#but like of the pins we see on eddies vest that i can remember off the top of my head

[qprstobin]

Gonna say something kind of controversial but please know I say this as a punk girlie - it's absolutely wild that fandom is totally okay with Steve being a punk fan but seems to think that Steve wouldn't be able to handle the vocals of most of Eddie's metal bands.

[briarberrythornedhart]

Well... That’s Settled

Cw: none. Just fluff and eventual romance

It’s Saturday. A rare Saturday where you and your co-worker Eddie both aren’t working.

You knock on Eddie’s front door. Waiting a bit and hearing nothing. You knock again.

You hear “Coming. Shit! Fuck! Coming!! shit shit… Hold your gaddam horses” from Eddie— kinda muffled.

He opens the door with a scowl … and a glint catches your eye. A sewing needle in his mouth. He pulls the needle from between his teeth, it is trailing black thread. His scowl is softening into mild surprise.

“Oh it’s you??” He says

“It’s me. You…are... sewing ?? something?”

“Got a new patch for my vest at the show last weekend.” He holds up a black patch that says ‘Sloppy Seconds’ on it. “What’s up?”

“You said you were off today, and you could help me??? But your phone was busy… and probably I should have waited but it’s nearly eleven…”

“Nono, it’s cool, c’mon in.” He holds the screen door for you with his palm, fingers spread wide. “You are always welcome at Casa Munson. Didn’t think you’d take me up on my offer s’all.”

“But, Eddie Munson, you’re my only hope.” You did your best Leia Organa and Eddie grinned at you in acknowledgement of your effort.

“So you’re saying I’m a space wizard??” He fished for the compliment with typical cocky swagger.

“I’ve seen you use the Force on people with weak minds.” You wiggled your fingers in the air.

“When?? When have I ever done that?” He laughed.

You imitated Eddie’s midwestern accent that had that Munson Family brand Tennessee honey drizzled on it. “Golly, Officer, I didn’t think I was speeding. Oh - Keith, you said you didn’t want me to close on Tuesday, you personally want to walk the deposit to the bank, remember. Nah, you don’t need to roll to detect cursed objects right now after picking up that innocent looking pendant ...?”

“Well.. my magic doesn’t work on you, anyway.” He wryly pursed his lips.

It does though. It always does.

You watch him put the needle into a pin cushion that looked like a tomato and he laid his project aside.

He bends over the couch arm to do this and you can see the bit of un-inked skin above his gray boxers where his shirt rides up and his jeans ride low.

You can see the nice curve of his butt where one of the pockets is torn and his boxers show there too and you wish to hell he wanted you back.

You sigh. That would be so nice.

He stands and looks at you with his eyebrows raised in query. “What??”

So you change the subject. “Why don’t you put patches on your jeans? They are rapidly becoming more hole than fabric. Denim isn’t supposed to be... lace.”

He grins again. “That’s just air conditioning for my knees. S’very practical.”

“Including the hole on your left ass cheek - that’s for air circulation too, is it?”

His eyes widened. He runs his hand down his butt, fingers dipping into the hole. “Shiiiiit, why didn’t anyone tell me??”

“Presumably because we were all enjoying it?” You suggested playfully.

His eyes snap to yours. “Enjoying what? Me, looking like a total dork??”

“It’s called deshibile - it’s very fashionable.”

“What are you even talking about?? You're so... aggravating sometimes, I swear to gawd!” Eddie jogs down the hallway and you follow. He tries to get a good look in the mirror by his custom Warlock - she’s so pretty - but he calls her ‘Sweetheart’ - lucky tart. “ How long were these jeans ripped to hell on my ass??!! I only have two pairs - so - you saw!! You totally saw this yesterday and you didn’t even say....”

“Your boxers are keeping you decent - you just have a ripped pocket. It’s fine - You look fine. Why do you care? Keith doesn’t care about ripped pants - like - you wear shoes to work... so you are one up on Argyle with the flip flops. Now if you went commando, that might be a problem.”

He is running his hands through his hair. “I can’t afford more jeans right now... fuuuuuuck.”

“You have sewing supplies right here - You just need another patch, Eddie - from older jeans or an old t-shirt... it would barely show - until our next pay day and then we could go thrifting together? If you want?”

“Yeah.... yeah... sorry - just went to that concert and I shouldn’t have because we needed a plumber last week and money’s tight.”

You nodded. Money is always tight. The job pays you both very little. You know why you stay (to see Eddie) - but you don’t know why Eddie doesn’t get a better job.

“Hey - I’m sorry, I said you were ‘aggravating’, man, I-I didn't mean it - I mean, you do Drive Me Insane, but I guess I kinda like it... how we joke around.” Eddie leaned his forehead into the mirror - closed his eyes. “You’re a good friend, you know?? And... and I promised to help you out. But, I kinda forget what with??”

“Because I didn’t say. Because it’s a secret.”

“Oh! Covert mission, huh?” Eddie turned with - well it wasn’t elegance but it was beautiful just the same. He clapped his large hands together and rubbed them up and down with glee. “What are we up to?”

“I’m making a mix tape. For a guy I like. And I know you have the perfect set up to record on.”

“For a guy??”

“Yeah - I’m into them - dudes - in general.” you snarked. “Girls aren’t out of the question , but I do tend to go for...”

“I know-ah. I mean. You wanna use my equipment - and my music, I assume??”

“Some of it.” You nodded at Eddie. Eddie has a great music collection.

“My stuff... To court some loser...”

“He’s not a loser. He’s perfect.”

“No guy is perfect, I guarantee you.”

“He’s handsome. He’s kind and generous. He’s funny... on purpose. He has these lips...”

“Stop - I do not want to hear about his lips. Where’d you even meet him? At...”

“You know - around Hawkins...” You cut him off before he can ask ‘at work?’ and you’d have to come up with some crazy lie.

“You sure he’s single?? Maybe he’s dating half of Hawkins?? Maybe he’s gay?” Eddie is not looking at you - he’s flipping through records in a milk crate.

“Maybe he is all of those things - or he’s not into me at all - or maybe he’s not into anyone - that’s why I’m making the mix. I can tell him I like him in the j-card and in the musical subtext - if he’s not into me and can never be - we can just be friends. I’ll die a little, but that’s okay - every day we die a little more, right?”

“Morbid. But, accurate.” Eddie turned back to you. “Okay - I said I’d help you and I’ll help you - but we are making two mix tapes. One to express your interest in this guy - who probably doesn’t deserve you by the way. And one for you. Just for you. Deal?” He asks this like he’s the one convincing you of this project. Your idea - your excuse to spend time with Eddie - as much as you can finagle.

“Deal.” You go to shake on it and Eddie stops and spits in his right palm first. He checks you to see if you are grossed out. By his saliva?? No. Opposite really. “So - not a blood pact?” You kid and spit as delicately as you can into your palm - hold it out for him as brave as you can be. He grins, shakes it. You try not to think about your spit combined on your hands. Fail utterly at that.

“Okay... tell me about this Paragon of ‘Manly’ Virtue...” Eddie rolls his eyes.

“You said you didn’t want to hear about his kissable lips, his pretty eyes, his nice ass...”

“God! Stop - I didn’t know you were so fucking horny!! I meant his musical tastes.”

“He’s beautiful and I am an appreciator of his physical attributes. He’s not just a piece of meat though... he’s also got a great voice... and he’s very clever...”

“And you’re what - gonna only put really horned up slutty music on this tape and probably sleep with him immediately - you Can’t!! I mean, don’t - he might have crabs or something. You gotta be more careful.”

“He’s probably not going to like me back, but if he asks me on a date I’ll be sure to ask him point blank if he has crabs, first thing.”

“I’m just sayin’ maybe get to know him a bit before you offer your... body.”

“Okay - noted - Hmmm - ‘Horned up Slut Music’ What’s that filed under in your milk crates system ‘H’ or “S’?? Wait - did you just mean SKA?”

Eddie pushed into your shoulder with his, playfully, and was unusually quiet for a while. Picking up records and tapes and showing you song titles. Gently steering you away from anything that sounded like a Direct proposition for sex with the ‘mystery guy’.

Finally stopping you. “Now you’ve got 97 minutes of music, you’ve got to edit.”

“I thought we were making two mix tapes?’

“I’m making the second one. You have enough on your mind with mr. wonderful. When he breaks your heart you can listen to my mix and cry on my shoulder, and I’ll go kick his ass sideways.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I wouldn’t ask you to do that.” You looked down in your lap.

Eddie put two fingers under your chin and lifted your eyes to meet his. “Is he...like... is he so much better than me?” His voice broke a bit on the end.

You couldn’t speak - why wouldn’t words come out??

Eddie sounded put out but his eyes weren’t mad. “Like, other than the lips and the ass... or whatever - what’s he got that I don’t?”

You kinda... launched into his lap. You absolutely kissed him with tongue right off.

Eddie scootched like a crab into his bed - pulling you with him. Kissing you back.

“Am I a close second? You could settle for me, I’m kinda okay with that, considering the kiss you just laid on me didn’t feel like second prize.” Eddie looked so sweetly befuddled. “I do not have crabs and I’m not secretly dating anyone and I’ve been into you since day one.”

“Eddie, you are the guy.”

He blinked.

“You made me a mix?” Eddie’s pretty eyes got a twinkle in them. “But the messaging is so vague - how will I know if you are really attracted to me when you didn’t use any music to indicate a deep lust for my person.”

“You’ll just have to read the j-card.” You teased back.

[carolmunson]

orange colored sky (older!modern!eddie)

older!modern!eddie - setlist inspired by the fact that i fall in love with someone new every time i got to trader joe's and @loveshotzz new older!steve series. manip by my fave @eddiemunsons-missingnipple tw: nothing really, very much a meet cute at a grocery store. eddie is in his early 40s, reader is late-late 20s/early 30s. lemme know if you guys want this to be a whole thing.

the automatic doors rush cool air into your face, a sweet reprieve from the sticky heat of this summer. a much muggier july than you remember having as a kid. but then again, you don't remember that much about being a kid these days. trader joe's is a little busier than usual, which makes sense with the holiday weekend coming up -- but you hate when it's busy. there's already too many sounds -- some summer 90s playlist and the squeaks of the carts, people in their hawaiian shirts milling around with boxes and box cutters. you just want some snap peas for god sakes. 

you grab a basket and adjust your canvas bags on your shoulder, tossing your headphones in them for later. you feel 'running errands ugly' but everyone seeing you in the bike shorts you threw on this morning doesn't think that view is ugly at all. your music drowned it out on the train ride over here. you're already sort of annoyed. people just don't know how to do anything anymore -- why are we just standing in front of produce. get what you need and go! you think hastily. but you wait for people to stop gawking at the produce and make their selection before you grab the romaine, snap peas, and shredded brussel sprouts you need. when you turn you almost walk entirely into someone's cart, eyes flitting up briefly and muttering a 'sorry, s'cuse me'.

can everyone just get off my fucking ass? you huff to yourself internally. you maneurver over to fruits, a few stands in a row -- citrus, apples, berries. all separated by category in large cargo looking boxes. you snag a big box of cherries, the three pound one, knowing you'll go through the small ones too fast. you frown over the lack of watermelon, continuing along while someone turns the corner into your aisle. you look up for a moment, just to scan your surroundings, to see who it is.

 you've never seen him before, but you've never seen anyone here before. it's not like there's regulars at the grocery store in a city like this. his hands hang over the handle to his cart by the wrists, knuckles tattooed in shapes you can't make out. you follow the leather banded watch up to a full sleeve of ink, only obscured by the start of a cuffed t-shirt sleeve, a crisp white that blinds against the black of the elvira pin up tattoo on his tricep. horror icons blending into each other seamlessly. you can see more black and color peeking out from the collar of his shirt --vintage judas priest, mint condition, tucked comfortably under a well perserved denim vest covered in patches of bands you've never heard of. you're surprised by the black chino shorts on his bottom half, not expecting someone who was clearly still stuck in their grunge phase to wear those over cut off jeans. the busted up reebok's on his feet make up for it though -- pairing nicely with the tattoos on his calves and thighs, not quite sleeves, but enough to make a statement. 

you grab a box of strawberries and pop them into your basket, surveying the mangos on the top shelf at your eye level while he maneuvers behind you. you think he's cute but you don't take too much stock in it -- it's so like you to have a 'train boyfriend' or 'trader joe's boyfriend' for a brief moment in time. someone cute that you spot outside and never speak to. it's one of those days.

he has brown eyes and thick lashes, hair dark wrapped in a bun on the top of his head with streaks of silver poking through, bangs in his face. some curls stick to the heated skin by his neck and jaw. not that you're looking. the scruff on his face is littered with salt and pepper -- maybe that part of him aging more than the rest. he grabs a heap of bananas to his nearly empty cart. he also has a big box of cherries in there. he wears a cologne with spice and suede in the notes, it's familiar, a little smoky. maybe an old boyfriend used to wear it. you shrug it off, grabbing a mango or two and popping it in a produce bag before hocking it in. more veggies for a greek salad. an onion. some pre-packaged turkey slices. 

you turn into the first frozen food section, weaving through more people who just stand there and you grit your teeth. you snag some frozen broccoli, the coolness bringing you a moment of calm so that you don't lose your mind inside the store. more like traitor joe's. you grab a few more things, a veggie medley for a tofu scramble, some scallion pancakes that you’ll use as meal replacement because no matter how many times you think you’ll food prep you never do. you see him at the end of the aisle, rifling through bags of frozen shrimp to find one he likes. you notice he has a ring on but it’s on his pointer finger, two more rings on the hand that holds his cart by his hip – a silver chain dangles from what you assume is his wallet in his back pocket. his keys jingle from a carabiner by his front belt loop. slut, you think to yourself. you grab a bag of small frozen salmon filets, not paying much mind to your grocery store boyfriend of the week when you turn the corner to the next frozen food aisle. he’s there not soon after you, grabbing frozen fruit medleys and a few bars of chocolate on the non-frozen shelving above. you aren’t sure if he sees you, but you see him. you can smell the suede and spice of his cologne as his moves past you to the other end. bread is on the back wall of the store, you want to get sourdough but you know you’ll just eat it plain and not make sandwiches so you opt for the tuscan loaf instead. you snag a bag of mini bagels, forgoing the small baguettes this time. you can’t afford the good burrata this week for any special girl dinner you come up with, so it’s best to not have it around if you can’t pair it with anything pretty. further down the back wall you get to snacks and don’t ignore the bag of yogurt covered pretzels – a basket must. seaweed snacks for salmon rice bowls. plantain chips. Your basket feels a little heavy but at least this errand is almost over. you turn down the pasta, beans, and rice aisle and there he is turning down the other end. you both catch each other this time, because this time feels like it’s not a coincidence. you both break eye contact as quickly as you make it, both of you looking down and smiling to yourselves. you feel the heat on your cheeks but you don’t see his blush, both of you too preoccupied with whatever you have to pick up to pay attention to the other. you smell the suede and smoke even after you lose him to the next couple of aisles. 

pre-packaged tortellini, lox, shredded cheese. chicken thighs. a six pack of some pretty sounding beer you’ve never tried. your basket overflows but it’s fine. the errand is over, at least here, before you need to run into target which for some reason is far less overstimulating. he’s a few people ahead of you on the opposite line, still leaning over the edge of his cart with his hands hanging, one thumbing a text to someone before he stands up fully to push the cart ahead. he looks over his shoulder and your eyes briefly meet for a moment – heat on your cheeks – before he moves ahead to turn down the long row of cashiers to pay. you don’t see him when it’s your turn and by the time you’re done paying you’ve already forgotten about him, lost in a flirty conversation with the guy ringing you up. target only has half of what you need and that’s fine because nothing else will fit in the big canvas bags you brought with you for your groceries and it’s at least an eight minute walk back to the train. you groan when you get back out into the heat, the boiler room of the subway cooking you as you make it down to the platform. a pleasant sigh passes your lips when you see it’s at least only a four minute wait until your train makes it to you – only a few more minutes of suffering before you’re on your way back to your air conditioned studio apartment. you look across the platform where some old lady’s push cart rattles as it makes it down the stairs on the other side. her little body walking ahead, a voice saying ‘i got it, ma’am don’t worry,’ echos down into the chamber of the subway.

there he is. a canvas bag on each arm filled to the brim and the push cart lifted in front of him. while you can’t see from this distance, you have a feeling you’d like how his arms looked at full capacity like this. the cart’s metallic jingle continues when he places it on the concrete ground, pushing it over to the woman who now sits pleasantly on the bench. you watch their conversation while they say quiet ‘thank yous’ and ‘your welcomes’ to each other and he checks his phone while he finds a spot to stand, waiting for his train on the opposite side.

you check your phone just the same and look up again as he puts his phone in the pocket of his vest. his attention catches on you from across the way.

he gives you a small wave and smiles. he has a nice smile, infectious.

“hi.”

you wave back with two fingers, a small salute, “hey.”

“i’m eddie,” he starts as the red glow of the light on your train starts to pull in. 

the chug, chug, chug starting to drown him out. he raises his voice with a boyish grin, you hear him just before the train obscures him from view – whooshing past you as it pulls into the station. “i normally go to trader’s on wednesdays!”

you get on the train when the doors open, seeing him still on the platform, searching for you in the windows. you put your hand up again in an awkward wave and he grins when he finds you. ‘stand clear of the closing doors, please!’ he puts a hand back up with two fingers, mouthing out a message. ‘wednesdays around two.’

you give him the okay symbol with your fingers and nod at him, chuckling at the ridiculousness of the situation, he chuckles too. his smile is pretty, lips are full. his two fingers point to his eyes and then at you – ‘see you then’. 

the train pulls away before you get a chance to reply. 

next

[bettyfrommars]

Stop the World and Melt with You//Eddie Munson x fem! reader//Part 5

🚨18+only, MDNI, adult themes, magic realism, fantasy, talk of dimensional travel, fear of the unknown, smoking cigarettes, sense of fear, held hostage (not reader), getting slapped (not reader), mention of blood, mention of being restrained (not reader), storyline involving people other than reader, sense of being hunted down, eventual smut, talk of tattoos. Word count: 3.2k

Series Masterlist

💜disturbed by the temporary tattoo you got from the quarter machine, you cut your time with Eddie short. Time goes on, you get a job at the motel, and meet Robin Buckley who says you remind her of a girl she used to know. We meet some people behind the scenes of your trip to Hawkinsgate.

A/N: Brought to you by my love of Eddie Munson, parallel universes, and The Twilight Zone, this story is for anyone who wants something a little different--definitely not for everyone. This is something I'm writing to relax my brain while I work on a longer series. Parts will be short, updated hopefully every other week. ALSO, forgive me, but I lost my tag list for this, I know there were a couple of you xoxo

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

Part 5: The Flicker

"This place is like someone's memory of a town, and the memory is fading."

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

In the real world, we live on the hands of a clock, digital flashes that remind us that we’re always aging in this free fall, on a rock plummeting through space. In Hawkinsgate, you felt like you were living in moments, some of which didn’t even belong to you. Like a peddler somewhere in the universe sold you someone's memories, without any structure or reason, and you were now a permanent resident in one.

