Virge--"

"You're inviting a Remustrophe right now, you realize that, right?"

Janus grinned. My blood ran cold.

"I WANT EVERY DILDO YOU HAVE!" echoed across the mall, and with horror, I realized what I'd done.

I'd loosed Remus Sanders on the Spencer's department store.

~*~

The good news: nothing had caught fire yet. Potential loss of life was yet to be determined as Patton yelped and rushed over to the prone body of the clerk behind the counter. That also proved fine when I saw him slump in relief after probing her neck for a pulse.

The bad news: Remus had slipped the superglue I'd used to piece him back together out of my pocket and was now using it to attach dildos, ripped out of their packages with plastic and cardboard shredded across the floor, to his costume. He was also dripping with something viscous, disincentivizing me from touching him to stop him from unleashing more chaos.

By rights, seven dildos glued to his top should have torn the damn thing, but it was made of sturdier stuff than that. I studied him for a long moment, trying to work up the nerve to approach, while he just continued to wreak havoc. Janus, meanwhile, the only one not preoccupied with horror or despair at Remus' antics, meandered over to the bowl in which they kept their sarcastic pins, perusing them idly.

"You better be planning to pay for those," I warned, then looked around. "Wait. Where's Rage?"

Logan glanced around. "Likely inflicting property damage on a jewelry store. He rather dislikes those."

I pinched my sinuses. "Logan, could you rein in your alter ego, please?"

"I am too evolved for my alter ego to be that idiot," Logan told me with overblown indignity.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, you're the only one who can talk some sense into him. The cameras may not be able to recognize Thomas' face on all of us, but the less reason the cops have to potentially stuff him in a cell, the better."

It was true. Somehow, whatever bizarre magic allowed us to manifest in the real world also confused cameras and people so no one could trace the destruction of property likely to follow us back to Thomas. It was the only reason I wasn't already in the fetal position on the floor forgetting the basic components of breathing.

Logan rolled his eyes and broke off to track down Rage. I turned my attention to Roman.

"No," Roman said firmly.

"He's your brother," I told him.

"Yes, and it's your fault he's here. You were supposed to watch him."

"I wouldn't have had to take my eyes off him if you guys hadn't snuck out in the first place. I'm one Side. Do you really think I would have stood a snowball's chance in hell of keeping Remus from doing exactly this?"

"And I have any better chance?"

"No, but the alternative is explaining to Thomas what you guys did."

Roman glared at me.

I glared back.

Roman pouted.

I continued glaring.

Roman stomped his foot and whined.

I pointed at Remus, who was now smashing glasses on the ground and eating the shards. Blood was rushing from his mouth and gathering in puddles on the floor. He was still dripping.

"I hate you," Roman informed me bluntly.

"Oh, like you've ever made a secret of that?"

Roman adopted a punched puppy expression at that one.

I sighed. "Yeah, yeah, you've been doing better, now go wrestle your brother into a cage or something."

Roman dragged his feet over to Remus and summoned a hasmat suit he put on. Remus sliced into it with a rather sizable shard and sprinted away before Roman could catch him. Without thinking, I lunged after him, only succeeding in sliding down the length of his body like he was covered in lube.

Oh, wait, it was lube. It smelled like one of Remus' worst farts and tasted like it too. You would have thought the dildos would have either failed to stick with his clothes soaked in lubricant or at least they would have given me something to hang onto to stop him from escaping, but all they did was slap me repeatedly in the face with silicon penes of various sizes.

Remus left a slimy trail behind him as he cackled deeper into the store. I was positive he was headed somewhere with matches so he could set the building on fire.

I pressed my face into the floor, into a puddle of lube, and sighed. Miserably, I hauled myself to my feet and turned back to everyone else. "You are in so much trouble," I assured them without passion, dragging myself off to find Thomas and get him to suck Remus back into the Mindscape before additional damage could be done.

I found him in the food court, blissfully unaware of the chaos unfolding deeper into the store. Altogether the world seemed relatively unaware of the happenings, another magical defense mechanism. It wasn't that people never noticed what we were doing, it was just that they were less likely to find it alarming. Although once the fire alarms started going off, people would pay attention.

"Thomas," I greeted without etiquette, coming to pause next to his table.

"Holy shit," Joan summarized perfectly. People aware of our nonsense were usually pretty good at spotting us and processing our appearances.

Thomas looked dejected. "No."

"Remus escaped."

Thomas flopped forward like a fish on land and smacked his head full into the table. The pain reverberated through my skull. "Time to--"

The fire alarm blared. Rage ran past with a shotgun, screaming, "Adios, coppers!" as he went.

Thomas watched him run past. "We don't have to stop him, do we?"

I considered it for a moment. "Nah, he can stay. As long as everyone goes back in, we should be able to keep Remus there."

People ran past screaming. A panicked exodus spilled from the food court. Some people knocked into me and I stumbled. Thomas caught my hoodie sleeve, then gagged and pulled his hand back.

"Remus," I explained.

"Right." Thomas looked in the direction everyone was running from. "I guess I have to go toward the fire to stop him, huh?"

I nodded sadly.

"Sorry, Joan," Thomas explained. "Next time, my place."

"Deal. Want some help?"

"You don't need to see what I'm about to see."

With that, Thomas and I made our begrudging way toward the fire.

~*~

It resolved relatively easily once Thomas gave Remus a disapproving stare. We all didn't do well with Thomas' disappointment, even Remus, so he moped back inside the Mindscape without much complaint. Everyone else returned to the living room in my doghouse and I locked myself in my room, refusing to emerge. Rage stayed out for a while longer and later we found out three police stations had been set on fire with all prisoners escaped. No loss of life, which I didn't know how to feel about.

Later, through mystical means, the stolen dildos Remus had taken were discovered in Ron DeSantis' home. We laughed for a week.

I amend my earlier statement. Maybe we really do need to use Remus as the next great flood. He'll just focus his attention on the fascists and we'll all be better off.

Yo, God, you should get on that.

[darsynia]

Trust Fall | Ch 22

ARC by Eury Escodero on Unsplash | gif by @elwintersoldado

Story Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Summary: Tony/OC, ‘terrorists made us fall in love;�� IM1 timeline. In this chapter, Emory and Tony both learn how to trust new people in their lives even as they discover awful things about the people they used to trust.

Length: 4,862

Note: An ‘albedo’ is basically the measurement of the sun’s light as reflected from another object. I’m using it here as an allusion to finding out the true nature of people Emory and Tony used to trust. They see evidence of Rory and Obie’s duplicity as reflected by their harmful actions. FINALLY, am I right?

Taglist: @starryeyes2000 @raith-way @arrthurpendragon @themaradaniels @starksbf @chickensarentcheap @tiny-anne

Excerpt:

Emory says, “Honestly, after three solid months of bean soup for every meal, coffee is coffee,” and follows Clint into the kitchen. There’s a towel with one of those crochet button clasps hanging from the stove handle.

“Well, in that case, you’re just going from one bean soup to another.”

She takes his proffered cup and watches him walk over to clean the machine he’d made it with, real barista-level equipment. He shoots a look over his shoulder to catch her first sip. It’s delicious.

“Agent Barton, this is some high class bean soup. Thank you.”

Chapter Twenty-Two: Albedo

It’s one thing to dress in the same clothes as a SHIELD agent pretending to be Tony Stark’s Morning Assignation. It’s something else to picture herself leaving the helicopter on SHIELD grounds and walking into the building dressed like that! Emory chooses anxiety (asking the pilot if she can change clothes in the back of the helicopter) over mortification (having to do a walk of shame across the Triskelion helipad). She ends up having to use the fishnets as a belt to keep Tony’s pants on, but she feels less exposed when she sits back down. Now, she thinks to herself, if only the hollow ache in the pit of my stomach would go away! Emory’s sure it’ll go away once they land and she’s settled, but it almost feels like it feeds off of her anxiety.

“Clint has an extra room,” Nat says, giving her phone back. “We’ll have to finagle some sightings of you, and we’ll have to do the rest of your training there, but Fury said yes.”

“It’s all settled, just like that?” Emory asks, incredulous.

Natasha sees her expression and shrugs. “Sometimes it’s easier to ask forgiveness than permission.”

Voicemail Box, Stark, Anthony E.

2.20 PM

Mr. Stark, the FBI agents are here and I can’t find you or Harry. You aren’t in the bunker, are you? JARVIS won’t answer me, and I’ll feel very foolish if I have to explain that as your PA I don’t actually know whether you’re in your father’s bomb shelter or not! Please answer your phone.

3:10 PM

Tony, if they threaten me with obstruction I’m going to be very upset. The agents are saying they might come back with a warrant, and I know it’s a federal crime to lie to the FBI so I had to tell them I’d met Ms. Autumn. Please, PLEASE come out? I know you can get phone calls from inside there!

10:55 PM

Tony, where are you, it’s after ten! You only have enough fresh food in there for a few days! I’m… Wait, is that you on Channel-- [dial tone]

11:03 PM

You’re at a NIGHTCLUB! It made the NEWS, Tony! What if the FBI doesn't believe me? What if they think I was covering for you!? Do you know how many messages I left on Harry’s phone asking where the two of you were? I thought he was in the bunker with you trying to stop you from drinking yourself half to death! BOTH OF YOU COME HOME RIGHT NOW!!

