#arsenous acid

[whats-in-a-sentence]

Acids composed of hydrogen, oxygen and some other element are called I do oxoacids (see table 11.8).

"Chemistry" 2e - Blackman, A., Bottle, S., Schmid, S., Mocerino, M., Wille, U.

[theokusgallery]

Arsenic with these tbh... 👀

Having normal thoughts that normal people have

[miasanmuller]

Bayern mutuals quick question... if you were asked to pick either an EPL or a La Liga team to support, what would you use to kill yourself?

[alkalinefrog]

@velaversal DLSGKSSVLAA BAHAAHAHHAHAHA OMFG our personalities actually do neutralize each other we're so different 😂😂😂

[briscoelily]

edwin getting tired of crystal's jokes about things that would kill a victorian edwardian child and snarking back: "we had aluminium in our bread, boracic acid in milk, and arsenic in our wallpapers. if anything, i doubt a contemporary would survive my times"

charles is grinning in the background thinking my husband is such a bitch and i love it

[charliemwrites]

Oooooh I finally did it!! Mafia au part 6! A little bit of that sweet angst/comfort.

Content: Violence, Previous Injury (mentioned), Panic Attack (non-descriptive)

Let it be said: Johnny’s no snitch.

Outgoing (“loud” Simon would grumble) as he is, he doesn’t run his mouth about anything important. Doesn’t talk business over a pint or boast his connections in bar disagreements. Doesn’t drop names, flash heat, throw around the weight of his employer. Has never spilled a single fucking secret, not for knives, acid, a fucking gun to his head.

Oh, and please don’t tell the boss.

Let it also be said: Johnny is loyal.

He would happily lay down his life for any of his comrades, lives and dies for SpecGru – for Price. And even though you’re new, you’re one of them now. You’ve quickly found and secured your place in Price’s inner circle, different as you may be. Johnny would go to war for you, and your silly pink sticky notes.

Still, keeping something – anything from the boss. Even a private matter like this…

It happened on SpecGru property, that makes it SpecGru business. And it happened to you, which makes it Price’s business.

That you don’t already know that is… well, that’s between you and the boss. Johnny’s already too involved as it is. (Not that he regrets helping you. Not a bit. If he had his way, that little prick would have left with his teeth in his pocket and a new appreciation for his remaining thumb).

So now Johnny is stuck. He likes you; he really does. That you trust him with something so personal isn’t lost on him, especially in this line of work. He also has a healthy fear of your wrath. (You may not carry any weapons he’s seen, but you’ve got Price grimacing when you narrow your eyes just so. Johnny knows where his cupcakes are made, and he likes them without arsenic, thank you). So, personally, he wants to be able to honor your request to keep the matter private.

But then there’s Price, and whatever he’ll do to Johnny if – when – he finds out about all this.

Johnny’s solution?

“Christ, Gaz, ya shoulda seen it. Never seen the little miss tell someone off like that. Graves woulda been shakin’ in his boots. Will have to ask security for a recording of it.”

Gaz, unimpressed with Johnny’s volume, rolls his eyes and walks away, muttering about tea for his sudden headache. And Price, sitting at his desk, twitches and reaches for his phone.

Mission: accomplished.

Not the most elegant, but he’s a mafia lieutenant, not a fuckin’ spy. Now, to get those pastries you like before Price sees the footage.

“Luv?”

You glance up from the expense reports you’ve been working through for the better part of an hour. Mr. Price is leaning in the doorway to his office, shoulder to the jamb. There’s… an odd look on his face. You’ve never seen it before, don’t have it categorized in your mental files.

“Yes, boss?” you ask, straightening up.

“A word?”

You blink. That’s… different. You don’t like it.

Price is a steady sort of man. Not predictable, but consistent. That this is new, unusual, unfamiliar, makes you uneasy. Reminds you of your last boss, who could call you into his office with an affable grin, only to spend thirty minutes berating you for anything and everything he could think of.

Price has never done that, nothing even close… but you can’t suppress the slight shake in your hands as you smooth your skirt down. Hide it with a little flick of your wrists before grabbing for your ever-trusty tablet. Hell, you probably don’t even need it, but at this point it’s practically a comfort item. Maybe you should name it, put some googly eyes on it.

“Sweetheart?”

You startle a bit. Realize your feet have already carried you into his office and followed him right to his desk. Except instead of standing at his elbow as usual, you’re facing him across his desk. Like you did during your interview with him, when you were still strangers. Like you used to do for your previous boss.

“Oh, sorry, sir,” you chirp, forcing your usual brightness, “those expense reports, ya know? What did you need me for?”

Without a word, he spins his computer monitor around. Your brow furrows as you process the video playing on the screen. You. Soap. Brandon. Your stomach sinks.

There’s no sound, but there doesn’t really need to be. Even in profile, the expressions are crisp – high end cameras. You feel numb as the scene plays out all over again. You and Brandon snipping at each other back and forth. Your rigid spine, stiff shoulders. Brandon’s sleezy confidence. Soap, getting visibly aggravated as the seconds pass.

And there it is, the moment you spun on your heel, done with the conversation, and Brandon reached for you.

When you see Soap’s hand snap out – just a blur on the screen – you have to sit. Muscle memory collects your tablet in your lap, sweaty hands stacking neatly on top of it. Your heart is beating either too fast or too slow.

Your eyes stay locked on the screen until you and Soap disappear into the elevator, and the video stops.

“Should I play the elevator footage as well?” Price asks, voice low and quiet. “That comes with sound.”

It takes all your years of learned discipline and cultivated poise to resist shrinking in on yourself. It does not, however, stop your eyes from burning.

“Sir,” you say, struggling to keep your voice even, “I am so sorry.”

There’s a beat of tense silence as you gather yourself, throat getting tighter and tighter. Your head is spinning with fear and anxiety. What he’ll say, what he’ll do. How you could possibly damage control this.

“I-I don’t even know how he found out where I work,” you say, “and Soap w-was just trying to help. If I’d known that would happen, I would have taken it outside.”

You can barely look at Price as your voice break midway through, the panic leaking into your tone even as you stay frozen in place.

“Did we – is he suing? Is – is that why—?”

The tears escape despite your efforts, dripping fast and down your cheeks as you shudder in a breath. You can’t pay for a lawsuit, especially not if you’re fired over this. And you don’t want to lose this job. You love this job, you love—

“Oh, darling, what a mess you’ve made of yourself.”

You sniffle as Price rounds his desk and kneels in front of you, plucking his handkerchief from his breast pocket. He tuts at you when you open your mouth to protest, already blotting at your cheeks with a surprisingly gentle touch.

“There now, no need to cry,” he soothes, thumbing away another tear before it can fall. “I know it takes you ages to get your eyeliner right. This is nothing to ruin it over.”

“But…”

“I’m not angry, luv,” he continues, voice still low and quiet. This time, it doesn’t make your shoulders tense. “Wasn’t before and definitely not now. Chin up, there’s a dear.”

“Y-you’re not?” you warble.

“Not a bit,” he answers. “Not at you, at least.”

“Then why…?” You gesture weakly at the computer screen.

He sighs, something almost fond passing over his face. “Darling, you could have been hurt. Imagine if Soap hadn’t been there. All of us on the top floor, waiting for you to get back, not knowing something was wrong.”

He shakes his head, cradling your cheek with the same hand that brushed away your tears.

“You’re one of mine, you understand? Anything that happens to you is my responsibility,” he explains. “And I didn’t… enjoy that you want to keep something like this from me.”

You drop your eyes in shame. Of course. An employee assaulted on company ground, his personal assistant no less. Price would never stand for that sort of thing. He looks out for his own, looks out for you.

“Hey, look at me, luv. None of that now,” he coaxes. “I just want to get to the bottom of why you didn’t want to tell me.”

It occurs to you that that tone you heard earlier might have just been genuine worry and maybe… a bit of hurt. You twist your hands in your lap as you gather your words.

“I didn’t… it wasn’t because of you,” you murmur. “I just… was so embarrassed. And I didn’t want to make it your problem. I’m supposed to make your life easier, not harder.”

He huffs, but you’re relieved to see wry amusement on his face now.

“No more of that,” he orders, as softly as he when he wiped your face. “Am I understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“There’s a love.” He gently pinches your cheek, then stands. “Stay here, I’ll get you a cup of water. Take a moment, yeah?”

You nod, sniffling again. He squeezes your shoulder as he passes, and you finally let yourself breathe. Not getting fired, not getting sued. And Price isn’t mad at you. Christ, he needs to work on his approach.

“Kyle.”

“Yeah, boss?”

“Look into that knob from the lobby. And the little miss’s last boss.”

“You’ve got it.”

First | Previous | Next

Masterlist

[focsle]

I get so annoyed when people are like ‘oh those 19th century idiots with their silly understanding of things that were killing them lol’ when half of it was like…

They knew there was harm but because of various things, be it manufacturing happening out of their control, or what their access or lack of access looked like, or what assurances they were given by whom, what have you, that harm mitigation became more challenging.

Like, people knew that scurvy was treated by access to fresh fruits and vegetables (though there was sometimes a mistaken identity of believing acidity was indicative of something that’d help you, such as vinegar, which is a logical conclusion when you don’t know about vitamin c). But sometimes one still finds themselves in a place or job where that access can’t happen.

Doctors and journalists were sounding alarms about the dangers of heavy metals in dyes and makeup. But If your understanding of how something caused harm didn’t match with the actual currently-not-understood dangers (such as thinking that arsenic kills something when ingested, but not knowing about dust or outgassing) one might not be alert to the danger of it. The power of advertising, and labels, and assurances could also sway people as much as they do today.

There were journalists who wrote on the dangers of adulterated food cut with inedible materials. But if, like heavy metals in dyes and cosmetics, it was embedded in the manufacturing process, and if there was no system in place to hold those manufacturers accountable, there wasn’t much you could do. Especially for poorer families who didn’t often have access to food that WASN’T adulterated. They couldn’t afford food that wasn’t adulterated. You still have to eat.

Some doctors also sounded the alarm about the use of mercury / calomel treatments for various ailments, saying that they did more harm than good. But if that’s the most widely available treatment, if it’s the only option open to you when the alternative is ‘inevitably die horribly from syphilis anyway’, people may have taken their chances. Especially when it was also being pushed by other authority figures as being an effective miracle cure.

Idk all this to say that capitalism always kills, ordinary people trying to get through their lives are always trying to do the best they can in the circumstances they find themselves in with the knowledge they have and what’s available to them, and like…look in a mirror or something. I don’t want someone calling me an idiot 200 years from now, if humanity is still here, because my organs were full of microplastics. There’s nothing I can do about that. Criticize the greed and structures that put them there.

[amons-hat-enthusiast]

A petition to stop Rio Tinto’s mine from destroying Serbia’s nature

"We call upon you to prohibit extractive mining projects and metal processing in the Jadar Valley in Serbia.

In particular, we demand that you cancel the proposed Rio Tinto lithium mine in Loznica. We demand that you protect the biodiversity, fertile ground, farming villages and rich cultural areas.

Serbia’s most fertile land can be found in the beautiful Jadar Valley. Small family farmers grow raspberries and plums, engage in beekeeping and sheep and goat herding. The valley borders mountains, is surrounded by water and home to thousands of sustainable multi-generational farms.

But instead of protecting it, the Serbian government has approved a project with multinational mining corporation Rio Tinto, for the exploitation of “Jadarite”, a lithium ore in the valley. The government and the company have ignored scientists and mining experts who advise vehemently against the mine and are threatening to cause irreparable damage to the water, land, air and it’s people. Local citizens, who do not want to give up their sustainable agricultural land which has been in their families for generations, are being ignored.

The process of separating chemically stable lithium from jadarite ore involves the use of concentrated sulfuric acid. The process would take place 20 km from the Drina River and use 300 cubic meters of water every hour, while the chemically treated water would be returned to the Jadar River.