Eddie leaned over. “What is it?” He asked. You had your hands positioned like you were holding a book in front of your face, blocking him from seeing what you had while you tried to make sense of it.

The first words that escaped your lips were that it must be a mistake, yet a mistake would imply that it existed in the realm of possibility, but this did not. How could it?

Eddie was worried about you, your skin had gone ghostly pale and you weren’t saying anything to him, you were just staring down, mouth a bit slack.

Your tattoo was an illustration of a pineapple wearing Eddie’s denim battle vest; not just any pineapple, but your pineapple.

You showed it to Eddie. “How can this be? Look---” you pointed to the tiny, specific details of the pins on his vest, right down to the pocket that was unbuttoned. Strange little green flourish of pineapple hair sticking out from the collar like a real cool exotic fruit boy.

Eddie didn’t know what to make of it. Sure, strange things always happened in Hawkinsgate, but they seemed to be getting stranger since you arrived. Eddie’s tattoo was a grim reaper, complete with a scythe, a bit menacing for a quarter machine, but nothing to get alarmed about, all the same.

“It’s a good thing though, right?” Eddie lifted his eyebrows. “That way you will always remember him.”

Eddie seemed to be missing the point of why the existence of it was freaking you out. Or, maybe he fully comprehended the magnitude of your situation and wanted to try and make you feel better somehow by minimizing it.

“I have to go,” you whispered, grabbing your bag off the chair.

“Wait, no, stay. Please,” Eddie stood halfway and lingered there, hoping you would come sit back down. As long as you didn't see what was in his bedroom, everything would be fine.

“I’m sorry Eddie, I just...I need some air,” and then you were out the door, jogging down the steps, throwing yourself into your truck as quickly as you could as if there were a killer at your heels. Eddie stumbled out onto the porch with a wave, watching you yank the gear shift to reverse and peel out. You threw a wave over your shoulder at him, made sure you were out of his line of sight, and then you burst into tears.

------- Somewhere Else--------

A short, blonde man studied an obscure map on the wall, his hands behind his back, mumbling to himself, “where can she be...where can she be?”

Just then, the doors to his study open and two officers in dark blue jumpsuits enter.

“We have Lorelei,” they tell the short blonde man, and then there is a sparkle of satisfaction that stretches across his face.

Lorelei is tied to a chair in a slightly damp cement room, with weeds growing up from the corners and cracks in the floor; a tiny window with metal bars above her head, and a bare mattress against the wall. She’s wearing a long, purple dress, her bare feet are dirty, and her long red hair is dotted in dried mud.

She tucks her chin to give the blonde man a Cheshire smile when he walks in.

“Lorelei,” the short man with the receding hairline says, tucking a yellow file full of paperwork under one arm. The two guards in blue jumpsuits are with him, guns holstered at their sides. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Hello Ronald,” Lorelei purrs, batting her lashes a few times at him. “This is an odd way to let me know you have a crush on me.”

“Hilarious,” Ronald returned, handing the file under his arm to one of the guards. His hands go into the trouser pockets of his tan suit, his smile fading. “But this is no time for jokes. You know what I want.”

Lorelei sniffed and licked her lips, her resolve set; there is a tinkle of laughter in her voice: “You’ll never find her.”

Ronald loses his cool instantly, his face screwing up, his fists flexing at his sides. She could almost see smoke coming out his ears like a whistling tea kettle. She enjoys the sight of his frustration while it lasts, but then he calms himself with a deep breath.

He takes a few steps toward her, flexing his mouth, scooping two fingers in to stretch his shirt collar away from his neck. “See, now, that’s where you’re wrong,” he chided. “This little game of yours has been entertaining, albeit a complete waste of time. You know I’ll find her with or without your help, my dear.”

“You can try,” Lorelei replied with an air of smugness, a dull laugh escaping her throat.

Ronald was shaking, the whites of his eyes cracking with bloodshot veins. It took him years to find out which dimension you were in, and when he finally did, that cunt Lorelei was somehow able to move you, and it was really grinding his gears. He was tossing and turning at night, fully obsessed.

He came up and snatched Lorelei’s chin, squeezing her lips together, forcing her to look up at him. His words were a venomous hiss. “Oh, I’ll find her, and when I do, you’ll be sorry you played this little game with me, you fucking bitch,” and then he threw her chin so that her face jerked to the side, hair falling in her eye.

Defiantly, Lorelei turned to meet his intense gaze again. “She’s growing stronger, I can feel it. If you do find her, it will be too late.”

Ronald’s hand came down, smacking his palm across her cheek in a slap. “You know I hate it when you make me do this!” He barked, his hands going to his hips as he started to pace in front of her.

Lorelei continued to exude calm and patience as she watched him unravel before her very eyes. She licked her teeth and made a smacking sound, tasting blood.

He turned his back on her, facing the door. “Why couldn’t you just let me have this one?” He asked in a softer tone, cheeks red, eyes dry. “You could’ve had anything you wanted; a home, a life, freedom. But instead you choose this,” his hand gestures around at the concrete room.

She thought about her words for a second. “I could tell you, but you wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me!” Ronald shouted as he turned on his heel to face her.

A dreamy look passed over Lorelei’s face as her eyes shifted to the ceiling, thinking beyond it, to the sky. “Because I love her,” she replied, a partial smile exposing a tint of pink blood over her teeth. “She’s one of the last Creators, Ronald. For all of your faults, I know you can appreciate what that means.”

There was a gold wedding band on Ronald’s finger and he twisted it as he frowned at the ground. “Wherever she is, you can’t keep her there forever. You’ve been on the run for too long, you’re getting weak, Lorelei.”

Lorelei felt the pang in her empty belly, and the ache in her sore muscles, but her spirit was strong. “I can keep her there long enough,” she answered in a hush.

Ronald cursed. “Long enough for what???” He belted, flapping his arms out wide and then letting them slap down against his legs. “It’s always goddamn riddles with you people.”

His flare for the dramatic never ceased to amuse her. Ronald continued to pace, running his hand down his mouth, until he stopped, abruptly, and turned to her with an unnerving smile pressing his lips against his teeth.

“You put her with him, again, didn’t you?” He bleated, a thrill rising in him when he noticed the way Lorelei’s gaze flickered away, unwilling to meet his gloating stare. Ronald clapped his hands together, giggling like a toddler.

“He’ll protect her,” Lorelei squared her shoulders, wrists flexing in the ropes at her back. “He doesn’t know he can yet, but he will.”

Ronald chuckled, wagging his finger at her. “You’re too much of a romantic, Lorelei, that’s your problem. You could’ve sent her to a dimension on Saturn to sit in a cave and stay safe, but you just had to reunite those two like the incredible sap that you are.”

“Love is stronger than fear,” she said with a lift of her chin.

“Oh, shut up!” Ronald shook his head, signaling for the guards to open the door. “Thank you Lorelei, you’ve been very helpful.”

Pausing in the doorway, Ronald jerked his thumb over his shoulder at her. “Make sure she eats something, will ya?” He looked over his shoulder at her, and then patted the guards arm. “Not too much, though, wouldn’t want to spoil her.”

----------

A week went by and you were still living at the motel. You mentioned to Mrs. Henderson that you were running out of money and things to trade, and as it turned out, she said she was in desperate need for some part-time help at the front desk, so you had yourself a job.

The pineapple tattoo on your forearm was fading, but you brushed your fingertip over it, thoughtfully, wishing it would stay.

You didn’t see Eddie that whole time, but you did notice that his van drove extra slow down the street in front of the motel a few times on his way to or from work, as if hoping to catch a glimpse of you. He didn’t deserve to be ignored; he had done nothing wrong. Nothing except be a part of this obscure place that held you captive, where nothing made any sense. The other day, there was a pile of mismatched socks on your doorstep; not a single pair in the lot of them. You asked Claudia about it and she didn’t have an explanation, but said you could keep them if you were interested. You doubted there was any value in a pile of single socks, so you put them in with the lost and found at the office.

You started your job the next afternoon, flanked by your three office helpers; cats named JoJo, Henry, and Clarice. Cleaning out their litter box was one of your nightly duties, and they loved to watch you as you did it, twitching their whiskers with pride as you collected the gifts they’d left for you. Every so often there was the random husband having a fight with his wife who got a room for the night at the motel, or the occasional friends who were having a “girls night” and wanted to sit by the pool out back. One night, a shifty couple with sweaty palms asked if they could rent a room for a couple hours, but you regretted to inform them that they would have to pay full price. The Grove was the only motel in town, and they ended up trading with a bunch of food supplies like gold chocolate coins, oranges, and an unopened box of Honeycomb cereal.

You made a friend, her name was Robin Buckley. She worked as the part-time maid, and she also worked at a Family Video down the street.

She went out back by the dumpster to have a smoke, and you went with her. She offered you one from her pack, and you took it, thinking that maybe this was as good a time to start smoking as any.

You took an aggressive inhale, and then sputtered and coughed.

“Couldn’t remember if you smoked or not?” Robin asked with a crooked smile.

You choked a few more times, throat burning. “What is it with people coming here and losing their memory?” You asked, hoping maybe Robin would be the one withholding some answers.

Robin leaned against the side of the building, hiking one foot up behind her, both of you staring across the alleyway at the metal fence and the diner that was down another block.

“I wish I knew,” she admitted softly. “I met a girl once…” she drifted off, taking time to flick her cigarette. “She was...like you, but also, not.”

You turned to face her, interest piqued. You put the filter of the cigarette between your lips but did not inhale before lowering it.

Robin continued. “She remembered stuff, from her other life.”

From her other life…

Robin looked around, as if to make sure no one was around, as if she shouldn’t be talking about it. “She had these tattoos all over her body,” she used the hand holding her cigarette to gesture down her leg and over her shoulders. “She said they were like passport stamps for all of the different dimensions she’d traveled through.”

You swallowed hard, thinking about your own tattoos.

“Anyway,” she snorted, scratching her elbow. “Everyone thought she was crazy, but I loved---I thought she was funny and brilliant. I believed her.”

Robin seemed to follow where your mind went and both pairs of eyes traveled to the tops of your feet that were visible through your sandals. There was a circle with dots around it on your left foot, and three parallel lines on your right foot; a thick black circle around your big toe. You also had some on your stomach, your sternum, under your arms, behind your knees, just behind your ear. They were all geometric shapes and markings, and none of them made sense to you, but you figured that, whoever you were before was into that sort of thing.

“Hers were the same, but different,” Robin assured you, without you having to ask the question.

“What else did she remember?” You asked reluctantly, a part of you almost afraid to know.

Robin swallowed, clearing her throat after taking another drag. “Supposedly, this place---” she looked around at the sky and the building, “--was designed to be like a safe house for travelers like her...like you.”

You made a face, clenching your eyebrows together. “So this place isn’t real? You’re not real? It’s all just a dream or something?”

Robin put her hand up, palm out. “Touch me.”

You obliged, spreading your fingers and pressing your hand against hers to feel the warmth and the callouses.

“Do I feel real?” She asked.

You nodded, deciding to run your fingers down the brick of the building to also see if it was real.

“She said there are billions of parallel lives, and we’re all living them at once, moment to moment,” she snubbed the last of her smoke out in the ashtray. “What this place is called is a flicker, like a blink, a sliver that exists in between each of our simultaneous existences.”

To be honest, it made you head hurt a little. But you didn’t want her to stop talking, you wanted to know more, you wanted…

But then the bell at the front desk rang to alert that someone needed service, and Robin was getting ready to head to her other job, but you asked her when she’d be back.

“Not for a couple days,” she told you with an air of reluctance. “But come by Family Video sometime, I’ll introduce you to the King of Hawkinsgate.”

You didn’t know what that meant, but you knew you wanted to talk to her again.

“Is there a VCR in your room?” Robin asked. “If not, we rent them at our place. I could get you all set up.”

The bell rang again, this time the person was tapping their hand on it over and over.

As Robin backed away, she waved to you. “Hey, don’t be afraid, okay? Wherever you come from, I’m pretty sure you were a badass. I know she was.”

----------

Eddie dropped down on the couch in the living room of his trailer with a grunt. He was still in his work clothes, hair and face filthy, mouth parched. His grim reaper forearm tattoo was almost gone, and so he ran his hand over it vigorously to peel the rest of it off, bits of his sticking to his arm hair. He was tired of convincing himself not to go over to the motel and see you. He was tired of listening to people, especially Gary, telling him he was doing the right thing by staying away.

If only they knew…

He pulled the bandanna off of his head and let his hair go loose, thinking about what sounded good to eat. It had been over a week, but he still had some of the cans of spaghettiOs you’d left behind, and he figured that was as good as anything for dinner. He turned the TV on and slipped the movie Halloween into his VCR so that he could have something on while he cooked.

In the bathroom, he washed his face while the shower got hot, and then he opened a can of beer and jumped in, sipping the beverage as he washed the grime of the day away.

Standing on the blue bathmat, he turned the shower off and wrapped a towel around his waist, hair long and wet down his shoulders. On his chest and back were strange markings he’d always known as birthmarks: the outline of a crude triangle, a letter C with a line through it, two vertical wavy lines. He used his hand to wipe some of the fog off of the mirror on the medicine cabinet, making a squeaking sound as he went.

He continued on down the hall to his bedroom, stopping at the closed door, pausing with his hand on the doorknob, wondering what you would think of him if you ever saw what he had in there. The paintings, the drawings, the letters. The songs he had written. The nights he had paced the floor wondering why he kept seeing your face; and then one day, there you were --- appearing to him in the flesh.

First order of business after he ate was to finish the mix tape he’d been working on for you.

Scorpions, Iron Maiden, Judas Priest, those were all a given, but he had some other things planned for your listening pleasure as well.

That night, you both had the same dream, and shot out of bed in your separate rooms with a start, clutching the blankets, hearts racing, tears of joy brimming in your eyes. But the second you were fully awake, it was gone; another precious memory lost in the flicker.

——-

[lovelandfrogispookybear]

20: D-neD

Otto's pov

We make it back to home. The girl who I found trapped in her mind is layed down on a bed, and everybody goes to talk to her, even Eddie. I am by myself, and I decide I want to go on an adventure. In a normal day, from what Eddie tells me, it would be dark soon. But it is almost always dark here anyway, and I will be able to know my way. Especially if this really is like over there as it is over here.

I wear a white sweater, sweet Joyce gave it to me. I am still wearing Steve's pants and shirt, and my pinchy boots I remember having for forever. I have my red glasses and a lighter I found in the pants pocket, and that should be enough if anything goes poorly. I walk out the door.

I go down the same road I ran away down last time. Except instead of going to my old home, I decide to take some other looks. I go into some trees, I would like to say I recognize them but I don't ever remember exploring this part of town. Vines creep everywhere, but I just step right over them and ignore them. I look upwards, seeing the sky through the shriveling trees. In the far off, I can hear radio statics and people talking. I want to investigate that, but Eddie said to avoid anything "milytary", and this sounds like that. I keep walking forward.

"Ah!" I fall down onto the ground. I do not trip over vines, so this must be different. I turn around, and look at what is on the ground.

It is a pile of sticks, taken over by vines a long time ago. There are torn papers with color and blankets and toys all over the ground. I wrestle a wooden board from the vines, and try to read the fadey writing.

"Cas-tle... biers?" I've heard that last word. I need to get back home.

Eddie's pov

Otto pops up from behind the couch.

"Hello Pipsqueak!" I ruffle her hair.

"Ah, Otto, we meet again!" Hopper waves. Everyone else must still be in the other room.

"Say hi to Hopper," I nudge her. She waves reluctantly.

"Him and I go way back," Hopper explains. Otto nods.

"Eddie, what does the word 'biers' mean?" Otto rolls over onto the couch and fiddles with one of the pins on my (newly hand cleaned) vest.

"Byers? Well, that's Joyce, Will's, and Jonathan's last name," Hopper explains. "Why?"

"Nothing," Otto bounces up and down. "Just asking."

Robin and Steve, followed by Murray, walk out of the hall. They're all carrying armfuls of bedding and pillows.

"Everyone can grab from here, and find anywhere they want to sleep," Steve says.

"Tomorrow, we can take a trip to my warehouse, I have cots and sleeping bags there," Murray says as he drops the sheets and pillows on the floor. I sit up, and walk over to the pile. I root through it until I find some sheets I like, and drag them back over to the couch.

"If you wanna sleep there kid, I'd hang tight. I'm going to cook something up for dinner, so it might not be the quietest place to sleep," Murray walks into the kitchen.

"No worries, I go out like a rock." I turn to Otto. "I'm going to sleep, and odds are I won't wake up until tomorrow. Be good, eat some food that isn't Harrington's 15 dollar raw steak, and get good sleep. Goodnight Buggo." I ruffle Otto's hair, and turn over to fall asleep.

Otto's pov

"You want risotto?" Murray asks me. I don't have a know what reesotoh is, but I am hungry. I nod, and he plops a spoonful of something brown into my bowl. I take a handful of it, and gobble it up. It is very good.

"Uh, you want a spoon?" Hopper asks me. I shake my head, hands are better for eating. Everybody looks at me then looks at their own food as I continue eating with my hands.

"Just let her eat," Will takes a spoonful of his food. Everybody begins to gobble up their food too.

"So, Otto is it? How did you find this lovely lot?" Murray asks. I look upwards to him, and

Robin pushes a napkin towards me.

"Things that happened," I mumble through my last mouthful of food. I don't want to explain it, when Eddie wakes up he can. I grab my bowl, and get up. Like I saw people do when I came back earlier, I set it down by the sink. Using napkins and the sink, I clean my hands off. Now what to do. I want to go to sleep near Eddie because he is really all I know here, but I am not tired. Maybe I should figure out what the Castle is. And then I will grab the fresh white blanket, and go to sleep.

As for the Castle, I will start with Joyce. She seems like someone worthy of a Castle.

"Joyce?" I ask, tugging on her coat. She turns around.

"Yes sweetheart? What's up?" Her eyes are soft.

"What is Castle Byers?"

Her face rumples into confusion, but smooths out again after a moment.

"You know what? That is a question for my boy Will. You ask him when he's done eating, okay?" Joyce answers. I nod, and skip over into the living room to wait.

Will's pov

"Otto? My mom said you had a question for me?" I sit down next to her.

"Yes. What is Castle Byers?" Her eyes cut right through my memories. I look at her, trying to figure out how she knows what that is and why she's even asking.

"Castle Byers?" Mike walks over. "We should visit it sometime! It's been a while since I've been out there!"

"Um, haha, yeah! Good idea!" Will laughs. "How about you go help El clean up dinner, yeah?"

"Um, okay?" Mike looks at me oddly, and walks towards El.

"What that all was about?" Otto asks curiously.

"Want to take this conversation into a different room?" I stand up quickly, and motion to the hallway. Mom gives me an odd looks as I usher Otto into one of the bathrooms, and I smile weakly.

"I destroyed Castle Byers a year ago!" I whisper-shout. "I got in a fight with Mike, and I... I tore it down. With a baseball bat."

She stares at me blankly, sits on the floor, then opens her mouth to speak.

"Why fight. If you like?"