When Tony returns from partying, he buries himself not in blankets and dreams, but files and memories. Stark Industries needs a new niche that isn’t weaponry, but draws on that expertise. Emory is at SHIELD’s mercy, and he doesn’t have any influence there. Is there something he could do that would solve both problems at once?

Some intrepid assistant in the late 80’s had digitized Howard Stark’s paper files, but they’re all mixed together, probably on purpose. He decides to track down the schematics he’d been so dazzled by when he was six and about to be sent away to boarding school; Tony had spent three glorious days digging through a couple of metal briefcases that had been accidentally left in his bedroom instead of the storage study one room over. At the time, Tony had been convinced they were for a secret government thing his dad was doing, and that was why they were sending him away to school. For his protection.

School had stripped away that sense of wonder, and eventually his father’s cold demeanor taught Tony to keep his questions to himself. Uncovering those memories is an uncomfortable process best done with the veneer of inebriation, but the physical effects mean he’s not very efficient. By dawn, the files are still elusive, and the issues that made him want to go drinking in the first place won’t go away. 

He decides to sleep on it.

Tony’s phone rings as he’s carrying the bunker pillows and Emory’s left-behind shirt up to his bedroom. His first instinct when he sees the name on the display is to be glad it’s not the FBI. His second instinct is to wonder if Coulson has learned how to manipulate people from the same place Agent Romanoff did. The man has to know that Tony was out till 3 AM. The agent probably expects to leave a message with a set of instructions he’ll expect to be followed without push-back, or Coulson’s hoping to manipulate him while he’s sleep-deprived and hung over.

As a result, Tony’s barely civil when he answers.

“You better be about to improve my mood, Doctor No.”

“Good morning. I have been asked to take over from Director Fury as your primary contact.”

“Wow,” Tony says. “Tell Boris he was almost the father figure I already had, will you?” Tony needs to yawn, but he holds it back.

“I’m pretty sure that’s exactly the sort of message I was assigned to prevent,” Coulson says. The man’s deadpan delivery doesn’t change a whit. “Something’s come past my desk that I think you can help me clear up: is it true that you snuck out from under your PA’s nose yesterday afternoon to avoid a scheduled FBI interview?”

The rush of relief Tony feels is probably premature, but Coulson is handing him a resolution on a silver platter right now. “Pepper told on me? Look, I deal with a lot of acronyms. I’m pretty sure I’d have remembered if I was supposed to be at a meeting with the CIA.” He pauses for dramatic effect, then adds, “Not that I wouldn’t have still snuck out. Everybody hates those guys.”

“Are you asking me to smooth this over for you, Mr. Stark?”

“Is it illegal for me to say yes?” Tony shoots back. “Because if we’re in the plot of Entrapment, I want my money back unless there will be red lasers and hot women in skin-tight black leotards.”

He can’t help but picture Emory in the iconic outfit, and Tony tightens his hand around the spy shirt she’d left behind. The message he’d gotten from Natasha Romanoff at midnight had been promising, but sharing an apartment with another agent could be worse in the long run. The freedom Emory will gain will be tempered by the possibility of off-hours propaganda and persuasion.

“Sir?”

Oops. Coulson had been talking. Tony gives in to the yawn, making it as loud and obnoxious as possible.

“I was busy picturing that. Go on?”

“I was just saying, if we wanted to trap you, sir? We’d be more subtle. Speaking of which, any word on how long you’ll be staying in New York? I’d love to know if I’ll need to rent something long-term,” Coulson says, still as studiously polite as always, but now with a tiny edge to his tone, sharp as a razorblade. 

“I’ll be sticking around for as long as your archer plays house with my girlfriend, Phil.”

Tony doesn’t want to like this guy, mostly because it feels like there are two kinds of people in Phil Coulson’s world: the people he’s manipulating into liking him, and the people he’s screwing over very courteously. Tony’s been trying to manipulate the man right back, but it’s a delicate balance. Right before he’d left for New York, Tony had found a rare part for the guy’s beloved classic car and had it delivered by courier. That had been the carrot, and now, he supposes, comes the stick.

Coulson’s extolling the virtues of a particular apartment building he’s got an eye on when Tony interrupts. “Say, since you’re so good at passing notes, can you ask your boss if he can give me a call? I’ve got a business opportunity for him.”

There’s a moment of silence before Coulson wryly asks, “Should I address this message to ‘Boris?’ Or Director Fury?”

It's a shrewd question, and Tony's too fucking tired to play his usual hard to get. "Go with his official name this time, will you, Junior? Blame the lapse on sleep deprivation. And don't ever call me this early again, or I'll clone your voice with my AI and start releasing shit about Area 51 framing you as the source."

“Point taken, sir. Sleep well.”

Tony turns the phone off completely. “Yeah, I wish,” he says to no one. Thankfully, his head barely hits the pillow that smells faintly of Emory’s hair before he feels oblivion reaching out for him.

Emory wakes up in an actual bedroom.

Not a secure office dressed as one. Not a fancy hotel that reeks of opulent impermanence. Not a barely habitable cave with a truly embarrassing method of relieving oneself. A bedroom. The room Clint had given her even has a lock.

She’d spent so little time at her apartment while working as Rory’s PA that her last ‘home bedroom’ was pre-Rory, the room in her dad’s house. That memory is tainted by the conflict between herself and her parents about Rory’s influence, though. The time she got to spend at Tony’s mansion hadn’t felt like home either. It had passed almost like a daydream, a stolen few hours that, true to form, had ended with her being sent back to reality. When she was with him, Emory had felt like maybe she could belong there, but now, back in the real world, it’s hard not to feel foolish.

Rolling over, she buries her face in Tony’s shirt as she had so often the night before, picturing him across the room about to climb back into bed with her. It’s hard not to wonder how many women have done the same. Most of them were probably tall, glamorous, and rich, better suited to his world than she ever could be. Her rational mind is trying to tell her that Tony Stark is new to the hero business, and she was just a convenient damsel in distress. Her heart’s response is to remember the desperate catch in his voice as he screamed in the desert, angry at her for maybe dying and forcing the words ‘I love you’ from his throat.

Her instinct is to do what she’s always done: endure. This time, though, Emory wants to fight for what she wants, as terrifying as it is, as new as that is. She wants to live. She wants to love. How did everything suddenly become so hard?

Groaning, Emory gets up and makes the bed, tucking Tony's clothes under the pillow like she's burying a secret. As she has for the last few weeks, she also buries her instinct to go with the flow, to not make waves, to hide, safe and invisible. It's too late for that. Tony- or Natasha Romanoff -would find her. And if they didn't, well, thanks to the serum, she basically has an expiration date. The effects of her dependency are going to start manifesting themselves soon. 

She dresses and slips on the fuzzy slippers Clint had lent her, unlocks her door, and starts up the hallway toward the kitchen. On the way, she sees that his bedroom door is open, revealing a loft bed with a desk underneath, just like a college dorm. Most of the room is taken up by what looks like a built-in climbing wall that curves up onto the ceiling, anchored with some seriously thick cables.

“I’d offer to let you try it out, but I don’t actually have a rig, just pads for underneath. Not great for newbies,” Clint says from the other side of the hallway. He’s sipping from a mug, which he holds up. “I remember you usually avoided the SHIELD coffee. I approve. Want some of the good stuff, or did your cave detox put you in a good place?”

“Give?” Emory says, walking toward him like a mummy. She’d warmed to Barton during her training sessions, and he’s even more likeable here in his own home, relaxed and welcoming. The contrast between the way he’s treating her after knowing her for a month and the way Rory's treated her for the past nine years is stark, no pun intended.

“Right, what am I talking about? This is probably crap compared to your-- To Stark’s,” Clint says, stumbling over the right way to refer to Tony. Emory can’t blame him. Technically, she’s not supposed to be Stark’s anything.

A stubborn kernel of hope blazes in her chest, as she says, “Honestly, after three solid months of bean soup for every meal, coffee is coffee,” and follows him into the kitchen. There’s a towel with one of those crochet button clasps hanging from the stove handle.

“Well, in that case, you’re just going from one bean soup to another.”

Emory takes his proffered cup and watches him walk over to clean the machine he’d made it with, real barista-level equipment. He shoots a look over his shoulder to catch her first sip. It’s delicious.

“Agent Barton, this is some high class bean soup. Thank you.”

“I made a promise that I would indulge myself every day. This is what I picked,” Clint says.

“You mean your overhanging death wall wasn’t it?” she asks, walking over to rest her hip on the kitchen island and watch him.

He chuckles. “No.”

“Thank you, truly,” she tells him after a few more (indulgent is definitely the word) sips. “I didn’t know how on Earth I was going to balance my association with Tony and my obligations to the mission. Staying here is the perfect compromise.”

“Glad to help,” Clint says gruffly, focused on wiping off the counter. “That can be a delicate thing. Worth it, though, if he is.”

Emory blows out a long sigh, staring at her feet. “Looking at it from the other way around, I sure hope it is.” Across the room, she hears him let out a similar noise and looks over, curious. Clint looks sheepish.