The outpouring of inevitably polluted water, as well as underground waters which contain arsenic, mercury and lead, would contaminate entire river basins and continue their journey across the Jadar to the Drina and Sava, polluting not only Serbia's but other countries' water sources as well.

We reject the pollution of the air. Treatment with the above mentioned (and additional) aggressive acids produces toxic gases that can spread within a radius of over ten kilometers and which will corrode the skin and lungs of humans and animals.

We reject the endangerment of the population around the Jadar Valley in the interests of a multinational corporate profit. Rio Tinto has promised 700 new jobs, but forgot to mention that 19,000 people are set to be displaced or severely effected.

Rio Tinto in 2020, destroyed a 45,000 year old sacred Australian Aboriginal cave. The company and its representatives have been repeatedly convicted of fraud and paid billions of dollars in damages and fines for illegal destruction of land, but continue to ravage and destroy natural environment around the world. The company is accused of participating in war crimes in Papua New Guinea, where a ten-year civil war broke out due to the presence of their mine.

The citizens of Serbia have the right to clean air, clean water and healthy living conditions. Stop Rio Tinto’s lithium mine and protect the people, our heritage, our environment and the rivers of the Jadar Valley. United we can save our environment."

https://action.wemove.eu/sign/2023-03-stop-rio-tinto-EN?akid=s1568260..uAF-ha

The text above explains the situation. This is a very important petition and I'd be very grateful if you could sign it and spread it.

(I see that only people from European countries can sign it, others please reblog for this to reach as many people as possible)

[samkerrworshipper]

revival | arsenal x reader

arsenal reader has been struggling more than she’d ever admit.. when it becomes to much she attempts to take her life but her teammates refuse to let her kill herself when she has so much more to live for.

warnings: do not read if you are triggered by suicide attempt, pill overdose, cutting, severe depression, angst, hurt/comfort

You didn’t know what had gotten you to this stage. Sitting on the bathroom floor of your apartment, staring down at an empty bottle of pills lying beside you on the floor. You weren’t sure exactly what had gotten you here, weren’t sure what switch had flicked in your brain this morning that had made you feel so positively broken from the inside out.

All you know is that right now you can feel deep purple, mauve and maroon bruises developing on your knees, from being hunched over the toilet bowl for so long.

Just when you begin to think that you’re empty, just when you think that there is nothing more that could be ripped away from you, you feel your muscles tense again as more bile is released.

Obviously, you knew the concoction of pills you took wouldn’t sit well, but you didn’t realise it would kick in this fast. You’d figured you’d have time to come to terms with the end of your life, or at least have time to scribble out a not.

But, all the pills you’d forced down your throat now resided in the toilet bowl, a mixture of stomach acid and medication pooling on the surface of the water.

It’s then that you make the decision that it’s time to take a different approach.

As you palm the metal blade, the cold sharp edge gently digging into your skin.

All you can think about is your team, your family, your home.

You think of the cold meal sitting on your kitchen bench.

At first, the metal burns, it stings and sears.

Almost as painful as the burning tears leaking down your cheeks.

Slowly, as more pressure is applied, your wrist is warmed by the pooling scarlett puddle dripping down onto the bright white tiles.

You’ve been sitting on the cold floor for way too long for your liking, your wrists pressed to the flooring to try and calm the burning sensation that’s spread all across your forearms.

If you try hard enough, you can convince yourself that the burning sensation is just another football injury.

You try and picture it, lying on the grass of a pitch, your arm throbbing with pain.

It only works for as long as your brain believes it, which is a total of ten seconds.

It’s been a long day, long week, long month, long year.

A long time pretending you're happy.

A long time try to convince everyone you’re happy.

A long time trying to persuade yourself that you’re happy.

A long time lying.

You’ve become so consumed with the lies that it’s hard to not be completely committed to them at this stage.

The only thing that reminds you of exactly where you are is the cold tiles against your arms, the warm blood and cold tiles mixing together like a thunderstorm.

The only sound to be heard across your apartment is the steady sound of blood dripping onto the tiles.

You think about your goodbyes, think about how this is the end, that you are content with this being it for you.

You’ve been at peace with this decision for a long while, longer than you’d ever care to admit.

It’s not really a decision for you, more like a losing battle.

In the last year, you’ve lost more of yourself than you thought possible, you don’t feel like you belong to yourself anymore, you don’t belong to yourself anymore. At one stage, a while ago, you loved yourself, you cared about yourself, you did your best to care. It hurt, feeling like you were no longer a owner of your body, maybe if you weren’t no longer classified as two different parts would you feel this way, or maybe it would make it harder, because maybe it wouldn’t feel like you were just getting rid of a body that you no longer belonged to, this was all to easy.

Your body was now something to be sold, something to be advertised, something to be purchased by the public.

You supposed that came from being a champion, being famous, being good at what you did.

Maybe, if you’d never become a famous soccer player none of this would have happened, you wouldn’t be lying on your bathroom floor, your vision slowly blurring and your blood leaking out steadily from your arms.

You walk towards the darkness, allowing it to embrace you as you slowly approach it without any resistance.

There was no fight for you, no hope or thoughts of redemption, this was your end, your demise, your final page, and that was okay.

You let the darkness completely cloud your vision, your body slowly being wrapped up by the accepting white light at the end of the tunnel.

It’s warm and comforting and you let your body rest, let it finally have the respite that it was so desperate for.

You felt yourself fade, far away with no intention of coming back.

You’d felt like you were gone, but you were brought back by more overwhelmingly white light in your vision.

Was this heaven?

Was this the end?

Was this it?

You were in pain, your head, your throat, your arms.

It was this thought that made you think you could be wrong.

Was this hell?

Or was the overwhelming white light just your bathroom tiles?

You cancelled out the tile idea, because you could feel your eyelids were closed, which meant that the white couldn’t be sourced from your home.

Your ears were ringing and as everything began to come back to you, it became terrifyingly clear that this could not be any of your previous assumptions.

Death wasn’t this painful, death wasn’t supposed to have any feeling.

Death didn’t feel like a warm bed and it definitely wasn’t consciousness.

This wasn’t the great beyond, this wasn’t the end, this was something else that you couldn’t quite pin down.

As your senses began to come back to you, your hearing and slowly your consciousness you began to become certain that whatever this was, it was not your end.

The sound of a constant machine beeping gave you an inkling as to where you might be, you just silently prayed that you were wrong, silently prayed that you would wake up in your red soaked tile bathroom and not a hospital.

You could clean up, try again.

You couldn’t handle being forced to recover, being forced to talk about your feelings.

It wasn’t something on your agenda, it wasn’t a part of your intricate demise.

You didn’t want to open your eyes, you weren’t even sure if you could, but you wanted to understand your situation, to understand what was happening.

So, you used every piece of your energy that was left, to every so slowly crack open your eyes.

It was more overwhelming white, that took a good deal of blinking to work through, but eventually, a blurry version of your surroundings began to appear in the corners of your eyes.

It confirmed your suspicions, you were in a hospital.

Which you hated, but you had also been prepared for, it made you feel insanely unaccomplished.

It took a lot of blinking and squinting for you to fully take in your surroundings.

The part that stumped you the most, and made you feel like you were hallucinating was the sea of red hoodies that were sitting, sleeping and lying around your room.

It was dark outside, the room was still lit up with machines and the bright white light from the corridor, but you figured that most of your teammates were fast asleep.

It was good, it gave you some extra time to take in your surroundings.

You were covered in cords and wires, your body completely moving even as you tried your very hardest.

Both of your wrists were bandaged tightly, to the point where you were completely unable to even wiggle your fingers.

It was daunting to you, the complete inability to do anything but lie in the bed and bear witness to your inability to do anything besides that.

Just as you were beginning to get truly distressed, one of the red blobs in your peripheral popped up out of their seat, making their way over to your bedside and tracing their hand over your one.

“Hey, ducky, it’s okay, I’ve got you, deep breaths. You’re okay.”

It’s Beth’s voice that hits your ears, and it has the reverse effect, making you more stressed out about the fact that she’s here witnessing this.

“Honey, it’s okay, big deep breaths for me, you’re okay.”

Beth’s hand moves up to your chest, your chest that is covered with a scratchy hospital gown.

“I shouldn’t be here, I-I-I’m supposed to be dead.”

Your words are croaky and chesty, almost unrecognisable but Beth manages to decipher them, and it almost brings tears to her eyes.

“Hey, hey, absolutely not. I thank every single god that you're here and awake right now, it is a miracle that you are here.”

This was not a miracle.

This was a fucking tragedy.

Beth’s face though, it was enough to send a deep pain to your stomach, deep guttural pain that hurt more than anything else.

“S-should be dead, wish I was dead.”

Beth’s face just drops, tears springing from her eyes and falling down onto the hospital sheets.

“Ducky, I promise you, we are all going to try our very hardest to make sure you never feel like that again. Get some more rest, we can sort this all out in the morning but you need your sleep, your body needs rest.”

You didn’t have energy to argue with Beth, so you nodded, relaxing back against the pillows and letting sleep and darkness return to the forefront of your brain.

When you awoke for the second time, it was less painful.

The sun was up this time, your room flooded with early sunbeams.

Overall the hospital was abuzz, to your extreme displeasure.

You were met with the eyes of some of your closest teammates, your words under the stars with Beth at the forefront of your mind as you looked at the extreme disappointment and sadness playing across their faces.

It hit home for you.

They all shared the same expression, all of you sharing the same situation that none of you wanted to be a part of.

“Hey Ducky, how are you feeling?”

Katie’s voice breaks the silence, her tone is full of emotion and you watch her mouth twitch to the side as she obviously tries her hardest to conceal the emotions that she is feeling.

“Like I wish I was dead.”

Nobody laughs, nobody says anything besides purse their lips and bite their tongues.

“We’re so glad you aren’t though, and we’re going to help you.”

We’re going to help you.

It’s five words, seven syllables, and the words that you least want to hear.

“Why couldn’t you just let me die?”

Your words manage to bring tears to the eyes of some of your teammates, you don’t care, all you can think about is the fact that someone, one of your teammates, had the fucking audacity to save you.

Leah’s the person to stand up, and take the same spot that Beth did last night, directly by your side, her hand resting on your own.

“Why didn’t I let you die? Why did I perform half an hour of chest compressions waiting for an ambulance whilst you bled out on your bathroom floor? Because you have a life that’s worth living, you have a gift for football, you are one of the brightest, happiest, smartest, best people I have ever met y/n, and this isn’t the end for you, it can’t be.”

You couldn’t meet Leah’s eyes, not with the knowledge that she had done this to you, she was the reason you were lying in a hospital bed instead of a coffin.

“You should have left me to die.”

Your words are broken, split in half by the knowledge that you were still fucking alive.

“You have a life worth living, kid, you’re only 21, there is so much more you have to give and I’ll be damned if this is it for you.”

You can’t meet any of your teammates' eyes, because it’s clear that they completely disagree with your actions, but there is still a part of you in your head telling you that everything would be better off if you were dead.

Your teammates wouldn’t have to pretend they care, they wouldn’t have too busy themselves with trying to save you from your impending death.

If you had any choice in it, you wouldn’t be this way.

If you could, you’d be happy and smiley, sweet, kind and soft. You’d be consistently happy, you would be the person smiling no matter what and someone easy to talk to, someone easy to love, someone that people wouldn’t let slip away.

You don’t have a choice though, this is who you are.

You are rough edges. You are a poorly labelled bottle of poison that people choke on as soon as they come into contact. You are a box of glass with a fragile sticker plastered all over and yet you still break, harming anyone who comes into contact.

When life gets hard, you quit.

There’s no way to explain why, everyone loves you until life is real and you need help, everyone is understanding until life isn’t pretty anymore.

You’ve never been loved through your lowest moments.

Never been loved when you can’t bring yourself to get out of bed, let alone shower.