"It's... it's more complicated than that." I sit down next to her, and bury my head in my knees.

"I know complicated," Otto says, grabbing the lighter again. She flicks it , illuminating the room.

"I... I wanted to play DnD. It's one of my favorite things to do-"

"Dned?"

"D - N - D. It's a game. Anyways, I wanted to play it and nobody else did. Hardly Mike or Lucas or anyone wants to play it now it seems. And I tried to get them to play, but nobody wanted to. I got upset, because it seems now all either of them think about is their girlfriends. I stormed out, and Mike followed me, and hit me with-"

"He HIT you?" Otto asks angrily, beginning to stand up.

"No, no! Not like that. I mean what he said was unexpected."

"Well, what he say?"

"He... he said that it wasn't his fault I don't like girls, and it just took me by surprise. I ran off, and got mad, and broke Castle Byers."

"Yes... but what was it? I know a castle is a big huge rock house with lots of colors and riches-"

"It wasn't that kind of castle, it was just a little fort. Something I could hang out in, color, read, be to myself."

"A fort..." Otto nods ominously. She stands, nods at me, and walks out,

[detachedfacade]

You are Eddie Munson. You wake up late every morning and groan at your alarm signalling another goddamn day at the school you've outgrown. You pull on whatever clothes you can find that smell good enough before you remember it's hellfire tonight and search through your closet to find one of the five you own. It should be easier, shouldn't it? Given that they're the only shirts you own that aren't almost completely black but damn are they evasive. You storm out your room to the living room and before you can open your mouth your uncle is throwing the shirt across the room to you.

"You left it on the couch, I gave it a wash." He says. He's still wearing his work clothes, he just got in. "You ought to let me do some more of your laundry boy."

"Not a chance Wayne, you don't want to go rifling through my stuff you'd have a heart attack." You say.

"I can avert my eyes from any girly mags you have, I used to share a room with my brother I've seen it all."

"Ew." You say. "May I remind you that brother is my father." And you don't correct him about the girly mags because, well maybe he's not completely wrong. Those fantasy erotic graphic novels do focus heavily on the female characters. But it's the male characters you look at, when you are looking at all. And you know your uncle wouldn't judge, heck you've even heard him say as much about the young guy he works with, "Queer as a $3 bill" he said "But a hard worker and a nice kid. So I make sure the guys don't give him any stick, god knows he gets it back home." But you lost enough parents as it is, so you hedge your bets and stay closeted. For now at least. Besides you have school and you're late and you're finishing the curse of fucking vecna campaign tonight so you have a few other things on your mind.

School is soul crushing, of course. But you're grateful for at least one thing, Steve Harrington doesn't go there any more, and your planet sized crush had left with him. So it's just Jason (the prick) and a couple teachers with a vendetta (okay maybe you didn't do the homework) to deal with.

You deal drugs, you always have. You think you'll never be able to touch that tin lunch box again. You don't even wonder how you'll pay off the supplier. Because a nice girl who needed help just fucking died on your ceiling and you didn't know what to do so you ran.

You hold a glass up to the neck of the guy you used to crush on. It's hard to remember liking someone when you're being hunted down by jocks and you're pretty sure a poltergeist snapped someone's neck in front of you.

Things get crazier but you manage to calm down. Like maybe this is all just an elaborate dnd campaign. And you can convince yourself of that for a while.

And the man you had a crush on rips a bat in two while shirtless and its your erotic fantasy novel come to life, and what you wouldn't give to be the busty underdressed lady in this fantasy. Except its not a fantasy, it's real, and people are dying and you see this man is sad behind those eyes. You see he is lonely but you know he would never look at you the way he looks at her. So you tell him, go get the girl Harrington. Because he deserves to be happy, even in and amongst this shit show. But you can't stop looking at him, and you can't stop yourself from flirting with him because Jesus fuck does he look hot in your vest. And you wonder if he noticed the pink triangle pin on the inside of the lapel, you wonder if he knows what it means. But he doesn't say anything.

Not until a week later, when you survive somehow, and are covered in scars, and the pretty boy comes to visit you in hospital.

"We match." He says, lifting up his shirt.

"Fingers crossed we don't get rabies." You reply.

"You sure you don't already have it?" He says, his hand furling your hair. "You look pretty rabid to me."

You almost lose it, almost forget how to talk, but then he's placing your vest, cleaned and ironed, gently on your lap. And he taps his finger over the front pocket. "You don't have to hide this from me." He says, when he moves his hand you see its the pink triangle pin. "Hide from anyone you want but...just know you dont have to hide from me."

You convince yourself it doesn't mean what you think it means. You tell yourself you are just being delusional. He's just an ally, that's probably what it is. He knows what it means and he's an ally. But you don't really believe that, and maybe it's hope talking but you don't. So you grab an old jacket from the very back of your wardrobe and you make sure it smells okay, maybe add some of your cologne to the collar, and you head over to Harringtons. You hold it in front of you. "A gift." You say. "You can cut off the sleeves too, if you want. Mod it anyway you want. I have some patches if you wanted any, for the inside or outside."

Steve seems delighted. "I've heard acid wash is really in." He say. "I don't know if I'd cut the sleeves but maybe I'll add some patches. What do you have?" and you hold out the patches in your hand. It's an obvious ploy, and Steve knows, his eyebrow quirking and a smirk forming he gives you a look. He picks up the bisexual flag one. "Maybe you can help me sew it on?" He says. And you're in his house, and soon you will be on his couch and then his bed, and while you're there you'll decide to throw out those old mags in your room. You'll have the real thing.

[c3llybaby]

𝐱. ✭ 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇-𝐀, 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇-𝐀, 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇 𝐌𝐄

HALLOWEEN, 1977; EDDIE

(Excerpt)

Background Music —————————————- -Somebody's Watching Me by Rockwell- ⇆ㅤ ||◁ㅤ❚❚ㅤ▷||ㅤ ↻

"You think you can hide from us?" One of the boys sneered from behind. A rain of footsteps followed as we sped up, running to escape. Too late.

A hand caught the back of my denim vest, yanking me toward him. I fell back onto the boy dressed as Batman. He quickly shoved me to the pavement.

"Owww." I groaned, my head had met the concrete. A pounding headache ensued, beating against my forehead. "What the heck!"

"Give us your candy, Freak." Batman snarled, crouching down beside me. "Give it or else." His eyes blazed like fire through the small holes of his rubber mask.

"Or else what?" Chance piped up, kneeling to help me up. "What are you gonna do? Piss yourself?" Her makeup shined in the moon's glow, blue eyeshadow sparkling at our bullies.

"No, but you will." Batman went after her next, slamming her against the brick wall. His friends each stole one of my limbs to keep me restrained while evil Batman pinned Chance down, her wriggling body struggling to break free. "What kind of stupid costumes are you two wearing anyway? Freak one and freak two?"

"No, we're dressed as characters from Rocky Horror, Dummy!" Sassed Chance, throwing insults his way even as she remained powerless. "You blind or somethin'?"

Batman's buddies snickered, nudging into each other rowdily. Batman angered, snatching her golden hat and throwing it to the ground. He then brought his sneaker to it, smashing the hat into the cold cement.

"What'd you say?" He hissed, messing up Chance's temporary red hair. She had worked on it tirelessly for this occasion, dying it earlier that day before slicking it back just like Columbia's. Now it was all scruffy. Her hard work gone. Devastation spilled across her face, her lip starting to tremble.

"Leave her alone!" Jerking against the other boys, I tried to fight them off without success. We really seemed to have really shit luck that night.

"I want you to remember this, Freak." Spat Batman, digging his fingers into Chance's wrists. "Remember that you're nothing."

Chance's eyes glistened under the starlight. I could tell she was forcing back tears, on the very verge of breaking. She didn't want him to see her cry because then he would win. And she would lose.

Pulling his mask off, he revealed his true identity. Jason Carver stood before us, his rubber mask tossed aside. He was always a special kind of evil, especially toward me. A cruel smile turned up his lips as he looked back at me.

OCTOBER, 1985; EDDIE

Thanks to my new vantage point, it, unfortunately, gave me a perfect view into Nash's Rolls Royce. Chance and him were cuddled beside each other looking head over heels in their perfect little cloud of a world.

It made me remember what Chance had said to me the other day when I caught her alone at the back of the school. The entire day she had ignored me again. Even after our time at Lovers Lake. I remember how I caught her by the wrist as she tried walking away from me.

"Let go. Let go!" She demanded, shaking her forearm out of my grasp. She was wearing bright blue eyeshadow that day. I remember it vividly. Chance shoved her hands against my chest before she fumed. "What do you think you're doin' talkin' to me?"

"I'm sorry." I scoffed, raising my hands in surrender. "Do you not remember yesterday?" No spark flashed by in her eyes. They remained a dull brown. "The lake? We hung out."

"Eddie." Chance sighed, closing her eyes. "As far as anyone else is concerned, we did not hang out." Her fingers pressed the sides of her temples, massaging them as she spoke. "Look you're nice to be around when you don't make me wanna shoot myself in the foot but I can't be seen around you, okay?"

"You can't be seen around me?" A sick feeling made my throat feel full of honey, thick and heavy. "Like you're embarrassed to be around me?"

"It's just not in our cards." She slung her backpack across both shoulders. "Look at me and look at you. We're different. We always will be and there's nothin' that can change that. What would everyone say if they saw us talkin'?"

"I don't care what they'd say." I proclaimed, reaching out to touch her arm. She flinched, stepping away from me. A chunk of my heart chipped off, falling all the way down to nothing. Then she softened, her fingers stretching out to secretively touch the tips of mine.

"That's because you're Eddie." Whispered Chance, rubbing her fingers across the expanse of my knuckles. "But I'm not. I just can't, okay?" I withdrew my hand from her, pulse pattering roughly. "Look we can still hang out. Just not at school. My daddy's best friends with your uncle, I think we're bound to see each other often."

"Then I guess I'll see you." Mumbling under my breath, I jerked past her. She was left alone. Just as she had requested.

"Jealous?" Dustin's voice broke me from my trance. I had been caught staring at the lovely little couple for the hundredth time. Dustin liked keeping tabs on me when Chance pulled my gaze off of the movie.

I couldn't help it. It was her fucking fault. How she sat there parked in her boyfriend's car, wearing a smile that beamed from ear to ear as she sang along with all the show tunes we used to sing together as kids. Only this time we weren't dancing with each other and jumping around and laughing. Now she was with him.

BOYISH//EDDIEMUNSONXOC FANFICTION

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐕𝐄 ᴏꜰ ᴇʟ ᴘᴀꜱᴏ, ᴛᴇxᴀꜱ ɪꜱ ᴍᴏᴠɪɴɢ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ʜᴀᴡᴋɪɴꜱ, ɪɴᴅɪᴀɴᴀ. ɪᴛ'ꜱ ʙᴇᴇɴ ꜱᴇᴠᴇɴ ʏᴇᴀʀꜱ ʙᴜᴛ ꜱʜᴇ'ꜱ ꜰɪɴᴀʟʟʏ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ʜᴇʀ ʀᴇᴛᴜʀɴ. ꜱʜᴇ'ꜱ ᴀ ꜱᴇɴɪᴏʀ ɪɴ ʜɪɢʜꜱᴄʜᴏᴏʟ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴏɴᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ʏᴇᴀʀ ᴛᴏ ɢᴏ ᴛʜᴇɴ ꜱʜᴇ'ꜱ ꜰɪɴᴀʟʟʏ ꜰʀᴇᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴏᴠᴇ ᴛᴏ ʜᴏʟʟʏᴡᴏᴏᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴜʀꜱᴜᴇ ʜᴇʀ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍꜱ ᴏꜰ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴅᴏᴍ. ᴏɴʟʏ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ'ꜱ ᴏɴᴇ ᴘʀᴏʙʟᴇᴍ. ᴇᴅᴅɪᴇ ꜰᴜᴄᴋɪɴɢ ᴍᴜɴꜱᴏɴ.

𝐄𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐍 ᴀɴᴅ ᴄʜᴀɴᴄᴇ ꜱᴛᴀʀɢʀᴏᴠᴇ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ʙᴇꜱᴛ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅꜱ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴋɪᴅꜱ. ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʟᴏꜱᴇꜱᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ʙᴇ. ᴛʜᴇʏ ʙʟᴇᴅ ᴛᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ. ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴄʀɪᴇᴅ ᴛᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ. ꜱᴏ ᴡʜʏ ɪꜱ ɪᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴄʜᴀɴᴄᴇ ꜰᴜᴄᴋɪɴɢ ꜱᴛᴀʀɢʀᴏᴠᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇʟʏ ꜰᴏʀɢᴏᴛ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴇᴅᴅɪᴇ. ɴᴏᴛ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʙᴜᴛ ᴡʜᴇɴ ꜱʜᴇ ꜰɪɴᴅꜱ ᴏᴜᴛ ʜᴇ'ꜱ ʜᴇʀ ᴄʜɪʟᴅʜᴏᴏᴅ ʙᴇꜱᴛ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ ꜱʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅɴ'ᴛ ꜱᴇᴇᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴀʀᴇ ʟᴇꜱꜱ, ʜᴀᴠɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀᴜᴅᴀᴄɪᴛʏ ᴛᴏ ᴀᴄᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ʜᴇ ᴅᴏᴇꜱɴ'ᴛ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴇxɪꜱᴛ. ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴀ ʙɪᴛᴄʜ.

Go to my Wattpad to find the full story! : C3llybaby

The work is the same title of this post, I'm mainly using Tumblr to post short excerpts from each chapter in order to advertise!

★☆ ────── 𝕭𝖔𝖞𝖎𝖘𝖍 ────── 𝐛𝐲 𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞

❝ 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥, 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘪𝘯 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘭, ❞

❝ 𝘚𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘦'𝘳𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘭 ❞

── 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐢𝐬𝐡 • 𝐣𝐚𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭

｡･ﾟﾟ･　TROPES　･ﾟﾟ･｡

◦ Childhood friends to strangers ◦ Strangers to enemies ◦ Enemies to friends ◦ Friends to lovers ◦ Love triangle ◦ Lust for fame ◦ Parental Issues ◦ Freak + Freak

┎┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┒ TRIGGER WARNING Contains themes of... ┖┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┚ ◦ Blood ◦ Gore ◦ Fear ◦ Swearing ◦ Death ◦ Mention of suicide ◦ Drugs ◦ Rare use of gay slurs

*＊✿❀ DO NOT READ IF ❀✿＊*

You're xenophobic, racist, colorist, sexist, homophobic, or transphobic. Kindly, suck my dick.

ﾟ+*:;;:*　SOCIALS　*:;;:*+ﾟ ◦ TikTok: C3llybaby.wp ◦ Snapchat: Celestethat1kid ◦ Spotify: Notsoquirkykid

Wattpad: C3llybaby

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗ AUTHOR'S NOTE! ╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

• Hello, my name is Celeste and I'm so happy that you chose to click on my book! I hope you'll enjoy what you read and know that I love interacting with my readers, whether by DM's, Posting on my message board, or sending me art/edits of my stories. I love each and every one of you dearly. Happy reading, Love!

Yours truly, Celeste

• Disclaimer: I'm aware that in canon Eddie was held back a couple years and he's a super senior. However I changed it so that he was never held back and that he is a seventeen year old teenage boy.

★☆

MY BOUNDARIES (AKA THE SIN LIST) - Please do not advertise your Eddie Munson fan fiction. Someone did this in like the first chapter and said something like "If anyone gets bored this is my Eddie fanfic...blah blah blah" and it really rubbbed me the wrong way. Other characters are completely fine! -Please do not use slurs if you are not from the group that the slur has been used against -Please do not comment that my characters are cringy/embarrassing. This has been happening in the first chapters of BOYISH because Chance is not nice to Eddie when they first meet. It's an enemies-to-lovers story, Babe, what did you expect? Saying that my characters are cringy/ embarrassing makes me feel like you are saying that my writing is cringy/embarrassing. If you have a thought or problem with how I write, please by all means channel it into constructive criticism. I put a lot of time and effort into this story and I do not want to be made to feel bad about it.

[brimbrimbrimbrim]

Can you combine 38 and 13. He’s posing. 🥰

Nice combo! Here’s my attempt at a short Eddie thing. :D The prompt list is HERE for anyone else interested. <3

Title: Art School

Words: 3k

Tags: nudity, pinning, mutual pinning, jealousy, crop tops, eye-fucking, flirting, UST <3

Summary: 38. posing nude for art and 13. "Wipe that smirk off your face!"

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It’s mid-summer, on a Saturday, and the AC is out at the Munson trailer where you and Eddie would normally be lavishing your attention over the miniatures you both bought on Friday from the Neptune Comic Shop in the next town over. Instead of that, however, as stimulating as it was and would be, you’re at your place where the house is empty on Lover’s Lake and the air is chilled—though Eddie hasn’t changed back into his hellfire shirt and vest like you assumed. Seeing him throw down on the paisley sofa in the living room, a gaggle of pale skin and wild (slightly damp with sweat) brown hair, made you pop the question. 

“Wouldn’t it be weird if I drew you? No… I should totally draw you. Let me draw you, okay?”

How could you not think about it when his threadbare DIO crop top, with the sleeves ripped off, was just… riding up his stomach like that??

“Like…” Eddie extends the word, frozen mid-chill over the cushions with an unlit joint perched between his lips, “… draw me how?” Did you detect a hint of suspicion in his tone as well?

You shrug, fanning yourself with the hem of your loaned Ozzy tank, having totally forgotten your long sleeve back in his room where it’d been declared a bodily hazard in the heat an hour ago; now you’re here—home—but why is it still warm in here?

“The regular way?” You supply suggestively.

“So, I don’t have to do anything?” His posture relaxes, the joint leaning against his bottom lip as he sinks into place. Saturday Eddie, especially post-graduation, part-time record store worker on a Saturday Eddie, preferred to move as little as humanly possible; hence the joint wetting against his tongue and the kicked-off Reeboks on your floor, his ankles already folded on the armrest.

“Do anything? Oh, no… I mean, you can literally lay there and touch the sky, in fact,” you rub your thumb under your chin, looking at his figure in the pale afternoon light spilling in from the bay windows, “… yeah, in fact, I would have to insist you be as stoned as possible; otherwise, you’ll just mess it all up with your jitters.”

Eddie makes a face that suggests he thought about being offended but is already bought and sold by your stoney encouragement. He fishes for a lighter out of his pocket and does as he’s told. When you make a sound in your throat, Eddie pauses, big ol’ browns aimed your way across the living room.

“Uh-huh?” He mouths.

“Sorry, just…” you lift your hand in a gesture that’s basically a raised pointer finger crooked awkwardly at his unlit spliff, “… if you could take all your clothes off first, that’d be great.” 

Both his brows lift. Eddie blinks, eyes going wide in delayed surprise, and—endearingly—the joint slips off his lower lip to his chest as he swallows thick and loud.

