#today on campbell street

[campcamptocsau]

Prologue

Walking Home after practice

14th of July, 2005

Sleepy Peak, is a small town in the western region of the United States. It’s not exactly the type of place people ever think about. The town’s population is slowly dwindling as the younger generation starts to realise they’ll never make anything of themselves staying here. It’s a nothing town where nothing ever happens. Not even the surrounding woods provide much. Occasionally a fox or a deer but nothing to call home about.

A late summer evening, ██████ Peretz makes his way down the sidewalk, making his way home after baseball practice. The main route home always takes too long. His parents tell him not to go off course, in case he gets lost or hurt. But there’s no way he’d get lost in a town like this, and there’s nothing that would hurt him. He walks off the sidewalk and through the grass. He walks by the edge of the woods. The bushes grow more unkempt the deeper he looks into it.

There’s a sudden noise from the surrounding woods. It sounds like an animal in pain. Perhaps a dog or cat? ██████ walks off the path into the grove he heard the noise from. He’s never seen a stray around town before, and he knows a few kids in his school who have pets. Maybe one of them got lost…

██████ hears it again. And again another time. He’s sure it’s an animal. He goes further and finds the source of the noise. It doesn’t sound like a cat, it’s definitely a dog. There are three dogs in his town, a big one and two little ones. He tries to listen closer, to identify the barking.

He finds it. It’s the big one. It looks like it’s gotten its leg stuck in the hole of a hollowed-out log. Cautiously, ██████ approaches the dog, careful not to startle it. Gently, he helps pull its leg out.

The dog, now free, starts to jump up excitedly on ██████. He knows this is normal, the dog usually does this to every person it comes across while on walks. He lets the dog lick his face as he wonders the quickest and safest way to get the dog out of the woods and back in town. They’re pretty deep in the woods at this point.

He hears a noise. The dog hears it two as it immediately launches off ██████. The dog seemed to look behind him before it dashed off through the woods and back into town. ██████ feels his heartbeat as he turns around.

[rotomartsblog]

Coloured Camp Camp TOCs AU design refs! You can tell these were all made on different days lmao. The heights aren’t consistent. (─‿‿─) The first set weren’t drawn on the same canvas size so their lineart the same as the others

@campcamptocsau

[sozdary]

Dolce and Gabbana Spring 2024 ready-to-wear

[shybunnie20]

BFF!Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

friends to lovers

★Locations ★My Masterlist

Summary: Eddie calls on you to help him plan his first date, and you wish that you were the one going on it with him.

Author's Note: This isn't quite as polished as I'd like it to be. But, I'm pushing through my last few weeks of college, so I'm working with the few brain cells I've got left lol. I still love how it turned out and the ending is worth all of the self-loathing, I promise.

No use of Y/N, est. friendship, ages aren’t specified but E & R are approx. in their early twenties & it’s an early 90s AU, Reader has never been asked on a date before. Mild angst with happy ending!

Word count: 8.9k

Warnings: Reader dwells on poor self-worth & feels undesirable, acts of eating and multiple mentions of food, includes swearing.

Nestled in the quaint corner of Campbell Ave and 2nd Street, you’re engrossed in a call with a customer, jotting down an order for two bouquets consisting of pink-white lilies and snapdragons. Your eyes follow the effortless glide of your glitter gel pen across the paper, detailing their contact information.

Similarly to Goldilocks, you’ve found a place of employment where the pace is just right. You can handle whatever tasks Joan, the owner, asks of you. Sweeping the wood floors with a stiff-bristled broom, tending to the plants, and arranging flowers adorned with decorative ribbon and crisp paper are all within your grasp.

This place gets steady business, but the concept of a lunch or dinner rush is nonexistent. However, you do face a unique kind of rush occasionally. Now and then, a frantic lover bursts through the doors, bug-eyed, having realized they’ve forgotten a special anniversary or birthday at the very last minute. 

As you recite the customer’s order and callback number into the phone’s receiver, their confirmational “uh huhs” cut through the buzz of the line. Suddenly, your attention is diverted by the sight of a van pulling into the parking spot out front, slightly askew. A small smile teases the corners of your mouth as you make a conscious effort to refocus on closing the conversation at hand.

The plastic shell of the phone clacks as you hang up, and you watch Eddie hop out of his van, and round the front of it with an unusual pep in his step—more than you’d see his best days.

“What’s up, buttercup?” Eddie’s voice carries across the room, accompanied by a genuine smile that lights up his face. He strides to the register counter you’re currently manning, wearing a vermillion polo shirt embellished with the neatly embroidered String and Strum shop logo on the breast. His hair is pushed back from his face with a black bandana, resembling a biker-like edge, tied firmly to ensure no stray curls disrupt his work as he repairs guitars and sells instruments for commission.

In seconds flat, he’s already scrunching his nose like a bunny, sensing a sneeze on the horizon. Being in a room packed with fresh plants is nothing short of hell, but he’s willing to endure it for the sake of seeing you. While he can handle flowers in small quantities, the confined space never fails to tickle his system like nobody’s business.

Vision blurring with mild irritation, Eddie blinks hard to disperse it. “Hey, how’s today going?”

You shrug, suppressing a giggle at the wiggle of his nose. “As good as it can, I guess. To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

Eddie sets a grease-stained paper bag on the counter that separates you, along with a cup of soda. “Figured you could use a midday pick-me-up.”

“Must be my lucky day because I overslept and didn’t have time to pack a lunch. Well, that and I found a penny on the sidewalk.”

Eddie crosses his arms and tilts his head. “Don’t give luck all the credit. I have instinctual powers, y’know. My Munson senses were tingling and I knew you were in need.”

“My hero,” You exclaim, clasping your hands and swinging them to the side like a swooning princess. 

Eddie chuckles with you, watching as you wipe your palms on your apron and eagerly dig into the bag, pulling out a foam to-go box. As you promptly open it and take a bite of your lunch, you can’t help but groan and throw your head back in satisfaction. Your eyes meet his thereafter, causing him to twist his mouth to the side and momentarily look away.

“How much do I owe you?” You ask, your words slightly muffled as you continue to chew.

Minnie, Joan’s cat, gracefully leaps onto the counter to greet Eddie. She perches herself beside the cash register, allowing him to scratch under her chin. “Nothin, consider it a favor,” He says with a wet sniffle, the tingling in his nose unrelenting.

The silence that falls is comfortable for you, but he’s seemingly lost in his thoughts as he continues to pet Minnie. Then, he looks at you with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Speaking of which, I just so happen to know a way that you can return the favor.”

Having taken a sip from your drink and another bite of your food, the inflection of Eddie’s voice causes you to slow your chewing. “And what might that be?”

“Come over later to find out.”

Your shoulders slump, eyes widened with mock defeat. “No! I can’t stand here and wonder all day. I'll die. The suspense will kill me.”

Eddie pouts mockingly, his sweet honey eyes betraying his faux-frown. “Then I'll be sure to have the prettiest floral arrangement for your funeral. Only the best for you.”

Your brows knit together in an authentic pouting. The irony of needing to meet an untimely demise to receive flowers from a guy isn’t lost on you.

He motions toward the untrimmed bundle of carnations on the workbench behind you. “Actually, if you’re not too busy,” Eddie smirks. “Could you string those up for me quick so they’re ready to go for your wake?”

“Ha-ha,” you leer, taking the next bite of your food rather aggressively. “You’re cruel, you know that?”

“I beg to differ since I surprised you with your favorite from Val’s and all,” Eddie retorts, biting the inside of his cheek.

You grumble, “Yeah, and it’s fucking delicious.”

Eddie checks his watch and huffs, “Alright, I’ve gotta get goin’,” he says, rapping his knuckles on the countertop and beginning to walk backward. “See you later tonight,” He points at you before spinning on his heel and exiting the shop.

The bulky keyring on Eddie’s jeans jingles loudly as he steps onto the sidewalk. Abruptly, he stops in his tracks. For a moment he’s frozen, and then he braces himself against the nearby lamppost. It hits him like a brick wall and he sneezes mightily. 

Heads of nearby passersby turn in his direction, startled by the noise. As he straightens his posture, Eddie remains still, trying to find his center of gravity and regain his composure.