Never been loved when the only thing that's playing in your head is how much you hate yourself.

Never been loved when the part of you that everyone loves suddenly dies.

Somedays, you are fairly certain that you are impossible to love. You don't know the kind of happiness love provides, you don’t know how to open up or trust, because no one ever loved you enough for that.

Other days, you remember that you are only 21, and maybe one day it won’t be this way.

You wish you were tender, you wished you were glowy and soft.

You wished you were Beth or Jen, always happy and ready to make anyone who was feeling down feel a little bit better.

“Why couldn’t you have just let me die?”

Your cheeks are practically drowning in tears, Leah reaches up to wipe them, you try to stop her but you instead moan in pain as the searing burn spreads backup your arms.

At the sound of your discomfort Leah is recoiling immediately, her hands falling down to your tightly wrapped arms and pressing them gently back down into the blankets.

“Hey, no, these need rest, you did some serious nerve damage, we won’t know the severity until you’ve got some strength back.”

Fuck.

“Nerve damage?”

Collateral damage had never crossed your mind, because you weren’t supposed to be alive right now, so why would collateral damage matter?

“Yeah, you could have severed or done some serious damage to your nerves, if they are cut then you’ll need a nerve replacement to regain the sensation.”

You blink a few times, staring up at the roof and willing the tears leaking down your face to fo away.

“I should have died.”

Leah, in all of her honesty, nods.

“Yeah, you should have. They had to pump your stomach to get rid of all the drugs you’d consumed, and you need 38 stitches and three pints of blood. You should be dead, but you aren’t and the fact that you aren’t is a fucking miracle.”

You wouldn’t call this a miracle, not from any point of view.

“When can I play again?”

You’re not sure if you’ll make it till that point, but it’s a question worth asking, there are big things coming up, on both a national and club level.

“Excuse me?”

Leah is shocked, and extremely taken aback by your question, so much so that she just stutters over her words.

Before she chokes on her words, Katie steps in.

“Kid, you almost died yesterday.”

You shrug, you figured it was a question worth asking, but Katie’s voice told you that to her it was a stupid question.

“A week? Two weeks? A month?”

You're grasping for something, trying to find the long straw in a pile of short ones.

“Kid, you tried to kill yourself, you almost succeeded, there are bigger things to focus on for you right now then getting on the pitch.”

A part of your brain disagrees so heavily.

“I have to go, they’ll take my passport and my licence and I’ll never be allowed to play again.”

All of the girls share knowing looks, but the general idea is that there is a general discomfort across the room.

“Ducky, look at me.”

It’s Katie’s strong Irish accent, the voice she uses when she’s captaining her national team that forces your eyes from the roof to meet her own.

“They can’t make you do anything, you need to be here right now. There is a treatment plan, you tried to kill yourself, you can’t just leave, it doesn’t work that way.”

Your brain is screaming inside of your skull, pounding against the bone and muscle.

“Jorge never let us take a break, he told us if we ever tried to leave that they would take all of our identification, and our licence to play, I have to play, I was born to play, it’s the only thing I have.”

Slowly, without the efforts of any of the girls, you are starting to unearth some of the serious problems you’ve been dealing with for the last little while, especially coming off of the world cup.

They’d all noticed the change, noticed how after your national teams win, how parts of you had changed.

They all had their assumptions, especially after what happened with Jenni Hermoso and after some conversations with some of their Spanish companions, but nobody could provide an explanation for what was happening behind closed doors.

It was no secret to any of your teammates that Jorge was your biggest critiquer, you and Mapi had tried sticking up to him at the beginning of his career with the Spanish team, and it had landed you both in deep water.

Mapi, had been intelligent enough to leave the toxic environment when it had become too much, when it had seriously begun to affect her mental health.

You however, were not as good at identifying your emotions, and taking care of them, you pushed yourself to the point of breakage, this was a perfect example of that.

“Ducky, Vilda is gone now, you don’t have to worry, I’ll call Alexia, she’ll understand and she’ll talk to them for you. You need a break sweetheart, you need to talk about why you're struggling, there are bigger things to focus on right now than your career.”

You couldn’t disagree more, you were in your prime, you didn’t have time to take a break.

You also didn’t have time to live, there was nothing that plagued your mind more than the idea of trying again, as soon as you could remove yourself from the conservatorship of your arsenal teammates.

“I need to leave, I want to be discharged.”

It’s an attempt at regaining some of your dignity, one that doesn’t last very long.

“You’re on a 72 hour psych hold, 24/7 supervision whilst you're recovering. Everyday you will see a psychologist and after the 72 hours they’ll deem if you are ready to leave, if they believe you can be trusted to leave then you’ll go home with Beth and Viv for the foreseeable future. For the first few weeks, you’ll be under complete supervision, you’ll see a therapist every few days and once you’ve made some serious progress we’ll look at getting you back into training.”

You forced yourself to take a deep breath, and a big gulp, trying to force down the lump that was prominent in your throat.

“You can’t do that, I don’t want to see a therapist, I don’t need to see a therapist.”

Most of the women in the room roll their eyes.

“Ducky, we’ve all been worried about you for weeks, but you refuse to talk to any of us, clearly something led to this and if you won’t talk to us about it you need to talk to a professional.”

You don’t want to admit that a part of you is secretly terrified of seeing a therapist, because what if they see right through you? What if all they see is all of your insecurities and imperfections, just as Jorge did?

“I can’t see a therapist, don’t wanna.”

Before Katie can speak, previously silent Viv stands up at her seat and joins the crowd around your bedside.

“I know it's scary, kid. I started seeing someone when I was around your age and struggling. It was so hard, it was terrifying. I didn’t want to admit I was struggling, and then one of my teammates caught me harming myself whilst having an anxiety attack. I had to go see one to play again, and it sucked to start with, but it helped me so much, we all just want the best for you, and you need help, there is nothing wrong with accepting that.”

The remaining women sitting in the room stand up, surrounding your bedside.

Beth, Leah, Katie, Caitlin, Lia, Kim, Steph, Viv, Jen, Laura and Lotte.

It’s a crowd, and the taller girls have to stand behind because they don’t all fit, and even if they aren’t directly hugging you, you are overwhelmed with the amount of love radiating off of them, it’s too much.

“No-no, I can’t do this, you guys can’t do this to me. There is nothing wrong with me, I’m fine, I’m fucking fine.”

It’s clear that none of them believe you, you expect them to step back, but they don’t.

“No you’re not liefje, people who seriously try to take their lives are not okay. You don’t have to be, we’re all here to support you, you just need to let us, let us be here for you, let us be a shoulder for you to cry on.”

Your breaths shudder, you can’t meet any of their eyes, it hurts you to know that they all think this of you.

“I didn’t mean to.”

It’s a lie that you push out, you're trying to find anything to argue about, anything to distract from what was actually happening.

“Ducky, it would be okay if you did. You’ve been struggling and it’s understandable. All we want from now on is for you to be honest with us, no judgement, just tell us what you are feeling.”

Beth’s voice is so soft, you almost want to give in, but Vilda is in your head, screaming at you for being weak and vulnerable after passing out on the pitch after playing with the flu, and your reminded once again that there isn’t space in the world for people like you to have feelings.

“I want you to fucking believe me when I tell you that I am fine and stop suffocating me.”

All of the women share looks above your head, and somehow, telepathically, majority of them sag off from the huddle, leaving you room.

You're left with the main group of girls who have been controlling the situation.

Viv, Beth, Leah, Kim and Katie.

“liefde, you clearly aren’t fine. Whatever it is, you can talk to us, we’re here for you, whatever you need.”

It shouldn’t cause you to break down, but the pain in your heart and the look in Viv’s eyes sends you barrelling over a very high cliff.

You're sobbing, and struggling to breathe, blood rushing to your ears and preventing you from feeling anything besides the deep depression that has been building up in you for years now.

It hits you like a double decker bus.

Before you can really start to panic though, someone is climbing onto the bed beside you, bringing you into their lap and arms and embracing you.

“It’s okay ducky, we’ve got you, you’re safe with us.”

The sweet nothings are murmured lowly into your ear, the genuinity continuing until the mixture of a mental breakdown and panic attack subside and you’re just a tired, pained mess.

“M’ sorry.”

Your words are hummed into the chest of whoever has climbed in beside you in the hospital bed.

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for, do you want to talk about it?”

The long answer is no, you don’t want to talk about any of it, but you can’t help the sense that a part of you might feel a little bit better if you let something off your chest.

“Talk about what?”

It’s a genuine question, because there is so much happening in your brain that you aren’t even sure where to start.

“Whatever you’d like.”

You think that’s a stupid statement, because for all Leah knows you could want to talk about the weather, and that doesn’t seem particularly helpful.

“Jorge?”

It seems like starting with the source of your problems probably saves yourself from a lot of beating astound the bush.

“If that’s what you want, ducky, we’re all just here to listen to you, no matter what it is.”

You peak your head out of Leah’s sweater, and you’re met with the supportive faces of the four other women sitting around your bedside.

“When I started for him I was 16. For a long while, the older girls shielded me from him, Mapi and Jenni especially. But my young innocence only lasted so long, when I was 19, he did some really fucked up things, that was when he changed. Mapi, Claudia, Patri and I were the ones who spoke out, and it was the right thing to do, but it put a target on our backs immediately, especially with Alexia out with her ACL injury and unable to support us all. He was so mean to us all, always criticising, never giving us breaks, running us till we were sick or injuring ourselves. He used to wake us up at 2am in the morning to go running because he said we were getting lazy. It was around then that they all signed the statement to withdraw, and I would have loved to do it with them, but I just couldn’t. It only got worse from there for me, especially during the world cup, I was having panic attacks everyday and he couldn’t have cared less. All he did was push me, to the point where Alexia had to mind me everyday because of how bad I was getting.”

You took a deep breath, you wouldn’t allow yourself to look at them, not right now, not until you were done.

“That was when I started to think about killing myself. It wasn’t because I don’t love my life and my friends, but, Jorge was devoting his life to making mine a living hell, and nobody wants that. He never had anything nice to say to me, always criticism, always negativity. Then we won, and none of it mattered, but then there was everything in the press, and I was being slaughtered for all of it because apparently I was enabling his abuse, and I can’t handle that, I can’t handle being told that I enabled abuse that I was dealt for years, maybe I should have told someone, but who? All of the physios, all the doctors, they all worked for him, nobody was going to turn on him. He created an environment where all of us girls were miserable and competing against each other for no reason.”

Leah stopped you with a bone crushing hug.

They’d all heard stories about the Spanish Women’s team, speculation, rumours, hearsay.

But hearing first hand experience from their teammate, somebody they loved, it killed them all on the insides, because how could someone treat their ducky like that? How could someone be so horrible?

“Thank you for trusting us to tell us that ducky. You didn’t deserve any of that, nobody does. From now on, we’re all here for you, you don’t have to hide it all, no more hiding, we’re here for you every step of the way.”

You try your hardest to believe Leah, but it’s a uphill battle, especially when your brain is conditioned to think she is lying.

Leah seemed to notice how spent you were, your body completely relaxed against her, your state near catatonic.

“Get some sleep ducky, we’ve got you, I promise we’ll do everything to make sure you never feel like this again.”

When Leah says it, you believe her, because there is one thing that your mind can’t betray you about, and that is that Leah, and all the other women surrounding you would do anything to protect you, and to make sure that you felt loved, to make up for the lack that you’d been experiencing for the last while.