“You… want me to…”

“Then again,” you backpedal quickly, “… I can always wait for the community center to start up their life drawing classes again—or I could ask Steve—or we could-“

“Harrington?!” Eddie bolts upright on the sofa, fumbling with the tender joint that nearly falls to the floor until he’s got it fisted in a death grip against his exposed stomach, glaring over at you in peak natural lighting that throws beautiful shadows into his horrified face, “Please don’t tell me you’ve already asked him?”

Is that jealousy in his voice?

“What? No…” You force a little laugh, remembering the absolutely shocking amount of chest hair on Steve ‘the hair’ Harrington back in the Upside Down. That would have been a bitch to draw…

“I mean, can you imagine? I might as well draw Bigfoot.”

Some of the tension in Eddie’s body dissipates as you fiddle with the hem of your tank, picking at a stray ink chip on the ‘O’ in Ozzy only to freeze, forgetting it’s not yours… but borrowed, worn on the regular by Eddie with some of his sweaty essence still hanging around the collar. A good, comforting smell that’s ripe with stale nicotine and whatever aftershave he uses (old spice, maybe) settles your nerves a little, at least enough to continue living in the sudden summer silence.

After a thick second, Eddie shifts and stands up, still staring with those doe-dark eyes swimming with blown black pupils and a gleam against the sunlight, “This is part of your portfolio, right? That… uh, the thing you’ve been working on for college?”

You nod, biting down a wry reply because if it’s not theories about the upcoming second edition of D&D, or whether Black Sabbath was better with DIO or Ozzy… or if the record store was going to finally sell some of Eddie’s Corroded Coffin tapes then it was about your portfolio. Eddie’s already posed for you before, albeit usually when he was scratch-writing in campaign details for Hellfire or passed out fetchingly on the floor after indulging in too many peanut butter and marshmallow sammiches mixed with whatever new drug he was selling that month. It won’t even be the first time you’ve drawn him shirtless, having found him sitting on the bench out back a while ago. He’d been in just his jeans after Steve accidentally squirted him with kerosine while trying to light up a barbecue…

You slow blink as a blush fills your cheeks at the memory; it hadn’t been long after spring break ended and his last year in high school began again… with the wounds from the demo bats still fresh enough to pull his skin taut in places that looked terribly painful, but also… metal as fuck.

Your gaze travels down his stomach to the hem of his jeans, where a shiny pink and puckered scar starts around the cut of his hip bone, disappearing past the handcuff belt buckle. That one had infected early on, and you’d often see him with his jeans low around his hips, adjusting fresh gauze with sharp-smelling antibiotic creams.

Lost in memories, you barely hear Eddie clear his throat. He does it again, louder, snapping your eyes back up to his. Oh, shit… you’ve been caught… staring… there… again…

“Is this where the fair maiden confesses her undying love for me after all this time?” He’s wearing a wide-lipped smirk, the joint pinched between his lips as his ring-decorated fingers rapt obnoxiously—erotically—against the front of his cuff-buckle.

“Don’t get cute, Munson,” you admonish, but it’s flimsy, and you both know it. 

It’s been a year since Vecna and the bats—the Metallica show in the Upside Down that won you over as if you weren’t already in love with him before then. It’s been just as long since you kissed him, falling with his arms wrapped tight around you—falling right side up in his trailer on that stained mattress, with blood still on his lips and old tears on his cheeks… you’d grabbed him by the puffy vest collar, sobbed in stark relief and kissed him so hard Eddie laughed before fisting your nape in a shaken grip, sticking his tongue down your throat.

You haven't kissed anyone since then for fear it’ll wash away the memory of Eddie messily making out with you on the mattress as the rush of stolen life lowered both your inhibitions. It must have just been the heat of the moment—all that adrenaline needing an outlet somehow. Eddie never brought it up again… though, neither did you.

“You know if you wanted to get me naked, there’s way easier ways to do that, sweetheart.”

“That’s… not,” you rub your blushing cheek bashfully, “why do you have to say it like that?”

Eddie shrugs, looking handsome and lazy and glad to be here with you, “You blush when I flirt with you. Looks good on you. Real pretty,” his relaxed gaze widens as you look away, “... uh, n-not that you’re not always pretty… but prettier. Blushing. That is.”

You glance back, willing your cheeks to cool, but Eddie lifts the crop top over his head, throwing it on the coffee table with a brazen, nervous smile, and your soul turns into a forest fire of biblical proportions. He toes off his socks and then moves to his belt, and it’s then that you turn around—cheeks ablaze—and beeline it to your room at the end of the hallway.

“Where’re you going?” Eddie calls after, sounding like he did something wrong. Far from it, you think.

“N-need my stuff!” You squeak, slipping into your bedroom. 

The gloomy, familiar contours of your bedroom do nothing to ease the burn in your face or the gallop of your heart. You’ve got about ten seconds before Eddie gets fidgety and follows you back here, so… where the fuck is your charcoal tin?! Where did you put your mother fucking confidence?! You pace, fingers in your hair, willing your breathing to settle, and as you’re on the cusp of hyperventilating, you kick something halfway under your bed with a woodsy rattle.

Your charcoals?! Yes!

“Come here, you stupid fucking-“

“Being bossy with the inanimate objects, huh?” Eddie leans against your door jam, shirtless, covered in salmon-silver testaments to last year's spring break with a light dusting of chest hair… not to mention the soft-looking line of fuzz that runs from his navel to the unbuckled belt hanging off his hips.

Fucking fiddle sticks…

“Why are you-” you freeze, bent over at the waist with your gray-tin case of charcoal in one hand and your bare thigh in the other. With eyes dialed in—narrowed at the slow, almost debauched leer splitting Eddie Munson’s kindly angular face—you huff, “Look, I told you, Eddie. It’s nothing like that, so don’t make it a big thing.”

Eddie’s grin turns to shit-eating delight as your own words ‘big thing’ sink in. Your flush returns ten-fold, realizing the innuendo you slid into the air between you without coaxing from him. 

He’s good at that, you grumble, gathering your supplies off the floor to just… do something with your hands other than squirm. You give him a pursed-lipped look over some messy bangs and immediately regret your decision, nervous energy boiling over hard enough that a clean, cool sweat breaks out over your face. How can he do this to you with your own words and that charming Munson smile?

Should be criminal…

“Look, are you gonna help me with this portfolio, or are you gonna use this to mess with me? Cause, you know… I’m sure Steve wouldn’t mind dropping his stupid khakis if I asked nicely.”

Usually, that would get you a pout or some sort of ‘come on, don’t be like that,’ but all Eddie does is drop his chin, gaze steady on yours beneath unkempt bangs… and pops the button on his jeans. You swallow as he peels down the zipper and hooks his thumbs under linen and denim and…

You bite the tip of your tongue to hold down the whine as Eddie kicks off his jeans and boxers, standing stark naked in your doorway, tapping his fingers against his thighs restlessly, still wearing that fucking smirk despite the way his cheeks grow rosy and stained.

“I-I um… okay. T-thank you, Eddie.” 

Holy shit. It hurts to keep your eyes above Eddie's downward-cut hips, but… you just gotta get him back to the living room and posed, and then you can look—you’re gonna need to look. Why didn’t that thought cross your mind before, like… really cross your mind?! Right now, if you get a glimpse of whatever Eddie Munson has been hiding behind dramatic hip twists, thick denim, and weighted belt buckles, you’re gonna-

“This would’ve been more impressive back at my place. It’s so fucking cold in here…”

“Uh,” Eddie actually sounds a little nervous despite the canary grin, eyes tracing around your room and settling on your messily-made bed, “Where do you want me?” Why does that sound like such a loaded question?

You double fist the paper pad and tin box just so you can point behind him down the hallway because what even is a voice box anymore? Your whole heart is stuffed in your throat at this point, and speech feels rather impossible… He hesitates for a moment before giving you twin finger guns. What a dork… He gives those fingers a wag before turning around and casually walking down the hallway, you following close behind. The logic being, the closer you are to his naked back, the less inclined you’ll be to look at his bare ass.

Just don't look, and all will be well...

This mantra follows you with each breath until your toe catches a raised floorboard in the middle of the hallway, the bane of your early morning routine, but this time it draws your attention to your feet and then back up, but your eyes don't stop, instead locking on Eddie's butt where a beholder's eye tattoo stares back above his right cheek.

“... oh, my god,” you breathe, suddenly staring right at Eddie’s sweetly pert ass as it bounces gently with each step forward. Talk about paralyzing...

“Hmm?” He moans, sending you a half-glance over his shoulder where his dark curls kiss the red splattering his cheekbone. Despite the lackadaisical flare, it doesn’t help that he seems just as flustered as you.

“I said... umm, just get back on the couch, like… whatever position you find most comfortable. I need like… an hour at least so… so, yeah, get comfy, Eddie.” 

Inside, you’re melting, dying, screaming, and gnawing at your own brain, but Eddie just snorts gleefully and walks his bare fucking ass back to the paisley sofa where you’ve both shared joints, haunting silences in the wake of the apocalypse and air shredding solos from the Maiden to the Lizzy.

You avoid him and his everything as he drops back to the sofa just like before—only super fucking naked—and snatches the joint and lighter off the coffee table before you drag it across the floorboards. He gets himself situation outside your peripherals, just a long line of pale skin and long limbs painted in inky bats, dark iconography with shiny scars and dimpled bite wounds… and…

You throw some pillows from the opposite sofa on the ground in front of the coffee table and sit down with your sketch pad with an open charcoal case, knees lifted up to your chest and face covered in fresh, pulp-smelling paper. 

“Pretty sure you’re gonna have to look if you wanna draw me unless you’ve thought about this so much your imagination’s just as good.”

You scoff behind the sketch pad, “You’re the Dungeon Master, not me; if anyone could draw each other naked purely from perverted daydreams, it’d be you.”

Eddie doesn’t say anything, and it’s the silence that finally gets you lowering the pad, peeking over the edge as he tongues the end of a damp joint between his lips. His knuckled fingers are threaded over his stomach, rings of skull, pig, and cross, throwing up sharp pins of light across his knuckles. He’s staring with that same obscured, bang-dusted look, but his eyes are cast downward, glued over your naked legs in the denim shorts….

Your eyes wander as well, feeling less shy as his eyes trace down your calves and bare feet—you, however… Your gaze is so much less innocent… slipping down his navel where his breath rises and falls, past the trail of scattered brown hairs to the grove of wispy curls that frame the half-hard sight of Eddie Munson’s cock, leaning all pink-tipped and thick over his fuzzy thigh with a delicate sack of hairy flesh cradled beneath. He’s got one leg raised, bent up against the back of the sofa with his heel in the cushions, the other hanging off the side where his foot touches the floorboards.

Immediately, your fingers go white—death gripping your sketch pad—as a silky gush of moisture wets your underwear. 

He’s… big… why is he so big?! Are they supposed to be that size? 

You think back to your limited experience with men and come up overwhelmed by Eddie just laying there naked, not even fully hard on your fucking sofa waiting to be sketched like some classy french girl, but… 

Oh, fuck. You can’t do this. Why did you think you could-

Your eyes widen and a little gasp leaves your lips as Eddie’s cock twitches, stiffening… growing ruddy and swollen… the sweeping lines around the tip flaring with blood. Suddenly, without thought, you lick your lips and picture shoving his hips into the sofa while sucking and slurping, licking and drooling as you blow him—siphon his soul through his dick until he’s a blubbering mess with fingers tugging in your hair and hot, salty cum shooting down your throat. 

You gulp, blink and look up only to find Eddie fucking Munson with the biggest, most asinine grin on his face—the look of someone who knows he’s being ogled like… like he knows how badly you wanna worship his stupidly, perfect, fucking dick.

“Ugh, wipe that smirk off your face, Eddie! It’s not…” you bite your lip as he flicks the lighter to a hot flame, “… it’s not helping.”

Eddie lights up the joint in the corner of his insufferably attractive smirk, bends an elbow, shoves a palm behind his head, settles deeper into the cushions with a bounce of hard dick, and says on an exhale of weed, “Come over here and make me.”

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You can find me on AO3 and you can read my huge Eddie Munson/Reader fic Fortune Teller too. If ya want. <3

[discow1tch]

End of Summer

Summary: Depressed after dropping out of college and being forced to move in with family in Hawkins you reconnect with your childhood friend Eddie

Set either just before or during season four

Warnings/tags: reference to eating disorders, childhood friends, romantic/sexual tension

Notes: I wanted to get this out while I'm still in the middle of Eddie brainrot. I have more written but it's just snippets right now lol.

you can also read this fic on AO3

You wander the snack aisle of the convenience store with a five dollar bill in your pocket just waiting to be spent. The little store in Hawkins has barely changed since the last time you were there. Most of Hawkins has barely changed, if you're honest. And yet things feel different. It's a little eerie.

You contemplate a big bag of licorice ropes. It could be fun to eat them in front of the TV until you puke. That's a normal thing to want to do, right?

"'Scuse me."

"Huh? Oh, sorry." you glance over as you take a step back to let someone past. They're dressed like a biker or something in a beat to shit denim vest covered in pins and patches over a leather jacket. Something about his face, framed by a mane of wild frizzy curls, seems familiar. He thanks you as he walks past and the two of you lock eyes for the briefest of seconds.

Seeing those big dark eyes brings it all back.

The grass under your feet. The sun burning your shoulders. The way he'd slipped his headphones over your ears as he'd lightheartedly chastised you for your taste in music.

"This is Iron Maiden. Way better than that disco shit."

"The Number of the Beast," you read off the cassette tape, "Does that mean you're into satanic worship?"

For a second you'd thought the joke didn't land but then he'd broken into a wide smile.

And then, without breaking eye contact, he'd reached over and pressed play on his walkman. It had been your introduction to metal. And your first kiss.

"What, like black mass? Sacrificing virgins?" he'd leaned in close as he said it. Your whole face had gone red at that.

It takes effort to ground yourself back in reality.

"Ed? Eddie?"

He blinks dumbly at you like he's trying to figure out if he knows you. Maybe you're wrong. Maybe this is someone else.

"You... are Eddie Munson, right? We used to hang out over summer vacation as kids."

His face lights up with recognition and his eyebrows go up. He repeats your full name back at you.

"Holy shit. It's been a while. I didn't recognize you with th- the shorter hair." He gestures wildly at his own, much longer, hair, "What the hell are you doing back in Hawkins? Visiting family or what?"

"You remember my aunt Margaret? Her health's not so great anymore and she needs someone to help out around the house." You tell him. It's maybe not the whole truth but it's close enough.

"No shit? So you're not in school then? I thought you were planning on doing state college."

You're torn between being happy that he remembered and wishing he hadn't.

"I'm taking a semester off." more half-lies. "What about you? What are you up to these days?"

"Um, I am... still working on graduating high school. Didn't have enough credits last year."

"That's rough."

An awkward silence falls between the two of you. It's not really a surprise that Eddie hasn't gotten his shit together but it is a disappointment. Somehow, you'd hoped you hadn't run into him because he was off somewhere touring with a band or at college far away from Hawkins. You remind yourself that you're not in a place to judge considering just how well your own life is going.

"Do you - do you want to go grab lunch?" Eddie finally breaks the silence to ask.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'd love to."

[hillbillied]

(Warning: NSFW, entirely. 18+ smut content. | Ao3 link.)

After the war's end, Andy and Eddie invite their favourite mortarman over for a visit. Eugene agrees to the visit, and some other things.

The ruin of one Eugene Sledge (by pleasure of Andrew Haldane and Edward Jones)

They discuss it at length, the two of them.

Full novel length, chapters upon chapters, with subheadings and notes in the margin. Clauses and subclauses and sub-subclauses are proposed and ratified over the course of many an afternoon. Debates rattle over dinner plates, wild hypotheticals meet very real concerns for thorough consideration. (Which might be deemed a little much for what would probably fold into under five hours of action, including the inevitable water chugging between rounds.)

Their exceptional communication skills and stable relationship certainly allow proceedings to progress without a hitch. They have always discussed their sexual endeavours at length, after all.

Being in the commonly considered ‘sexual deviant’ category of existence means even your most vanilla sex is beyond the comprehendible realms of your white picket fence neighbours. (Not that they have a white picket fence. Theirs is cast iron. And their Boston apartment comfortably on the city lines, not in the suburbs.)

They end up taking no small amount of pride in it. That they can casually discuss exactly what turns them on, slipping further into potential depravity as they open up about themselves. Usually, however, these conversations last all of half an hour before they fall into bed to test their proposed plans. That aside, the process is exactly the same.

Andy says he’d be open to watching Eddie with another man. Or sharing him with another man. Or something to the ‘another man’ effect. Eddie asks him to elaborate.

Ack Ack considers, chews his lip with half-lidded eyes. “Maybe blowing him.” He says.

“Only if ye’ hold m’ hair.” comes the reply on Eddie’s part.

“You want me in control.” Andy deduces.

His aroused smirk makes Hillbilly’s blood boil. What a smart, omniscient cunt. The greatest displeasure? He’s right. That is exactly where his lover wants him.

They chew it over from there. Negotiations last longer than necessary due to constant courtroom breaks, since the prosecution and defence keep getting turned on and needing to take the time to fuck. The most fruitful discussions are never when the topic is spontaneously brought up, but rather at least an hour after, when Eddie’s lit his post-sex cigarette and Andy’s playing with his hair.

Eventually, the green light is given. They’re eating dinner across their humble wooden kitchen table. (Hillbilly’s gravy could drown a dead rat on a plate and it would still taste divine.) They’ve settled on an agreement and want to go ahead with the idea.

“Well,” Eddie says around a mouthful of beef, “Pick your man.”

   This choice is harder than it sounds because it has to be someone they know. They’re an item, sweet and simple. A stranger might get some bright ideas about their place in this scenario. Plus, it’s 1952. Some secrets need to remain under wraps.

Another problem is that the shortlist starts with Burgie.

Eddie’s rubbing his forehead in exasperation, reclining in their frayed armchair. “We attended his weddin’, Andy.” He explains, talking to nothing short of a fool, “Ye’ was with me in the arch a’ sabres.”

That absolute fool is currently pacing across the carpet, tapping his finger against his lips.

“Is it not polite to ask regardless?” Andy muses, pausing in his motions.

He receives an aggravated grunt. Low, drawn-out, and unimpressed.

“Not Burgin, then.” The captain finally acknowledges. The name is mentally crossed from the list, though not before he points an accusing finger his lover’s way, “But you wanted it, too.”

   After a deep, longing pull from his cigarette, Eddie gives the answer they’ve been looking for.

“Sledge.” He says.

The name floats upwards with the smoke. It catches on their small porch roof; one they share with the apartment next door, divided by more iron fencing. He’s sitting on the steps, Andy leaning against the doorframe behind him.

“What about him?” The blond asks. The conversation had previously been about weeding, what to do with all the insects tearing up the captain’s petunias.

Eddie takes another drag.

“He’s our third man.”

   “I know he’s queer,” Andy asks, “Does he know he’s queer?”

‘He’ is Eugene Sledge. The name stuck, dangling over their heads constantly since they’d been stupid enough to mention it. The possibility of their fantasy scenario drifts ever closer.

“By now, yeah.” Eddie says, staring up at their bedroom ceiling. He’s playing with his chest hair, curling it around his finger, “But I bet he ain’t got his dick wet much.”