“I wasn’t supposed to mention him in case it got you charged up. Sorry about that.”

“Hah, so my self-doubt saved your apartment? Does that cancel out the whole dive-bomb rescue thing on the day we met?”

"Let's not get too hasty," he teases, jumping his eyebrows at her. A second later, he shifts into 'agent' mode. "We need to make a 'game plan.' The goal is for you to take a walk and get sighted. The building itself is secure; unofficially mostly government workers and domestic violence survivors live here, but there's an unspoken agreement with the local media about that." His smile is full of promise; whether it's for her protection or for a journalist's destruction if they choose to overstep is unclear.

“Guardians and survivors, convenient,” Emory murmurs.

“Exactly.” He pulls his phone from his pocket and starts tapping at it as he speaks. “Nat wants you to get groceries today, a courier will drop off a bank card. Says here yours was--” Clint frowns, squinting at the phone in his hand. As he reads, his jaw firms up into a hard frown. “Your account was closed ten days after the initial attack in Afghanistan. By Rory Fall. She showed them Power of Attorney papers.”

Shock and dismay lock up her muscles and she sways a little. Clint reaches out and grabs her upper arm to steady her. His grip isn’t meant to hurt, she can tell, but right now, everything is heightened, so the skin under his hands burns.

“Look at me,” he says. She does, still reeling, both surprised and (horribly) not surprised. “You okay?”

“I’ve watched her turn on people for years, I just never thought--” Emory shakes her head. Her tear ducts grind to a halt with the dry pain of understanding just how much she’s lost, how different her life is. Tears are premium content now, and she’s just a regular person.

“Did you make her your POA?”

She shakes her head again. “My parents sent me the paperwork for one. It was their last-ditch effort to-- To, crap, to prevent this, to stop Rory from trying to screw me over if we had a falling out. I didn’t sign them, but I didn’t get rid of them either.” Rory must have gone through her things and falsified the documents with her own name instead of Emory’s parents’. After all, everything in Rory Fall’s life was about Rory Fall. In Rory’s mind, Emory’s salary was ‘her money in the first place,’ after she’d been deserted during the most traumatic moment of her life. 

Fuck, Emory thinks to herself. Her own ‘most traumatic’ train is heading downhill, adding events as it goes, but she’s still rationalizing, still working to understand Rory’s actions. If only her former friend’s loyalty had run that deep!

Clint guides her toward his small couch, snagging her coffee cup on the way. “So they’re forged?” He sits her down and hands over the mug.

“I would never have given her Power of Attorney over me. In Rory’s twisted mind, she probably thinks it’s her money if I’m not there to spend it, but--”

He walks away from her abruptly. “No excuses.”

She’d been trying to explain Rory’s thought process, but the marksman’s curt comment hits home. 

Emory changes tack. “At least this works out perfectly for SHIELD! It proves I have no money,” she says, taking gulping sips of her cooled coffee. He doesn't answer, his head stuck in the fridge, shuffling things around. “What are you doing? Do you have some kind of crazy ‘dormant when refrigerated’ weapon in there?”

“I’m making a grocery list. One thing at a time.”

“That works,” she says, sitting back on the couch. As she lifts the mug to drain the last sip, Emory notices the design. It says, ‘Fix It Yourself.’ The O in ‘yourself’ is a bullseye, and the sideways word ‘it’ is made up of several arrows.

The only way to do that involves crossing half the globe and lying to the person who holds her life in the palm of their hand. Emory turns the cup so the words face away, but she knows she’ll have to follow its advice anyway.

The first thing Tony does when he finally wakes up is check on the status of the palladium shipment he appropriated from SI’s factory. The weapons ordered prior to Tony’s cut-off date of mid-July have been constructed and much of the raw material deliveries have been paused. During their discussions in the limo on the way to New York, Emory had suggested that the company offer a two or three week paid vacation for the factory employees whose jobs are in question. He’d set the thought aside in favor of spending time with her, but now Tony dials up Stane’s number to put that in motion.

“Hey, Tony. I see you were finally back to your old self last night!” Obie says, in greeting.

“Yeah, well, keeping up appearances,” Tony says. A knot forms in his gut, similar to what Emory had described when dealing with Rory. He’s not a fan. “Hey, you still planning to come out this direction next week?”

“Yeah, I have some loose ends to tie up. Why? Did you need something? If you’ve got some new projects I’d be happy to tell the boar--”

“Still percolating in there,” Tony interrupts. “I was looking to get ahold of the palladium we won't be needing. Instead of cancelling it I figured I'd just take the regular shipment. It’s just less hassle if you bring it.” 

There’s a sigh on the line. “Tony, I don’t think we have any extra right now. Did you order more on top of the standard delivery for the factory?”

“We’re not using it at the factory.”

“Tony, production doesn’t just halt overnight, we--”

“I was very clear about the deadlines,” Tony says, standing up to pace. The knot has turned into a lead weight. “We’ve satisfied our obligations up to the middle of July, which is why I was about to ask you to give the whole factory staff a two week paid vacation while we shift the production lines over to something more benign.” He can hear frantic typing on Stane’s end. “You didn’t halt the lines, did you?”

“Tony--”

“Did you?”

“I thought you were going to change your mind! It’s not sound business practice to interrupt production at this kind of scale on a whim!”

He’s having trouble swallowing, but it’s not because of the anxiety, it’s because of anger. “Shut it down. All of it. By the end of this week, or I’ll fly out there and give the maintenance guys something to do after I fire a couple of repulsors at every piece of equipment!” Tony slams his hand down on a worktable, knowing Obie will hear the sound through the phone line. “Come on! You knew I wasn’t going to budge on this!”

“I needed to know you were serious, and now I know you’re serious,” Stane says, a hint of the ‘make it right’ businessman tone returning to his voice. “Tell you what: let me boost the palladium order for this next week so there's enough for both. We’ll extend production ‘till the end of July, make it a nice round number, give these workers some warning, okay? August is a better vacation month anyway. First of August they’ll get two weeks paid vacation, everyone but security.”

Tony’s jaw is so tightly clenched he can’t respond right away.

“Tony? Hey, I know you’re passionate about this stuff but we’re still a business. A month is a much better time frame to develop a new plan. You know I’m right.”

“Do it, then,” Tony grits out.

“Good man,” Obie says in the fatherly tone Tony’s come to despise. “I’ll bring the palladium in a week. When I get there, you’ll give me some kind of an idea of what we’re transitioning to, and the two of us will get the company back on solid ground. See you then.”

Stane hangs up without a response.

“JARVIS, was there ever a slow-down in production?” Tony asks, the second he sets his phone down.

“All I can find is an internal memo informing workers that there may be a temporary halt sometime in July.”

“Right.”

Tony throws himself in his chair, the momentum carrying it away from his desk, which is just as well. He needs to calm down before he makes any of this worse. He briefly considers going upstairs and getting Emory’s shirt, since it smells like her, but that reminds him too much of what he’d done at seventeen. He’d had the housekeeping staff pack up his dad’s clothes and general belongings to put them in storage right away, but kept his mothers things where they were for months. He’d yo-yo between extremes, partying it up and pretending he didn’t care, then curling up on his mother’s side of the bed hugging one of her dresses, sobbing.

With a sigh, Tony recognizes that this comparison is toxic; Emory is alive and his, a partner who needs Tony’s actions, not his sentimentality. He resolves to work on his secret project for her this evening, as soon as he gets a few things out of the way.

“All right,” he says aloud, walking the chair back to his desk without getting up, Flintstones-style. “Do we have the capability to store palladium at our New York office? There are still research labs there, right JARVIS?”

“Indeed there are.”

“Order some under the name of the most senior employee with a note that they’re to contact me and only me upon receipt, but be diplomatic. I don’t want to signal a rift.”

“Are you certain they’ll believe it was from you, sir?”

“Funny,” Tony says. “Next item: I’d like to use Stane’s Opposition Strategy on SHIELD, with some modifications. Copy over all related files and analyze them for anything that might get Nick Fury’s panties in a bunch if I implement it.”

“Estimate ten minutes for full copy, twenty more for analysis. Do you wish me to erase evidence of the copy?”

“Good catch, make it so.”

He gets up to make a smoothie, patting Dum-E on the way over. It had been JARVIS who’d suggested bringing his ‘pets,’ another point in the AI’s column of knowing Tony better than he knew himself, sometimes. As the blender spun, Tony thought over what he knew about Stane’s Oppo strategy. JARVIS will be more thorough, but there’s only so much intuition one can program in. Tony knows he probably relies too much on intuition, but something about SHIELD feels off, and before he throws in his lot with the agency, he wants to know why. It’s no different than when they run the program on a company they hope to buy out.

The key part of the Strategy is analysis. That’s what Tony wants to use on SHIELD, despite the fact that the data set will be incomplete, given how secret most of their operations are. What he’s hoping for is a glimpse into the vulnerabilities of the agency, as evidenced by what the deep dive comparisons that the Opposition Strategy might reveal. That thought prompts another one.