[kalivodas]

i CRAVE roommate!gaz who lowkey makes your jaw drop everytime you see him chilling on the couch in an exercise tank top and shorts with his stupid little perfect smile

FALSE GOD — kyle garrick

might’ve started drooling i fear roommate trope means everything to me !! enjoy this quick lil thing i spit out

warnings gaz is hot and cocky what’s new

KYLE GARRICK HAD a sickness. an insatiable hunger at the base point of his skull that told him to strum your nerves like raw guitar chords.

he followed it’s beck and call. ignored every one of yours.

that’s why he teased you like this. he needed you to admit the things he saw dance behind your eyes when he called you sweet little names.

his head dipped on the back of the couch, chiseled jaw grinding as his body stretched. a large palm laid flat on his taut belly, thumb hooked just past the waist band of his shorts.

you opened the door, and his stupidly beautiful face split in a grin. it was truly nothing you’d hadn’t seen before, you seemed to always catch kyle at the worst times.

“go take a shower, you whore.” you throw at him, then your keys and bag.

he tosses it to the side with a grunt.

“i’m not a whore,” he says simply, but the way his left eyebrow arches up — you question the validity of the statement. he cocks a forearm up behind his head, flexes it, and you know it’s a lie. he fucking knows he’s hotter than a two dollar pistol. and it irks you.

but damn it, he was pretty enough to lick the sweat off of.

“staring at me like you could eat me and i’m the whore,” gaz scoffs, and some acid bitten laugh falls from your mouth.

“oh, you’ve done it now, garrick.”

you lunge at him, crossing the couch in a few lousy jumps before you start throwing cushioned blows into his abdomen. you ignore that it feels like you’re hitting bricks.

he tips his head back and laughs, actually lets you land some of those strikes before he kicks a leg under you. his hands follow your wrists, pin them together and then you to the couch.

a gasp falls out of your mouth before you can stop it.

your eyes jump around frantically, some pathetic attempt to ease the concrete set gaze he has on you. you struggle against his grip, but it’s unwavering. makes a coil tighten in your stomach.

“kyle, let me up,” you huff, but he’s beaming like a damn cheshire cat.

“no.”

you jerk against the restraint again. “please?”

he cracks, and the bruising of your arms briefly alleviate, but when your eyes find his, he pushes down harder.

“admit you like me,” he coos, and it sounds foreign coming out of his pretty mouth. this six something, two hundred pound man, pinning you to your shared sofa, almost pleading with you to admit something so juvenile.

you laugh. “i don’t.”

“do too,” he rebuttals.

“do not.”

he hikes a meaty thigh between your legs and pushes it against you. something that stings you like arsenic and warms you like whiskey hits the back of your throat. he feels the heat of you against him and has to bite his cheek not to vocalize it.

“do too. i can feel you, lovie.” at least he tried.

your head lolls to the side. you can feel his eyes burning fever onto your turned cheeks. “fine.”

“fine what?” he implores, and his free hand falls to squish your chin, make you look at him again.

“fine, ithinkyou’rehot.”

“hmm?” he’s not having it. prick.

“you’re beautiful and you make me sick when you look that good sweaty as a mug. happy?”

he nods and licks his teeth. you can tell he feels accomplished, like he’d won something out of a claw machine. maybe he had.

“yes.” he grinds his leg again just to see you swallow a whine then releases you from his sick vice. pats your cheek for good measure. “thanks, pretty little dove.”

when he rises to his feet to go off and shower as you’d originally suggested, there’s a twisted triumph etched on his face. it makes your eyes roll. he’s honestly just glad you caved before he had to start walking around the house naked.

a/n : begging someone to ask for a part 2 im drooling

the part 2

[trashmouth-richie]

the raven told me of you

eddie x female reader

crafted from this prompt list by: @bettyfrommars @somnambulic-thing @allthingsjoeq

summary: eddie is released after six months of being behind bars with a false identity, he was never lonely because you were there with him, until you weren’t. now, coming home to a new life with his old name granted back to him. he navigates flashbacks, and trying to settle back in with wayne in private protective seclusion, alone— or is he?

8.1k

tw: 18+ angst. fluff of a new relationship, light smut— s1, s4 canon events with reader inserted into the timeline, mentions of insanity, death, witness protection, government cover-ups etc. this could be a continuation or stand alone fic of your touch but is not necessary to read.

releasing: thursday 3/7

Owens’ worked his charms. The government covered up the mass hysteria and pinned the murders of Chrissy, Patrick and Fred on an accidental chemical reaction from arsenic, radiation and terpenoids. The results left their bones liquified from the toxic lick of acid and torqued before solidifying once again. 

  The Hawkin’s Post called it ‘a combination of sickly tainted water from the school cafeteria.’ 

  Parents were urged to have their children tested at the local clinic for extra precautions, and thankfully no one else had been affected. 

  On Thursday the Eighteenth of September, at approximately 1300 hours… an hour into quiet personal time, Mr. Edward Munson, was once again, a free man. 

  At first he thought it was possibly a mistake, a horrifying joke fed by his many delusions. But when they called him into the warden’s office, he sat across an oak desk from a tall man with a skin bald head, shining like a lightbulb.  

  He used Eddie’s full name—not the persona he was given— and gave him ten minutes to collect his belongings. It was then he came to realize that maybe he wasn’t crazy after all. 

  Six long months in the clink with his brain spinning hallucinations beyond his control he wasn’t sure if he’d come out of it without a government issued lobotomy— and in the blink of an eye, it came to an abrupt end.

  Prison was cold, unwelcoming in shades of gray coating the ceilings, walls, floors, any service imaginable. As if there was one color sanctioned to the American Prison system and gray was the less costly option. 

  Concrete was probably more pliable than his bed was. The food was impeccable— if you were a raven on a mealworm diet.  It was just shy of hell, and it made the inhabitants calloused to a helping hand or squirreling away from making friends. 

  Seven months prior, Eddie was in his prime. For the first time in his life he was happy with where he was at, school was almost over and he had a true chance of walking the stage of graduation. 

  And you, he had you. 

  Beautiful, charismatic, sweet you. 

  It was almost like he conjured you up himself with a hard roll against a plyboard table of a twenty sided dice. Mesmerizing eyes that seemed to shimmer in any light, a smile that could soften Medusa’s rocky stare. You were perfect. 

  The first time his eyes laid on you was across the cafeteria. Everyone moved with the mundane routine, but you were shining like a spotlight had been placed on you overhead. 

  Your soft skin beckoned him like a moth to a flame. Smooth as silk, and he started to wonder what would your flesh feel like in his hands…would you cower away from their roughness? 

  His mind raced, and his heart pumped firmly whenever you walked past him, you smelled like ripe fruit, warming by the sun, and Eddie began to understand why Eve was tempted so easily. 

  And so began the daily task of seeking you out. He was able to spot you like Waldo amongst the boring gray faces of every other girl. 

  You shone like a gem, a sapphire filled with the darkest of depths, and like an enthusiast to your craft, he wanted to know the breadth of your soul. 

  His gem. 

  It was by total chance that he stumbled upon you after months of stray glances. He was walking backwards, yelling to Gareth about being on time for Hellfire that night, when he bumped into something that yelped in surprise. 

  It was you. 

  Sprawled and landing hard on your butt. Papers scattered from the collision of your face mashing into a denim patchwork vest. 

  He stumbled over your feet, falling beside you in a mess of curls and cigarettes, the one between his lips still intact. Your eyes met his for the first time, and that’s all it took for him to fall head over feet, in this case Reeboks, Eddie was a goner. 

  Your smile spread a warmth in his chest that he had never felt before. And your laugh? Made his knees physically weak. 

  He still didn’t know how he managed to swing it, but he charmed you into agreeing to a ride home. Conversation came easy with you. You were sweet yet comical, a bit of a smart ass. He was grinning like an idiot.

  Chatting about books, then music, he bantered back and forth, teasing on your choice of horror, astounded in your tastes— but nevermore, he was enthused, enamored. 

  Witty and shit giving, you had him wrapped around your finger before the van pulled in front of your place. A permanent dimple pecked into his cheek that wouldn’t subside no matter how hard he tried. 

  A ten digit number exchanged on lined paper was the start of the end. A corny fist pump and a pep talk on his jaunt back to the trailer park. 

  Eddie was living on cloud nine. 

  He called you that night, foregoing any dumb advice he had seen in movies or heard at school at waiting a certain amount of days or hours, he went on pure instinct alone, and almost threw up all over himself after punching the last number. 

  You answered with your name after saying a proper greeting and he stumbled over his own tongue before choking out that it was him. 

  “Sorry who?” you had teased, Eddie’s heart fell into his stomach with relief when you giggled on the other end, “are you calling to sell me some boy scout popcorn, because cheddar is my favorite… but for you I might just buy a tin of caramel.” 

  A heart laugh erupted from his trailer, loud and barking. “Boy Scouts weren’t really my thing, princess.” 

  “Ah,” you reasoned, “knots too hard?” 

  He laughed again, that damn dimple achingly prominent as he smiled through the receiver, and you swore you could hear his cheeks squeak, “something like that.” 

  An hour had passed and Eddie found himself in the snares of coiled phone cords as he wore a pattern from his bedroom to the kitchen, fiddling with things left on the counter. Even going so far as to start a load of laundry and empty the sink. 

  You too were in the trenches, living solely on the scraps of information of Eddie’s life that he tossed to you like a pigeon in a park.  

  He was smart, filled with colossal amounts of knowledge on anything from cars, to reading sheet music. He had an ear for rhythm, cocky enough to have you hum a tune so he could pick up on it, and add to it. Eddie was a closeted genius under the untamed curls. 

  “Shit— I’m talking too much, huh? " he asked after a long winded speech about a campaign he was planning for the freshman in Hellfire. “I get carried away sometimes,” he admitted with a chuckle, a ripple of embarrassment heating over his body in a wave. 

  “Not at all,” you eagerly replied, “tell me more about Kas!” 

  “Well princess, I could show you, if you wanted?” He prayed you’d say yes, to whom or what he was praying to— hewasn’t sure, just crossed fingers and pinched his eyes shut in hopes that you wouldn’t think he was some loser yanking his dick to figurines and elf lore.

  But you didn’t, you had said yes faster than he finished asking. And from there— it was history. 

  He went to bed with a spinning head and a heart wrapped in lace, sugar coated with your sweet voice in his ear, the same lopsided grin he had worn since tripping over you at school. 

  —

  Stepping out into the first breath of freedom, the sun felt heavy on his skin. It itched his arm hairs, the heat touching his neck for the first time in years since he grew out his hair. The brightness stung his eyes. 

  He had become accustomed to the hollowing sag of fluorescent lights paling his skin to almost translucency, a true dracula in the pits of a four walled hell.

  A croaked caw is loud overhead, singular— followed by a fluttering of wings, and the bend of a tree limb.

  The clothes he wore didn’t feel like him, the ripped cotton Hellfire shirt wasn’t clean coming in and wasn’t clean coming out, Shredded where the demobats feasted on him like a hotdog at a ball field. 

  His jeans stunk of decay and murky water from the gate. Caked with mud, dried several times in the days of being on the run, the jeans chafed his skin raw, gnawing on his leg hairs until they popped free, giving up the fight. 

  A manila envelope held his rings, clashing together in a melodic tone. He slotted them one by one on the correct fingers, yet they felt loose, heavy and familiar all at once. 

  He was ready to pitch the envelope into a trash bin when he felt something else in the bottom, having to rip it apart to get to whatever was inside. When the ground was littered next to his waterlogged Reeboks, and his palm held the small silver item, his eyes brimmed with tears. 

  —3

The nightly phone calls soon turned to walks around the trailer park, Eddie listening intently as you strolled around the driveway, kicking up little clouds of dirt or catching the occasional rock with the toe of your sneaker. 

  He matched your steps, learning about your passions after graduation, how you favored sweets over salty treats, and the embarrassing truth of how after your friend Barb went missing, you didn’t have any friends at school. 

  “Well, now you have me,” he chirped earnestly, dark eyes squinting in the setting sun as he knocked his elbow with yours, a smirk on his lips, “I’ll take care of ya.” 

  It was as simple as that, and the easiness of it made your nose tingle with a burn as you fought back tears at his kindness. 

  Weeks of walking with you after school round and round Forest Hills— the scenery started to change. 