Lying beside him, Ack Ack smothers his laughter in his lover’s neck. The words ring so horribly true. He reaches up regardless and slaps Hillbilly’s peck. Right on the nipple for that extra sting. The hiss the man emits confirms an acceptable amount of pain, retribution for his mean words. (Honest words but mean nonetheless.)

If they didn’t have sweat cooling on their bodies from a good fuck, the smack would turn Eddie on.

“It’ll be good f’ him.” He suggests instead, not wanting to earn another punishment.

“You think?” Andy replies, propping himself up on his elbows.

“Yeah.” Hillbilly says, “If he’s up fer’ it.”

   Andy writes the letter.

It’s scribbled with barely pent-up excitement and the slightest tremor in his hand. The penmanship is far from pristine, the careful innuendo and wax poetic only legally veiling the message conspired within. The raw arousal motivating the ink is on full display.

He’s absolutely fucking losing it.

Watching from the doorway, Eddie shakes his head. That’s the moment he knows Andrew has been fantasising about this longer than they’ve been discussing it.

He tries to pretend he’s shocked by the realisation.

   “Why Eugene?” Andy asks.

Again, for the fifteenth time. They have, as per, already discussed the reasoning at length. Eddie’s about ready to grab the man by his sweater vest and give him a good hard slap across the cheek.

Instead, he summarises.

“’cause he’s always wanted to fuck you, Andy.” Hillbilly explains, “And I’m about t’ let him.”

   If Eugene’s smart, which he is, he won’t pass up this opportunity.

If Eugene accepts the opportunity, which he does, any nervousness he may have will be proven weaker than his excitement over the proposition.

And if his excitement is that strong, which it definitely feels like, then it’ll be all over his face when he arrives in Boston.

Andy collects him from the train station. Hands in the pockets of his pale slacks and short-sleeved shirt tucked in. He’s wearing a braided belt because it complements the look. He’s gay and he’s about to show this young man a wild time, why not make it special from the start?

He waves at the redhead who steps off the 4 o’clock train from Birmingham. It’s sunny and warm, painting that ginger hair with yellow streaks. It’s very attractive when seen without the sweat and dirt of combat or those ugly helmets crushing it flat.

Not that they haven’t seen each other several times before now. This is the first time, however, that Eugene’s wore his shirt without a tie. Today, the white of his collar is unadorned, handsome beige suit jacket left unbuttoned. Casual, familiar. No formality in sight, which is relieving.

He’s got a green carnation pinned to his lapel.

Andy has to keep his smile from splitting his cheeks. It wouldn’t be polite to wear the satisfaction of victory across the entirety of his features.

   “I should have known you’d be familiar with Wilde’s work.” Andy says, referring to the flower.

He’s driving Eddie’s blue pickup, which they have come to share the use of. Fancy cars are for rich cocksuckers and married couples who don’t have the imagination to use the truck bed. You can’t fuck beneath the stars in an estate.

“It was always my favourite.” Eugene notes. He chews on the bit of his pipe thoughtfully, “Even when I couldn’t place quite why.”

“It’s a fantastic touch.” Ack Ack compliments.

Pleasantly calm, every glance he sends across the cab radiates pride. The young man – just a man, really, but that might teeter on Andy thinking himself ‘old’ and they would be having none of that – has grown so much since ’44.

Eugene’s strong nose and dark eyes will never bleed with unbreakable confidence, for sure. But that’s a favourable trait, it keeps him far from arrogance and the unattractive features that come with it. Yet Sledge is still surer of himself than he used to be. Or perhaps he’s just learnt to hide his self-consciousness. (Really, they’re the same thing.) The only hint of nervousness is the drumming of his nails against the door, resting his elbow out the open window. A touch of trepidation for what’s coming.

Keeping the wheel steady, Andy reaches out and places a hand on his company’s thigh.

Eugene doesn’t flinch as his captain used to expect. (They both distinctly remember how a tipsy and boisterous young lady had ran a hand over Sledge’s ass at Burgin’s wedding. The redhead had jumped high enough to paint the ceiling ginger. And spilt wine all over the poor girl’s dress.)

Good. Better than good.

“I’m glad you could come, Eugene.” With a laugh, Ack Ack quickly clarifies, “It’s always a pleasure to see you, I mean that wholeheartedly.”

Pink colours Sledge’s cheeks, his smile sweet. He’s convinced it’s the truth, should have known that already. That doesn’t make it any less warming to hear.

“I’ll admit I did consider replying in a more-“ He searches for the word across the dashboard, “-reserved nature, so I could visit without fear of gettin’ cold feet.”

The hand on his thigh is reservedly placed nearer his knee. It pats him comfortingly. Andy opens his mouth to speak and assure the young man that his excited scribbles – and the excited scribbled response – are not legally binding. They can enjoy a repeat of prior visitations if desired.

Eugene beats him to the punch.

“But sittin’ here now-”

Those dark brown eyes flutter downwards. Over the steering wheel, that neat braided belt, the front of Andy’s slacks. Sledge’s tongue flashes across his lips, wetting the dry skin. His pipe hovers uselessly, forgotten as his mind drifts elsewhere.

He catches himself enough to speak. His gaze is torn slowly from the fabric over his company’s cock.

“I think I made the right decision.” He mutters. It’s quiet and a little shy, but not unsure.

The fingers on his thigh squeeze happily.

   Eddie opens the door with a grin of true happiness. The sunlight turns his curls that slightest hint of ginger, though it’s nothing on the crop of hair sliding out the passenger side of his truck.

“Eugene Sledge.” He drawls like he can’t believe his eyes, like he isn’t in on the plan. His arms are folded loosely across his chest, “M’ favourite mortarman.”

Jury might be out on that one, prior to this moment. Right now? This is absolutely his favourite mortarman.

“Hillbilly.” Eugene greets with a bashful smile.

There’s a respect lingering there that has already been dropped with Andy. Not that it didn’t take a couple of years’ effort to achieve that, too. They’re steadily working their way to Sledge dropping all pretence from the Marines, the two of them. They are so remarkably close, the title of captain and lieutenant fully thrown to the wind sometime around 1948.

That might prove to be a spanner in the works later. Andy fully planned on bringing those titles back this evening.

For now, though, he focuses on Eugene and Eddie.

“It’s good t’ see you ag’in.” The latter says.

They stand as far apart as the compact space of the porch allows. (Not much, apparently.) They both glance Andy’s way as he shuts the cast iron gate and ascends the steps. He’s carrying Eugene’s suitcase like a gentleman. Now there’s three grown men in a one-and-half-man area of entranceway.

Eddie has to huff out a laugh. He kicks the door open behind him.

“C’mon,” He says, “We’re drawin’ more attention with this tomfoolery than if I’d kissed ye’.”

   It’s a pleasure of an afternoon.

Eugene helps Eddie cook dinner. Andy had insisted on it. A strategic placement of their visitor, if he does say so himself, perfectly aligned so the two can share close quarters. Unpressured by expectations and protected by clothing for the time being. Sledge chops vegetables, unphased as Hillbilly stands behind him, chest against his back to guide his hand.

Their captain sips his tea from the kitchen table. His boys work to cook a meal for him to enjoy, at his instruction, without him lifting a finger. That victory smile returns and this time he can hide it behind his mug.

While he’s certain Eugene will be learning a few things tonight about how to draw submission from a man, there’s no outmanoeuvring a master.

   They eat, they talk. Some of it about the letter’s content and expectations for the evening. Most of it about how Alabama is and Eugene’s new job. About the petunias in the front garden and the pests that are ruining them.

Eventually, they clean their plates away. (Well, two of them do. Andy gets brought more tea.) They retire to the sitting room. It’s small and cosy. Andy takes the armchair, facing the men on the couch so he can actually finish his drink in relative peace.

Eddie sits and reclines against the arm of the sofa, head propped up by his hand. Eugene moves to sit on the other end. His company has different plans.

Hillbilly grunts. A complete and non-verbal ‘no’. Ass halfway to its destination, Sledge is off balance enough that the arm around his waist completely topples him. He’s brought down in the middle of the couch, all but in Eddie’s lap were it not for their closed legs.

They all laugh at the familiar horseplay. It’s short only a ruffle of red hair. (The lieutenant declines that, it’d be too condescending considering he plans on blowing this boy’s mind soon. And blowing him, period.)

“You gonna surprise me like that every time I sit down?” Eugene asks.

“I’m gon’ surprise ye’ a whole lot.” Eddie replies.

Andy hums approvingly into his mug. They both turn his way. It’s a good distraction; the redhead doesn’t notice Hillbilly adjusting their position. Getting comfy with the other man leaning against his chest, his hand coming to rest on Sledge’s hip. A warm hand on warm skin, separated only by thin shirt fabric. His thumb rubs small circles over the ribs he can reach.

“Let that inform tonight’s exploits,” Ack Ack muses, finished with his tea, “Whatever they may be.”

He sets the mug down on the small table to his left, beside the room’s ashtray. Eugene’s raised eyebrow begs him to explain.

Andy obliges. “Eddie can lift me quite easily.” He says, “He could probably break either of us in two. Don’t worry about playing rough.”

Behind his head, Sledge can feel the warmth of Eddie’s grin at the acute description. A strong arm is slung around his shoulder now, no longer content on his hip. The taller man’s hand is running over his chest absentmindedly, brushing his collarbone. Without any conscious effort on his part, Eugene has leant his full weight backward and against the warmth holding him.

“I have every confidence that if he wants you to stop,” Andy continues with a shrug, “He’ll stop you.”

Sledge glances to his right, head turned just enough to glimpse confirmation. At his back, he can see Hillbilly’s smile. His lips brush red hair as he speaks into the young man’s ear.

“He’s right.” is whispered against his skin, “But he’s still bein’ a bastard about it.”

“How am I being a bastard?” Andy laughs.

“Ye’ just are.” Eddie calls across the room.

They all chuckle. If they can’t have a sense of humour about this, there’s no point even attempting the deed. A little comedy won’t kill the mood and can save most faux pas.

During their bit, Eugene’s hand drifts to Hillbilly’s thigh. Testing at first, fingers ghosting over the thick denim of his jeans. Then pressing down, sliding over the fabric close to his knee. It sits there presently, finally building up the confidence to squeeze exploratively.

Those dark brown eyes glance down at his own machinations. Eddie’s hand on his chest slides across his peck, arm around Sledge’s shoulder gripping him tighter.

Andy sits back in his armchair, stretches his back. He’s convinced he can watch this forever. Or however long it takes to play out, at least.

“I want you to know,” Eugene drawls softly, his focus still on rubbing circles on Hillbilly’s thigh, “I’m not the most experienced at this.”

Politely, neither of the other men mention their knowledge of the fact. (Especially not mentioning how the fact may have played into a prior discussion.)

“Experience isn’t particularly important.” Andy says, ��Attitude and a little guidance goes a long way.”

His fingers play idly with the handle of the mug at his side. Every pair of eyes are on him, yet he can’t care less. He looks like he can’t care less, cultivates the persona whilst he speaks with absolute authority.

“For example,” Ack Ack explains, “If Eddie were to keep his hands to himself for a moment…”

There’s no ‘if’ present in his tone. The hypothetical is a veiled command, upheld by the man who uttered it with crossed legs and gaze focused nonchalantly on his empty mug.

Eugene feels the rumble in Hillbilly’s chest behind him. That large hand retreats from where it had ventured over his nipple. While still leaning against the tall man, Sledge is no longer held captive in his grasp. (Not that he wanted his hostage situation to end.) Eddie even sits back, arms now slung over the back and arm of the couch, respectively. The heat of his breath disappears from the redhead’s ear.

All without so much as a raise of Andy’s voice.

“Then,” The blond continues, turning to the pair on his own cue, “You can come sit over here, and I can show you exactly what I mean.”

As Eugene stands, he uses the hand on Hillbilly’s thigh for leverage. It’s the last part of him to abandon the couch, sliding his way over to the armchair with all the grace he can muster. His steps are casual, taking their time. An impressive display, complimented by the hands casually slipped into the pockets of his slacks. Like he’s in no rush, can’t care less.

(Behind him, Eddie forces down a knowing smile. There’s no finer flattery than imitation and the young man has always been a fast learner. Copying Captain Haldane, even now, will serve him well.)

Dark eyes meet pale blue for a moment at the armchair crossroads. Andy uncrosses his legs, spreading them wide to he can lean purposefully on his knee. Eugene’s eyes wander back over the front of those beige slacks. The fabric had been just a fraction tense during their car ride. It sits taught in the living room, but it’s not for Sledge to ogle freely.

Andy reaches up and tilts the man’s chin towards his face. Eyes on mine, please.

Eugene’s smile has grown bashful under the gaze of Captain Haldane. He doesn’t reach to touch like he had with Eddie. That stare is intense. It’s too much too soon and Ack Ack can recognise that. Not a problem.

“Unlike our rude associate over there,” Andy teases, bringing some comedy back into the thickness of the air, “I’m going to ask you to sit down.”

“The rudeness was ye’ takin’ that boy off this couch before I was done with him.” Eddie remarks.

He makes no move to leave his position or rectify the offence.

“Can you believe him?” Andy mutters.

The soft-spoken, relaxed-rhetorical disguises the arms he puts around Eugene’s hips. Turning him around without meeting his eyes, acting as he had with the mug. Calm, collected, like it’s nothing of note to him. Manhandling the chuckling redhead to face away, towards Hillbilly. (Out of line with that intense stare, until further notice.)

Pausing his motions, Andy glances up at Eugene. He nods, satisfied.

He then waves his hand across his lap.

“There’s enough space for both of us.” He comments.

Sledge, no doubt picking it up from the bastard tactics continuing across the evening, frowns for a moment. His consideration is definitely not genuine.

“I think there is.” He agrees. Andy beams in response.

Eugene settles down between his legs, the armchair being fairly deep. (It isn’t a lie to say it can fit them both.) Ack Ack adjusts himself with a hum, arms around his company’s waist. Hugging him momentarily to set him just-so.

His forearms withdraw partially but leave his hands to dangle between Eugene’s legs. Noncommittally, tapping the muscles of his inner thighs as if it were the arms of the chair. He’s thinking.

“Mnn, yes.” Andy concludes, “This is much better.”

Orange hues momentarily bring Eddie’s face into sharp relief. His pale eyes are absolutely fixed on the display, flashing in the flame of his lighter. Smoke trails towards the ceiling, unnoticed. His first drag is deep, steeling himself. He scratches his crotch without shame, the denim only failing to tent due to its weight.

The two men in the armchair embrace the staring competition.

“What was I talking about before this?” Andy chuckles against Sledge’s ear.

“Attitude and guidance.” The redhead recalls.

“Right.” It comes out as another laugh.

The captain is enjoying himself and it shows. Far too much for the role he’s playing within their trio, relying on his collected vigour to operate the steering wheel.

“Well, attitude is obviously about a man’s words, his manner, his posture-” Firm hands run up over Eugene’s forearms and onto his shoulders, “Making sure your orders are followed without needing to ever threaten a punishment.”

Those fingers roll the muscles under them, relaxing Sledge’s posture. Who hums instinctively, blush returning as he shamefully enjoys the feeling of his beloved captain massaging him. Doting on him, Ack Ack’s handsome nose gently poking the soft skin behind his ear.

“Not that you should be afraid to mention punishments.” Andy mutters. His eyes trot leisurely over to Eddie before trotting leisurely to Eugene, “Rewards just work better.”

His breathing is perfectly regulated as he moves his lips to Sledge’s cheek. Suspiciously perfect, timed and regimented into slow, deliberate motions of his chest. (Without the heavy cloud of lust on the redhead’s mind, he might have deduced that the captain is reigning himself in purposefully. That his collected aura is but a façade to an equally aroused interior.)

“So,” He whispers, hot and husky against Eugene’s ear, “We could ask Eddie to take all his clothes off and say we’d whoop him if he didn’t, or-”

The sentence is punctuated by a jerk of Andy’s head, turning to face the man on the couch opposite. The motion brings cold air to the skin he’d been breathing on, making Sledge inhale sharply. As if he’d been spanked. He enjoys the sensation.

“Take your clothes off, Jones.” Ack Ack orders.

His tone is grave, terrifyingly level with just enough give to keep it below a threat. A perfect command.

“Can I finish m’ smoke first, Skipper?” Hillbilly asks. He hadn’t waited for an answer, already sitting up from where he’d been reclining and rubbing himself through his jeans. An order is an order, after all.

Andy blinks, raising his eyebrows in consideration. He chews it over but gives no answer. He turns to Eugene instead. The redhead mirrors him, both twisting in their entangled sitting position so they can face each other. Ack Ack waits for his response.

“No.” Sledge says carefully, studying the blond’s features.

Though nowhere close to the dominating tone before, Eddie relents. This isn’t a competitive match. It’s a team game and he definitely wants to continue playing. He crosses the short few paces of the room and leans towards the pair.

The other men watch as he bends before them, head bowing as he stubs his unfinished cigarette into the ashtray beside Andy’s mug. Hillbilly twists the smoke gradually, holding himself in that position, an inch lower than their seated statures.

When he straightens up, he steps back a single pace. Enough that he can move his arms freely without fearing his elbow will whack anyone’s skull as he pulls his t-shirt over his head. He tosses it away dismissively.

Andy can feel Eugene’s chest rise with elation as Eddie’s muscles are brought into the light. Just as Eugene can feel Andy’s erection twitch, against the base of his spine, when the man’s boyfriend undresses for them.

Hillbilly is smart enough to have removed his socks earlier and avoid the difficult chore of tugging them off for an audience. He can smirk freely, letting his heavy belt buckle rattle in the quiet room as he tugs it free. He looks like he’s about to drop it when Andy holds out his hand. His fingers make a come-hither gesture.

Sledge’s chest hitches a second time as the folded leather slaps against Ack Ack’s palm.

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” He says, pulling the belt into Eugene’s lap.

Eddie huffs out the ghost of a laugh. Yet he averts his eyes and scratches the front of his jeans, failing to cover the elation and arousal he takes from Andy’s simple gratitude.

“Praise goes a long way, Eugene.” The captain muses.

His hands are slipped under the man’s arms, using one to draw the belt across the palm of the other. All done in Sledge’s lap, the leather falling free to drag across the front of his slacks. Accidentally, of course.

Eddie pops the buttons of his jeans one by one. Eugene fights to draw his eyes away, finally turning to Andy. Whether brewing with confidence or just overwhelmed with lust, it doesn’t matter; he presses his face to Ack Ack’s cheek.

“It’s hard to order an officer around-” He hisses. His breathing is the opposite of Andy’s, uncomposed and erratic as he speaks, “-as an enlisted man.”

Andy sniggers quietly, nodding his agreement. The hand unclaimed by the belt retreats, fishing around in his pocket for a brief moment. It returns to Eugene’s lap in time with the fall of Hillbilly’s jeans. The tall man steps free and kicks them aside.

The removal of his underwear is paused only by his wide grin, shake of his head, and hands landing on his hips.

“Ye’ are a bastard.” He concludes, watching Andy clip a silver bar pin to the collar of Sledge’s shirt.