“Hey, J? Do a quick scan through the Not Nows and Not Yets, in projects. I want to know whether anyone’s done some poking around in the past two weeks.” The blender stops, and Tony adds, “Hell, add the current ones too, note any unusual access.”

After a minute, JARVIS says, “Two files show anomalous access, both by Mr. Stane after hours, approximately eight days ago.”

The knot is back. “Hit me.”

“Multiple copies of the Repulsor technology details and schematics in various places, some encrypted. Single copy of the Sonic Taser, encrypted. Access was from his private residence.”

“Obie, Obie, what are you doing?” Tony says, brows furrowed. “Didn’t the government threaten us with new legislation if we didn’t completely scrap and bury that Taser?”

“Colonel Rhodes likened pursuing the project further to ‘peeing on the third rail in public, within a mile of an elementary school,’ yes, sir.”

“He’s just jealous he didn’t get a working ‘Get Out of Indecent Exposure Charges Free’ card from MIT security,” Tony laughs. “God bless gender quota hiring.” A second later, he freezes in the act of taking a sip of his smoothie. “Son of a bitch. Obie didn’t destroy the prototype, did he?”

“Ascertaining that will be difficult, and likely will require physical interviews, which may create more trouble than you may wish to-- wait, what am I saying?”

“You’re saying trouble is my middle name, JARVIS. Usually you’d be right, but this time I’d like to avoid the consequences if at all--” Tony gulps down the rest of the smoothie over the word ‘possible’ and sets the cup down for his robot to clean. He points at Dum-E. “If that breaks, I’ll let a group of toddlers glue the pieces all over you, wherever they want.” He gestures broadly as he back-walks to the desk.

“Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but parents generally avoid letting their small children anywhere near broken glass,” JARVIS points out.

“Well, that’s boring,” Tony observes. “What was I saying?”

“Ironically, you were discussing your desire to avoid consequences.”

“Personally, yes. I’ll reserve judgement on Stane, though. I want to know what he’s up to, first.” 

He sits down at the desk and thinks about the Sonic Taser. Its function is really limited outside of law enforcement and military use, though he had joked about using it to make the board sit still and listen to him. The thing is inherently antagonistic; the only way to avoid total, temporary incapacitation is to already be wearing earplugs before the device is activated. 

“Do they make undetectable earplugs?” he muses aloud. He takes threats to his autonomy very seriously, unless they’re hot, wearing spandex, and digging a knee into his lower back.

“You have asked that question a total of three times since my creation, and the answer has been ‘no’ for two of those times,” JARVIS states dryly.

“That’s a yes now, then? Order me a pair.” Murphy’s Law states that if he’s prepared for a threat, it’ll never materialize, but something about Obie’s demeanor lately feels vaguely threatening. He wouldn’t put it past the guy to use the Taser to force Tony to listen to him. After Afghanistan, Tony’s through being forced to do anything. At that thought, a collage of images cross his mind’s eye, all of Emory, and he has to amend his previous assertion to ‘almost’ anything.

“Analysis complete,” JARVIS says, filling Tony’s screen with various windows of information. “Advise not exercising official channels to request mission data from the military, but speaking to Colonel Rhodes, instead. Strongly suggest not revealing any knowledge of statistical data when speaking to Agent Coulson or Director Fury. Further conclusions will require an examination of the program results.” JARVIS pauses, then adds, “In summary, I predict a high chance of panty bunching. Proceed with caution.”

Tony cracks a smile despite himself. “Will do. Run the program, I’ll call Rhodes.”

Next chapter, the effects of serum withdrawal start to hit Emory, meaning that the mission must come soon; Tony seeks to reassure her and himself with a spicy phone call.

[tllgrrl]

The Big, Fancy Serving Dish - Continued (an excerpt) by @tllgrrl aka Nefertiri Jones

Fleur De Louve SarahBucky Month 2023 - Week 4, Day 7: Family Dinner

Relationships-Sarah Wilson/Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson/Misty Knight, and OCs | Rated: SFW

This excerpt takes place during the family dinner mentioned in a previous story: The Big, Fancy Serving Dish.

* * * * * * * * * *

“ It’s called serobe.”

“Say-roh-bey? Is that right, Sargent—I mean, Bucky?”

He was holding an almost full plate, and she was giving him a tour of all the different dishes of food brought by everyone when she stopped at the one in the center of the main table.

The big, fancy serving dish on the warmer.

He leaned slightly forward and said something in her ear, she giggled, swatting his arm.

Sarah, Misty, and Sam stood on the other side of the room, transfixed, watching the 100+ year old man, charming the socks off of Sam and Sarah’s titi.

“Is she…?” Sarah whispered.

“Is he…?” Misty whispered back.

“Imma kill ‘im,” Sam growled.

“What!?”

“Why?”

“Look at him. Flirting and going on.”

“Sam. He is older than her.”

“I know. Man stays being a cradle robber.”

That last part he said under his breath, but just loud enough for Bucky’s supersoldier hearing to catch, and Bucky let Sam know he heard it because he looked over at Sam, grinned a big wolfish grin, and gave a wink that made Sarah whoop and cover her mouth as Misty turned around and quickly walked away almost whisper-screaming “Oh no he didn’t!”

Sarah heard her laughter coming from the kitchen.

“And save some food for the rest of us,” Sam continued to grouse a little louder. “That’s your second plate. Can’t take you anywhere.”

“Let the man eat, Sam!” Aunt Lee chuckled “There’s more than enough food!”

Misty returned from the kitchen and continued to snicker with Sarah.

“What are you two laughing at,” Sam glared. “Sarah, the man is flirting with our aunt.”

“I think it’s cute, and she’s having fun! She’s 80, looks like she’s still in her 60s, she’s a widow, and she’s still spry. He’s over 100 and doesn’t regularly get to talk to people who remember The old Old Days. Let them live!”

“You might want to keep an eye on your aunt, though, Sarah,” Misty adds. “Sam tells me Miss Lee has buried 3 husbands. White Wolf has that serum, but he might not stand a chance against —“

“Come on now, Miss Lee! Really? Three?” Bucky pretended to be delightedly aghast.

Lee raised a knowing eyebrow, primly purses her lips, and gave him the head tilt that said “If You Know, You Know”, then they both laughed.

“No, no and no,” Sam says, walking away while keeping his eyes pinned on Bucky. “This is just…wrong.” he hisses and keeps walking while the two senior citizens continue to banter.

Sarah noticed the lightness in Bucky’s demeanor as he laughed with her Aunt. Lee giggled like a schoolgirl, and when she gently touched his right arm, he didn’t flinch or go still. He didn’t look the least bit uncomfortable with the contact.

Then she whispered something in his ear, and he looked over at Sarah, catching her eyes.

The unguarded and completely open look on his face made her catch her breath, and she whispered to herself, “There you are.”

He nodded, and she could read his lips when he said “God knows I do,” then slightly ducked his head, and smiled.

* * * * * * * * * *

serobe is an offal dish from Botswana made from goat, sheep or cow intestines and sometimes trotters. Chitterlings—or chit’lins—usually made with pork intestines, can also be made from goat or sheep.

* * * * * * * * * *

Good intentions, good intentions. I tried to do a one shot continuation of a dinner mentioned in a previous fic, and combine the prompt “Family Dinner” with “Gratitude”, but it turned into a thing with many moving parts and I ran out of time, so, hopefully this can slide in and be included for the Week and I’ll try to get the complete story and a little moodboard thing together for ChristmaHanuKwanza.

[heyftinally]

More:

If you had an IEP or 504 in K-12 school, you probably qualify for accommodations in college. Find your school's disability services department ASAP once you get on campus (ideally before classes start) and find out what you need to do to get accommodations. Find out what you need to do, what your profs need to do, and what you need to do in following semesters/years (some make you resubmit stuff every semester/year, other's don't. Check *before* it screws you over).

Unless you have accommodations for attendance, play it safe and be as on time as possible to every class for the first week or two. Some professors are chill if you're a little late or don't care much for attendance, others will be demons from hell that will mark you absent for being five minutes late. Make sure you know who is who *before* you decide to cut class.

READ. THE. SYLLABUS. PLEASE. I promise, it's important. Some are shittier than others, but make sure you pull out whatever info you can. Like when the midterm is due - put that in your calendar NOW so you don't forget later.

Walk the campus before the first day of classes and find your classrooms, if you can. Find what path you want to use to get from one class to another, especially if they're back to back, and practice it. Time how long to takes you to walk between classes if you need to worry about being on time.

If you have a roommate, do your best to be pleasant with them, and PLEASE be considerate of them, and expect the same in return. It's not out of line to say "Hey, is there any chance you could turn down your Netflix while I finish this essay?" or " if you bring food in the room, can you please sweep after? We're starting to get bugs". If they aren't being a considerate roommate, talk to your RA, student affairs, or the housing center about getting some moderation.

BRING. WATER. Seriously, dehydration will get you out of nowhere, and if you have an 80° classroom you'll be glad you have it.

Check your schedule and make a note of when you'll be able to eat. If you have class before the dining hall opens or after it closes, you'll be pretty unhappy. Compare your schedule with the dining hall hours, and if there's a conflict make a plan for how you're going to deal with that.