  The emerald grass faded into sharp tawny weeds. Foliage turned the color of autumn and the air began to crisp and chill.

  It was then, on a windy Tuesday afternoon, that Eddie invited you into his home, he made sure to kick dirty laundry under his bed, hide the Playboys in the closet behind an old pair of shoes and empty the heaping ashtrays the night beforehand. 

  A jewel in a shit shack— you equally looked out of place and fit in with the cluttered belongings of his uncles at the same time. 

  “My castle.” he announced, bending low and holding the door open like a gentleman. 

  He showed you around the small square footage, taking less than fifteen seconds to point everything out. 

  “And that?” 

  “That’s.. my room.” 

  It was silly then, how nervous he was to let you into his space, even though during your walks you acquired everything there was to know about him. 

—

  Snow was on the ground when your after school routine of going to Eddie’s was as second nature to you as breathing. 

  You were sitting on his unmade bed atop the rumpled comforter and soft sheets, socked toes dangling from the side of the mattress. A textbook balanced in your lap, pencil between your teeth. Your eyebrows pinched in a studied strain as you tried to solve a calculus formula. 

  His voice had startled you, not sure when he had gotten up or how long he was standing at his desk, looking almost sick. 

  “Got something.. for you.. something dumb that I saw.” 

  He tried his damndest to be cavalier. But Eddie was everything but. 

  Ten dollars in quarters, more hours than he had spent in a pizza joint ever, and a hoard of tiny plastic containers from a machine holding costume jewelry, he had finally gotten what caught his eye. 

  A silver ring adorning a bat with an indigo colored stone in the center. It didn’t come close to the actual beauty you possessed but the blue stone reminded him of the way you moved through the crowd that day, like a rare gem. 

  Tired eyes focused on him, a nervous little twitch in his body didn’t go unnoticed as he fumbled with something behind his back, a wanton smile smirked on his lips. 

  You smile, adjusting the book from your lap and rubbing the pressure from your eyes, “a gift? Ed, you didn’t have to do that.” 

  “Didn’t have too,” he charmed, moving closer into your space, his jeans tickling the tips of your toes, “but… I wanted to.” 

  “Should I close my eyes?” 

  He chuckled, “sure sweetheart, hold out your hand,” 

  Your eyes shut tight, eyelashes squishing against your cheeks as you giggled, “why am I nervous?” 

  He stared at the rubber eraser shavings that clung to your bottom lip. The graphite on your fingers, a small hole in your jeans atop your knee, showing a smooth expanse of skin that he itched to touch. You had captivated him since the day you crossed his lazy stare in the lunchroom, and he thought of very little else. 

  He could still hear your squeals when you opened your eyes and saw the delicate ring in your palm. Still feel the way his heart raced when you jumped up and hugged his middle, squeezing him tight against you, the smell of your hair filling his nose with notes of strawberry, or was it peach? 

  He didn't realize he had the ring fisted in a vice grip until he felt blood in his palm, salty tears collecting in the thickness of his mustache, his lip quivering.

  They’re wiped away in haste at the sound of a police cruiser. The familiar scent of thick gasoline exhaust and a camel cigarette follow with the squeak of his driver's door and release of weight on the suspension. 

  A towering frame crowds the sun from Eddie’s brow. A thick mustache sits square on an egg shaped skull, sunken cheeks replace a once plump face. But the drawl and cigarette smoke are welcoming just the same. 

  “Hey kid.” 

  —

  Eddie was nervous. 

  The time you two had been spending together was making him feel giddy. You hadn’t kissed or so much as held hands yet but the air between you both had become filled with dense clouds of lust induced tension— it was hard for him to see straight. 

  He didn’t know if you felt the same, or if you only saw him as a friend, but tonight was the night the boundaries would cross, and he stood armed like a Paladin, ready to conquer his toughest quest yet, you.

  Ice had built up on the broken concrete steps to Eddie’s trailer and your slick bottomed converse hit the glassy surface just right for you to slip backwards, falling into strong leather coated arms. 

  “We gotta stop falling into each other princess,” he chuckled, holding you tight with hands wrapped around your waist, “gettin’ too old for this nonsense.”

  His scent invades you, encompassing you with hints of camels, a stick of big red gum, and starch powdered deodorant. 

  Your laugh bubbles out of your throat like a giggly champagne, “damn, you got me, totally do this on purpose, insurance claims. All the rage nowadays.” 

  He buffers for a bit as you tip forward on your feet and spin to face him, one step higher than he stands. “Only kidding,” you tease, grabbing his chin with icy fingers. 

  His doe eyes stare into yours, lost in the way you made his heart skip and his bones feel like jello, blood ablaze. He’s searching, searching your face for a giveaway— a sign. 

  And it happens like clockwork.

  Your hands rest on either of his cheeks, thumb sweeping softly over the creamy silk of his skin, an audible sigh slides from his throat, followed by a giggle slipping from yours before your voice narrows to a whisper, “lighten up Munson.”

  The salmon tone of his lips have gone more cherry colored in the cold, a little chapped from the frigid temps. Not the usually pinkish orangey hue they drew in warm light when he flustered over History notes and Chemistry study cards.

  The apples of his cheeks were rosy like a cherub on a Valentine’s Day card, glittered with fancy text swirling of “Be Mine?” 

  Coal eyes shone with the bright overhead light from the trailer park. A deer caught in headlights. 

  Eddie was handsome in a way nobody in Hawkins was. A mane of curled brown locks, eyes to match. He was affectionate, easygoing, and you loved him the minute he crashed into you a few months ago. 

  Hands still on your waist he pulled you towards him, “Can’t,” he breathes, almost silently, a huff of air between you now, “not when I’m around you, never around you.” 

  Your fingers tangle together around his shoulders, braided in the hair at the nape of his neck, he shudders at the temperature change on his skin. 

  A quirk in your brow you tilt your head and wet your lips, “why’s that?” 

  He joins you on the crowded step, taller than you, peering into your face, heavy hands still on the waist, “for months, haven’t been able to think straight when you’re here,” his hands rub on your lower back making lazy circles under your coat with his blunt nails. 

  “Hmm..” you tease, twirling a curled lock of of the hair framing his face between your fingers, sultry eyes looking up at him in thick eyelashed innocence, “wonder why that is?” 

  The opening he was looking for, boundary lines down in overgrown grass as if he rolled a crit hit to whatever creature stood in his path was laid out for him. 

  His forehead comes to rest on yours, surprisingly warm in the cold, his nose like frost as it slid beside your own, bumping and sharing one breath. 

  “ ‘cause I’m crazy ‘bout you,” he finally admits, heart loosening, unrestricting, “and I can’t stop thinking what your lips would feel like with mine.”  

  He feels your smile on his mouth, the bated breath you’re holding teasing his tongue, “find out,” is all you can get mutter before his lips press gently to yours. 

  —

  Hawkins was a few hours drive, longer yet after stopping at the nearest diner for a burger and fries. After staring at a menu for more than Hopper’s liking he ordered for himself and Eddie. 

  The coffee came in white ceramic mugs, the waitress setting them down in the designated spots that were already stained with rings of taupe, years of wear. 

  “Wayne’s all set up in a new trailer, living high off the hog or whatever he said during our weekly check-ins.”

  Eddie ate in silence, chewing slowly, eating but not really tasting. What was freedom if you weren’t a part of it? 

  He’d be the first to admit that he talked to you when he was stressed. When he thought he couldn’t shut his eyes without seeing the horrific beings that crawled upside down from our world, he turned to your voice, feeling you wrap around him gave him a sense of hope. 

  “It’s not in Forest Hills, somewhere a little more private, government owned land.” 

  Eddie sipped at the bitter coffee, taking the burn in a big swig, letting it hurt. Nodding along as he watched his reflection in the dark cup. 

  —

  Kissing you was like being able to breathe underwater, like the 1986 New Year’s fireworks over Lover’s Lake. 

  He kissed you at your door before school when he showed up every morning to drive you. He stole more kisses in his van, cursing the 8:15 bell, his hands on your waist pulling you further into him.

  Standing by your locker, he kissed your cheeks as you dug for textbooks. He pressed his lips to your ear in the lunch line, making you squirm. 

  He kissed your shoulder when he sat behind you teaching you to play his guitar. Pressing the delicate pads of your fingers into the strings to play each chord with ease. 

  He’d groan into your neck, while pressing you into the couch, nipping your skin until his lips were raw. 

  “Where have you been my whole life?” 

  Your fingers are entwined in his hair, pulling his weight  further into you, your legs wrap around his waist, “led astray, lost, so lost.” 

  He leans up, dark curtains of hair dangling into your face from your position on the saggy couch in the Munson living room.  

  He smiles a toothy grin, dimples breaching, “good thing I found you then, baby,” he sweeps a rogue eyelash from your cheek, “can’t escape me now.” 

  “wouldn’t want to even if I were dead.”

  —

  “Nope, hasn’t said a word, how do you know he can even talk?” 

  Owen’s sighs on the other end of the receiver, “he’s tough, but he’s been through a lot,  needs time to recover, find out who he is again.” 

  Hopper takes a long drag of a cigarette, “yeah, don’t know about that one doc, he’s mute.” 

  Short trimmed nails scratch at a tuft of curly white hair, stationed somewhere in Nevada, “Alright, just get him home, I’ll call the uncle and let him know.” 

  — 

  Hugs lingered. Kisses deepened. Bodies pressed to one another in a staticky velcro of magnets, unable to peel apart. 

  Things were hot and heavy between you and Eddie. Smoky, tingly, a fog that had your blood pulsing places you didn’t know was even possible. You didn’t want to be apart, aching to explore every inch of him. 

  And he felt the same. 

  Together you set the plans into place. 

  He purchased the condoms, made sure his favorite mix of the slowest metal music he could find was ready to go. He washed his bed sheets and lit a dust covered candle. 

  You had done your own routine, showering and thoroughly scrubbing every surface of your skin, lathering a thick lotion on your body, and planting perfume in the direct places Cosmo described as, ‘irresistible’. 

  It wasn’t his first time. But it was yours. 

  Running his fingers through his bangs once more he took a last meticulous look around his room, crossing the trailer to answer the front door, where you had knocked quietly. 

  You were gorgeous, standing in a pair of light wash jeans and a buttoned red sherpa coat. A bag over your shoulder. 

  “There’s my girl,” he cooed, holding his arms wide and embracing you in his signature bone crushing hug. His lips found yours in a fevered second and he walked you backwards inside, flipping the deadbolt as he kicked the door behind him. 

  The duffle bag travels from your shoulder to his arm and he breaks away from your tempting lips. Holding your shoulder he pulls you into him, looking at you as he leads you to his room. 

  “Got everything you need? Toothbrush?” 

  You smile a little nervously, “check.”

  “Okay, pajamas?” he inquires, “could wear mine if you wanted, you’d look pretty damn cute in my Garfield pants.” 

  “Packed and folded last night,” you say, tickling

 his sides, “you were on the phone with me when I did it.” 

  He stops before crossing the threshold to his room, hands gently pressed to your cheeks, looking into your eyes in a serious manner.

  “Are you sure? Like really sure?” his brows knit into concern, “I want you to be comfortable with this.. with me.” 

  You tug his shirt with a pinched grip, at his waist, staring back into his eyes, the truth on your tongue. 

  “I want you.” 

  —

  Gravel spits up from the rubber tires as Hopper’s cruiser pulls off onto the secluded road. Eddie’s head hits the window hard with a thud, waking him from a dream. 

  “Home sweet home, kid.” Hop grunts, cranking the vehicle to a stop after traveling down a long twisting driveway thick with bordering trees and miles of woods on either side. A safe haven for a man deemed dead. 

  He could make out the taillights of his van, nestled in the tall grass beneath a willow tree, obscured from view. Wayne’s trusty Ford under the carport. 

  The overcast sky splayed a gray color against the new Munson home, and sitting on steps that weren’t broken, was Wayne. 