“You good?” You call out, your voice just barely reaching him through the propped-open doors. Taking a casual sip of your drink, you watch as Eddie steadies himself. Still clutching the street lamp with one hand, he manages to stick his other arm out and give a thumbs-up.

True to your word, you arrive at Eddie’s place straight after work. The sun is setting, casting a warm glow through the patio door onto the walls of the living room. The apartment is in its usual state of disarray, expectedly so, since it’s home to three guys who aren’t particularly concerned with tidiness.

Toeing off your shoes, you’re unphased by the subtle smell of dust in the air. What strikes you as odd is how quiet it is. Typically, at least one roommate is home, blasting the TV in the living room or music from their respective bedrooms. But the only sound permeating the silence is the erratic thumping and screech of the water pipes behind the paper-thin walls of the bathroom.  

As you snoop around the kitchen, hoping to find a box of saltine crackers or really anything to stop the gurgling in your belly. Having come up empty-handed, you turn your attention to the resilient plant that you challenged Eddie to care for—Keanu Leaves, as he so proudly named it. 

Finished with your fruitless search of the kitchen, you make your way into Eddie’s bedroom to settle comfortably into the chair that only you sit in; it’s your spot. While you get cozy, the beans rattle as they perfectly mold to your figure. You knock on the wall beside you, signaling your arrival to Eddie.

You resume the magazine left sitting open on the page you stopped on. You occupy yourself in the article about predicted spring fashion trends as you wait. After a minute or two, the pipes go quiet from the shower being turned off.

Eddie strolls into the room wearing nothing more than a clean pair of boxers. Droplets of water trickle down his toned and tatted chest. Harshly ruffling his curls with a bath towel, he smirks at you. “If it isn’t Little Miss Zombie, back from the dead.”

“Less than alive and in the flesh,” you reply, your annoyance at being made to wait all day still evident. You hold grudges better than anyone he knows, and Eddie is well aware that he’s not immune to being subject to it.

Your tummy rumbles loudly, the discomfort only emphasizing the sharpness of your tone. “When was the last time you got groceries? I didn’t see any preserved brains I could help myself to.”

“I’m definitely due for a restock,” Eddie says as he drapes his wet towel over the back of his desk chair. Then, he grabs the bottle of mousse from his dresser and dispenses a foamy dollop into his palm. “Funny you should ask, though. That’s sorta why you’re here.”

You flip the page of your magazine, not pulling your eyes from the glossy print. “You told me to come over to go grocery shopping?”

Eddie rubs his palms together to spread the product and then runs his fingers through his curls. “Not quite,” he starts, his tone cryptic. “I’ve been tasked with providing a meal, of sorts.” 

Finally, you look up at him. Watching him scrunch his damp hair with the remainder of the product that’s making his palms go tacky, you wait for him to elaborate.

Eddie’s eyes flit to the other side of the room, rather than meeting your awaiting gaze. “I have a date.”

You stare blankly at the back of his head, as still as a statue while your blinking intensifies. Dumbfounded, you struggle to survive the bombshell he just dropped on you. It’s as if a nuclear explosion has shattered your eardrums, leaving his continued words to sound muffled through the high-pitched ringing.

A million and one questions swirl in your mind, only adding to the disorienting whirlwind of emotions. Since when is he dating? Why all of a sudden? As you try to piece everything together, you note that he hasn’t had any recent romantic interactions, at least none that you’re aware of.

You always thought he’d confide in you if he was seeing someone, but now you’re not so sure; especially since you’re only finding out about this now. Without a doubt, Eddie has never had trouble attracting attention. But he’s always seemed so content with the ways things are. So why now?

Eddie turns to face you, a splash of desperation in his eyes. “I feel like doing this is the best way to know if she likes me back.”

Your mouth has gone dry, and you try to sound more curious than interrogative, but it doesn’t quite come off that way. “Who is this mystery woman, anyway?” A couple of names come to mind, some of the most beautiful girls in town—none of whom you hold a candle to.

His side of the room falls quiet when he’s hit with your question. Eddie’s eyes drop to the carpet. While it might seem like he’s lost in thought, it’s actually a glaring sign of evasion. You can’t help but feel a little hurt by his reluctance to tell you who it is.

A small smile forms as he leans back against his dresser, as though he can’t keep himself upright during his current daydream. Folding his arms across his pecs and rubbing his jaw, eyes still downcast, Eddie begins to gush about her. “She’s just- god, she’s something else. The way she laughs, it’s like... the sun coming out after a storm.”

“Sounds like quite the catch,” you mutter, trying to keep your tone neutral. You watch closely as blush tints Eddie’s cheeks and his smile threatens to grow. Without saying another word, Eddie walks out and returns to the bathroom.

You’re quick to follow, hopping up from your chair. “Do I know her?”

“Technically, yeah,” Eddie answers. Standing in front of the foggy mirror, he wipes it with the back of his forearm. Then, he starts rummaging through the counter drawer for his pair of shears.

You stand just outside the open door, the lingering humidity from his scorching hot shower kissing your skin as it disperses into the hallway. Leaning back against the wall, you cross your arms like he did moments ago, albeit far more tensely. Technically? It must be one of your ex-friends, then. That would explain why he’s been keeping you in the dark.

It’s your duty to be supportive, but right now, you could hurl. The thick nausea swirling deep in your gut is a storm raging within, overpowering your ability to stay present.

While trimming his bangs over the basin, the shears glint in the hushed light of the wall sconce. Eddie steals a glance in your direction, but his eyes dart back to his reflection too quickly to catch the discomfort etched on your face. “So you’ll help me, right?”

As you watch yourself anxiously wiggling your toes inside your sock, you mumble, “I can't if you won’t tell me who it is.“

“Sure you can, you’re a girl. You know how this stuff works.”

You scoff, your brows shooting up as your head jerks back. You open your mouth to object, but he promptly cuts you off.

“Ah, ah! Slow your roll,” Eddie cautions, pointing the shears in your direction. “I’m not saying you’re all the same, but there’s gotta be some common ground of expectations, right?”

You don’t have the strength to argue, so you reluctantly allow for his generalization. “I guess so.”

“Like yeah, I could just study one of those lady magazines you’re always reading. But then I wouldn’t have a way of knowing what is and isn’t bullshit,” Eddie explains, his tone half-joking. “That’s why I’m going straight to the source, oh, wise one.”

Far too consumed with trying to narrow down who the chick could possibly be, you can’t be bothered to give him a huff of amusement through your nose. “Can I at least have a hint?”

“Nope,” The shears hit the countertop, their metallic resonance echoing against the porcelain. He pivots to face you, hands resting on his hips. “Alright, Sherlock. How about you quit trying to crack the case and help me pick out a tie.”

“A what now?” You squawk, eyes widening in disbelief.

Eddie chuckles softly and rinses the hair trimmings down the drain, then flicks off the bathroom light. “I have to dress for the occasion. This is a big deal for me,” he elaborates as he strides back into his room. “For her and me.”

Once again, you find yourself on his tail, trailing close behind back into his bedroom. You unfold your arms and instead, start to rub the inside of your wrist with your opposite thumb. “Yeah, I get that. Just seems a bit out of character for you.”

Rifling through his closet, Eddie pulls out a hanger with a navy button-up shirt and nonchalantly tosses it onto the end of his bed. “Maybe, but at least she’ll know I’m taking this seriously,” Eddie says while reaching for the high shelf to retrieve a tattered shoebox. Lifting the lid, he presents it to you. “Here’s what we’re working with.”

You step closer, your fingers deftly plucking out the rolled ties one by one, laying them flat beside the slightly wrinkled shirt. Side by side, your shoulders nearly brush. Meticulously comparing the patterns and colors, neither of you seems drawn to any particular one.

“Here, maybe it’s better to do it this way,” Eddie suggests, picking up and beginning to slip into the shirt. His thick fingers falter as he attempts to maneuver each small white button through its corresponding hole. Once halfway dressed—having tastefully paired his plaid boxers with a dress shirt—he smooths out the material from his chest to his belly.