Two bars joined together, in fact. The insignia of a captain.

“Congratulations, Captain Sledge.” Ack Ack says, “You outrank our friend here.”

All three of them laugh, giggles that rattle their chests and set the final ghosts of tension adrift. You have to have a sense of humour in these scenarios.

“You’re very prepared.” Eugene notes. He’s smiling as he says it.

It’s an accusation rather than a compliment. The blond has to suffer a moment of all eyes on him and not in a submissive sense; in a pointed, silent judgement sense. He’s been planning this longer and more in depth than he’d admitted, even to Eddie.

Not one to let his authority slip, Andy lets his chuckle fade.

Both his hands move in unison, a precise pincer movement on the room. His right reaches down between Eugene’s legs, grabbing a handful of the man’s slacks. His fingers tug towards him, forcing a yelp from Sledge as his cock is squeezed suddenly. Ack Ack’s left hand, still holding the belt, cracks it hard against the armrest. It lets out a distinct smack that has even Eddie’s back straightening.

“Thought I told you to strip, Eddie.” Andy muses, tilting his head up to fix Hillbilly with a small, pleasant smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. He’s being kept waiting.

His hand is moving against Sledge’s slacks as he speaks. Palming his length, feeling it already stiff and yearning under the fabric.

Eddie catches his eye briefly, cheek twitching in that familiar lustful frustration that they both know means they’ve struck oil. His thumbs hook into his underwear and pull them down. He straightens up without another word.

For the first time, Andy has to take a steadying breath. (Hillbilly probably notices, Sledge definitely doesn’t. The former’s lip curls just a touch.) With his hand kneading Eugene’s dick and his own pressed tantalisingly up against the redhead’s ass, the heat is more than even Captain Haldane can ignore. The pleasure of drinking Eddie in is exquisite, every curve of his muscles and colour of his ink, his unsheathed cock bouncing free from his waistband.

He forgets occasionally that the hill country man really can snap the two of them in half. He’s incredibly muscular, built like a brick shithouse. It’s only his height, drawing his limbs out a little lankier, that hides the weight behind his hands.

Andy huffs quietly. Short and soft and barely audible. The exhale allows him to turn back to Sledge, who’s head has tipped back, leaning on his shoulder. The redhead’s eyes remain on Eddie, watching with stricken desire as he grinds rhythmically against Ack Ack’s hand. None of his usual gentlemanly conversation will be escaping him presently.

“Do you want him to suck you off here or in the bedroom?” Andy asks. His lips press hard against the man’s ear, tilting their weight against the armrest.

Around gritted teeth, Sledge manages; “Bedroom.”

“You heard the Captain.” Ack Ack says, nodding Eddie’s way. His grip releases from Eugene’s slacks.

Hillbilly reaches out his hand. Sledge takes it enthusiastically. The taller man leads the way, squeezing his smitten follower’s fingers.

Neither of them catches how Andy exhales, a quiet ‘woah’ blowing out his cheeks as he composes himself. A glance down at his slacks reveals the smallest of droplets seeping into the fabric. He considers himself lucky he’s still hard and hasn’t come prematurely.

He wipes his brow, gets his shit together, and stands up to follow.

[tinyarmedtrex]

So yeah, I wanted to ask if you could make a third part of the Fast and Furious AU? I've been reading your fic catalogue lately, and not only I really liked that one, it feels like a lot more interesting stuff could happen in that AU. Be it Angsty or not. Even if it doesn't happen, I still wanted to say that I really liked that AU. And that's coming from someone who never even watched any of the Fast and Furious movies! PS: Can you add me to your tag list? =)

Ahhh sorry I’ve had this for so long but I’m finally getting to it!

Read part 1 here and part 2 here!

Richie’s gun felt like lead in his hands, his bullet proof vest weighed him down. Everything felt heavy and wrong as he listened to his squad leader go over the plan once more.

“We move in ten minutes. Try to keep ‘em alive, we want to question these people but if anyone shoots at you- well, I don’t want to lose any men. If it’s them or you I’d pick any of you.”

Richie’s stomach clenched painfully as he watched everyone around him nod. He couldn’t do this. These were people that he’d gotten drunk with, that he’d spent hours under the hood of a car, listening to their life stories. How the fuck was he supposed to betray them? Maybe even shoot them? He’d gone further down the rabbit hole than he ever intended and now he was trapped, unable to dig his way back out.

“Tozier, you with us?” Mark, the officer in charge, barked at him. 

“Yes sir.” He replied, hoping his tone was believable. The man gave him a hard look and then turned, dividing everyone into their squads as they prepared to move in. 

Then, suddenly, everything began. Men armed to the teeth advanced on Eddie’s shop, yelling for all of them to come out unarmed, that they were caught. Richie watched from behind a car, knowing that the same scene was unfolding at Eddie’s house and waiting to see his friends come outside with their hands behind their heads. He wanted to look away but forced himself to watch, this was his doing after all. He owed it to them to watch it unfold.

A minute passed, two, and no one came out.

“Okay we’re going in. Look alive boys!” Mark shouted, ushering everyone in. Richie was in the last squad and by the time he got in it was obvious what had happened.

“Someone tipped them off!” Spencer, someone from the first squad, screamed. “How the fuck did they know?”

Richie looked around the area, completely devoid of cars, equipment, anything. The place had been cleaned out. Relief ran through him and he choked back a laugh. Eddie had done it. He’d only had a few hours but he’d done it, cleaned out every trace that he and his gang had ever been there. The manic little clean freak had pulled the great escape Richie had ever seen.

“Sweep the place! There must be something! We don’t leave here without some evidence!” Mark ordered. The team moved, looking high and low for anything they could use. But there was nothing, even the fridge was cleaned out. 

Richie had to hide his smile as his teammates swore and started kicking over empty cans. They stayed for several more hours before Mark finally called it, letting everyone leave. 

Two days and many long hours of questioning later and Richie was finally home. They’d made him recount everything he could remember, drilling him for any useful information. He was relieved he didn’t have to lie anymore, he really didn’t know where Eddie or anyone else was or where they would go. That wasn’t a satisfactory answer but eventually they must have decided it was the truth because they let him go with a months paid leave.

He had just entered his apartment, dusty from being unused for several months, when he heard someone move behind him. Richie drew his gun but he was attacked by three people- one who threw a bag over his head, another who pinned his arms and a third delivered a punch to his gut. 

“Fuck,” He swore, sinking to the ground.

“Be glad that’s the worst of it.” A familiar voice said. “Are you gonna come with us quietly? The boss wants a word.” 

Richie knew it was Stan. He sounded different though, cold and emotionless. Richie had seen this side of him but had never experienced it. Another reminder of what he’d done. 

“I’ll come.” 

A few hours and an uncomfortable car ride later Richie was shoved into a chair, his hands bound behind his back. He didn’t know how this was going to end- though he had a guess. It seemed like a lot of work to kill him but Eddie had always had a flair for the dramatic. 

He didn’t know how long he was in there before he heard the door open and someone say, “Oh you assholes.” The bag was pulled off his head and there was Eddie, standing in front of him and shaking his head. “I told them to treat you like a guest.”

“0 stars.” Richie said, looking up at him. He looked okay, tired but unharmed. He’d half expected to never see the man again. Even though Eddie was clearly pissed Richie was happy, happy to know that Eddie was okay.

He saw a gun poking out of of the waistband of his jeans. “I can’t even make the joke about if that’s a gun in your pocket Eddie, you take the fun out of everything.”

Eddie shook his head ruefully. “Only you would joke now.” He put the gun on the table and pulled up a chair, facing Richie. “You betrayed us.” 

“Technically I betrayed the government since-”

“Shut the fuck up Richie.” Eddie said, rubbing a hand over his face. Richie wished he could pull the man close, shoulder some of the obvious stress he was under. Except that Richie had caused all of it. “You know what I mean. Normally we’d just kill someone who did that. Send a message.”

“But?” He asked quietly.  

Eddie looked at him again, his brown eyes not angry or tired, just sad. That was harder than anything. “I love you. You dumb asshole. I fucking love you and I hate it.” 

“Eds-”

He shook his head. “No, not that. Not yet.” Eddie sighed deeply. “I want you to know that Stan is less than thrilled with this but- I’m going to give you a choice Richie. We’re moving out tomorrow, leaving the country. You can come with, give up everything you have here and be with us-” Eddie’s eyes silently added ‘with me’, “Or we bring you back home. You’ll never hear from any of us again.” Eddie spread his hands out. “Those are your options. You’ll have to decide quick, we’re under a bit of a time crunch since some asshole narc’ed on us.”

Richie’s eyes darted over Eddie, thinking through his options as rationally as he could. Being with Eddie would mean being on the wrong side of the law for the rest of his life, always looking behind his shoulder, on the run. He’d have to give up everything he’d worked for, his whole life.

But going back would mean never seeing Eddie again. The choice wasn’t that hard.

“You. I pick you Eds. Always.” 

Eddie exhaled, relaxing his tense posture. “Thank fuck.” He stood, bending down to brush his lips over Richie’s. Richie arched into the kiss, still tied to the chair. Far too soon Eddie moved back.

“Wanna untie me so I can properly thank you for not killing me?” Richie asked. 

He smirked. “I don’t know, I kinda like you like this.” Eddie trailed a finger over Richie’s chest, a small gesture that turned him on far more than it should. Eddie was starting to bend back down when there was a knock on the door. Someone entered without waiting for permission.

“Did he decide? We need to move out.” Stan asked from behind him. 

“He’s with us.” 

“Then untie the asshole and lets get him a gun.” Stan said, leaving as quickly as he’d entered.

Eddie looked at Richie. “You heard the man, time to start making it up to us.” He paused. “I’m still pissed at you. And I’m even more pissed that I want to forgive you already.” 

Richie nodded. “I get it. I’ll give you all the time you need.”

“Fuck yea you will. And you’ll be doing the shit jobs for a while.” 

“I know.” 

“But you’re coming with.” Eddie asked, his tone marginally softer and full of hope.

“It’s gonna take a lot to drag me away from you. There's nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do.”

Eddie’s lips curled into a smile. “Asshole.” He moved around to untie Richie as he started telling him the plan that would carry them out of the country and to their new lives.

@spastuetheobsessedphylosopher @chaotickaspbrak​ @wheezyeds​  @constantreaderfool​ @purplepoisonedgem​  @queen-sock  @pink-psychic @bowersgangvslosersclub​ @jem-carstairs-is-perfection​  @reddie-to-cryy​ @moonlightrichie​  @eduardoandale​ @anellope​ @inthebreadbinwrites @sparklingrainbowdragon​ @madi-personal @lifesucksheres20bucks​ @appojoos​ @upsidedownlosers​ @thorn-harvester-ven​ @eddiefuckinkaspbrak​ @andaleduardo @xandertheundead @state-of-longing​ @fandomgirllover​ @adhdtrashmouth @rielysian​ @uppperteeeth @s-s-georgie​ @for-peanutbutter​ @edstozler​ @s-onora​ @notmyspaghetti​ @twoidiotsinl0ve​ @spirited-marvel​ @lover-mouth  @roobarrtrashmouth​ @njess04​ @wilding-throught-thehallways​​ @gloire-celeste​ @reddieobsessed @myeverythingisyourstruly​ @onlykatelyn​ @no-she-wasnt-reddie​ @isabelleritma​ @gczebos​ @ransonelovebot @stanleuyris​ @kasp-brakz​ @animalfacts​ @vipphil​ @sourmoist​ @reddie4diaster​ @playing-jim​ @twistedrainbows8908​ @princesass-theresa​ @theandrewhurley @littledancersun @fourtccn​ @quenchyourhonor​ @mimiharu​ @kaspbrak-tozier-reddie​ @hushfakeomens​ @notyourmom90​ @nancynwheeler​ @elphiegoescraycray @finelinedwalls​ @call-me-bread​ @ultrapaninibred​ @chaoticeddie​ @nerdsarebetter​ @rebecca-the-queen​ @ticomat​ @icecreamcatt​ @juhavs​ @kaspbrak-king​ @eddiebearkaspbrak @trashmouthtozierr​  @lumiereandcogsworth​

[janetgannon]

R2AK Update: Pure & Wild and Big Broderna go 1, 2, but the race isn’t over

UPDATE, 9:45 p.m. 6/15/17:

After 750 miles it boiled down to two sets of brothers from opposite coasts.

Accomplished sailors with great boats win races. But R2AK is about so much more than the top finishers. As gales rake the Inside Passage with the remaining R2AKers strung up and down the coast, there are still a couple of weeks left in this event. Consider that most teams are currently hunkered down waiting for the front to pass. Except for Karl Kruger on his paddleboard. He’s been on the move. When it was blowing 25-35 knots and prudent mariners were being prudent, he was hitting nearly 7 knots in Johnstone Strait. On a paddleboard!

And the high school kids (and one dad). They are on the move as well, but in a boat that is as uncomfortable as it can be. The dad deserves a great father’s day this weekend. But he knows he’s already got it.

After the gale lifts, though, there is still plenty of cheering left for great teams. Who will be the first solo R2Aker this year? Will Karl really make Ketchikan on his paddleboard? Who will get the $10K boat buy back? How many teams will Sistership pass?  Are there bold moves left for the high schoolers on North2Alaska? What about Rod Price and his single paddle? Will Kristen and Elena carrying ‘flat Dan’ retain their cheerfulness and get all the way to Ketchikan? Will West Coast Wild Ones in their old ODay 27 beat Ketch Me If You Can?

Everyone on the course finds their own race. Against others, against the elements, or against themselves. Find your racers. Cheer them on. And take the spirit of R2AK and make it your own.

Hit the refresh button on the tracker often. It’s all yet to unfold.

UPDATE, 2:30 p.m. 6/15/17:

The Three Sheets Northwest crew was absolutely glued to the tracker and Facebook updates as Team Pure & Wild/Freeburd and Team Big Broderna battled to the finish in Ketchikan just moments ago. A huge congratulations goes out to the Burd brothers on Pure & Wild for taking number 1 — what a race! Wow.

And our hats go off to Team Big Broderna for giving them an epic run. Enjoy those steak knives, boys. You earned ’em!

UPDATE, 8:15 a.m. 6/15/17:

Well, it looks like a two horse race at this point, folks. The question is, who will snag the 10 grand and who will take home the steak knives?

Team Pure & Wild/Freeburd and Team Big Broderna are neck and neck near the BC – Alaska border and will finish today.

It’s gonna be a tight finish in Ketchikan! Click the tracker image to follow live.

For reasons yet unknown, Team Bad Kitty is holed up and out of contention for the first two slots. And don’t expect a lot of movement from the rest of the fleet as gales will rake the Inside Passage throughout the day.

UPDATE, Noon 6/14/17:

The R2AK playing field grows. Click on the image to view the tracker live.

The course now strings along from Nanaimo to Bella Bella. As of noon on Wednesday, there’s much to report. On the northern front, the brothers Burd on Pure & Wild have cleared the Bella Bella checkpoint and were cruising at 13 knots. Big Broderna and Bad Kitty are coming up on the checkpoint at about 7 knots. Lots of twists and turns ahead, but the focus now may be more on the steak knives. Strong southerlies are in the forecast – hold on!!

On the southern front, Sistership has re-engaged the race after repairing their centerboard. They are in it and it’ll be interesting to see just how many boats they can pick off as they find their own race north.

By my count, I have 30 boats actively racing now.

Aside from the top 3, Ketch me if you can is in 4th, with Team 3 and ½ Aussies in 5th but docked at Port McNeil.

There’s quite a gap to 6th, with West Coast Wild Ones still sailing up Johnstone strait and Roger Mann in 7th doggedly following.

Having no business in 8th place, but holding it after last night’s incredibly daring move through Seymour Narrows is North2Alaska. Most of Johnstone Strait is in front of them, but early mornings, late nights, guile and skill have this aluminum sharpie moving much faster than it logically should. Despite my misgivings, the team reports the event itself was mostly uneventful. “Minimal tide rips and perfect wind.” They rushed through within 10 minutes and achieved 12 knots, the fastest the old Johnny (for Johnny Horton) has ever gone. The team went on to say it was a strategic move to get ahead of the other teams holed up in Campbell River. Well played, sirs.

About 15 nautical miles behind and closing are 6 boats in close proximity. In an order that is likely to change, in 9th to 14th place are PT Watercraft, Global, Away Team, Triceratops, Nomadica, and the SeaScape 27, Willpower.

All the above teams are past Seymour Narrows. Seymour is ebbing right now – flowing the right direction, but with strong currents. Slack is just after three this afternoon, then the window closes with peak flood at 6:31 followed by another slack at 10 p.m.

In 15th through 19th position are five teams all at the same marina in Campbell River. Sailpro Racing (after some questionable navigation approaching Cape Mudge last night), team Kelp (after what must have been an incredibly long day yesterday!), Rush Aweigh, Adventourists, and new arrival just a few minutes ago, Karl Kruger on his standup paddleboard (Heart of Gold). All these teams could avail themselves of the afternoon slack.

Speaking of Adventourists, they tried to sneak away (their own admission) in the dead of night to get the benefit of the strong ebb around midnight and just as they were about to leave a random fellow on the dock called their attention to a missing rudder pin. No steering could have been catastrophic in the strong current. It’s likely Gizmo has an angel looking over her.

Four teams are just below Campbell River. Matt Prius and Grace B are well within range of the afternoon slack and there’s an outside chance that Rod Price and Freya could make it as well.

The other 7 teams are out of the Gulf Islands but still south of Comox. It’s really great to see Sistership back in it and charging north. It’s not the situation they had hoped for, but they’re back in and it will be fun to cheer them on. Adversity can bring out the best in the best.

A final note, Kairos has turned around. The technical issues were apparently insurmountable.

UPDATE, 7 a.m. 6/14/17:

Local knowledge defined. Team North2Alaska transited Seymour Narrows at peak ebb at 0045 hours. Dudes!

They’re going to remember this night for the rest of their lives. Four guys fresh out of high school and a dad. But the dad is a commercial fisherman who has done the Inside Passage hundreds of times according to an article in the PT Leader.

Team North2Alaska at the start in Port Townsend.

At the front of the pack, the Burd Brothers (Team Pure & Wild) remain in first and are nearing the checkpoint at Bella Bella. Team Broderna jumped into second and Team Bad Kitty is clawing its way north in third. The rest of the pack can basically split into two sections, those who have transited Seymour Narrows and, well, those who have not.

Here’s a great weather brief from our friends at Sailish.com.

UPDATE, 9 p.m. 6/13/17:

Some news at the front of the pack. The Burd brothers, in the lead, left Malcolm Island to port and went up through George Passage. Bad Kitty, in second, appeared to gamble, leaving Malcolm Island to starboard and went through Broughton Strait. Big Broderna, in third, followed the Burd Brothers. As of 2100 Tuesday night, it appears the gamble didn’t work. Bad Kitty is now in third and Big Broderna is in second trying to reel in the Burd Brothers. They’re all at the top of Vancouver Island with a lot of water ahead of them, so one can’t get too confident or disappointed.