  The passenger door releases with a groan, and he inhales the fresh scent of dirt and summer grass. Finally, he feels like he can breathe. 

  Wayne’s familiar thin lipped grin is spread wide on his face, smoke lingering from a cigarette in an ashtray. His wet eyes gleam at the boy he once thought was dead, as he stands to greet his nephew.

  “Hardly recognized ya with that short hair, Ed, and that beard?” he says rubbing a weathered hand through his own scruff, “givin’ me a run for my money son.” 

  He hadn’t seen his uncle since that friday morning in March. Unbeknownst to them both, in 15 short hours a cheerleader would die gruesomely in their living room, sprouting a world of chaos and demons, destruction, uncertainty and more carnage. 

  Hop had explained to Eddie that Wayne was compensated generously for his grief by the United States Government. He was told the ins and outs of what had happened and where Eddie was, and perched on land in a new house, he was told to wait. 

  —

  Spring had sprung, the hard winter that seemed like it would never end was finally seeing its demise. March brought promises of new growth in the soil, and warmer days ahead. 

  It was a typical Friday, besides a morning pep rally for the laundry basket team after winning an important game the night before. 

  A pep rally you never attended.

  Your back was pressed against the bathroom stall, skirt rucked up with the help of Eddie’s hand. 

  “We’re… gonna… get caught.” You rasped out between kisses.

  His other hand was interlaced with yours high above your head, “probably,” he teased, tongue licking into your mouth, “it’s worth it though? Yeah?” 

  His hand travels further to the cotton waist of your panties, dragging them further and further down your thigh, his lips assaulting your neck, vibrating with your delicate moans. 

  “For you?” you question, hooking an arm around his shoulder, as your panties hit the ground, “always.” 

  He smiles into your lips as he pushes into your warm center, taking the breath from your lungs as you adjust to him, ass cheeks cold on the metal siding of the stall. 

  Your legs are wrapped into the crease where his elbow meets, his cock dragging in and out languidly, mouths hung open and tasting each other's ecstasy as your eyes drink one another up. 

  “Swear I’ve never, ever had someone like you, baby,” he gasped, bangs frizzing from being wet from a morning shower then covered in sweat. 

  Hips pistoning into you, he can feel your walls clench and tighten, your breath choked before you release, saying his name as if it’s the only word you can make out. 

  He cums hard. biting his lip and burying his face into your neck, “I love you, fuck I love you.”

  It was the first time he had said it. He had known it for months, but today in the girls bathroom skipping a pep rally he could give a shit about, he figured it was the perfect place to say how he felt. 

  He’s still inside you when you say it back, spend leaking from you and onto the tiled floor. Your own eyes wet with the happiest of tears because no one has ever said that to you, not like this. 

  But this gorgeous man, in all his reputational flaws that didn’t mean shit, loved you. And you had never felt more emotion flooding through you all at once. 

  “I love you too, Eddie.” 

  —

  Hopper didn’t stay for supper, patting his barely there belly and saying the missus was expecting him home tonight. He tipped a felt hat goodbye to Wayne and to Eddie, telling them to call if they needed anything.

  He still hadn’t spoken, only nodded and waved curtly as the red tail lights danced down the tangled web of a driveway. 

  “Gonna make pork chops if you’re interested,” Wayne chirped, holding the door open for him as they climbed the same number of steps, “learned how to cook, can y’ believe that?” 

  He smiled softly, carrying his envelope of release papers and setting them on the table. 

  Everything from the old trailer was ruined. His guitar, all the band equipment he had stored in his room, the mattress that held more memories with you in them that he’d never get back— all gone, burned to a rancid fiery crisp when the fourth chime rang and Hawkins spread open like a festering wound. 

  The only thing he had of yours was the small bat ring with a sapphire stone. 

  Ten dollars in quarters at a shitty pizza place. He should have given you something real.

  —

  “.. yeah yeah and I was full of shit then,” Eddie grinned as Jeff and Gareth teased him about his graduation timeline. “This is my year, I can feel it.. ‘86 baby!”

  He was always a flare for dramatics, dungeon master or not he amped it up for the freshman, acting like DnD was life or death, as if the cult of Vecna couldn’t be missed. 

  To be fair, he spent months on this campaign, late nights plotting and scrawling into a binder as you sat behind him, playing with his hair. 

  French braids then pippy styled pigtails, a cute bun on the top of his head with little hairs sweeping against his forehead and at the nape of his neck, perfect curls. 

  “Ten bucks says Wheeler cries when Vecna makes his return.”

  “You think?” 

  “Definitely.”

  Shoving Dustin and Mike with specific instructions to find a replacement player for Lucas, he sits down to his measly little lunch, leaning over to your space and whispering so only you can hear. 

  “After Hellfire tonight you wanna come over? Wayne bought a frozen pizza and I heard that Family Video finally got some good horror flicks in.” 

  Stealing a pretzel from his fingers you nod your head yes, “ I’ll get the movie, meet you at the trailer?” 

  The rest of the day dragged on. One boring class after another, students excited for the upcoming game, teachers unable to keep the roar of amped up Jocks under control, but alas the last bell finally rang. Releasing Hawkins High for Spring Break of ‘86. 

  Some kids went on vacation, others hunkered down with their friends. And some never made it back to school when classes resumed. 

  Walking down to his designated selling spot at the forgotten picnic table in the woods, he could have never imagined the trouble he’d be in just seven hours later. 

  —

  Pork Chops seared in a pan with some butter and a chopped onion, Wayne had the news playing on the small tv in the kitchen, listening for the weather report. 

  The trailer was identical to the one lost to the rotting flesh of the Upside Down. Newer, and a damn sight cleaner, but the layout was exactly the same, except for an added bedroom with an attached bath on the opposite wall of the living room.

  The filthy hat collection was replaced by odd cowboy decor and small wolf figurines. Eddie paced around the living room, touching the knick knacks that someone else had picked out not even questioning whether or not Wayne enjoyed this kind of stuff. 

  He had shown Eddie to his room, a navy blue carpet stretched across the floor, a queen sized bed against the back wall. New new new. Everything was foreign to him. 

  He would miss the heavy creak of a dresser drawer that didn’t shut properly, his closet door that fell off its track years before. Hell, he’d even miss the itch of the green wool blanket he kept on his bed in the winter months. 

  “Got your own bathroom too,” Wayne said cheerfully hovering in the doorway, hand rubbing the knob as he stared at the floor, “figured you’d wanna shower ‘fore supper, so I laid a towel out.” 

  Eddie turned his head nodding while he poked at the too soft blanket folded on his bed.

  “It’s good to have you home, Eddie.” Wayne said, finally looking into his nephew’s eyes, “didn’t feel the same without you.” 

  Wayne wasn’t a coddler, he didn’t want Eddie to feel like he couldn’t be trusted, so he turned to leave, “shower’s got real good water pressure.” He takes  a glance back at Eddie, and looks around the room before pulling the door shut behind him.

  “Thanks,” Eddie mumbles, turning away at the last second, avoiding the piercing color of Wayne’s eyes before they could break him down. 

  —

  Ten o’ clock on the dot your car crunched onto the dusty driveway of Forest Hills. Eddie’s van wasn’t parked out front yet, but thankfully the Munson trailer was never kept locked. 

  The trailer smelled of old smoke and musk from two hard working men. Even if the laundry was never caught up, and greasy wrappers from a quick bite of a burger littered the counter— Eddie’s home was comforting to you. 

  You didn’t have to fumble around for the light switches anymore, walking in the dark you knew where the table could connect with your hip if you weren’t careful. 

  Ten steps from the kitchen, down the hall was his bedroom door, five steps back led to the bathroom. He had cleared a drawer for you to keep your clothes in, socks, extra pajamas, some of his favorite pairs of your underwear lived in the top drawer on the right. 

  The mirror on his dresser held a collection of pictures of the two of you from the photo booth at Starcourt Mall, movie ticket stubs, and the mint condition guitar he kept sacred. 

  A yawn escapes your tired mouth the warmth of a shower calls to you.  

  Grabbing a towel from the cabinet, the water sputters under the shower head as it always did, and familiar music floods your ears from the thin walls outside. 

—

  His reflection is gaunt, different than the last time he looked at himself, the night he struck the mirror in disgust. 

  He’s too happy to rid himself of the swamp smelling clothes that itched and scraped his skin. The lick of a flame would do them justice, good riddance to the worst time of his life.

  The shower is bigger, the head double the size of the one he grew used to. The spray of scalding water hits his head like magma. Burning his flesh, washing away months of isolation, stale air, and stiff clothing. 

  The water released muscles in his back that had grown crimped from the thin cot he curled himself on. His fingers ran through the shorter length of hair on his head, just above his eyebrows realizing it now was long enough to drip water into his eyes. 

  He didn’t check the labels before rubbing whatever soap or shampoo it was into his skin, but the slide of it onto his pale and gummy mauled scars felt like butter on toast. 

  Registering the faint scent of a stixky sweet fruit he couldn’t determine if it was strawberry or peach, but the concoction had him clutching his chest, unable to breathe. 

  It smelled like you.

  You. His best friend.

You. His first girlfriend.

You. The only person he has ever loved— so intensely, it killed him. 

  You you you. 

  His gem. All sapphire blues with depths beyond comparison to anyone else who simply peaked on the surface. 

  Gone.

  “Ready whenever you are!” Wayne knocked on the door, “pork chop ain’t no good cold.”

  He wipes the tears from his eyes. Regulates his breathing with labored intakes. And finally admits the thing he couldn’t for the past six months. 

  “She’s gone.” 

  —

  “Sorry for the mess, maid took the week off.” 

  “You live here alone?”

  Murmured voices are muffled under the rush of water from the shower, “Eddie?..that you?”

  Shuffled steps get closer and the bathroom door swings open, Eddie’s eyes are wide, wild with excitement as they roam over your form. 

  He licks his lips, stalking towards you in a lazy manner with dark hooded eyes, “prettiest girl in the whole world in my bathroom?” His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you into him, a breathtaking move leaving you giggly as his hand caresses your cheek, “hope you’re naked under these clothes.” 

  He presses his lips to yours in a chaste kiss, dipping you low and swinging you back up, he tastes like Mountain Dew and lingering hints of nicotine, spread with a wicked grin. 

  “I missed you, handsome,” you say, pressing your lips to his again, “so how was it? Did Mike cry when Vecna came back?” 

  Eddie barks out a laugh, rubbing his hands together, “think I might’ve seen a single tear fall, but they defeated him— crit hit by Sinclair’s sister.”

  “Really? That’s.. impressive!” 

  “It was… shit, I’ve never been more proud of those little assholes.” His smile fades and you know he’ll miss being DM for them next year. 

  “Eddie?” A small voice asks from the living room.

  Your brow quirks in question and he looks at you voice whispering low, “Chrissy Cunningham wants to buy ketamine.”

  “What?!” you whisper back face struck in shock, “seriously?!” 

  Eddie nods, eyes wide in almost disbelief himself, “wanted a half ounce at first, but then said she needed something stronger.” 

  Your face pulls concern, honestly astonished that someone who seemed so prim and proper would want something like that. Eddie didn’t sell k normally you’ve been with him on multiple occasions and the only thing that was consistent with your peers of Hawkins High was weed. 

  “Do you even have it?” 

  “Dunno” he shrugs, lips in a frown, “told her I did because it’s an easy thirty bucks, but I could just crush up some tic-tacs… she wouldn’t know the difference.” 

  “Eddie? Did you find it?” Chrissy calls out in a nervous pitch. 

  “I can talk to her while you find something?” 

  “That’d be great,” he kissed you once more, lips buzzing, “two minutes!” He practically skips to his bedroom and shoots you a wink. Leaving you in a flight of butterflies lining your stomach. Helplessly in love. 