Eddie reaches for the nearest tie and lays it against his shoulder. He faces you expectantly, anticipation evident in his gaze, awaiting your feedback.

Your eyes flit between the tie he’s holding, the array laid out on the bed, and the hopefulness in his round eyes. “These are easily the three ugliest ties I've ever seen. No offense.”

He blows a playful raspberry at your harsh criticism and shakes his head. “None taken, they’re not mine. But Wayne might be a little hurt when I call him next and tell him you said that.”

Shooting him a pointed look, your brows furrow in skepticism. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“I just might,” Eddie teases with a smile before turning his attention back to the bed. He tosses the first tie aside and reaches for the mustard paisley one. “What about this one, does it compliment my eyes?” He bats his dark brown lashes.

You clutch your chin in contemplation, carefully assessing the combination of hues. However, the richness of his chocolate irises captures you. You wade in their depths. The hot flash that envelops your body is enough to break the trance he inadvertently put you under. With a disapproving shake of your head, you dismiss this tie as well. “Nope, next.”

Eddie looks at you for a moment longer, even though you’re not doing the same. A faint frown creases his features as he tosses the vetoed tie aside, forming a rejection pile.

You pick up the remaining tie and drape it over his shoulder, admiring the harmonious pairing of the navy in the tie with the shirt, accentuated by its white and black diagonal stripes. While you ponder, Eddie watches your face intently, holding his breath.

You nod, a trace of delighted approval in your expression. “We have a winner.”

“Hell yeah, blue on blue it is,” Eddie exclaims. He wraps the tie around the back of his neck but struggles to recall the proper technique for tying it. Attempting a few different nonsensical loopings, he groans, his determination waning. “Stupid son of a bitch, wouldya just-”

“Don’t hurt yourself. Let me do it," You offer. Not receiving protest, you step closer to him.

Eddie uses one hand to gather his product-enhanced curls into a makeshift ball, allowing you to access the collar of his shirt. He juts out his freshly shaved chin, granting you ample room to work. Standing this closely, you catch the clean scent of shaving cream lingering on his skin.

You begin to effortlessly tie the knot. Without pausing to consider what you’re about to say, the words spill from your lips, “Why’re you asking for my opinion on stuff like this, anyway? You should be doing what you think she’ll like, not me.”

“You always know best,” Eddie’s expression softens to something more vulnerable. “When you’re taking the next step in a relationship, you want everything to be as perfect as it can be, y’know?”

It’s common sense to him. No one understands him like you do, making you the perfect person for navigating this nerve-wracking experience. But for you, it’s perplexing. You’ve never been on a proper, formal date. The idea of one remains an unfulfilled pipe dream. Yet, here you are, agreeing to help Eddie plan his.

Your only frame of reference comes from romance movies and horror stories of dates gone wrong recounted by your girlfriends. Of all the things you could be in the world, you find yourself an unassuming tree. Sturdy and dependable, sure. You serve your purpose. But you don’t captivate onlookers with blooming petals like flowers do. Instead, you take pride in your intricately branched personality, valuing it as your true strength that often goes overlooked.

Even so, it feels as though your traits fail to enchant others regardless; nobody seems willing. You go unnoticed, and you’ve come to terms with that.

Beautiful wildflowers get plucked from the ground and carried away to be cherished. Meanwhile, you simply exist, rooted in no man’s land, devoid of admirers. You may stand tall, but you’re easily overshadowed by what other women have to offer.

Perhaps this is why you like working at the flower shop. It’s somewhat cathartic to witness the delicate petals fall from time to time. It brings you a strange sense of satisfaction to hack away at their stems. The best part, though? While it’s a little twisted, you know that those flowers that dazzle in their pristine state are destined to wilt. They’ll shrivel and brown.

Whilst among your shared group of friends in public, you’ve witnessed Eddie getting nudged by one of the guys to direct his attention to a smoke show walking by. You watched as they bit their knuckles and exaggeratedly gawked. You don’t compare, it’s not even apples to oranges. It’s like… apples to rocks. A delicious, shiny fruit compared to you, mere clunky chunks of earth.

If life were an album, you’re the track that everyone skips within seconds of hearing the intro. Except for those rare moments when someone half-listens by accident and they resonate with you—that’s how you and Eddie became friends. He’d stumbled upon his new favorite song, one worth revisiting. What he sees in you is what everyone else overlooks.

Eddie is the only man on the face of the earth who treats you like you’re worth being around. Only an oddball would prefer to spend time lounging beneath the shade of a crooked tree instead of homing a rose in a crystal vase. That’s one thing you love about your best friend; he doesn’t make you feel like you fade into the background.

All fairytale cliché bullshit included, you want to be sought out in a crowd. You want to light up the room for someone. Much to your dismay, that can happen platonically too, and it has in this case.

If Eddie only knew how much the little moments matter to you—the ones where he makes you feel prioritized and valued. You know you’re not anything close to special or remarkable, but he always made you second guess that thought.

Obviously, you hadn’t meant to fall for him. It was kind of like catching a cold; one day, there was a tickle in the back of your throat that you didn’t usually feel. Unsuspecting, the days went on, and that sensation only worsened. You started to panic a little but ultimately continued to deny your worst thoughts.

Before you knew it, you were bedridden, bitten by the love bug. You didn’t go down without a fight. You thought that you could be strong and deny it access to your heart, but it had already invaded. So, all you could do was wait it out.

You tried to distance yourself, hoping to recover and act like nothing ever changed inside of you. But Eddie didn’t let you get too far away.

It wasn’t love at first sight, rather, a creeping plague. There was no swooning and giggling, no struggling to keep your hands to yourself. The change was undetectable. You were a frog in boiling water, unaware of the gradually rising temperature until it was far too late.

It wasn’t until your chest started to ache every time you said goodbye at the end of spending time together that you realized you were in too deep. You genuinely debated going to the doctor to get the pang checked out, but luckily you didn’t. Otherwise, you’d have wasted a good chunk of money to find out that you’re a lovesick idiot.

Unfortunately, this is an illness you’ve been stuck with since, and you’ve at least learned how to distract yourself from it. But when you fail to do so, your imagination wanders. Naturally, you’ve wondered if pressing a mere kiss to his cheek would burn everything to the ground.

The forbidden territory beckons, tempting you to envision breaking those unspoken agreed-upon rules that forbid things like hand-holding and cuddling. The two of you uphold mutual respect, adhering to the expectations of friendship. Both of you reserve that level of touch for expressions of romantic affection. Actions such as those have no place in a true friendship.

That’s the most confusing part of this for you. How did you manage to catch such strong feelings for him when you’ve not crossed any lines? Sure, he’s a tactile person; maybe that has something to do with it. Eddie makes physical contact with those he trusts, but it’s not like he’s hanging off of you at any given moment. You receive the same treatment as the others in his inner circle: a hand on the shoulder, a pat on the back, and a brief gripping of the forearm to get your attention.

You’re not supposed to want the touches to be more frequent, much less of a different nature. The line has to be drawn somewhere, and it’s been plainly drawn in the sand. You understand and accept that. But why, of all lines in the world, does it have to be this one that you want to cross so badly?

Most of your days aren’t all that miserable. But there are those days that are more difficult than the rest, though it’s not his fault. Last weekend, the two of you were at a mall, and some chick waved at him flirtily. He returned it immediately, though playfully enough that it was almost mocking. He was fucking around and had no intention of entertaining the idea of approaching her. Regardless, it was humbling for you, to say the least.

In that moment, the world reminded you that there’s a reason you walk at his side at a respectable distance, not tucked under his arm. If anything, it’s for the best. There’s a sense of liberation in admiring him without the burden of articulating your feelings. There’s no pressure to meet a girlfriend quota or live up to a higher standard. What Eddie expects of you now is what you’re capable of, and clearly, all that you’re good for. You’re good for filling the void, but apparently not so much anymore.

You’re not lustrous and aching to jump his bones, and you’re certainly not desperate enough to kiss him on a whim by not allowing yourself to overthink it. But perhaps you are just desperate enough that a man simply paying your emotions, interests, and existence of any mind can shackle you to him. That has to be what’s done you in; Eddie gives a shit about you.

