#they try to shove robin and ronnie together and theyre just commiserating about their long held fixations on OTHER GIRLS HAHAHA

[powderblueblood]

oh my god can we see ronnie in the HF&I universe but when she’s got a crush/dating someone? the dynamic of eddie ribbing on her would be TOO good

"i can't talk about it."

"ron--"

"no, i literally cannot talk about it."

"ronnie--"

"eddie!"

"it's okay!" eddie says, almost soothingly, his sneakers squeaking against the linoleum of the hallway. "listen, all god's children. i liked a cheerleader too, once."

ronnie pivots in the middle of the hall, long limbs flailing like weaponry in a way that makes eddie fall back. fall back! chest all tight and cheeks all hot and standing there in a living entanglement of embarrassment.

"then again... my cheerleader," and by my cheerleader, this asshole means the brief, fleeting crush he had on one christine cunningham, "didn't almost definitely have..."

"that you know of, bitch!"

and suh-woop, ronnie takes back off down the hall with eddie hot on her tail in a jangle of chains and denim and shit.

running away from her feelings: it's a very real, physical affliction! especially when she's been marinating on a crush this long! this is no munson's hot girl of the week, this is no jeff's NPC hellfire spouse du jour, this shit is...

this shit is bright brown eyes and a big cresting wave of a bang and taut thighs and a yell that ricochets off waxed gym floors and blueberry bubble gum and petal perfume and such a total cliche and never in a million years and there's always a maybe, i like a fantasy as much as the next tabletop role playing game playing girl and...

goddammit, she'd been doing really well with keeping this shit under wraps!

before she knows exactly where her feet are carrying her, she's busting through the door of the newspaper room, dark save for the light of one green desk lamp.

"do not barrel in here when i'm holding a fucking x-acto knife," come the off-puttingly serene, cerebral tones of lacy doevski from the back left corner.

ronnie, heaving, slams the door behind her. what with being ten feet something tall, she can outrun munson pretty easily, but with lacy here? she's run straight into the jaws of something else.

"why aren't you at the pep rally?" ronnie gasps and hisses, the strangled tone apparently catching lacy's attention.

"excommunication, mostly," she says, blade glinting. god. i mean, ronnie knows they're friends and all, but it's moments like this that she really gets it. the whole doevski draw. "why are you hiding in here?"

then, from beyond the door in a way that makes ronnie's spine go rigid with annoyance, you've got fuckin' eddie bigmouth. knocknocknock!

"hey! ecker! you're not supposed to be innnn there, ecker, lacy said something about an x-acto knife and not wanting to be disturbed--"

ronnie glances to lacy, who just shrugs, a dumb little wistful little dumb little look on her stupid face. ugh. they're disgusting.

"unless this is like, some kind of girl thing, in which case--... no fair. lemme in-uhh."

"let him in," lacy says.

"i don't wannuuh," ronnie whinges.

"ron, if you don't let him in, he's gonna scratch at that door all afternoon and i'm not gonna meet this deadline and then i'm gonna have to use this teeeeny tiny little knife here to gut you both," all said with the casual airs of please and thank you. eddie's got his face smooshed up against the glass.

fuck.

ronnie yanks the door back open and her day one pain-in-the-ass stumbles through.

"hi!" eddie calls to lacy, momentarily distracted as he makes a beeline for her. thank god. "hi."

they do some horribly unsubtle couple-y bullshit where he sorta dances around her desk and she warns him not to come any closer but is smiling the whole time and ronnie flops down into fred benson's chair, wondering if this kind of horseshit would be appealing if it were her and--

"ronnie has a crush on a cheerleader."

the x-acto knife clatters to the desk. "what!"

"and i know which oooone!"

"eddie! fuck!"

"spill!"

"don't!"

"eddie..."

"she was spyin' on her under the bleachers--"

"munson!"

"--i mean, i think she almost had that floor routine down if you catch my drift--"

"--cut to the chase--" "--fuckin' shut! up!"

but before ronnie can up out of that chair and like, i don't know, knock eddie out or sit on him or something, lacy's wound around him like a snake. in-a-gadda-da-vida, this chick, she defies resistance. saying that, if the roles were reversed and it were ronnie and--

lacy's all, who is it and eddie's all giggling into her neck and it's disgusting.

but then he tells her, and her face falls.

"veronica ecker!" ronnie's friend lacy is a great scold-er. she's got a scold like you wouldn't fuckin' believe.

but ronnie wants to shrink into her skeleton. she wants her bones to turn to dust. poof, and nothing's left but a little baseball cap for these ungrateful bastards to remember her by. all 'cause she has what might be construed as conceptually a little romantic inkling for--

"tina burton?!"

ronnie sighs, dragging her hands over her face. "i realize this is morally unsound given your current social predicament, lace, but--"

in unison, the indefatigable duo of cornfed gomez and morticia over there go, "--the crabs, dude!" "you could do so much better, ronnie, you fool!"