  —

  Inhaling the hot cooked meal that didn’t taste like warmed up roadkill, Eddie sat in silence in a clean pair of clothes that weren’t his, listening to Wayne talk about what he’d been up to since they had last seen each other. 

  He burned with questions, needing, wanting, aching to know but the only thing he could blurt out came choked and almost suffocating on the use of his vocal cords. 

  “I need to see her.”

  Wayne simply slurped his iced tea, setting the glass down heavy on the oak table, ice shifting. “Figured you would… want me to drive ya?” 

  Eddie swallows hard and shakes his head, “I need to go alone.” 

  With instructions from Wayne on the less traveled roads back to town, Eddie’s van sputtered to life in a cloud of backfiring smoke. He couldn’t bring himself to look at the passenger seat, he knew what would be there, and what wouldn’t. 

  Nothing was the same. Not anymore. 

  —

  The boat floor was cramped, quite literally packed like sardines in a can, you were somehow lulled to sleep by the sway of Lover’s Lake waters and the even breathing of Eddie’s chest. 

  Your head tucked beneath his chin, he wrapped his arms around you as tight as he could without crushing your bones. 

  Rick’s offered little comfort for an empty stomach outside of a moldy fruit bowl, an expired beer and a singular can of spaghetti o’s. But you were both safe for now. And that’s what mattered. 

  The kids, Steve Harrington— of all people— and Robin promised food and any information they could find without seeming suspicious. He was gracious for their companionship, needing something to keep him busy while trying to hide his own slip to insanity from you. 

  Your tears were endless, soft and steady one minute and the next you were wrecked, in a choked fit clinging to him for dear life. 

  Eddie’s mind played on replay of your trembling screams when Chrissy’s bones snapped like twigs and her eyes vacuumed out of her skull. Vecna, a made up character that he had been obsessing over for the past couple months for DnD was real. 

  Killing teenagers for what? World domination? Eddie and yourself were the ones on the run, knowing all too well how a dead cheerleader in his trailer would look to any cop with half a brain. 

  He’d run forever if it meant not losing you and killing Vecna for good. Everything he had ever known, books of fantasy and creatures that he drew for campaigns, it was all real, and these kids have been fighting it for years now. 

  The sound of tires crunching on the driveway had his ears perked like a guard dog, followed by three slamming doors. Instructions were given, and he could only imagine that whoever it was was in Rick’s house and it was only a matter of time before they noticed the boat house just like Mayfield had. 

  The walkie talkie Dustin left was clutched in his hand, you were both fucked, and needed help— now.

—

  The Roane Hill Cemetery was eerily foggy, dew coated the hot blades of grass from the sweltered heat. Wayne drew a map on what section you were in. Apparently the number of people lost in the “earthquake” were in the upper digits now, and they were running out of land to bury the deceased.

  Those not recovered were given markers slotted into the ground with accompanied by silk ribbons to symbolize hope. They were nestled up under a thick tree line, complete with a wrought iron fence. 

  He bubbled out a laugh when he crossed by his own empty grave. The headstone was covered in graffiti of wishes to burn in hell. Typical. His death date marked as  ‘March 27 1986’. But that wasn’t true. 

  Lots of people passed that day when hell itself opened a crimson quaking flood. but not him. Although he wished he had. 

  Pushing forward, he knew had to be close now. The air was thick in the foggy whiteness— blinding him. A high pitched croak screeched from the sky, and he stumbled backward, landing on his ass with a wet thud, a spattering of grass grown wild in tender dirt. 

  His chest cavity sunk in, gasping for breath but coming up empty. Each threatened choke chipped away at him as his fists tore at the soft ground. 

  His girl. His gem. Laid to rest.

  —

  The Winnebago rocked on uneven suspension as Steve winded down the Indiana highway back to Hawkins. It was eerily quiet. Even Robin was silent, planning her mission in her head? You couldn’t be sure. 

  Tightening the bandana around Eddie’s curls you ask him if it feels okay. 

  “Yeah, course.” 

  Days of running. Hours of growling stomachs, unable to keep down food— you prayed this plan of Nancy’s would work, that Max would be able to lure Vecna with her vulnerable mind, that Eddie could distract the bats long enough to have the others attack his paralysis ridden body—it had to work— right? 

  Eddie sits and pulls you onto his lap, adjusting the spear made by the same eleven year old girl who defeated his campaign a few nights before. Erica, you learned, was a warrior. 

  “Nervous?” you asked throwing an arm around his neck and whispering into his ear. 

  He shrugged nonchalantly, “little worried.” 

  You believed in the plan, in the younger kids, in Steve Nancy and Robin who had been fighting stuff like this from a different dimension for years. They were trustworthy and intelligent. 

  “It’s gonna work babe,” you encouraged, stroking his cheek, “we’ll clear your name, graduate, and then leave this hell hole, together.” 

  He looks at you with strained eyes, wetter than usual, “you and me?” 

  Staring back at him you press your lips to his in a gentle kiss, “forever.” 

  —

  He laid there until the sky turned to ink. Speaking to you in his head, knowing in his deepest of hearts that you could hear him. Telling you how he had missed you, how your beautiful smile played like a film in his brain. How he loved you. and hours have told you sooner, more, every day.

  He told you how he wished he was gone too. Would you like that? It could be so easy to do.

  Tracing his fingers over the formal font of your engraved name. He smirked at the silly spelling of your middle name. 

  It was comforting. 

  Eddie hadn’t felt this sense of calm since the day you hadn’t come back to him in the mirror, and he thought whatever magic spell was broken until you reached for him one last time, promising to never leave. 

  But you did, and he was alone. 

  Standing upright, he let out a sleepy yawn, “can I come by tomorrow?” he asked, “would you be okay with that?” He smiled, and bent at the knee to press his lips into the stone above your name. 

  “Oh,” he remembered, fishing your ring from the breast pocket of his borrowed flannel shirt, “look what I found.”

  He held it to your stone, “this belongs to you, baby, I want you to have it.” 

  Placing the small ring on the smooth base of your tombstone, he gets back up, knees clicking like he’s years older than he actually was. 

  “See you tomorrow, my sweet gem.” 

  —

  The night air shifted on his drive home, blowing a chilling breeze from the north that whipped his hair around his ears. The van struggled on the drive home with each gust that blew against the metal frame. 

  “Think we’re in for a storm tonight.” Wayne said when Eddie breached the front steps, straightening his arm, “ol elbow’s actin’ up.” 

  “Kinda cold for September, right?” 

  “All of a sudden it dropped about thirty degrees, somethin’s a brewin’.” 

  Wayne had his truck keys wrapped around a finger, “I gotta go check on Miss Pam, her husband died in the uhh.. anyway, she’s not doing well and you remember how those damn lights always went out? I’ll be back after while.”

  Eddie grew a smile, “should I wait up?” 

  Wayne stopped in his tracks, talking around a smirk hiding a laugh, “don’t get smart with me.” 

  They both share a glance and laugh softly, and Eddie still has a smile even after the rumble of Wayne’s pickup gets carried away in the wind. 

  He locked up, pulling the vinyl shades and unhooking the curtains, pitching the trailer into darkness right as the rain pelted the window panes. 

  Wayne must have made his bed when he was in the cemetery. A small radio was perched on a nightstand and after slipping into starched pajama pants, from the fancy dresser, Eddie fiddled with the knob until the faint guitar sounds filled the room. 

  Thunder grumbled in the distance, but what he heard next was repetitive, growing louder. Shit, maybe Wayne didn’t have a house key. 

  “Ya know,” he says, walking to through the kitchen to the front door, “you tel me not to wait up but then you bang on the door because you don’t have keys? C’mon!” 

  The door swings open with a final gust of wind. Mud sloshed on his feet, Rain splattered his face. But that was not a concern. 

  A beautiful face, covered in Earth. Eyes he hadn’t seen outside of a mirror in months. You wore the same thing he last saw you in, same tattered wear that his Hellfire shirt had, but it somehow looked soft. 

  “I promised you forever.” 

[vestaignis]

Необычные и интересные факты о ежах:

Ежи появились на Земле раньше, чем люди – около 15 миллионов лет назад. Роднит нас с ежами также то, что у них зубов почти столько же, как у нас – их 36, и эти зубы также выпадают к старости.  У ежей не самое лучшее зрение. Правда, считается, что ежи, в отличие от всех остальных животных, у которых "черно-белое" зрение, могут различать цвета. Число игл на теле у этих животных напрямую зависит от их возраста. У молодых особей, их около 3 тысяч, а у более старых – до 5-6 тысяч.

Несмотря на свои небольшие размеры ежи достаточно шустрые животные. Они могут бежать со скоростью до 3 м/с. Для своих коротких лапок ежик очень много ходит. За день он может преодолеть расстояние до 2 км. Территория одного ежа может занимать 20 гектаров. Ежи могут передвигаться даже по болоту и хорошо плавают.

Чтобы пережить зимнюю спячку, еж набирает как минимум 500 граммов веса. За зиму еж теряет до 40 % своего веса. Поэтому, проснувшись, он сразу отправляется на поиски пищи. Ежи чуют добычу на расстоянии нескольких метров. Когда еж впадает в спячку, обменные процессы в его организме замедляются. Температура тела понижается до 0°C, а сердцебиение падает с уровня 170 ударов в минуту до 5. 

Ежи имеют иммунитет к яду гадюк. Также на ежей почти не действуют и другие яды, даже самые сильные, такие как сулема, мышьяк, цианистый калий, синильная кислота и другие.

Всего в мире существует 24 вида ежей. Некоторые из них схожи между собой так, что различить их может только опытный зоолог, а другие внешне больше похожи на крыс.

Unusual and interesting facts about hedgehogs:

Hedgehogs appeared on Earth earlier than humans – about 15 million years ago. What we have in common with hedgehogs is that they have almost as many teeth as we do – there are 36 of them, and these teeth also fall out in old age. Hedgehogs don't have the best eyesight. However, it is believed that hedgehogs, unlike all other animals that have "black and white" vision, can distinguish colors. The number of needles on the body of these animals directly depends on their age. In young individuals, there are about 3 thousand, and in older ones – up to 5-6 thousand.

Despite their small size, hedgehogs are quite nimble animals. They can run at speeds of up to 3 m/s. For his short legs, the hedgehog walks a lot. He can cover a distance of up to 2 km in a day. The territory of one hedgehog can occupy 20 hectares. Hedgehogs can move even in a swamp and swim well.

To survive hibernation, a hedgehog gains at least 500 grams of weight. During the winter, the hedgehog loses up to 40% of its weight. Therefore, when he wakes up, he immediately goes in search of food. Hedgehogs sense prey at a distance of several meters. When a hedgehog hibernates, the metabolic processes in its body slow down. The body temperature drops to 0°C, and the heartbeat drops from 170 beats per minute to 5.

Hedgehogs are immune to viper venom. Also, other poisons, even the strongest ones, such as sulema, arsenic, potassium cyanide, prussic acid and others, have almost no effect on hedgehogs.

There are 24 species of hedgehogs in the world. Some of them are similar to each other so that only an experienced zoologist can distinguish them, while others look more like rats.

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[theantarwitch]

Alchemy, the untouched friend of Witchcraft

If there is something interesting that is nearly not used on mostly of the witch community, is Alchemy, and is something from which we could take some few useful stuffs.

As always, disclaimer first, I’m not an expert on the subject and I barely if I read a couple of books about the topic (from another 10 untouched ones lol), so as always in life, take what I say with tweezers. This is meant to be a light superficial view to open a door of possibilities in a mix of Witchcraft and Alchemy, is not a thesis. Saying that, to the core of the question.

Alchemy use elements. A lot of them.

The three primes or Tria Prima (the basic 3 materials): Sulfur (Related to the Soul and the principle of combustibility, so it has volatility, can burn, explode, combust), Mercury (Related to the Spirit, the principle of fusibility so the material can be fused together and volatility so a substance vaporizes), and Salt (Relate to the Body, the principle of non-combustibility and non-volatility).