In reality, there’s more to it than that. Eddie is selective about who and what he lets in. He doesn’t care for conformity and lack of individuality. The idea of blending in with the majority of society repulses him. You find the flawed aspects of the Munson doctrine fascinating and raw. He’s not perfect and Eddie doesn’t care what others think of him, to a degree.

Not unlike you, he’s complex. Eddie is anti-establishment but still prefers a bit of structure over chaos in his day-to-day life. He’s independent and cynical as hell, but he’s also appreciative of his support systems and isn’t ashamed to rely on them. He’s not much of a rule breaker nor is he rebellious, but he’ll happily stir up a little trouble in good fun if given the opportunity.

Eddie is a hypocrite in some ways and a walking contradiction in others. You love that he’s unapologetic about being that way. He owns it for the most part, and you admire that.

His presence overstays its welcome in your thoughts. You’ve often yearned for him to call you in the dead of night, admitting that he can’t sleep without the sound of your voice. Many times, you’ve fought the urge to do that. He owes you sleep, countless nights of it. It’s a debt that will never be repaid, an outstanding balance.

Despite the attempts at trying to talk yourself out of it, you still can’t bring yourself to stop loving him. Even as he’s actively pursuing someone else, you’re unable to shake this. You could be paralyzed from head to toe, and you’d still feel the love you have for him in your bones.

Once Eddie is officially with someone, he won’t have much time or energy left for you. The anticipation of being thrown aside for something new and far prettier has shattered your heart before any changes have occurred. Yet, any fragment of his presence surpasses total absence. The greed isn’t worth it, and you know you should be grateful for getting any piece of him at all.

The phrase fizzles on the tip of your tongue like a smoldering ember, threatening to sear through the muscle… I’m happy for you.

You should say it, but you can’t. Because if you did, that would be a blatant lie. It’s not even possessiveness that has you so bitter, it’s envy. You wish you were in her place.

“There,” you adjust the knot with a delicate tug, ensuring its tightness before letting the material slip through your fingers. Unable to meet his appreciative gaze, you offer a sad smile and take a half-step backward.

Your sigh, cleverly concealed as a deep breath, escapes as you settle back into your chair with a plop. “So, um,” you begin, picking at your cuticles absentmindedly. “Where are you taking her? Somewhere fancy?”

“Nah,” Eddie meticulously revamps his curls one final time in the mirror, wanting them to fall just right. Then, with great care, he tames his bangs to lay perfectly in place. “She’s gonna come over here. I thought it’d be more intimate. Besides, I can’t exactly swing a reservation right now. I’ve been tight on cash this week.”

Your fingers come to a halt, the stinging sensation apparent. Looking over at him, your eyes meet his in the reflection. “Ya big dummy, you shouldn’t have bought me lunch when that money could’ve gone toward buying her a nice dinner.”

“Don’t start with that shit,” Eddie warns as he digs through his dresser in search of pants to wear. “I’m happy to do that for you,” He adds, pulling a pair of dark jeans from the bottom drawer.

“It really did make my day, thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Having donned his pants, he nears his desk where his black grommet belt lies on the floor. Eddie threads his belt through the loops of his jeans, the buckle jingling before he secures it in place. “I felt better knowing you were taken care of.”

It’s only now occurring to you what he’s implied, and you think how absurd it is for him to host a dinner when he’s culinarily challenged. “Wait, since when do you cook?”

“Oh, I don’t. But you do.”

“Hardly,” you scoff, downplaying your abilities. Placing your magazine back in your lap, you flip the page despite not having read it. Unexpectedly, you feel the urge to quell his enthusiasm, to set him up for failure by trying to poke holes in his plan. “I mean, food is one thing, but atmosphere is another. Aren’t the guys going to be here?”

Eddie moves the clutter on his desk around in a quest to find something. “I kicked them out for the night.”

Like a spear plunged into your chest, you swallow hard. Not only is he having a girl over for dinner, but he’s gone out of his way to guarantee privacy because he’s hoping to get lucky too. More than likely right there, on that very bed, feet away from you. The cramped twin-sized mattress, where they’ll inevitably be body to body.

He turns to you after locating what he was searching for, fastening the slightly fancier watch around his wrist; it only supersedes his casio due to it being analog, as opposed to digital. “I’ve been wanting to try that dish you keep raving about. You can teach me how to make it. Two birds, one stone.”

“It’s not difficult, you could handle the recipe,” You shrug away the opportunity to cook with him because the domesticity of it would more than likely kill you.

“I wanna do it together,” his voice softens, genuinely asking as nicely as he’s capable. “Please.”

“Sure, yeah,” you maintain your downcast gaze and slump back in the chair, wishing for a black hole to open and swallow you up. “What if she doesn’t like it, or what if you don’t?”

“If you like it then it has to be good.”

Eddie’s seemingly endless compliments cause no sense of flattery. Instead, you’re consumed with persisting nausea as you envision a stunning girl seated across from him while they share laughter and partake in unspeakable activities in this very room.

Abruptly, a wave of heat washes over you, causing the soles of your feet and your palms to grow clammy. The scent of newly sprayed Old Spice floods the room and you’re overwhelmed by it, struggling to draw a breath. “I’ll be right back,” You all but choke on your words, swiftly rising to your feet and hastily leaving. Eddie watches curiously as you do.

In the living room, you push the heavy sliding door aside, stepping out onto the balcony to catch your breath. You inhale as deep as physically possible, and the stirring evening breeze cools the hot tears gathered along your lash line. Cars pass by, and you distract yourself by watching a person leisurely walking their dog. You do everything in your power to divert your thoughts away from him and the impending date.

A few minutes later, Eddie emerges from his room and slides open the door to the balcony, poking his head out to check on you. “Y’ready to go?” The shift in your energy is immediately evident to him, though he can’t quite pinpoint what’s amiss. He figures you’ve had a long day and you’re tired from your shift. Maybe you’re a little hangry, too.

With your arms folded on the balcony rail, you continue to look out into the neighborhood. “Go where?” 

“The store, duh. We’ve gotta get ingredients, do we not?” He says to the back of your head.

You nod meekly before turning to face him. “Right. Yeah, I’m ready.”

Eddie flashes a warm smile before sliding the door open wide enough for you to pass through. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand then, hot stuff. We’re losing daylight,” He says, striding toward the front door.

Arguably, you’re not losing daylight fast enough. You wish the sun would fall from the sky. That way, it would always be dark and you could hide in the shadows forever. You follow him inside and slide the closed with a subdued thud.

His car keys drag and jingle while he swipes them off of the counter. Once he reaches the entryway, Eddie drops the keys on the floor beside him as he kneels to put on his sneakers. A few seconds later, you’ve joined him to do the same. Eddie glances at you as he feels the evening breeze that slipped in finally reaching this side of the room. “It’s a little chilly out, wanna borrow a hoodie or something?”

Quickly tying your shoes to avoid prolonged eye contact, you get to your feet, hugging yourself as you do. “No, I’ll be fine.”

Eddie snorts and stands, his shoes now tied as well. “I’m getting you one,” He insists and heads to his room, gesturing for you to follow.

“I said I’ll be fine without one,” You opt not to follow, instead calling out to him to compensate for the distance and his half-open door.

“Shut up, I’m getting you one and you’re gonna wear it ‘cause I said so,” his tone drips with feigned amusement at your stubbornness. “Come in here.”

As you step into the room, Eddie offers you the hoodie, watching as you just stare at it. “Sweetheart, put it on. You’re gonna freeze to death if you don’t. Then, I’ll have no choice but to cancel my super hot date because I’ll be too busy defrosting my ice sculpture of a best friend with a blow drier. You want me to blow you all night? I know you-”

“Okay, okay! I’ll put the damn thing on,” you say, begrudgingly taking it from him. “Happy?”

“Try elated,” Eddie smiles from ear to ear and winks at you, content that you’re allowing him to do what he deems best for you, knowing you’re too stubborn to do so for yourself. He’s got your back, always. Even if it means enduring a bit of attitude in the process. Eddie likes that about you, he always has. With a final glance, he leaves the room, flicking off the light switch.