WATCH YOUR MEAL PLAN. It's *SO* easy to over spend early in the semester, and by the last few weeks you're starving. Depending on how your school works will change exactly how you approach it, but as a base level you want to divide your total amount or meal plan by the number of days in the semester, and then divide that number by three. That's how much you can spend per meal (roughly).

When you're planning your schedule, plan time for school (and homework), fun activities, time with friends, and time to decompress. Sometimes those things can overlap - a bunch of friends doing homework is fantastic if that works for you, so long as everyone can respect that people are trying to get work done. But if you can, plan one day a week that's just for you to relax.

It's okay to use Google or ask for help if you can't figure out the laundry machines. Just make sure you stay on top of your laundry.

If you're having trouble in a class or with an assignment, talk to your professor. Your chances of getting an extension go up by about 98% if it's more than three hours before the assignment is due (and your odds get better the earlier it is). Go to office hours. Ask to meet to have them read your rough draft. Tell them you're struggling and need support. Most of the time, they're willing to help as long as you don't make it last minute.

Learn how to write a professional email. It might sound dumb, but seriously, professors are WAY more likely to respond the way you want if you ask politely in a professional manner. Doesn't have to be big, just a simple "dear professor X, as I am working on my American History essay, I am not anticipating having my best work ready to submit to you in class tomorrow. Is there any possibility you would be willing to offer an extension, please? All the best, Name"

As an extension of the above, make all of your email subject lines "course code - assignment". For example, ENG 114 - Shakespeare Compare and Contrast". Every professor will appreciate it, and it will earn you points for making their life easier.

Actual good first-time college student advice:

Wear jeans/pants that “breathe” and bring a sweater, even if it’s scorching hot out, until you know which building blasts the AC to 60 degrees F and which feels like a sauna

Backpacks with thick straps are your friend!  Messenger bags are cool and all but if you’re commuting with a lot of stuff, symmetrically styled backpacks are better for your back

You are your own person and you can walk out whenever you need to or want to, so long as you’re not disrupting the class.  Meaning you can go to the bathroom without permission, take a breather if you’re anxious, answer an important phone call, etc.

If you don’t like the class on the first day, if you can- DROP THAT CLASS AND TAKE ANOTHER ONE!  It’ll only get worse from there!

If you can, take a class outside your major; it’s a good break from your expected studies.

You are in charge of your schedule.  Your adviser and guidance counselor is there to ‘advise and guide’ but if you don’t like certain classes and you can substitute for others, that’s your choice.

Consequently, if you are changing anything drastic in your plan, talk with your adviser and instructors.

Pay attention to your credit hours and grades.  Never leave this to the last week of school, you will be sorry and stressed beyond belief!

Unless it’s a lab book or otherwise specified, go to the class for a week or so before buying an expensive textbook.  Some classes, while having it on their required list, do not actually use the textbook a whole lot and you might find some of it scanned online.  Rent if you can or buy used online (schools actually don’t give discounts).  Use your best judgement on what you think you need.

Tell the people who go up to you selling or advertising things you are not interested in that you are in a rush to class and don’t have time to listen to them.  It’s less rude and they’ll leave you alone.

The smaller the class, the better it is to have some sort of acquaintanceship with a couple classmates.  They might save your ass if you are absent one day or need to study.  And talking with them makes the time go by faster without it being so insufferable.

You don’t need to join a club or sport, but internships are cool and useful!

If you can afford it, take a day off once or twice each semester if you’re too exhausted.  Just be aware of what you missed and if it was worth missing!

Your health is the most important, this goes for mental health too!!  Note: College-age/upper teens is when mental disorders like depression and anxiety are most commonly diagnosed.  Most schools have therapy services, especially during exam time.  Look into it if you need to!

Communicate with your professor if you are having trouble with something.  Anything.

Eat and stay hydrated.  Bring a water bottle and snack to class.

All-nighters will happen but never go over 36 hours without sleep.

It’s going to be hard and there will be times you might think about giving up.  This WILL happen.  You just have to make sure what you’re doing isn’t making you absolutely miserable and/or there is something rewarding and positive to look forward to at the end!

[thurisazsalail]

Tumblr people, do you know how lucky I am?

Today is 9/9/24

Around september 2004, i was about a year from graduating high school

It was so hard. I am lucky I graduated at all. What good is hyperlexia at a college level when *entering kindergarten* if your surroundings and finances prohibit education

I think that was the year i had begged my way into a mostly-black, very socially segregated F-rated school in one of the worst states in the US for education. The teachers (and classmates) were awesome, but what can they do under No Child Left Behind defunding them to institute the Air Force recruiting (and less stated, school to prison don't got a pipeline there. It's the pond that pipeline dumps out at before prison, like a moat.)

But it meant 2 hours of transit across town. I'd get up around 5am, walk blocks to a dark bus stop near a semi-wooded private road by 5:20ish to meet the 5:30ish bus (*usually* it came. Not always.) The bus transfer didn't always get to school on time, so i often missed breakfast and sometimes home room period, which meant fighting absences I didn't have. When I got home, it would be 5:30pm or later. I had homework, sometimes HOURS of it to compensate for the learning disabilities everyone said I definitely didn't have. I also babysat siblings, cooked, did laundry, unloaded dishes, and had animal care duties. Depending on the day, I also had assorted under the table jobs. I might get to sleep by midnight or 1am. Normal for years. And all the damage that comes with it.

While fighting worse and worse anaemia and whatever was making me bruise to the touch since about 12-13. Docs kept saying it was nothing. I couldn't ride my grandmother's bike anymore, not even for one whole street. My lungs felt like I had been hit in the chest. The more air I tried to get, the less oxygen I felt like I had.

In Sept 2014, I was getting ready to quit a job. It was that or die. I thought that then, I think so now. I wanted to keep working it though.

In Sept 2013, my partner was working full time and I had 3 part time jobs, but ome wasn't scheduling except rarely (off season for catering) and wages in this area were abysmal. This was the beginning of the housing investor crisis, before anyone but the poorest were paying attention to it. Rent had almost doubled, too much to pay but moving cost first and last month's rent, plus security deposit (up to a month's rent) plus pet fees, plus moving costs like paying to change both our driver's licenses (mandatory in 30 days,) electric bill transfer fee + new deposit (often $200-400 at the time,)... pet fee + pet rent, etc. Oh yeah, and each application could be $50-80 PER PERSON for a new apartment. Non refundable. Also requirements are a surprise! And if they got your identity wrong (they did w my partner, twice) there is no recourse. :)

So when a guy in a new-new bmw decided that traffic laws weren't for him, slammed into my car, and drove off, i didn't *just* have a severe concussion + injuries he didn't pay for. Witnesses didn't stay, of course. The car was wrecked. The cops *eventually* found him- because he reported that I hit HIM amd drove away.

I lost all 3 jobs. No transportation. When my partner's boss found out, he was fired. Even though he was literally 15mins single bus trip down the road. That's legal in Florida.

So that day, we had nothing.

It takes months to collect unemployent and Florida had recently been held by the DOJ for violating federal rules on that, too, for illegal employment tests. So that was out. And my jobs wouldn't qualify anyways. And they only pay a few hundred a month, if that. And we wouldn't qualify for food stamps (SNAP/EBT) bc of minimum work requirements.

Oh yeah, injuries and no car.

Also the cops gave the guy a moving violation ticket, which he fought in court, sparking a lawsuit that took years. At the end, it barely paid for a other 10 year old used car.

So I got the only job that would hire me within that 2-3 weeks: a restaurant that didn't care how I got there or ask questions. Or do paperwork, really.

It saved us. They saved us.

It paid below wages but I ate for free, unlimited soup + salad, and whatever the kitchen made for employees at lunch and dinner. Often that was what I could get. Sometimes what customers sent back, if it wasn't picked over or 'wet,' like a soup or something. Whatever. I have eaten flowers and moss, long before this "foraging" trend. I do not care.

But the hours were often long. Up around 6:30, walk to the bus by 7:15 (i think?) Get to work by 9, prep food, stock, clean my area of the kitchen + front. Double shifts until close. I preferred that anyways. Take the money, and lower bus:work ratio. Sometimes I hauled laundry with me so I could do it nearby between breaks. We didn't have a washer or dryer.

There were 2-3 of us for the floor, but by 2014, it was just me. Some people came and went, one went back to another state, one I fired while the boss was gone and learned enough mandarin to explain "heroin," and another lied for weeks to get paid and not show. Things were as bad for the boss. Their partner had a very bad pregnancy, and he couldn't afford to hire people to run the place. The remaining 3-4 of us did what we could. I learned kitchen stock, appetizer cooking, did all the dishes, prep for front + inventoried/ordered beer, figured out how to make it work with vendors (wonderful people) and more. Another financial devastation cropped up when Walmart bought the space. Landlord made everyone move BUT refused to pay for adequate, up to code restaurant space. Shut down or pay up.

Soon, I went from working 4-5 days a week, open-close, and then getting home to do chores and run the etsy shop, to doing the same but working 7 days a week with a few days off a month. My partner was in the middle of a total breakdown while looking for work (while over 45. Not looking good.) No mental health or medical services in Florida. So... just die.