Team 3 and ½ Aussies is alone in 4th place about midway in Johnstone Strait and Ketch me if you can is in 5th starting their run at Johnstone.

Five teams above the Narrows but slack is 9:19 with six teams at Campbell River with more arriving shortly. Two of those six, Roger Mann on Discovery and West Coast Wild Ones, appear poised to take advantage of the evening slack. The others may wait until either the 3:51 a.m. slack or perhaps the 8:58 slack. Between the evening slack and the 3:51 slack the current is moving in the right direction, but with strong eddies and whirlpools. Arriving near peak current last night, the Burd brothers faced a choice. Wait and watch their lead diminish or go for it. I’m not privy to their deliberation, but their description was great:

They recalled the entry into the narrows as the “darkest of dark you can imagine and nearly max current”.  Fading wind, little steerage but they were prepared – hatch covers, Ocean Rodeo suits, headlamps, and deck vests on. As they entered “the gut of the narrows” they could hear, but not see, breaking waves. “Here we go!” they thought. Only to find that the breaking waves were really a school of 30 to 40 porpoises. I suspect they were Pacific Whitesided Dolphins, but in any case the porpoises/dolphins played with their bow and made an already memorable trip that much more memorable.

The next 10 hours or so will be great to watch on who makes what decision. I suspect the 8:58 slack will be a busy one for R2AK, although the aggressive may try earlier.

Pear Shaped Racing has formally retired and Team Kairos is having some issues with their row cruiser and trying to make repairs.

Sistership hit some rocks exiting Active Pass and has posted some heartbreaking posts. Their centerboard is jammed in the up position and they were just towed back to Nanaimo. They’ll need to be hauled out of the water and then make the decision whether or not to carry on and go for Ketchikan. It’s tough watching the live posts they’ve made — the disappointment is palpable.  I’m hoping they go for it as they can still find their race picking off the slower craft. They’ve got a good boat and a good crew.

If there’s a most improved boat, team Kelp had a good day. Would have been better had they gotten up a little earlier the past few days (ahem:).

More on the smaller human powered boats later – they are holding their own and the North2Alaska guys are really making a fine accounting of themselves.

As this missive closes, I’m thinking about Roger Mann, alone in his boat, making the 9 p.m. slack. He’s not going to get much sleep tonight.

UPDATE, 9 a.m. 6/13/17: 

Team Pure & Wild/Freeburd, Team Bad Kitty and Team Big Broderna are building a lead in Johnstone Strait. Click on the image to view tracker live.

The overall picture hasn’t changed much, but the Burd brothers didn’t wait for slack and took Seymour Narrows on shortly after midnight. Bad Kitty and Big Broderna also got through the checkpoint at Campbell River and are through the Narrows. The Burd brothers hold roughly a 15 nautical mile lead over Bad Kitty, slightly less than what they had leading up to Campbell River. The wind is blowing and they’ve got an adverse current at present.

Roger Mann was up early as were the boys in North2Alaska and Matt Prius in Viz Reporter.

A quick note on North2Alaska: When I was in Port Townsend, I looked at this boat. It’s a high school project, a home made welded aluminum sharpie. Their oars appeared to be crude affairs so heavy they were counter balanced with zincs. The unstayed masts wobbled and the thought of five souls aboard (four teenagers just graduated from high school plus one dad), made me shudder. Privately I didn’t give them much of a shot to make it to Victoria much less Ketchikan. There’s still a lot of water between them and Ketchikan, but they have put in long days and the last two mornings beat the sun up getting underway.  Ahead of some faster, more capable boats, these guys are bring their A game and then some. This morning they left Lasqueti Island and are headed north. In any case, my earlier assessment of their chances was flat wrong. And being wrong on something like this makes me very happy as it’s exactly that type of performance by young people that provides hope for the future.

Team Sistership took an odd turn last night, getting out of the strait and pulled into French Creek. No movement yet this morning. Hope all is well with them. The rest of the field is scattered throughout Georgia Strait.

It’s another day for R2AK!

Original Post, 9:30 p.m. 6/12/17:

Screen shot of the race tracker at 9:32 p.m. Click on the image to view the tracker live.

R2AK is off and running. Similar to the start at Port Townsend, the Victoria re-start was in calm weather. Unlike the Port Townsend start, the forecasted calm wind was supposed to last all day.

Unfortunately, when the racers took off from Victoria Harbour at high noon on Sunday it was marred by a collision between a powerboat and team Oaracle. The powerboat came up behind the rowers and caused some damage, but fortunately no injuries.   Clearly the overtaking and hence burdened vessel, the powerboat’s operator yelled at the rowers and reportedly took off — the equivalent of an aquatic hit and run.

Just days before, the Port Townsend to Victoria race was really two races. Or, more candidly, a race then a fight for survival. The predicted heavy wind arrive and, in the words of Jake Beattie, “went from zero to 50 as if it had something to prove.” For a full recap of that leg, Jake’s writing is well worth a read.

As of this writing, Monday afternoon, Team Pure and Wild/Freeburd, with the brothers Burd ( Tripp, Chris and Trevor) are opening up a commanding lead, charging up the Strait of Georgia despite hitting something hard last night. Overnight and earlier into the morning Pear Shaped Racing had been giving them competition, but a log strike at 8 knots sent them into Nanaimo for inspection.

The Burd brothers vessel has a nice combination of fast sailing, an effective propulsion system (Pedal powered) and three athletic young men as crew. They can deal with calms, they can deal with wind and they don’t have to stop. They were the first sailboat to arrive in Victoria, arriving just minutes before Pear Shaped Racing, PT Watercraft and Bad Kitty. All fast boats, but the log strike certainly impacted the Pear Shaped team and PT Watercraft has a crew of one, who will need to sleep. Bad Kitty and Big Broderna are sure to provide some competition, but it’s setting up to have the Burd brothers get through Seymour Narrows a slack or two before their nearest rival. They’re aiming for the slack around 2000 hours tonight.

Of the three paddleboarders, Karl Kruger is showing how it’s done. He was up early this morning and moving – currently the first of the primarily human powered craft.  Following close behind is Rod Price in his canoe (looks like a kayak with training wheels, but he’s got a single sided paddle and technically it’s a canoe) and Viz Reporter (Matt Prius). All three opted to avoid Dodd Narrows and went through False Narrows shortly after noon. The other two paddle boarders, Luke Burritt and Edrogan Kirac with ‘Stoked on Fuel” have been at Van Isle Marina all morning but got underway shortly after noon and opted to go through Sansum narrows. So far, all the other teams going up the inside opted to take Trincomali Channel.

Roger Mann opted for open water and surprisingly is ahead of larger boats with larger crews. If he slept at all last night, it wasn’t for very long.

The rest of the fleet is split between ‘inside’ and ‘outside’ with the larger cats and tri’s headed outside and the primarily human powered craft going inside through the Gulf Islands. For the smaller teams unable to go 24 hours a day, the length of their day will make a difference. The Port Townsend high school boys were up and at it early this morning as were many of the teams.  Some chose to sleep in. As we’ve seen before, the cumulative effect of those different habits will string out the fleet over the next week.

Some of the teams did a hybrid approach, going up the inside, but escaping the Gulf Islands through one of the passes. Kelp and Sistership opted for Active pass, and North2Alaska and Adventourists took Porlier Pass.

Speaking of what’s coming next, it’s wind. There’s a strong wind warning in Johnstone Strait later today, tonight and tomorrow.  Thursday will be 25 – 35, but out of the southeast. From personal experience in a small boat with less than a foot of freeboard, Johnstone Strait can be brutal, but at least it’ll be a following sea on Thursday. The wind will pick up in Georgia Strait as well, making up for the earlier easy time for the human powered craft. Look for the racers to spread out. Some will take advantage of the wind and charge forward, others will try and avoid the wind respecting their vessels and perhaps their own limitations. This isn’t really a race. But then again, it is.

Read More Here ….

The post R2AK Update: Pure & Wild and Big Broderna go 1, 2, but the race isn’t over appeared first on YachtAweigh.

from http://yachtaweigh.com/r2ak-update-pure-wild-and-big-broderna-go-1-2-but-the-race-isnt-over/ from https://yachtaweigh.tumblr.com/post/161887820926

[jeantparks]

R2AK Update: Pure & Wild and Big Broderna go 1, 2, but the race isn’t over

UPDATE, 9:45 p.m. 6/15/17:

After 750 miles it boiled down to two sets of brothers from opposite coasts.

Accomplished sailors with great boats win races. But R2AK is about so much more than the top finishers. As gales rake the Inside Passage with the remaining R2AKers strung up and down the coast, there are still a couple of weeks left in this event. Consider that most teams are currently hunkered down waiting for the front to pass. Except for Karl Kruger on his paddleboard. He’s been on the move. When it was blowing 25-35 knots and prudent mariners were being prudent, he was hitting nearly 7 knots in Johnstone Strait. On a paddleboard!

And the high school kids (and one dad). They are on the move as well, but in a boat that is as uncomfortable as it can be. The dad deserves a great father’s day this weekend. But he knows he’s already got it.

After the gale lifts, though, there is still plenty of cheering left for great teams. Who will be the first solo R2Aker this year? Will Karl really make Ketchikan on his paddleboard? Who will get the $10K boat buy back? How many teams will Sistership pass?  Are there bold moves left for the high schoolers on North2Alaska? What about Rod Price and his single paddle? Will Kristen and Elena carrying ‘flat Dan’ retain their cheerfulness and get all the way to Ketchikan? Will West Coast Wild Ones in their old ODay 27 beat Ketch Me If You Can?

Everyone on the course finds their own race. Against others, against the elements, or against themselves. Find your racers. Cheer them on. And take the spirit of R2AK and make it your own.

Hit the refresh button on the tracker often. It’s all yet to unfold.

UPDATE, 2:30 p.m. 6/15/17:

The Three Sheets Northwest crew was absolutely glued to the tracker and Facebook updates as Team Pure & Wild/Freeburd and Team Big Broderna battled to the finish in Ketchikan just moments ago. A huge congratulations goes out to the Burd brothers on Pure & Wild for taking number 1 — what a race! Wow.

And our hats go off to Team Big Broderna for giving them an epic run. Enjoy those steak knives, boys. You earned ’em!

UPDATE, 8:15 a.m. 6/15/17:

Well, it looks like a two horse race at this point, folks. The question is, who will snag the 10 grand and who will take home the steak knives?

Team Pure & Wild/Freeburd and Team Big Broderna are neck and neck near the BC – Alaska border and will finish today.

It’s gonna be a tight finish in Ketchikan! Click the tracker image to follow live.

For reasons yet unknown, Team Bad Kitty is holed up and out of contention for the first two slots. And don’t expect a lot of movement from the rest of the fleet as gales will rake the Inside Passage throughout the day.

UPDATE, Noon 6/14/17:

The R2AK playing field grows. Click on the image to view the tracker live.

The course now strings along from Nanaimo to Bella Bella. As of noon on Wednesday, there’s much to report. On the northern front, the brothers Burd on Pure & Wild have cleared the Bella Bella checkpoint and were cruising at 13 knots. Big Broderna and Bad Kitty are coming up on the checkpoint at about 7 knots. Lots of twists and turns ahead, but the focus now may be more on the steak knives. Strong southerlies are in the forecast – hold on!!

On the southern front, Sistership has re-engaged the race after repairing their centerboard. They are in it and it’ll be interesting to see just how many boats they can pick off as they find their own race north.

By my count, I have 30 boats actively racing now.

Aside from the top 3, Ketch me if you can is in 4th, with Team 3 and ½ Aussies in 5th but docked at Port McNeil.

There’s quite a gap to 6th, with West Coast Wild Ones still sailing up Johnstone strait and Roger Mann in 7th doggedly following.

Having no business in 8th place, but holding it after last night’s incredibly daring move through Seymour Narrows is North2Alaska. Most of Johnstone Strait is in front of them, but early mornings, late nights, guile and skill have this aluminum sharpie moving much faster than it logically should. Despite my misgivings, the team reports the event itself was mostly uneventful. “Minimal tide rips and perfect wind.” They rushed through within 10 minutes and achieved 12 knots, the fastest the old Johnny (for Johnny Horton) has ever gone. The team went on to say it was a strategic move to get ahead of the other teams holed up in Campbell River. Well played, sirs.

About 15 nautical miles behind and closing are 6 boats in close proximity. In an order that is likely to change, in 9th to 14th place are PT Watercraft, Global, Away Team, Triceratops, Nomadica, and the SeaScape 27, Willpower.

All the above teams are past Seymour Narrows. Seymour is ebbing right now – flowing the right direction, but with strong currents. Slack is just after three this afternoon, then the window closes with peak flood at 6:31 followed by another slack at 10 p.m.

In 15th through 19th position are five teams all at the same marina in Campbell River. Sailpro Racing (after some questionable navigation approaching Cape Mudge last night), team Kelp (after what must have been an incredibly long day yesterday!), Rush Aweigh, Adventourists, and new arrival just a few minutes ago, Karl Kruger on his standup paddleboard (Heart of Gold). All these teams could avail themselves of the afternoon slack.

Speaking of Adventourists, they tried to sneak away (their own admission) in the dead of night to get the benefit of the strong ebb around midnight and just as they were about to leave a random fellow on the dock called their attention to a missing rudder pin. No steering could have been catastrophic in the strong current. It’s likely Gizmo has an angel looking over her.

Four teams are just below Campbell River. Matt Prius and Grace B are well within range of the afternoon slack and there’s an outside chance that Rod Price and Freya could make it as well.

The other 7 teams are out of the Gulf Islands but still south of Comox. It’s really great to see Sistership back in it and charging north. It’s not the situation they had hoped for, but they’re back in and it will be fun to cheer them on. Adversity can bring out the best in the best.

A final note, Kairos has turned around. The technical issues were apparently insurmountable.

UPDATE, 7 a.m. 6/14/17:

Local knowledge defined. Team North2Alaska transited Seymour Narrows at peak ebb at 0045 hours. Dudes!

They’re going to remember this night for the rest of their lives. Four guys fresh out of high school and a dad. But the dad is a commercial fisherman who has done the Inside Passage hundreds of times according to an article in the PT Leader.

Team North2Alaska at the start in Port Townsend.

At the front of the pack, the Burd Brothers (Team Pure & Wild) remain in first and are nearing the checkpoint at Bella Bella. Team Broderna jumped into second and Team Bad Kitty is clawing its way north in third. The rest of the pack can basically split into two sections, those who have transited Seymour Narrows and, well, those who have not.

Here’s a great weather brief from our friends at Sailish.com.

UPDATE, 9 p.m. 6/13/17:

Some news at the front of the pack. The Burd brothers, in the lead, left Malcolm Island to port and went up through George Passage. Bad Kitty, in second, appeared to gamble, leaving Malcolm Island to starboard and went through Broughton Strait. Big Broderna, in third, followed the Burd Brothers. As of 2100 Tuesday night, it appears the gamble didn’t work. Bad Kitty is now in third and Big Broderna is in second trying to reel in the Burd Brothers. They’re all at the top of Vancouver Island with a lot of water ahead of them, so one can’t get too confident or disappointed.

Team 3 and ½ Aussies is alone in 4th place about midway in Johnstone Strait and Ketch me if you can is in 5th starting their run at Johnstone.

Five teams above the Narrows but slack is 9:19 with six teams at Campbell River with more arriving shortly. Two of those six, Roger Mann on Discovery and West Coast Wild Ones, appear poised to take advantage of the evening slack. The others may wait until either the 3:51 a.m. slack or perhaps the 8:58 slack. Between the evening slack and the 3:51 slack the current is moving in the right direction, but with strong eddies and whirlpools. Arriving near peak current last night, the Burd brothers faced a choice. Wait and watch their lead diminish or go for it. I’m not privy to their deliberation, but their description was great:

They recalled the entry into the narrows as the “darkest of dark you can imagine and nearly max current”.  Fading wind, little steerage but they were prepared – hatch covers, Ocean Rodeo suits, headlamps, and deck vests on. As they entered “the gut of the narrows” they could hear, but not see, breaking waves. “Here we go!” they thought. Only to find that the breaking waves were really a school of 30 to 40 porpoises. I suspect they were Pacific Whitesided Dolphins, but in any case the porpoises/dolphins played with their bow and made an already memorable trip that much more memorable.

The next 10 hours or so will be great to watch on who makes what decision. I suspect the 8:58 slack will be a busy one for R2AK, although the aggressive may try earlier.

Pear Shaped Racing has formally retired and Team Kairos is having some issues with their row cruiser and trying to make repairs.

Sistership hit some rocks exiting Active Pass and has posted some heartbreaking posts. Their centerboard is jammed in the up position and they were just towed back to Nanaimo. They’ll need to be hauled out of the water and then make the decision whether or not to carry on and go for Ketchikan. It’s tough watching the live posts they’ve made — the disappointment is palpable.  I’m hoping they go for it as they can still find their race picking off the slower craft. They’ve got a good boat and a good crew.

If there’s a most improved boat, team Kelp had a good day. Would have been better had they gotten up a little earlier the past few days (ahem:).

More on the smaller human powered boats later – they are holding their own and the North2Alaska guys are really making a fine accounting of themselves.

As this missive closes, I’m thinking about Roger Mann, alone in his boat, making the 9 p.m. slack. He’s not going to get much sleep tonight.

UPDATE, 9 a.m. 6/13/17: 

Team Pure & Wild/Freeburd, Team Bad Kitty and Team Big Broderna are building a lead in Johnstone Strait. Click on the image to view tracker live.

The overall picture hasn’t changed much, but the Burd brothers didn’t wait for slack and took Seymour Narrows on shortly after midnight. Bad Kitty and Big Broderna also got through the checkpoint at Campbell River and are through the Narrows. The Burd brothers hold roughly a 15 nautical mile lead over Bad Kitty, slightly less than what they had leading up to Campbell River. The wind is blowing and they’ve got an adverse current at present.

Roger Mann was up early as were the boys in North2Alaska and Matt Prius in Viz Reporter.

A quick note on North2Alaska: When I was in Port Townsend, I looked at this boat. It’s a high school project, a home made welded aluminum sharpie. Their oars appeared to be crude affairs so heavy they were counter balanced with zincs. The unstayed masts wobbled and the thought of five souls aboard (four teenagers just graduated from high school plus one dad), made me shudder. Privately I didn’t give them much of a shot to make it to Victoria much less Ketchikan. There’s still a lot of water between them and Ketchikan, but they have put in long days and the last two mornings beat the sun up getting underway.  Ahead of some faster, more capable boats, these guys are bring their A game and then some. This morning they left Lasqueti Island and are headed north. In any case, my earlier assessment of their chances was flat wrong. And being wrong on something like this makes me very happy as it’s exactly that type of performance by young people that provides hope for the future.

Team Sistership took an odd turn last night, getting out of the strait and pulled into French Creek. No movement yet this morning. Hope all is well with them. The rest of the field is scattered throughout Georgia Strait.

It’s another day for R2AK!

Original Post, 9:30 p.m. 6/12/17:

Screen shot of the race tracker at 9:32 p.m. Click on the image to view the tracker live.