Left standing in the dark bedroom, you blindly navigate the article of clothing to locate the opening. However, as soon as you go to put it on, it occurs to you that this hoodie is not fresh out of the wash.

The distant floral scent left behind by dryer sheets mingles with his natural aroma, enveloping you as you pull the sweatshirt over your head. He grabbed whatever was at hand, inadvertently submerging you back into the very sensory experience you fled from. The spicy notes from his cologne turn you into a human lava lamp, effectively melting you on the inside.

The mingling of Old Spice, tobacco smoke, his unique essence, and a hint of spring meadow flood your mind. You consider the idea of keeping the hoodie. You could tell him that you forgot to return it, and he’ll forget about it. Eddie can afford to lose one hoodie, he’d survive.

“Let’s go!” He barks, impatience peaking as nerves gnaw at him with each passing minute bringing him closer to the dinner.

Exiting his bedroom, you find Eddie stationed at the front door, propping it open with his foot. Once within his view, you extend your arms and twist your expression to emphasize your annoyed compliance.

“One last thing,” Eddie withdraws his foot, causing the door to slam shut, its latch clanging twice against the wood from the force. He reaches out and pulls the hood up, adjusting it to cover most of your head. “There.”

You stick your tongue out at him, your grin eliciting one from him in return. “Alright, let’s-” He begins, but instead of turning, he fakes you out and grabs both drawstrings. Eddie tugs them, causing the hood to cinch tightly around your face.

“You’re an ass,” You whine.

“Yeah, well,” Eddie turns around to leave this time and holds the front door open for you. “You’re stuck with me.”

With a narrowed glare, you fix the hood and your hair on your way out of the apartment. Eddie is close behind, closing the door and locking it. You take the opportunity to collect yourself and adopt a supportive, cheerful demeanor.

These are gonna be the longest two hours of your life.

You can’t fucking believe it. You’re preparing a meal for another woman, and doing so willingly. You tried to guide him through the prep process, but he grew frustrated. Now, he’s on dish duty, conquering the mountain of dirty dishes piled up on the counter. 

She may be getting a delicious and intimate dinner, but at least you get moments like these. But soon enough, she’ll have them too. If everything goes to plan, the memories of these moments will be all you have left of Eddie. As you lose yourself in the sound of his voice, the ramblings about a sale he made at work eventually circle back to the topic of his evening.

As he excitedly goes on, his voice carries a boyish enthusiasm. Unseen by you, Eddie bounces on the balls of his feet while standing at the sink. Ten minutes seem to fly by unnoticed as you both focus on your tasks.

After taking the food out of the oven, his demeanor flips like a switch. “Oh, it’s time for me to leave apparently,” you acknowledge, barely having the chance to take off the oven mitt all the way before he’s practically pushing you out of the apartment. “Be sure to heat it up at 375 degrees,” You suggest as you struggle to put on your shoes fast enough.

“Sure thing,” Eddie confirms, “I’ll let you know how it goes!”

“Looking forward to it,” You lie. Eddie waves you off before closing the front door. Left standing alone in the eerily quiet hallway, you feel foolish.

Finally arriving home, you crawl onto your bed. The weight of reality crashes down upon you, and you physically collapse under the weight of your emotions. The pain in your chest burns up the back of your throat as you sob. This was a harsh wake-up call, but it’s what you needed to finally confront yourself.

It’s better this way. Not having to reject you outright or politely turn you down, Eddie doesn’t have to hurt simply because you are. This is best because Eddie doesn’t have to feel guilty or pity you. Just as you’ve loved him in silence, you can grieve the loss of him in it too.

Ten minutes pass and just as you’re starting to drift asleep from exhaustion, your telephone rings. The ringing in the kitchen pulls you from your room. You drag your feet on the way there, clearing your throat and taking a deep breath before answering the phone.

“Hey, uh,” Eddie sounds panicked, “Can you come back over? I forgot the most important fucking thing and-”

You cut him off, “Relax, I’ll be there in twelve,” Abruptly ending the call without another word, you rub your sore eyes, blow your stuffy nose, and splash your face with warm water. The last thing he needs is for his night to be ruined because he notices how hard you’ve been crying. If your feelings get in the way of him having a good time with the girl he’s head over heels for, then you don’t deserve his friendship.

Entering the building and letting yourself back into his apartment, you’re caught off guard by how different the space looks. He worked his butt off to tidy the living room and make certain that everything is presentable. Besides being notably neater, you also notice the faint smell of air freshener.

The apartment is blanketed in darkness, illuminated only by the flickering flames of candles and the light from the table lamp in the living room. Hushed music emanates from the record player in his room. It’s a genre you wouldn’t have expected him to own, because of how slow and romantic it sounds. You wonder whether he bought it specifically for this occasion.

Upon hearing the front door creak open, Eddie halts his pacing in the living room. “Thank god, you’re here.”

You teeter on the heels of your feet, feeling out of place in the carefully arranged setting that isn’t meant for you. “I really shouldn’t be. It’s quarter to seven, she’ll show up any minute now.”

Eddie makes his way over to you, rounding the dinner table and draping his arm along the back of the dining chair farthest from where you stand. “No, no. Don’t worry about that, she’s already here.”

Your eyes flit towards the bathroom, expecting to see a sliver of light escaping from beneath the door, yet the hallway is pitch black. There’s no dolled-up gal standing in his room either. You look back at him with a furrowed brow, confusion etched on your face. “Where, exactly?”

He can’t think of a time he’s ever had to remind himself how to breathe correctly. Eddie holds his hand out to you, his anxiety mounting. With hesitation, you extend your hand and place it in his. He wraps his trembling fingers around yours.

Rarely have you been in this position, and in those instances, it was never an act with deeper meaning. It’s only ever happened in urgent moments, like darting across a bustling street to avoid being separated—a mere safety measure.

Eddie’s attention fixates on your hands, willing them to respond to his touch. Then he notices your puffy, reddened eyes. “What’s the matter?” He asks, instinctively squeezing your joined hands.

“It’s stupid,” You pull away from him, retracting your hand to wipe away the smeared mascara beneath your eyes.

Rather than forcibly turning you to face him, Eddie gracefully moves around to stand in front of you once more. “I bet it’s not,” he says softly, his compassionate expression tinged with concern. He reaches for both of your hands this time, praying you can’t feel his pounding pulse through the contact.

Eddie delicately lifts your hands and peppers velvety kisses across the tops of your knuckles. The warmth of your skin against his lips sends a shiver shooting through his core, goosebumps rising across his body.

You emit a wet giggle from the shock, uncertainty, and embarrassment bubbling within you. “What the hell are you doing?”

He chuckles a little too, his eyes sparkling as they reflect the dancing flames behind you. “What’s it look like? This is all for you,” Eddie presses one more featherlight kiss to your hands before lowering them, but he doesn’t let go, keeping them securely in his own. “It’s our first date.”

You’re the prettiest little package of unusual. From the moment he first heard your song, he couldn’t shake you. Eddie couldn’t get your tune out of his system, but it’s not like he wanted to. Never before had anyone shown him such unconditional care; no one had ever gone out of their way to get to know him like you did. You’re the safest thing he’s ever known, but you’re also the scariest, in the best ways possible.

The thought of confessing how you make him complete, unlike anything he’s ever experienced, is nothing short of terrifying. Yet, the fear of not seizing the opportunity to love you outweighs the fear of rejection. There’s no turning back now.

Your eyes wander to the table, taking in the details: the thoughtfully arranged mismatched plates and silverware, the glasses filled with expensive wine. At the end of the kitchen island sits a teddy bear beside a bouquet. In addition to the flower petals, there are red, white, and pink balloons scattered across the floor.

You turn away before he can see your face contort, biting your lip harshly to suppress the sob rising in your throat. It’s all useless, though. A broken cry escapes your lips.

Eddie’s stomach lurches and pressure builds behind his own eyes. The change he just caused is palpable, the damage has been done. He releases both of your hands and plants his on the sides of his head, stepping away. “Shit, shit, shit. I’m such a fucking idiot. I read this all wrong, I thought-”

“You’re not and you didn’t,” you choke out. “They’re happy tears now.”