Pretty soon, the body couldn't take it. I was having panic attacks when getting dressed. My feet felt like they were broken, and worse if I put weight on them. I couldn't afford a day off. Literally, couldn't afford it.

What rare time off I'd had months before, *of course* I'd applied for other work. All kinds. Duh. Minimum wage jobs like Barnes + Noble told me that they'd had SO MANY BA grads apply, they wanted someone with a Master's in lit or english. For $9/hr or less. This was normal.

Also the mold in my apartment, courtesy of a slumlord, was causing me to lock up if I was home too long. I spent hours in a cold shower to breathe again. The vents were black. The A/C caught fire- good thing my partner didn't have a job! He was home to stop it! In weeks, I broke into hives and was hospitalized.

I had to find something physically easier.

In Sept 2024, yeah I'm on SSD. No, it pays nothing. Less than $1000/mo to cover all meds, doctor appointments, MRIs, transportation, etc. So less than medical alone costs. I get nothing else. My partner's job is in-person in FL and supports his health issues without a problem.

I eat every single day now.

My health is much worse, so I routinely freak out over how much food I wasted money on, only to not be able to make it or if I wasted precious money and energy making it, I can't eat it.

But I could eat every day. Without working in restaurants and "stealing" fries or pieces of leftover meat. Without relying on free tea and soup. If I don't eat all of something, I don't even have to think about the exact number of calories I got today and what I lose by not eating that thing. I can *even* just throw it away. Something I could not do for years.

I eat a sushi lunch special probably once a week now. Some of it is luxury. Some is because certain fish seems to be one of few things that doesn't make me bloat or itch, and I cannot stand the smell of cooked fish *at all.* Even if I don't/can't eat it in one sitting, I can finish it in a few hours or so. I still eat the soups and salads. I can eat miso soup again without having the "american college student reaction to ramen." My partner insists, even if we need to save the money.

My apartment is pretty nice now, actually. It's older than I am but inside, it's nice. I don't need to do flights of stairs now and the outdoor space is very green. I haven't worried about paying rent in a few years.

What a completely different life than 2014 or 2004.

Idk what the point of all this was. Except that I'm lucky. And I definitely couldn't forsee any of this, except how disabling the body was going to get. I didn't think we'd get this far.

Stay tuned y'all. Everything sucks and the world is on fire.

For right now, the lunch special is $17.

[matchupsblog]

Hello lovely! I was wondering if I could maybe hopefully get a Dirty Dancing, Star Wars and Game of thrones matchup? I’m 20 and use she/her pronouns. I’m bi so any gender is fine. For personality I’m creative, introverted, and individualistic. Though I’m introverted, around my friends/when I’m comfortable I can be quite talkative and humorous. However, I definitely treasure my alone time the most. Im a very big homebody and can be very hermit introvert sometimes. As for bad traits, I am sometimes the worst pessimist when it comes to myself. I’ll be fine motivating others but then when it comes to me I live by the “be ready for the worst and you wont be disappointed” As for hobbies escaping to new worlds while reading books/comics, watching movies, and playing rpg video games. My favorite genres are fantasy and sci-fi, though I do love a good classic from time to time. Apart from that, I love working out. My interests on the other hand are art focused. I’m currently in art school working with mostly digital mediums, though I sometimes work with traditional. I love my practice and everything including, game, web and interaction design, video art and visual effects, 3D modeling and character design, and digital illustration. Sometimes I whip out graphite and ink.

A list of random likes: coffee, chai tea, dark chocolate, rock/blues/jazz/80s pop/soundtrack music, statement jewelry and accessories, cafe art shows, arcades, comic book stores, purple, thai/Indian/Chinese food, roller blading to classic rock, quality alone time.

A random list of dislikes: people i am unfamiliar (I have trust issues oops) with and have to make small talk with, the biting cold, rain, non fiction, staying too close to reality and not being allowed to daydream/imagine/roam freely in my thoughts, physical touch, overly crowded areas. I think that’s it thank you!

Hi! Sorry this took so long but here it is now.

For Dirty Dancing, I ship you with...

Johnny Castle

Johnny would love your creativity and encourage you to pursuit your interests, regardless of financial and other issues.

You had known eachother since childhood. One of your favourite memories was sitting on some wall with Penny near where you all lived and pretending to bet on whether Billy or Johnny would win some fight they were having for some stupid reason you could not remember.

You had grown up together, never being apart for long. Penny had a vague memory of Billy making a joke when you were all in your early teenage years. He had claimed that you and Johnny had a magnetic force pulling you together, and that it was virtually impossible to sepparate you.

All four of you had started working at the hotel at the same time. Johnny and Penny being the first to get jobs, then they later managed to reccomend you and Billy for vacant jobs in the staff. Apart from the pay and shitty treatment from the more fortunate staff, the four of you working together almost felt like a dream that you never wanted to wake up from. You took a job working as an art teacher, running painting, drawing and many other types of classes over the weeks at the hotel.

When you found out that Penny was pregnant, you tried to be optimistic for her, but you couldn't help but be afraid. Afraid of what might happen if Max found out, of all of you losing your jobs and therefore everything. Johnny could tell. It was difficult to lie to him anyway but as Billy also joked about, you both knew eachother too well.

A part of him supposedly knowing you too well was that he knew you were extremely pessimistic about yourself, and he hated that. He wanted you to really know how he felt about you, and know how amazing you truly are.

Since it was definitely one of the bigger rooms that staff had, you shared a room at the hotel. There was a lot of empty space in the room, so the two of you converted one of the corners into a kind of art studio for you to use in your free time.

That was how the two of you often spent your free time. He loved to watch you work- your focus and dedication was inspiring to him.

When it came to romantic gestures, you both knew that you never had much money, and when you did it wouldn't last long. It was the small things that you really appreciated. Whether that was you buying him a new vinyl, him getting you a new book, or any other small gestures.

Some of the best moments of his life were the two of you, sat in your room listening to music. Whether you were deep in a conversation about pretty much anything or in complete silence, the two of you couldn't have been happier. He enjoyed your company just as much as you did his.

—————————————————————

For Star Wars, I match you with...

Padme

You grew up together on Naboo, which meant that you had known eachother well from a young age.

That also meant you could feel comfortable around her from a young age.Wh

The two of you share a lot of private time. Padme loves to see you being open and feeling as if you can really be yourself. Padme almost felt the same, given her political position, she needed to hide who she really was from the public. You could both be honest and yourselves when you were alone.

When Padme would leave Naboo or have to stay elsewhere for her work, she would practically count down the hours before she could return home to you. Even if it was only a few days, you would miss eachother a lot.

Padme would try to stay positive and optimistic when you found it difficult. Even if you tried to hide it, pretending to feel happy and confident around others, she would try to help you feel more confident in yourself, whether that be small gestures or larger ones.

Whilst your interests may have differed (Padme dedicating her life to politics and you dedicating yours to arts), Padme took an interest in your work. She loved your art and how unique it is.

Another thing that you both loved was reading together. Both of you would enjoy reading fiction together, often using it to escape the world that you lived in.

When you read together, there would be a comfortable silence until it was broken every now and then by one of you commenting on the book you were reading.

Given that she was forced into politics at a young age, Padme was more experienced in creating formal relationships and found romantic gestures more difficult that you would.

Often, Padme would gift you with new art supplies.

She would be fully aware of your boundaries when it came to the relationship between the two of you and your relationship with other people, especially people that you do not know well.

Since you would be uncomfortable around people you are unfamilliar with, she would do what she could to keep you out of her work. Whenever she attended dinner meetings or other events that might involve your attendence, she would try to keep them short and fast, so that you would not be uncomfortable.

—————————————————

For Game of Thrones, I match you with...

Jamie Lannister

(I've only seen the first four series and avoid spoilers at all costs so sorry if he turns out of be an asshole in later series but he seems like a relatively decent person at the minute)

You had met in Lannisport years before he moved to Kingslanding.

When he moved to Kingslanding, you had already been together for quite some time so you moved with him.You

Whilst you had been with him, you had been able to be more open and confident in pursuing your interests. He loved that you felt this way and wanted nothing more than for you to be able to follow your dreams and be able to do what you are really passionate about.

When you were home together, Jamie would love to sit down with a drink of wine as you worked on your art.

As it would just about anyone, his title 'Kingslayer' would scare you. Make you feel anxious in battle. No matter how good he was at fighting, it seemed that this name was almost like a target on his back. He tried to convince you that he could protect himself, though you always worried that his title was like a challange and one day someone would be able to say that they had murdered the kingslayer.

When you moved to Kinglanding, you would spend most of your time together since neither of you really knew many other people. This didn't change as you began to get used to your new home, though you valued your alone time and he respected this, giving you space when you wanted it.

He would be aware of your discomfort around unfamilliar people and try to make sure you were rarely, if ever put in a position that could make you feel uncomfortable or anxious.

When Jamie realised that he wanted to marry you, he took you to one of the gardens in kingslanding. You spend almost an hour walking around the gardens together, talking about anything that came up.

When you reached a spot with one of the most beautiful views for miles, he seemed slightly panicked, which was not something you had seen in him before. He was fidgeting, stuttering a little and you were almost concerned.