Our beloved Four basic Elements: Air, Earth, Fire, Water.

The Seven Metals associated with the seven classical planets: Lead, corresponding with Saturn. Tin, corresponding with Jupiter. Iron, corresponding with Mars. Gold, corresponding with the Sun. Copper, corresponding with Venus. Mercury, corresponding with Mercury. Silver, corresponding with the Moon.

The 13 Mundane Elements and Later Metals: Antimony, Arsenic, Bismuth, Cobalt, Magnesium, Manganese, Nickel, Oxygen, Phlogiston, Phosphorus, Platinum, Sulfur, Zinc (All of them with a lot of interesting properties and functions, in and out the alchemy world).

The 10 Alchemical Compounds: Acid, Sal ammoniac, Aqua fortis, Aqua regia, Aqua vitae, Amalgam, Cinnabar, Vinegar, Vitriol, Brimstone (All of them also with amazing properties).

And what interesting me the most (at least to my way to do witchcraft), The 12 Alchemical Processes:

Calcination (Aries): The thermal treatment of a solid to removing impurities or volatile substances.

Congelation (Taurus): Term used in medieval and early modern alchemy for the process known today as crystallization. Process by which a solid form into a structure known as a crystal, by precipitating from a solution or freezing.

Fixation (Gemini): Process by which a previously volatile substance is "transformed" into a form (often solid) that is not affected by fire.

Solution (Cancer): Homogeneous mixture composed of two or more substances. In such a mixture, a solute is a substance dissolved in another substance, known as a solvent.

Digestion (Leo): A process in which gentle heat is applied to a substance over a period of several weeks.

Distillation (Virgo): Separating the components or substances from a liquid mixture by using selective boiling and condensation.

Sublimation (Libra): The transition of a substance directly from the solid to the gas state, without passing through the liquid state.

Separation (Scorpio): Converts a mixture or solution of chemical substances into two or more distinct product mixtures. Process of distinguishing to two or more substance in order to obtain purity.

Ceration (Sagittarius): Chemical process, by continuously adding a liquid by imbibition to a hard, dry substance while it is heated. Typically, this treatment makes the substance softer.

Fermentation/ Putrefaction (Capricorn): A metabolic process that produces chemical changes in organic substrates through the action of enzymes/ Decomposition of organic matter by bacterial or fungal digestion.

Multiplication (Aquarius): Process to increase the potency of the elixir or projection powder, in order to increase the gains in the subsequent projection.

Projection (Pisces): Process to transmute a lesser substance into a higher form; often lead into gold.

Damn, alchemy even have symbols to Units: Month, Day, Hour, Dram (Unit of mass between 1 and 3 grams), Half Dram, Ounce (Unit of mass, weight or volume of 28 grams, Half Ounce, Scruple (1 grams), Pound (500 grams).

So just with this simple 2 pages of basic Wikipedia info, we have a ton of new things to use. Everything here has specific properties, some more physical and chemical oriented, but others (like the 3 Tria Prima and The 12 Alchemical Processes) have a lot of correspondences with the witch life itself.

The 12 Alchemical Processes could be absolutely used to represent an desired outcome.

Calcination uses thermal treatment, so it can boost the Fire element of a spell. It also “removing impurities or volatile substances”, so can be applied to generate a mild fever to get rid off the flu, or to boost the organs that clean the body (kidneys and liver mostly)

Congelation turns a solid by freezing, can boost the Water element, so all the “freezer spells” can be boosted with this.

Fixation? A volatile substance is transformed into a solid form? Sound pretty much to grounding, or to help to focus an ADHD head as mine, or to put down to earth someone who is VOLATILE AND VIOLENT. Also, Earth element.

Solution? Homogeneous mixture of two or more substances? It sounds like an aid to make two people on conflict to get into an agreement, or to boost a new business by mixing the opportunities with the action. Air element.

Digestion. A process in which gentle heat is applied to a substance over a period of several weeks? It sounds like something that can help any process that need digestion (bad news must be “digested”, hard choices must be “consulted with the pillow”), and the “gentle heat” sounds comforting. Someone is grieving? Maybe Digestion can help them to overcome the awful times.

Distillation. Separating the components or substances. Anything that need to be separated can be helped with this. Relationships that must end, breakups, cut the ties with older things or habits.

Sublimation. The transition of a substance. I heard trans rights? Can this maybe help with your hormones? Or even to transition from what you previously left behind with the distillation, to focus in a new better future.

Separation. Process of distinguishing to two or more substance in order to obtain purity. How to choose from two or more choices? How to pick the better one? The one with purity? Separation maid aid.

Ceration. A hard, dry is heated to make it softer. Make that person less frigid, make the boss less bitchy, make your chronic pain less hurtful, make your bills less heavy, all that you can think in make softer.

Fermentation/ Putrefaction. I personally love this one. Produces changes in organic substrates and decomposition of organic matter by bacterial or fungal digestion. Prime element to curses. All what you want to rid off in the most disgusting way. May their flesh get rotten under a car in a hot summer.

Multiplication. Process to increase the potency of the elixir in order to increase the gains in the subsequent projection. MONEY MONEY MAKE MORE MONEY, all what need to be increased and all what you want to multiply, go go go!

Projection. Transmute a lesser substance into a higher form “lead into gold”. Perfect to get better as a person, to learn to adapt, accept, to grow compassion, love, etc.

At this you can add the Units, the metals and mundane elements, the 4 elements, the tria prima, your crystals and herbs and sigils and all. And your spells will be filled with components and correspondences.

What’s better, a lot of the physical elements are not too hard to get (some yes, they are, but you are not here to make lead into gold with a full set of chemistry), but alchemy use a lot of symbology, so even if you don’t have the physical element, you can use their properties with the symbol, just as any other sigil.

Salt is easy. Tin in a food can. Antimony in mostly all the rocks. Arsenic in apple seeds (technically no but still). Cobalt and Manganese basically everywhere. Magnesium in your own body. Nickel in coins. Oxygen in the air., Phosphorus, Zinc and Sulfur in food. Acid in anything acid lol. Aqua vitae in alcohol (especially Whisky). Vinegar in vinegars.

Long story short, if you feel that maybe you are lacking something, check some books about alchemy would maybe help. Don’t pick super chemical specific pro books and don’t be discouraged by the terms, pick what can be useful to you, and I hope this open some doors and bring more curiosity about this amazing topic.

[captain-price-unofficially]

Weapons engineers were better when they dropped acid and did coke. Behold the 105mm Huey. In the 60’s Rock Island Arsenal wanted to modify UH1s to carry a 105mm howitzer with a box magazine.

[mercurycft]

𝐎𝐍𝐄 - 𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐁𝐄𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒

series masterlist - here!

FAIRYTALE SIGNING FOR AUSSIE STAR

HALLIE KING JOINS NORTH-LONDON CLUB AFTER UNBELIEVABLE SEASON-LONG PERFORMANCE AT MELBOURNE CITY.

•°. *࿐

LONDON, ENGLAND

she didn't know why she was nervous, her heart hammering in her chest and echoing in her ears as she gripped the steering wheel tighter, knuckles turning white. the sun was just beginning to peek through the usual clouds that plastered the london sky, but it wasn't enough to dispel the anxious dread that filled her entire being.

she glanced at her phone on the dashboard, and absentmindedly ignored the music coming through the speakers, willing the time to pass faster. she had never been more aware of her breath as she drove. every inhale, every exhale, each wheeze of air through her parted lips, seemingly magnified in the confines of her tiny car. it was as if the weight of the world was pressing down on her chest, making it harder and harder to draw in each precious breath.

the traffic was as relentless as the pounding of her heart, and she couldn't help but feel as if time itself had slowed to a crawl. outside of her car, london was beginning to stir, but she hardly noticed. her focus was entirely on the road, on the other cars and motorcycles whizzing past her, on the buildings that blurred past in a dizzying array of colors and shapes.

she had been here so many times that it was all so familiar, so mundane, that it almost felt surreal. almost.

nerves weren't unusual, but the fact she had driven this drive and spoken to these people so many times before had her shaking her head in disbelief and ridicule for herself.

the drive wasn't long - thirty minutes at best, and she was only a few minutes away now. as she neared the grounds, she could feel the anticipation rising within her like bile in the back of her throat.

pull in, park, simple.

as she pulled into a bay, she took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart, and glanced at herself in the rearview mirror. Her reflection was a pale blur, her features drawn and tired from the lack of sleep the night before.

a quick glance at the time told her she still had a few precious moments before she'd have to face them. she reached for her phone again, hoping to lose herself in the mindless chatter of social media or the latest celebrity gossip. but as she scrolled through her newsfeed, she was met with pictures of herself. god this is strange, she thought. she turned off the engine and sat there for a moment, staring blankly ahead, trying to gather her thoughts.

the air was crisp and cool against her skin, the scent of grass and earth mingling with the sound of shoes squeaking on the pavement. she took a step forward, her heart pounding in her ears, and scanned the empty space around her.

it was peaceful, quiet, tucked away from the hustle of the big city and it at all wasn't something she was used to.

•°.

through the double doors stood a man waiting, hair slicked back and out of his face - he was quick to turn around as the door swung open behind him.

"hallie, so good to see you again!" he greeted cheerfully, arms outstretched in a welcoming manner followed by a hand jutting into the space between their bodies.

she took his hand firmly, smiling, "jonas, great to see you!" they were pleasantries, but the human contact was enough to simmer the acidic burn in the back of her throat.

"lets walk," he said whilst gesturing hallie to take the space beside him, as he slipped his mobile into the pocket of his arsenal branded trousers. "the girls are very excited to meet you," he continued, smiling.

"i'm excited too,"

"nervous at all?" he interjected

"can you tell?" she said through an exhale. they shared a laugh, jonas patting her on the shoulder supportively.

"you'll be fine, they're a really nice bunch - on a plus, you already know steph so i'm sure you will fit right in,"

"i really hope so, i'm just so pleased to be here,"

they walked for a couple of minutes, continuing the conversation about the transition, the move - all the exciting but terrifying things that came with a transfer. he complimented the kit, which made hallie laugh. trading in her blue for red had been hard, feeling as if she was playing dress up the first time she put it on. an arsenal jersey carries such weight, such expectation, and she felt that wholly.

he was easy to talk to, hallie thought at least, easy to bounce off of in her nervy bubble. they turned down a hallway, then stopped outside another set of doors. he turned towards her.

"ready?"

she took a deep breath, shaking through her sinuses and shutting her eyes, then exhaled with a smile and small nod.

"ready."

he knocked twice, making himself known with a shout to avoid any awkward situations. he waited a beat before opening the door and ushering hallie inside with him.

on the other side of the door sat a changing room, adorned with jerseys and boots galore. the team stood in their respective areas, some in small groups talking, others on their phones. jonas' presence caught their attention, and the noise in the room simmered to a silence when you took your place ahead of them.

"everyone, this is hallie king."

— RG x

[probablyasocialecologist]

The sound of a child gasping for air. Headaches, nausea. Injury to the airways and lungs—inflammation, cell death. Methyl-mercury-contaminated fish that cause developmental effects in the yet-to-be-born: all part of the cost of fossil fuels. Burning coal produces various pollutants: sulfur dioxide, particulate matter, oxides of nitrogen, mercury, arsenic, chromium, nickel, other heavy metals, acid gases, and more. Extraction and processing of oil and gas also create zones of air and water pollution, as well as toxic waste. The toxicity runs through the whole chain from extraction to disposal. Does that sound too melodramatic? It’s probably not dramatic enough. A recent study found that in 2018, air pollution from fossil fuels was responsible for 8.7 million deaths. Pollution accounted for one in five of all deaths that year—about one in ten in the United States and Europe and about a third of the deaths in eastern Asia.

Holly Jean Buck, Ending Fossil Fuels: Why Net Zero is Not Enough