His frantic expression mellows out, his arms drop to his sides, and the tension in his body gradually dissipates. “Happy tears?”

You respond with a soft hum and nod, a grin forming as you admire the table setting and gifts once more before looking back at Eddie.

“Oh,” he chirps, wearing a cheek-splitting smile as he brings his palms to your face. He wipes away your fallen tears with his thumbs. Eddie studies your expression intently. “I didn’t mean to make you cry sad ones.”

“It’s not your fault,” You close your eyes, relishing the sensation of his fingers calmingly swiping along the apples of your cheeks.

“It is and I’m sorry,” Eddie inches closer, his toes now touching yours. “I wanted it to be a surprise ‘cause I thought spontaneity would make it more memorable.”

You look at him questioningly. “It’s not exactly spontaneous when you had me cook my own dinner.”

“Fair enough. You’ve got me there,” Eddie thought it was a foolproof plan. If you made the food, there was no chance that you’d hate it. “I went about this all wrong, huh? I should scrap the whole thing and start from scratch,” He becomes distracted, his train of thought shifting to how he’s going to clean this up and figure out a different approach.

“Don’t do that. Just ask me,” you grasp his forearm to regain his attention. “Ask me out and maybe I'll say yes.”

“Maybe?” Eddie scoffs airily, unsure if you’re teasing or genuinely undecided. He clears his throat and theatrically composes himself, gesturing with a downward motion of his hand in front of his face. “Okay, uh, would you like to have dinner with me?”

“No.”

Eddie’s mouth falls open.

“I’m fucking with you,” You smile devilishly and wrap your arms around his middle.

Finally, he can hug you the way he’s always wanted. Eddie brings you in close and tight, his arms encircling your head. “You think you’re so funny, don’t you?” He murmurs into your hair, inhaling deeply to indulge in every aspect of you he can.

“A little,” You laugh. You remain in each other’s embrace for a moment longer before easing apart, though still connected by your pairs of lassoed arms.

Eddie’s laughter melds with yours, the relief in his tone evident. “Now that the cat's outta the bag, I can finally tell you that I absolutely love when you’re a crybaby.”

You pull a comical expression, raising your eyebrows and widening your eyes. “What, why?” You take in the scattering of freckles across his T-zone while he responds.

“Honest to god, it’s mesmerizing to watch you experience things so intensely. It’s fucking beautiful,” With nothing but adoration in his eyes, Eddie strokes your hair, relishing the way it feels against his skin. “Can I call you my crybaby?”

“No, you cannot!” You swat at his chest and attempt to push him away, but he laughs smugly and brings you back in close. Your hands find purchase on his biceps, surrendering to him entirely. Locked in each other’s gaze, time seems to crawl.

Eddie’s hands, having made their way down to caress your hips, settle on the small of your back. “How about just baby?” he nudges the tip of his nose against yours, his voice taking on an almost sultry tone. “You like the way that sounds?”

All you can do is nod dumbly, watching his eyes fall to your lips.

Eddie mumbles, “Me too,” His hands flex where they lay, tugging you slightly so that your bodies are flush and you have no choice but to lean against him. “Would it be okay if I kissed you?” Eddie licks his lips, his eyes finding yours again, the chocolate pools of his irises swirling.

You nod, slide your hands up his shoulders, and wrap them around his neck. The air was stolen from your lungs, rendering your voice a ghost. Eddie leans in and his lips hover over yours, your eyes fluttering closed in time with his. Then, you feel the gentle pressure of his lips against your own.

For a few moments, you’re out of sync, a mere beat behind due to nerves. But after taking a brief breath, you find each other without trouble. When you slot your lip between his, it’s as though there’s a sunrise in his veins; a new dawn spreads through his body. You tug a fistful of curls at the nape of his neck, your lips clicking wetly with one another, chests heaving in unison.

When the two of you finally have to part to breathe, Eddie whispers, “Holy shit.”

“You can say that again,” You exhale, releasing the grip you have on his hair and soothingly scratching the area with your nails.

“I mean I could,” Eddie borderline purrs, tightening his arms around your waist. “But I’d much rather keep kissing you.”

“Hard to argue with that,” you smile against his lips and give him a quick peck, which he happily returns. Then, your mind begins to wander. “You got me flowers?”

He can’t discern if there’s a trace of disdain or disbelief in your tone. Eddie knows that you consider flowers cliché and overrated; after all, you deal with them all day. But just because you see them that way doesn’t mean he does.

Eddie pulls away slightly to get a good look at you, “Yeah, of course I got flowers for my flower. How could I not?”

Truthfully, he’s bummed about not being able to find a bouquet as exceptional as you. You’re unlike anything from this world, resembling something from his cherished sci-fi novels. You’re resilient, showing up any old rose or daisy. You unfurled your petals solely for Eddie and allowed him to see you bloom. Nothing on earth compares to you. So, a regular bouquet would have to do.

You comment with a slightly teasing tone, “I had no idea you’re a hopeless romantic.”

“Too much?” Eddie bites his lower lip, afraid that you’re offended.

“No, not too much,” you remove your one hand from his hair and rest it on his chest, drawing mindless shapes while you avoid eye contact. “Far more than I deserve though,” You’re slightly taken aback when Eddie cups your face without hesitation, forcing you to look at him. Despite his assertiveness, his touch is tender.

“Sweetheart,” Eddie’s eyes carry an intensity you’ve never seen, brimming with affection and sincerity. “You deserve everything good that this world has to offer. I can’t give you that, but I can give you all of me. That much I can promise.”

Reblogs are greatly encouraged and appreciated! ♡

★My Masterlist

tags:@nj01@tlclick73

[braidlottie]

the yellowjackets taking care of you after your wisdom teeth removal

im getting my wisdom teeth out in 2 weeks but i am experiencing the teeniest amount of pain so im taking my mind off of it by writing this (^^)

LOTTIE

whether you’re emotional or just a straight up yapper, she’s always engaged in your conversation and trying to cheer you up/calm you down

you pass by a chick-fil-a on the way home and you beg lottie for a milkshake, but she tells you the doctor said you can’t have it immediately after surgery

and you’re very upset at this, probably ending up in another crying fit

“my sweet baby, i’ll get you a milkshake tomorrow, mkay? we don’t want to hurt your mouth even more.”

literally spoon feeds you soup at home because it’s the only thing you can eat 😭

SHAUNA

she leaves you in the bedroom to rest for a little bit, but you keep leaving to come and find her in the kitchen :(

holding you in her lap to ice your mouth because she knows you hate and you try to take the ice pack off any chance you get

she changes your gauze eventually and you make it SO hard for her 😭😭😭😭

“hey, hey. hold still. and stop touching your mouth, honey. i know you can’t feel your lips, honey- no, they’re not gone-”

she’s literally bribing you with treats and cuddles to behave

NAT

he would actually film you LMAO and send it to the yj gc when you’re conscious

he’s feeding into the silly things that you tell the doctor because you’re high as a kite 😭

forgot how to change your gauze the minute you got to the motel and had to call your doctor for a over the phone tutorial

“nooo, you can’t be eating from the vending machine right now. you want some ice cream from the corner store?”

scared to leave you unattended for so long so he runs down the street and buys the ice cream and by the time he comes back, you’re sprawled out sleeping on the bed 😭

TAISSA

she’s so bossy when it comes to your health and you actually kinda like it…

when she changes your gauze, you try to whine and pull away from her but she sit sits you right back up in her lap

sends you upstairs because she can tell the meds are making you sleepy

“you’re gonna go to sleep and rest, okay? take a little nap.”

she takes your phone because she doesn’t want you to be distracted or trying to fight sleep, but you ask her to stay with you until you fall asleep and of course she says yes :( she gives into you begging for her to turn on your favorite show too :3

VAN

van is the complete opposite of taissa here LMAO

making dad jokes and telling you about the strange plots of his favorite sandra bullock movies just to get your mind off the pain

chuckling at your groan when he tells you all his shitty jokes

“yeah, i was watching the news this morning, and you know the energizer bunny, right? well, he got arrested for battery…”

cooks you up a fresh can of campbells soup (he can’t cook it from scratch to save his life)

MISTY

she's there for you on hand and foot, getting you painkillers, more blankets, whatever you needed

you get so surprised when she brings in your favorite movies and makes your (she remembers all of your personal interests, even if they’re minor)

she will talk your ear off while you’re trying to rest from the anesthesia, but you don’t know how to ask her to stop 😭😭

“but caligula refrused to leave his cage today. but i think he’s just getting older and moodier- oh you’re trying to sleep? ᵃᵐ ᶦ ᵇᵉᶦⁿᵍ ᵗᵒᵒ ˡᵒᵘᵈ?”

she starts whispering instead, petting your head until you fall asleep in her lap

[slytheringlambert91]

No, Tim, You’re Not Being Kidnapped! (Except Maybe You Are…) Chapter 3

Chapter 3 is finally posted!