He didn't seem to know what to say, though afterwards you were certain he would have tried to rehearse it in the mirror or in his head hundreds of times before doing it.

When he did manage to build up the confidence to get down on one knee, all he could do was ask that nessecary question.

"Will you marry me?"

———————————————

Hope this is okay for you!

[loveisliquor]

she nods an answer to his question-- "yeah. this is me." his reaction makes her laugh-- and it's enough to bleed some of the tension from her gut. "i.... blame my dad. he thought it was a perfectly adequate 30th birthday gift-- sometimes i think all of that coke in the 80s ate away at his common sense..." she loves the house though, it's evident with how much of her exists within it, the soft textures, the warm tones everywhere, the art. its more rooms than sense, but she fills it with love and people and makes it a home as best she can. "um yes. snacks are an important food group." he puts her at ease, even when there's nerves fluttering low in her gut, they're the good kind. they blossom into something beautiful when he smiles at her like that, and tucks her hair behind her ear. her heart stutters as he holds her gaze. "...you can taste me?" her lips are still a little swollen from their earlier kisses and her cheeks haven't lost their flush either. "you're currently top 5-- but something tells me you'll make your way up my list of favourite humans, terrifyingly quickly." she gives him a soft smile and shrugs her shoulders. she over thinks things, like why affection feels like a natural language between them, or why she feels both comfortable and pent up-- or why this thing felt like it had legs already.

his question catches her a little off guard, turns the smile on her face into something with an edge, something with heat. "yeah. that's what i want--" he's close again, and it's making the world blur a little at the edges, until he kisses her so softly it makes her chest ache. makes all of that want feel more like a need. she leans in, chases the kiss with each brush of his tongue, until she's giggling and flushed. "teasing me like that is just plain mean--" she sticks her tongue out at him, before taking his hand in hers. "water is...this way." she leads him past a living room, and into her kitchen. it's all warm lights, emerald cabinets, and marble counter tops with a huge island. there's fruit in a bowl and a cookie jar, half full of something delicious. you can see some of her garden from here, through a wall of windows, green and vibrant even in the dark. she opens her fridge, a humongous double door, and pulls out a glass bottle of water. "is-- this okay? do you have water preferences-- some people do. but you...seem relatively sane. so still or sparkling might be it." she's used to dealing with the kind of people that were obsessed with types of water in a way that was worrying. she lets go of his hand so she can grab two glasses and pour them both some water. "in the spirit of intimacy, i should probably tell you-- i've never brought a guy home after the first date. i'm fairly sure i've dated guys who have no idea where i live. i'm not sure what it means that i want you here-- but i do." she smiles softly, holding his gaze over the rim of her glass. she isn't sure what it means that she's willing to have him in her space so soon, doesn't want to examine it too closely in the morning. practicality is for things like monday mornings, not midnights in kitchens with ocean eyed boys. she sets her glass down. "now, if you're done with that water. i believe you made me a promise..." she takes a step into his personal space again, into his orbit. "and i intend to help you keep it."

“that’s all i want…just want to make you feel good,” theo spoke lazily into billie’s ear, leaving kisses on her temple. there was one of the few times theo wasn't completely in his head. being in the backseat with billie, exploring each other, felt steady and natural. he didn't want to take that for granted. "aww -- soon, baby. soon. we're almost there," theo cooed; the yearning in her whisper warmed his heart more than anything. it was an honor to be wanted by billie, to know that she felt safe enough to tell him. everything -- from the way she spoke to him to her addictive hold on his length and especially the feeling of her tongue wrapped around his -- it nearly sent him over the edge. he begged her to slow down. "yeah...but i want to enjoy you more. i want to feel you come on my dick -- not just my fingers," he was smiling, sighing as she listened to him. he liked slow. he liked just being there with her.

to say that theo was distracted when they arrived at their destination was an understatement. he was too busy learning how billie worked, what made her lose her breath or writhe against his hand. her driver clearing his throat instilled a sort of panic in theo, sobering him up quickly. he zipped his pants up, watching billie slip her panties off with an odd look on his face -- though a sudden wash of amusement flooded his features as he followed her out. theo was definitely laughing at the situation he'd found himself in. it was mostly nerves, but there was a certain comedy in being the guy with his dick out in the back of a superstar's chauffeured car. the apology left him involuntarily along with a gracious thank you before eddie drove off.

"this you?" theo finally took in the enormity of billie's home. he expected something spectacular, but this house was in an entirely different league. "billie...what the fuck?" he swiped his free hand over his mouth. he was speechless. "you're offering me a snack right now," he smiled softly, tucking strands of raven behind her ear, "i can literally taste you on my fingers, and you're offering me a snack. you're my favorite person." theo shook his head, laughing quietly. it was beat change from the vixen stroking his cock just a few minutes ago, but he loved a woman that could do both. "billie," he took her face into his hands, "i fully intend on fucking the shit out of you right now -- is that what you want? that's okay?" theo whispered, pressing the softest kiss into her mouth. "don't be nervous," he teased her, pulling back just an inch every time she tried to kiss him back -- just to barely run his tongue along her parted lips in return. satisfied, his breath warm against her lips, he took her up on her offer, "i'll actually take a glass of water." hydration was important! plus, he still had to take in the sheer vastness of her home, and what better place to start than the kitchen.

[mymainwastoocluttered]

Anything You Can Do (Jamil)

Jamil is incredibly dedicated to his charade of mediocrity, but Reader can snap him out of it faster than he can scramble for his usual level-head

AKA: (almost) anything Jamil does, Reader can do better and it drives him crazy

— (°ω°╬)

Years of perfecting himself, building skill upon skill to be the best retainer for the spoiled brat Kalim, while also perfecting the facade of just average so said brat boy wouldn't be outshined

ALL GONE IN A BLINK

FUCK

Jamil isn't one for raging. He gets annoyed, he sasses and maybe even snaps sometimes, but lately, he's gotten so worked up that he can't help it

His many pillows have met the walls of his room too many times

All because he just. Can't. Win.

Jamil can cook? (Y/N)'s food is apparently tastier and better looking, according to everyone (but Kalim). Jamil can clean? (Y/N) renovated the entire Ramshackle building practically by herself. Jamil can dance? (Y/N) also dances and he will admit himself that she's absolutely mesmerizing. Jamil can play basketball? (Y/N) used to be in her previous world's school team... As the captain.

The only two things he does that she can't do are tending to Kalim and using magic, both which he can't pride himself for being superior

He promised himself years ago that he'd never feel proud that he is Kalim's slave servant. That, and the mere thought of her tending to Kalim makes Jamil feel a bit too murder happy, independent of how well she might do it

And magic is just something he was born with, it's hard to feel superior when she can literally do everything he can without the safety net of magic. And it would've been unfair to say he's better in a competition she can't even participate

He feels the need to prove to (Y/N) that he is capable. Of what exactly, he doesn't know, but he feels the need to prove himself and it makes his self control slip and next thing he knows, he's getting above 90 in all tests, outshining Kalim's ~80 for the first time since they were children

And. He. Still. Lost.

Because (Y/N) just had to go the extra mile and get even higher scores than him

He feels like slapping his cheeks in the hopes of waking up from this nightmare

And maybe forget the warmth that pooled inside him when she—his rival—congratulated him with a sunny smile and told him she was proud of him for showing his intelligence

Again. FUCK.

— (°ω°╬)

Jamil is not one for running away, specially not like a sinner running in shame from the temple, but this time he barely processes who talked to thin before turning to walk the opposite side. Of all days for Kalim to be sick and leave Jamil alone. Were he a bit more paranoid, he's wonder if they were working behind his back, but, then again, Kalim would never be able to hide a plot from Jamil.

So he runs.

Until he doesn't.

Because Jamil is a failure, he's figuring, a weak man who cannot help but yearn for his tormentor.

It's her voice. It's his name in her voice. That's what stops him on his tracks and makes him turn to her.

She approaches with a sheepish smile—beautiful like every other expression she has ever and will ever make, more beautiful than Jamil might ever be able understand—, clutching her folder to her chest. He wishes he had his folder to hide behind.

"Yes?"

"Can you... Can you braid my hair? I keep messing it up, and you have some really nice braids..."

"Uh..." He answers eloquently.

Next thing he knows, he is sitting behind her on a random bench, gently braiding her hairin a simple but charming hairstyle, while she praises him for his tender handling and confides that braids are her weakness.

"No matter how many times I try, the braid never comes out good," (Y/N) says, turning her head just enough so he can see her smile, "You're so good at it, though, I'm glad I asked you! Thank you so much for helping me, Jamil!"

And oh. He now understands what he wanted to prove so badly.

"You can come to me for anything, I'll gladly help you"

Someone who can do everything by herself does not need him, after all.

[all-that-glitters-is-goldfish]

Blame it on the Alcohol

Pairing: Jay Halstead/Reader

Warnings: Alcohol, Vomiting

Words: ~1500

Description: Just shameless drunk flirting with the best-looking cop in Chicago.

“You’re drunk.”

“And you’re sexy.” You slur, swigging back the last of your vodka cranberry.