R2AK is off and running. Similar to the start at Port Townsend, the Victoria re-start was in calm weather. Unlike the Port Townsend start, the forecasted calm wind was supposed to last all day.

Unfortunately, when the racers took off from Victoria Harbour at high noon on Sunday it was marred by a collision between a powerboat and team Oaracle. The powerboat came up behind the rowers and caused some damage, but fortunately no injuries.   Clearly the overtaking and hence burdened vessel, the powerboat’s operator yelled at the rowers and reportedly took off — the equivalent of an aquatic hit and run.

Just days before, the Port Townsend to Victoria race was really two races. Or, more candidly, a race then a fight for survival. The predicted heavy wind arrive and, in the words of Jake Beattie, “went from zero to 50 as if it had something to prove.” For a full recap of that leg, Jake’s writing is well worth a read.

As of this writing, Monday afternoon, Team Pure and Wild/Freeburd, with the brothers Burd ( Tripp, Chris and Trevor) are opening up a commanding lead, charging up the Strait of Georgia despite hitting something hard last night. Overnight and earlier into the morning Pear Shaped Racing had been giving them competition, but a log strike at 8 knots sent them into Nanaimo for inspection.

The Burd brothers vessel has a nice combination of fast sailing, an effective propulsion system (Pedal powered) and three athletic young men as crew. They can deal with calms, they can deal with wind and they don’t have to stop. They were the first sailboat to arrive in Victoria, arriving just minutes before Pear Shaped Racing, PT Watercraft and Bad Kitty. All fast boats, but the log strike certainly impacted the Pear Shaped team and PT Watercraft has a crew of one, who will need to sleep. Bad Kitty and Big Broderna are sure to provide some competition, but it’s setting up to have the Burd brothers get through Seymour Narrows a slack or two before their nearest rival. They’re aiming for the slack around 2000 hours tonight.

Of the three paddleboarders, Karl Kruger is showing how it’s done. He was up early this morning and moving – currently the first of the primarily human powered craft.  Following close behind is Rod Price in his canoe (looks like a kayak with training wheels, but he’s got a single sided paddle and technically it’s a canoe) and Viz Reporter (Matt Prius). All three opted to avoid Dodd Narrows and went through False Narrows shortly after noon. The other two paddle boarders, Luke Burritt and Edrogan Kirac with ‘Stoked on Fuel” have been at Van Isle Marina all morning but got underway shortly after noon and opted to go through Sansum narrows. So far, all the other teams going up the inside opted to take Trincomali Channel.

Roger Mann opted for open water and surprisingly is ahead of larger boats with larger crews. If he slept at all last night, it wasn’t for very long.

The rest of the fleet is split between ‘inside’ and ‘outside’ with the larger cats and tri’s headed outside and the primarily human powered craft going inside through the Gulf Islands. For the smaller teams unable to go 24 hours a day, the length of their day will make a difference. The Port Townsend high school boys were up and at it early this morning as were many of the teams.  Some chose to sleep in. As we’ve seen before, the cumulative effect of those different habits will string out the fleet over the next week.

Some of the teams did a hybrid approach, going up the inside, but escaping the Gulf Islands through one of the passes. Kelp and Sistership opted for Active pass, and North2Alaska and Adventourists took Porlier Pass.

Speaking of what’s coming next, it’s wind. There’s a strong wind warning in Johnstone Strait later today, tonight and tomorrow.  Thursday will be 25 – 35, but out of the southeast. From personal experience in a small boat with less than a foot of freeboard, Johnstone Strait can be brutal, but at least it’ll be a following sea on Thursday. The wind will pick up in Georgia Strait as well, making up for the earlier easy time for the human powered craft. Look for the racers to spread out. Some will take advantage of the wind and charge forward, others will try and avoid the wind respecting their vessels and perhaps their own limitations. This isn’t really a race. But then again, it is.

Read More Here ….

The post R2AK Update: Pure & Wild and Big Broderna go 1, 2, but the race isn’t over appeared first on YachtAweigh.

source http://yachtaweigh.com/r2ak-update-pure-wild-and-big-broderna-go-1-2-but-the-race-isnt-over/ from http://yatchaweigh.blogspot.com/2017/06/r2ak-update-pure-wild-and-big-broderna.html

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R2AK Update: Pure & Wild and Big Broderna go 1, 2, but the race isn’t over

UPDATE, 9:45 p.m. 6/15/17:

After 750 miles it boiled down to two sets of brothers from opposite coasts.

Accomplished sailors with great boats win races. But R2AK is about so much more than the top finishers. As gales rake the Inside Passage with the remaining R2AKers strung up and down the coast, there are still a couple of weeks left in this event. Consider that most teams are currently hunkered down waiting for the front to pass. Except for Karl Kruger on his paddleboard. He’s been on the move. When it was blowing 25-35 knots and prudent mariners were being prudent, he was hitting nearly 7 knots in Johnstone Strait. On a paddleboard!

And the high school kids (and one dad). They are on the move as well, but in a boat that is as uncomfortable as it can be. The dad deserves a great father’s day this weekend. But he knows he’s already got it.

After the gale lifts, though, there is still plenty of cheering left for great teams. Who will be the first solo R2Aker this year? Will Karl really make Ketchikan on his paddleboard? Who will get the $10K boat buy back? How many teams will Sistership pass?  Are there bold moves left for the high schoolers on North2Alaska? What about Rod Price and his single paddle? Will Kristen and Elena carrying ‘flat Dan’ retain their cheerfulness and get all the way to Ketchikan? Will West Coast Wild Ones in their old ODay 27 beat Ketch Me If You Can?

Everyone on the course finds their own race. Against others, against the elements, or against themselves. Find your racers. Cheer them on. And take the spirit of R2AK and make it your own.

Hit the refresh button on the tracker often. It’s all yet to unfold.

UPDATE, 2:30 p.m. 6/15/17:

The Three Sheets Northwest crew was absolutely glued to the tracker and Facebook updates as Team Pure & Wild/Freeburd and Team Big Broderna battled to the finish in Ketchikan just moments ago. A huge congratulations goes out to the Burd brothers on Pure & Wild for taking number 1 — what a race! Wow.

And our hats go off to Team Big Broderna for giving them an epic run. Enjoy those steak knives, boys. You earned ’em!

UPDATE, 8:15 a.m. 6/15/17:

Well, it looks like a two horse race at this point, folks. The question is, who will snag the 10 grand and who will take home the steak knives?

Team Pure & Wild/Freeburd and Team Big Broderna are neck and neck near the BC – Alaska border and will finish today.

It’s gonna be a tight finish in Ketchikan! Click the tracker image to follow live.

For reasons yet unknown, Team Bad Kitty is holed up and out of contention for the first two slots. And don’t expect a lot of movement from the rest of the fleet as gales will rake the Inside Passage throughout the day.

UPDATE, Noon 6/14/17:

The R2AK playing field grows. Click on the image to view the tracker live.

The course now strings along from Nanaimo to Bella Bella. As of noon on Wednesday, there’s much to report. On the northern front, the brothers Burd on Pure & Wild have cleared the Bella Bella checkpoint and were cruising at 13 knots. Big Broderna and Bad Kitty are coming up on the checkpoint at about 7 knots. Lots of twists and turns ahead, but the focus now may be more on the steak knives. Strong southerlies are in the forecast – hold on!!

On the southern front, Sistership has re-engaged the race after repairing their centerboard. They are in it and it’ll be interesting to see just how many boats they can pick off as they find their own race north.

By my count, I have 30 boats actively racing now.

Aside from the top 3, Ketch me if you can is in 4th, with Team 3 and ½ Aussies in 5th but docked at Port McNeil.

There’s quite a gap to 6th, with West Coast Wild Ones still sailing up Johnstone strait and Roger Mann in 7th doggedly following.

Having no business in 8th place, but holding it after last night’s incredibly daring move through Seymour Narrows is North2Alaska. Most of Johnstone Strait is in front of them, but early mornings, late nights, guile and skill have this aluminum sharpie moving much faster than it logically should. Despite my misgivings, the team reports the event itself was mostly uneventful. “Minimal tide rips and perfect wind.” They rushed through within 10 minutes and achieved 12 knots, the fastest the old Johnny (for Johnny Horton) has ever gone. The team went on to say it was a strategic move to get ahead of the other teams holed up in Campbell River. Well played, sirs.

About 15 nautical miles behind and closing are 6 boats in close proximity. In an order that is likely to change, in 9th to 14th place are PT Watercraft, Global, Away Team, Triceratops, Nomadica, and the SeaScape 27, Willpower.

All the above teams are past Seymour Narrows. Seymour is ebbing right now – flowing the right direction, but with strong currents. Slack is just after three this afternoon, then the window closes with peak flood at 6:31 followed by another slack at 10 p.m.

In 15th through 19th position are five teams all at the same marina in Campbell River. Sailpro Racing (after some questionable navigation approaching Cape Mudge last night), team Kelp (after what must have been an incredibly long day yesterday!), Rush Aweigh, Adventourists, and new arrival just a few minutes ago, Karl Kruger on his standup paddleboard (Heart of Gold). All these teams could avail themselves of the afternoon slack.

Speaking of Adventourists, they tried to sneak away (their own admission) in the dead of night to get the benefit of the strong ebb around midnight and just as they were about to leave a random fellow on the dock called their attention to a missing rudder pin. No steering could have been catastrophic in the strong current. It’s likely Gizmo has an angel looking over her.

Four teams are just below Campbell River. Matt Prius and Grace B are well within range of the afternoon slack and there’s an outside chance that Rod Price and Freya could make it as well.

The other 7 teams are out of the Gulf Islands but still south of Comox. It’s really great to see Sistership back in it and charging north. It’s not the situation they had hoped for, but they’re back in and it will be fun to cheer them on. Adversity can bring out the best in the best.

A final note, Kairos has turned around. The technical issues were apparently insurmountable.

UPDATE, 7 a.m. 6/14/17:

Local knowledge defined. Team North2Alaska transited Seymour Narrows at peak ebb at 0045 hours. Dudes!

They’re going to remember this night for the rest of their lives. Four guys fresh out of high school and a dad. But the dad is a commercial fisherman who has done the Inside Passage hundreds of times according to an article in the PT Leader.

Team North2Alaska at the start in Port Townsend.

At the front of the pack, the Burd Brothers (Team Pure & Wild) remain in first and are nearing the checkpoint at Bella Bella. Team Broderna jumped into second and Team Bad Kitty is clawing its way north in third. The rest of the pack can basically split into two sections, those who have transited Seymour Narrows and, well, those who have not.

Here’s a great weather brief from our friends at Sailish.com.

UPDATE, 9 p.m. 6/13/17:

Some news at the front of the pack. The Burd brothers, in the lead, left Malcolm Island to port and went up through George Passage. Bad Kitty, in second, appeared to gamble, leaving Malcolm Island to starboard and went through Broughton Strait. Big Broderna, in third, followed the Burd Brothers. As of 2100 Tuesday night, it appears the gamble didn’t work. Bad Kitty is now in third and Big Broderna is in second trying to reel in the Burd Brothers. They’re all at the top of Vancouver Island with a lot of water ahead of them, so one can’t get too confident or disappointed.

Team 3 and ½ Aussies is alone in 4th place about midway in Johnstone Strait and Ketch me if you can is in 5th starting their run at Johnstone.

Five teams above the Narrows but slack is 9:19 with six teams at Campbell River with more arriving shortly. Two of those six, Roger Mann on Discovery and West Coast Wild Ones, appear poised to take advantage of the evening slack. The others may wait until either the 3:51 a.m. slack or perhaps the 8:58 slack. Between the evening slack and the 3:51 slack the current is moving in the right direction, but with strong eddies and whirlpools. Arriving near peak current last night, the Burd brothers faced a choice. Wait and watch their lead diminish or go for it. I’m not privy to their deliberation, but their description was great:

They recalled the entry into the narrows as the “darkest of dark you can imagine and nearly max current”.  Fading wind, little steerage but they were prepared – hatch covers, Ocean Rodeo suits, headlamps, and deck vests on. As they entered “the gut of the narrows” they could hear, but not see, breaking waves. “Here we go!” they thought. Only to find that the breaking waves were really a school of 30 to 40 porpoises. I suspect they were Pacific Whitesided Dolphins, but in any case the porpoises/dolphins played with their bow and made an already memorable trip that much more memorable.

The next 10 hours or so will be great to watch on who makes what decision. I suspect the 8:58 slack will be a busy one for R2AK, although the aggressive may try earlier.

Pear Shaped Racing has formally retired and Team Kairos is having some issues with their row cruiser and trying to make repairs.

Sistership hit some rocks exiting Active Pass and has posted some heartbreaking posts. Their centerboard is jammed in the up position and they were just towed back to Nanaimo. They’ll need to be hauled out of the water and then make the decision whether or not to carry on and go for Ketchikan. It’s tough watching the live posts they’ve made — the disappointment is palpable.  I’m hoping they go for it as they can still find their race picking off the slower craft. They’ve got a good boat and a good crew.

If there’s a most improved boat, team Kelp had a good day. Would have been better had they gotten up a little earlier the past few days (ahem:).

More on the smaller human powered boats later – they are holding their own and the North2Alaska guys are really making a fine accounting of themselves.

As this missive closes, I’m thinking about Roger Mann, alone in his boat, making the 9 p.m. slack. He’s not going to get much sleep tonight.

UPDATE, 9 a.m. 6/13/17: 

Team Pure & Wild/Freeburd, Team Bad Kitty and Team Big Broderna are building a lead in Johnstone Strait. Click on the image to view tracker live.

The overall picture hasn’t changed much, but the Burd brothers didn’t wait for slack and took Seymour Narrows on shortly after midnight. Bad Kitty and Big Broderna also got through the checkpoint at Campbell River and are through the Narrows. The Burd brothers hold roughly a 15 nautical mile lead over Bad Kitty, slightly less than what they had leading up to Campbell River. The wind is blowing and they’ve got an adverse current at present.

Roger Mann was up early as were the boys in North2Alaska and Matt Prius in Viz Reporter.

A quick note on North2Alaska: When I was in Port Townsend, I looked at this boat. It’s a high school project, a home made welded aluminum sharpie. Their oars appeared to be crude affairs so heavy they were counter balanced with zincs. The unstayed masts wobbled and the thought of five souls aboard (four teenagers just graduated from high school plus one dad), made me shudder. Privately I didn’t give them much of a shot to make it to Victoria much less Ketchikan. There’s still a lot of water between them and Ketchikan, but they have put in long days and the last two mornings beat the sun up getting underway.  Ahead of some faster, more capable boats, these guys are bring their A game and then some. This morning they left Lasqueti Island and are headed north. In any case, my earlier assessment of their chances was flat wrong. And being wrong on something like this makes me very happy as it’s exactly that type of performance by young people that provides hope for the future.

Team Sistership took an odd turn last night, getting out of the strait and pulled into French Creek. No movement yet this morning. Hope all is well with them. The rest of the field is scattered throughout Georgia Strait.

It’s another day for R2AK!

Original Post, 9:30 p.m. 6/12/17:

Screen shot of the race tracker at 9:32 p.m. Click on the image to view the tracker live.

R2AK is off and running. Similar to the start at Port Townsend, the Victoria re-start was in calm weather. Unlike the Port Townsend start, the forecasted calm wind was supposed to last all day.

Unfortunately, when the racers took off from Victoria Harbour at high noon on Sunday it was marred by a collision between a powerboat and team Oaracle. The powerboat came up behind the rowers and caused some damage, but fortunately no injuries.   Clearly the overtaking and hence burdened vessel, the powerboat’s operator yelled at the rowers and reportedly took off — the equivalent of an aquatic hit and run.

Just days before, the Port Townsend to Victoria race was really two races. Or, more candidly, a race then a fight for survival. The predicted heavy wind arrive and, in the words of Jake Beattie, “went from zero to 50 as if it had something to prove.” For a full recap of that leg, Jake’s writing is well worth a read.

As of this writing, Monday afternoon, Team Pure and Wild/Freeburd, with the brothers Burd ( Tripp, Chris and Trevor) are opening up a commanding lead, charging up the Strait of Georgia despite hitting something hard last night. Overnight and earlier into the morning Pear Shaped Racing had been giving them competition, but a log strike at 8 knots sent them into Nanaimo for inspection.

The Burd brothers vessel has a nice combination of fast sailing, an effective propulsion system (Pedal powered) and three athletic young men as crew. They can deal with calms, they can deal with wind and they don’t have to stop. They were the first sailboat to arrive in Victoria, arriving just minutes before Pear Shaped Racing, PT Watercraft and Bad Kitty. All fast boats, but the log strike certainly impacted the Pear Shaped team and PT Watercraft has a crew of one, who will need to sleep. Bad Kitty and Big Broderna are sure to provide some competition, but it’s setting up to have the Burd brothers get through Seymour Narrows a slack or two before their nearest rival. They’re aiming for the slack around 2000 hours tonight.

Of the three paddleboarders, Karl Kruger is showing how it’s done. He was up early this morning and moving – currently the first of the primarily human powered craft.  Following close behind is Rod Price in his canoe (looks like a kayak with training wheels, but he’s got a single sided paddle and technically it’s a canoe) and Viz Reporter (Matt Prius). All three opted to avoid Dodd Narrows and went through False Narrows shortly after noon. The other two paddle boarders, Luke Burritt and Edrogan Kirac with ‘Stoked on Fuel” have been at Van Isle Marina all morning but got underway shortly after noon and opted to go through Sansum narrows. So far, all the other teams going up the inside opted to take Trincomali Channel.

Roger Mann opted for open water and surprisingly is ahead of larger boats with larger crews. If he slept at all last night, it wasn’t for very long.

The rest of the fleet is split between ‘inside’ and ‘outside’ with the larger cats and tri’s headed outside and the primarily human powered craft going inside through the Gulf Islands. For the smaller teams unable to go 24 hours a day, the length of their day will make a difference. The Port Townsend high school boys were up and at it early this morning as were many of the teams.  Some chose to sleep in. As we’ve seen before, the cumulative effect of those different habits will string out the fleet over the next week.

Some of the teams did a hybrid approach, going up the inside, but escaping the Gulf Islands through one of the passes. Kelp and Sistership opted for Active pass, and North2Alaska and Adventourists took Porlier Pass.

Speaking of what’s coming next, it’s wind. There’s a strong wind warning in Johnstone Strait later today, tonight and tomorrow.  Thursday will be 25 – 35, but out of the southeast. From personal experience in a small boat with less than a foot of freeboard, Johnstone Strait can be brutal, but at least it’ll be a following sea on Thursday. The wind will pick up in Georgia Strait as well, making up for the earlier easy time for the human powered craft. Look for the racers to spread out. Some will take advantage of the wind and charge forward, others will try and avoid the wind respecting their vessels and perhaps their own limitations. This isn’t really a race. But then again, it is.

Read More Here ….

The post R2AK Update: Pure & Wild and Big Broderna go 1, 2, but the race isn’t over appeared first on YachtAweigh.

from http://yachtaweigh.com/r2ak-update-pure-wild-and-big-broderna-go-1-2-but-the-race-isnt-over/