The next morning, Bruce meets them in the kitchen.

“Morning, boys, I thought I’d drive you to school today, that alright?”

Jason nods, grabbing some fruit off the counter as Alfred places their plates on the counter.

Tim only stares, somewhat bewildered. Jason guesses he’s never had his parents drive him to school, or at the very least it has been a very, very, long time.

Jason reacted the same way the first time Bruce drove him to school.

When they reach the school, Jason and Tim get ready to get out of the car.

“My meeting with the principal is after school,since I have a morning client meeting to get to, ok Jay?”

“Ok, see ya, B!”

“Have a good day, boys.”

Tim watches Bruce pull away, a somewhat mystified look on his face.

“Is it always like this?”

“Nah, most days Alfred brings me to school,”

“Do I need to take the bus after school, since you guys have your meeting?”

“Hell no. It shouldn’t take too long, Bruce can drive both of us home afterward. There’s no point in you taking the bus.”

English that day is…interesting, to say the least. When he walks in—and hands in the work from last class—Mrs. Campbell barely acknowledges him. After that, she opens class the same way she did before, but with a slightly more creative writing prompt: “What’s your favorite piece of literature and why?”

Jason keeps his head down and does his work, and aside a few pointed comments about respecting elders and whatnot, and the weird smugness oozing from her—as if she’s actually won, Jason wants to roll his eyes at the thought—class is peaceful.

It’s strange how peaceful it is.

Until the end, that is.

“Mr. Todd, see me after class. Everyone else is dismissed.”

Tim hesitates, eyeing Jason and Mrs. Campbell, then mouths “don’t do anything stupid,” at him.

Rude. He’s never done a stupid thing in his life.

Once everyone’s left, Mrs. Campbell calls him up to her desk.

“Just to confirm, the meeting with Mr. Wayne is after school, correct?”

“Yes, I—”

“Yes, ma’am. Not that I’d expect a street rat like you to understand, but in civilized society we respect our elders.”

“I respect those who deserve it. You definitely do not.”

“Why, you little—” she cuts herself off, takes a breath, and starts again. “You better fix your attitude, Todd. you might just find yourself dumped back on the street, seeing as how you are just Mr. Wayne’s ward. He’ll get tired of you soon enough, I assure you,”

No, Jason knows Bruce won’t abandon him, Bruce wouldn’t do that.

But what if—

No.

“Actually, ma’am, dumping me back on the streets would be child abandonment regardless of the situation, and he wouldn’t do that. Furthermore,” He revels in the shocked look on her face when he throws out a ‘big’ word, “I was adopted two years ago. Legally I am his child, and I would appreciate it if you recognized that. Now, I need to be going to class, seeing as how this little—pointless—meeting has made me late to biology.” He stalks out without waiting for a response, leaving the teacher to stew.

Bruce isn’t going to abandon him…right?

No.

No, he promised he wouldn’t.

Jason just needs to trust him, that’s easy, right?

Bruce has proven to be very trustworthy.

He’d thought he’d gotten over this fear, Bruce had shown him time and time again he wasn’t going to abandon Jason, but…

What if it was all a lie?

Only 3 and a half more hours. He needs to focus.

When he got to math a bit later, Tim met his gaze, “Everything ok?” He mouths.

Jason nods, and finds his seat.

“Why are you late, Jason?” The teacher, Mr. Gilbert, asks.

“Mrs. Campbell wanted to speak with me, she didn’t give me a note or anything though. If you want to confirm, you'll have to ask her.”

Mr.Gilbert grumbles under his breath, but turns back to the board and resumes teaching.

Jason struggles to focus, even though he knows he should. Math is his worst subject, and yet he can’t drag his thoughts from the whirlwind of fears running through his mind.

Bruce could get tired of him, nevermind that he hasn’t in the last 3 and a half years.

Jason runs through the rest of the day on autopilot, barely managing to take notes in his classes.

Tim meets him outside his last class of the day, History, and they head to the office to wait on Bruce. He leans against the wall, while Tim finds a seat on a bench outside the door.

When Bruce comes in a few minutes, he barely quirks an eyebrow at Jason’s blank stare. He squeezes Jason’s shoulder, snapping him out of his daze.

“Everything ok, Jay?”

Jason just nods mutely, not meeting Bruce’s gaze.

“He’s been quiet since after English.”

“Why? What happened in English?”

“The class itself was normal, but Mrs. Campbell made Jason stay back to talk to her afterwards. I don’t know what she said.”

Jason shoots a glare at Tim, “S’not a big deal. Let’s just get the meetin’ over with.” He scuffs his shoe on the ground and pushes off the wall.

Bruce sighs, but lets it go. He leads them into the office after quietly telling Tim they’ll be right back. He keeps a hand on Jason’s shoulders, and he has to force himself not to lean into it.

Bruce greets the secretary with his most charming ‘Brucie’ smile, trying to ignore how tense his son feels. He doesn’t know what that teacher said to him, but by god if he isn’t going to find out. This isn’t like Jason.

Jason meets everything with a sarcastic smile or sharp comment. He doesn’t shut down and go quiet.

The secretary waves them into the office, and he sees who he presumes is Mrs. Campbell sitting Primly in a chair across from the principal.

“Ah, Mr. Wayne, Now that you’re here we can finally begin.” The principal—Dave Horton, maybe?—begins. “I’ll be honest, I am very disappointed we are already having another meeting to discuss Mr. Todd’s behavior, it is only the 3rd day of school, after all.”

“His name is Jason Todd-Wayne and I expect you to respect that.” Bruce’s voice is hard, he is sick of dealing with this asshole of a principle. He’d had enough issues with Dick, and then it only got worse when Bruce adopted Jason. He should have just put Jason in another school.

“Yes, of course. Frankly, Mr. Wayne, I don’t know that Jason belongs at Gotham Academy. He is clearly uncivilized, and unable to meet our standards.”

“What makes you say that? Jason has been near the top of his class since I first enrolled him.”

“Be that as it may, he refuses to respect the faculty and staff, and if this continues we’ll—”

“Does he ‘disrespect’ the faculty that don’t make him feel inferior or question his place here? Because from what I’ve heard, it was Mrs. Campbell who started it, by refusing to acknowledge Jason’s proper name.”

The principal opens his mouth to respond, but Mrs. Campbell beat him to it.

“I was merely reminding Mr. Todd that his place here is, ultimately, temporary. He doesn’t belong here, and eventually, you will send him back to Crime Alley where he belongs.”

When he felt Jason tense even more under his hand, he realized what had probably triggered the borderline dissociation, the teacher had managed to hit Jason’s most deep-rooted fear.

“I don’t think that’s your decision. Jason is my son, in every sense but biologically. What would ever give you the idea that I would willingly abandon him?”

“Well, isn’t that what happened to the gypsy? You took him in, and now you haven’t been seen together in public in a very long time. Clearly you got tired of him and replaced him with a younger model.” The teacher says it all with a wicked smirk on her face, and hot rage washes over Bruce. Before he can react though, she’s continuing.

“I mean, it only makes sense, right? Why else would you replace the old one as soon as he becomes an adult, if you’re not using them?”

Before Bruce can respond, Jason is lunging at Mrs. Campbell. He barely manages to catch him before he hits her.

“Jay, stop. Either calm yourself down or go sit outside with Tim.”