“Hey Herrmann, I’ll t-take anotha!” You slide your glass across the counter of the bar, relieved to see the firefighter catch it before smashing into a hundred pieces on the floor.

“Nope. No more. I’m officially cutting you off.” Jay grabs the crumpled $5 bill from your hand.

“Ey, that better be half my tip there!” Herrmann interrupts, slamming down a cup of water in front of you. “Drink that, kiddo.”

You pout your lip realizing that the two were in cahoots to restore your sobriety, but still took the cool glass to press against your parched lips.

“You’re such a party pooper.” You kick Jay playfully under the bar. “I was just celebrating my best friend’s birthday!”

You peer past Jay to look at Sylvie, your ambo partner, who was swallowing back another Jell-O shot given to her by Dawson.

“I don’t understand how someone that small can take so much alcohol.” Jay laughs, having turned around to see what you were so intrigued with.

Your eyes glare at Jay as he takes in Sylvie’s skimpy red dress. You quickly stop staring as he turns back around, his gaze glancing to the still-full cup of water beside you.

“Drink that. All of it.”

“You can’t tell me what to do.” You tease, pushing the glass further away.

“I mean it Y/N. Don’t really feel like taking care of the case of alcohol poisoning you’re about to get.”

“And what if I don’t? Are ya gonna arrest me?”

Jay smiles. “I just might.”

“Better whip out your handcuffs then.” You regret it the moment the words leave your mouth, your face burning hot in embarrassment.

You reach for your water, averting your eyes far from the detective, chugging down the drink. “I uh- I have to use the bathroom.”

Standing up from the stool a little too fast, your feet crossing awkwardly as you try to stand. You would have nosedived to the floor if it wasn’t for Jay’s strong arms and fast reflexes quickly shooting out of his seat to catch you.

“You good?” He asks.

Staring into his eyes causes a bubbling feeling to rise in your chest, that you first mistake as butterflies, but quickly realize is nausea working its way up your throat. Clasping your hand over your mouth you make a beeline to the bathroom, wriggling free from Jay’s protective hold on you. You dash past several concerned glances, ignoring your surroundings as you fall hard to your knees in front of the toilet, surely bruising them in the process.

What comes up from your stomach is a mixture of fruity cocktails and greasy food and you note that you’ll never again be eating a cheese blintz prepared by Brian Zvonecek’s baba again.

You hear the large wooden door to the bathroom open, expecting it to be Sylvie, or perhaps Gabby, but seeing Jay walk in caught you by surprise and you scramble to grab a piece of toilet paper to wipe any spew that may have landed on your chin, instead of the bowl.

“This is the woman’s room.” You really don’t want to be seen by anyone in your current state, especially not Detective Jay Halstead.

“It’s okay, I have a warrant.”

“Very funny.” You try to stand, but a wave of alcohol-induced dizziness takes over you.

“You okay?” Jay asks.

“Never better.” You reach up to flush away the toilet-full of skinny margaritas.

“Why did you let me drink so much?”

“Excuse me?” Jay cocks an eyebrow.

“You’re a cop. You should have made me stop after the third drink.”

Jay smirks, walking across the floor and gently grabbing your arm, helping you stand. You fall into him as the dizziness washes over you again, smiling as he hugs you closer. “I took your keys after the first drink.” He announces, pulling them from his pocket and dangling them in front of you. “Figured I’d let you have some fun.”

“You went into my purse? Getting a little comfortable there, aren’t you officer?”

“I’m off duty. Don’t want to have to write you up for drinking and driving.”

“You know I wouldn’t do that.”

“I know. Just being cautious. I think it’s time we get you home.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s only midnight! The party just started!”

“Don’t make me carry you out of here.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

Jay smiles as he puts both arms around your waist, ready to lift you over his shoulders. You panic as you feel the nausea floating around in your stomach at the sudden change of motion. “No! Jay don’t please! I will throw up on you.”

He lets go, keeping one hand on your shoulder, afraid of you falling over.

“I need to grab my coat. I have a long walk home.”

“Ha. Walking. Funny.” Jay states, grabbing his own set of keys. “I’m driving you.”

“You don’t need to-“

“It’s not a discussion.”

“I’ll take a cab!” You exclaim, though your brain reminds you of the last $80 in your bank account that you did not want to blow on a taxi.

“You have a free cab right here.” Jay says motioning to himself before waving goodnight to Sylvie and the many emergency responders jampacked into Molly’s. He guides you outside, carefully leading you down the steps making sure you don’t slip, smashing your head onto the icy concrete below.

After ensuring your seatbelt is secured, after you had struggled with it for several minutes, he takes his place in the driver’s seat, pulling out of the small lot.

“You were supposed to make a left there.” You point out, realizing Jay had driven the wrong direction towards your apartment.

“Uh, Nope.”

“I know I’m drunk, but I still know where I live.”

“Oh, we’re not going to your place.”

“Huh?”

“You’re crashing at my house.”

“What?”

“Don’t need you choking on your own vomit alone.”

“So nice of you to care, but I don’t really want to sleep on your tiny sofa. I can imagine the pain in my neck already…”

“Who said you have to sleep on the couch?”

“Well, considering you live in a 1-bedroom.”

“You can take my bed. As long as you don’t puke in it.”

You chuckle, butterflies rising in your stomach as you stare at your knight-in-shining-armor. “I don’t think I can guarantee that I won’t.”

“Well, I’m prepared to burn my sheets then.”

“If you weren’t driving, I’d punch you.”

“Assaulting an officer and public intoxication. Real nice, Y/N.”

“Ooooh better punish me then, tough guy.”

Jay’s face blushes as he grins at you, side-eyeing your nervous expression.

“I mean, I could spank you, but I think that would be considered police brutality.”

You choke on nothing but air, thinking you misheard the handsome red head.

“I beg your pardon?”

“So, are you only going to flirt with me when you’re drunk? Am I too ugly for you sober? Don’t think I didn’t hear that handcuff comment earlier.”

“I-“ You can barely speak, embarrassment flooding your thoughts from working correctly.

Jay chuckles. “I’ll stop teasing till you sleep it off.”

“I- Um. Thanks? How kind of you?”

You throw your head back against the seat and close your eyes, trying to block out the streetlights flickering past your eyes as you drive down the snowy Chicago streets.

“I’m going to have such a headache in the morning.”

“Good thing my brother’s a doctor. He can get you the strong stuff.”

“Sometimes I don’t know when you’re joking.”

You smile at Jay as he finally pulls up to his apartment. He goes to open the car door before you pull him towards you by his jacket, thrusting your lips against his own, perhaps a little too hard. He’s taken aback, but quickly grabs the back of your head, pulling you in closer. Several seconds pass before you pull away, unsure of what drove you to do that.

“I’m sorry.”

“Nah, don’t be.” Jay shakes his head, blushing. “I’ve been waiting for you to do that.”

Jay exits the car, rounding the vehicle and opening the door for you on your side. You stay seated for a moment as he looks at you questioningly. “C’mon Y/N, it’s freezing.”

“I just… I was thinking.”

“Huh? About what?”

“You don’t have to sleep on the couch tonight, either.”

“Oh?” Jay grabs your hand, pulling you out of the car and pulling you into his chest.

“What do you have a Queen? I think there’s plenty of room for two people.”

“King, actually.”

“Okay well, we are not making it 3.”

“We’ll leave that up for debate.” Jay winks, helping you inside to the warm building, still clutching you close against the winter air.

[trivialbob]

Currently it is 60°F outside.

This is my favorite temperature. Except for coffee, lasagna, or ice cream. Most tasks go well with 60°. Sleeping with windows open. Mowing the lawn. Riding a bicycle, scooter, or motorcycle. Taking the dogs to the park. I’d rather sit on a restaurant patio at 60° instead of 85°.

It’s OK for shorts or jeans. When it’s cloudy, a long-sleeve shirt might be comfortable. But if you get warm you can take that off and tie it around your waist.

Today’s high temperature will be around 80°. Usually the house remains cool enough throughout the day so air conditioning isn’t needed. Sometimes Sheila’s upstairs office gets a bit warm if there’s no breeze, so A/C might be necessary for part of the day. My office is on the first floor and stays cooler.

Tomorrow we have plans with neighbors for a pontoon boat ride. There will be eight of us. The boat owners are the brother and SIL of a former neighbors. Those folks moved to North Dakota a few years ago, but we’ve remained in close contact. They are coming to town this weekend. I like how we’ve become friends with the wife’s relatives. Sheila and I have even visited her parents in South Dakota.

Sadly, I see some storms in tomorrow’s weather forecast. 50% chance, it says. Fingers cross we get the other 50%.

We have four dogs today. My BIL’s Aussie stayed overnight. Stella and Sulley, being puppies, have their own food. I’ve found a routine where I get them each their own bowl of puppy food. They don’t steal from each other.

Ella and Oliver think puppy food is a huge treat. The older Aussies get jealous of the puppies. So I take a small amount of the kibble and put it in another room (in separate corners) for the two older dogs. When everyone is done they all check out where the others had been eating, looking for a piece that may have been missed. So far none of them have every found even one morsel of puppy food that was overlooked by another dog.