Jason glowers, but settles himself down. “Fine.”

“I did not replace my son, Mrs. Campbell. He had career aspirations that led him to Bludhaven. I couldn’t just ignore Jason when I saw he needed help. Dick and I are still on perfectly good terms, and there was no replacing of anyone. However, I am wondering how the school is going to replace my funding once I pull my son from your school? Need I remind you of the generous donations I make yearly, on top of my tuition payments?” The principal paled, “You do realize that’s inevitable, right? I won’t stand for this treatment of my son. I shouldn’t have allowed it to continue for so long, but the truth was I was too optimistic in hoping for change. We’re done here. I will be pulling my son, and all my funding, out of this school.” Bruce revels in the shocked faces of the faculty. How could they expect this wouldn’t be the outcome? Maybe if they had actually been respectful and at least attempted to apologize and change their behavior, this wouldn’t have happened.

But they didn’t, they were rude from the start. Of course Bruce isn’t going to leave his son in a hostile environment.

Speaking of his son, Jason seems to have shut down again after his outburst. Bruce loops an arm over his shoulder and steers him out of the room.

Tim stands as soon as he sees them come out the door, wringing his hands nervously. Jason forces a smile and pulls out from underneath Bruce’s arm.

Hm. He’d have to talk to Jason about the abandonment thing again.

“Alright, let’s get going. I’m sure Alfred will have more cookies or other snacks prepared for you when we get home.” He leads the way out to the car, vaguely aware of Tim trying to break Jason out of whatever trance he’s in.

By the time they get home, Jason is engaging a bit more.

“C’mere, Jay.” Bruce gestures when they get out of the car. Tim steps slightly awkwardly off to the side, and Jason rounds the car to stand in front of Bruce.

“Yeah?”

Bruce doesn’t say anything, just opens his arms to offer a hug. Jay collapses against him and buries his face in Bruce’s chest.

“You know I love you, right lad? I’m never giving you up. I promise.” Bruce barely feels him nod, but doesn’t say anything else.

At some point he opens an arm to Tim, who hesitates for a while before joining.

Bruce loses track of how long he stands there holding his son and the boy he is fighting to get guardianship of, but eventually they do separate.

When they get into the manor, Dick is waiting for them.

…on the banister.

On the 2nd floor.

“‘Sup Dickhead. Ya come just to be a jackass again?”

Well, at least Jason’s in a better mood.

“...Should we be concerned?” Tim leans over to ask Bruce.

“He does this all the time, he’ll be fine.”

“You’re one to talk, but no. I came to apologize. Bruce and I had a disagreement,” Dick pointedly doesn’t look at Bruce, “and I took my frustrations out on you and Tim.” Dick flips off the balcony, and Bruce swears his heart stops until he is landing safely in a roll.

“Dammit, Dick, how many times have I told you not to do that?”

“Yeah, yeah, B. It’s fine. Anyway, I’m sorry guys. You didn’t deserve that. Especially you Tim—”

“Hey!”

“Shut up, Jay. Tim, you’re a guest, you definitely didn’t deserve my anger yesterday.”

Tim just nods, seemingly unsure of how to respond to that.

“Dick.”

“Language.”

“It’s his name!”

“Not when you say it like that.” Jason just rolls his eyes, and it’s a useless battle. “Dick, you staying? I’m sure Alfred has a snack in the kitchen.”

“Nah, I got practice in a bit. I’m already running a bit late since I was waiting for you guys.” He starts sauntering towards the door, calling over his shoulder, “I’m taking the Ducati.”

“Wait—” Bruce rushes to follow Dick.

“Right. That’s our cue to leave, they’re gonna get in a fight about safety again or somethin’.” Jason steers Tim towards the kitchen. “Whatcha wanna do today?”

“Is it always like this?”

“What?”

“Families. Are they always like this?”

“I dunno, I think this one’s jus’ fucked.”

“I love it. It feels so relaxed.”

“I think we gotta work on your definition of relaxed, Tim Tam. Those two are always at each other’s throats.”

“At least they’re around.” Tim quiets, staring at his feet.

“There is that, at least”. Jason’s voice gets more somber too, and they stay silent until they reach the kitchen.

The rest of the day passes smoothly, with Jason and Tim relaxing in the library.

Everything is fine.

Until Tim gets a call, his face immediately pales and he rushes to leave the room.

********

Tim’s heart drops the second he reads his mother’s name flashing across his phone.

He rushes from the room, entering another one down the hall.

“Hello, Mother.”

“Timothy, what is this nonsense about you not being at the house?”

”I am at the Wayne’s, you’ve always said connections are important, so I assumed you would approve of endearing myself to them.”

”Well you assumed incorrectly, Timothy, that is just absolute nonsense! Why would I want you to associate with a street rat and a gypsy? And that nuisance of a business man is in no way suitable for your company!”

”But—“ the phone is gently pulled from his grasp before he can finish his argument, and a quick glance shows Bruce holding it.

Jason tugs him out of the room, “C’mon, Bruce will handle it.”

They head to the sitting room and set up the game console.

The next hour or so passes slowly, with Tim’s anxiety building.

”What could be taking them this long?”

”Dunno, Bruce should be back soon though.”

Tim can’t focus on the game anymore, he drops his control and his fingers tap on his thigh.

Jason glances quickly at him, “It’ll be fine Timbo, promise.”

Before Tim can respond, Bruce comes back downstairs and hands Tim his phone.

“It’s handled, officially nothing has changed, but privately I will have custody of you for as long as they are out of the country.”

Something in Tim relaxes, he loved his parents, but after seeing how the Waynes act with each other—though they are so far from being a normal family—-he can’t help but crave that.

He wants a real family, not a mausoleum of a house.

The relief must show on his face, because Bruce is pulling him into a hug.

“Does it make me a bad person to feel relieved?” Tim mumbles against Bruce’s chest.

“Of course not, sweetheart, you just recognize that this isn’t normal, and you want something closer to it. You’re not a bad person, I promise.” Bruce’s voice is low, and he’s running a hand through Tim’s hair soothingly. He shifts back, looking at Jason and then Tim, “C’mon, it’s getting late. Why don’t you guys go get ready for bed?”

They both nod and scurry upstairs.

Jason barges into Tim’s room after he brushes his teeth, and scoops the boy off his feet. “How the fuck are you this light?”

“Rude.”

”Whatever.” Jason somehow carries Tim all the way to BRuce’s room, and again a=barges in without knocking.

”Bruce!”

An amused smile spread across Bruce’s face, “What’s up, Jaylad?”

”Hold the child. He doesn’t get enough physical affection.” He drops Tim on the bed, then shoves him over and climbs in after him. “Bedtime.”

”Ok, Jay.” Bruce laughs, then switches off the lamp and wraps his arms around both his boys.

@morganbritton132 @the-booty-crusader @ursulasteffany @raphyo @passing-through-bd @aidenxcz @seannasideblog @suffering-for-eternity @malflora @crow-in-trash @fhteehj @mysecret02 @idekwutoput @comicbooker16 @narration-ator @wothmzn @sp0rksupremacy @montywithchildhoodtrauma @nix-illustrating @shinelie

[fujoshirat]

+Strawberry Magic! ♡ 30 Years of Virginity Can Make You a Wizard?!♡+

Chapter 8: Cold Hands

Summary: When virgin Pro Hero Shouto turns 30, he gains the magical ability to read the minds of people that he touches. After finding out that his personal assistant has a crush on him, everything changes and Shouto finds himself lost in the stressful game called love.

Pairing: Todoroki Shouto x Reader

Warnings: Aged up characters, EXTREME CRINGY TOOTH-ROTTING FLUFF (you have been warned), VERY SHORT CHAPTER, OOC Shouto?? (I mean, he kind of has been for the entire series)

"L/N-san!"

Shouto runs as fast as he can through the bustling streets, his assistant's jacket only slightly weighing his right arm down. As the sky grew increasingly darker and the street lights flickered on, he rounded the corner of the bookstore.

Just as he turned, his gaze landed on the woman he was looking for.

"L/N-san!"

She hears him call her name and gasps. "Oh! Todoroki-san! I heard from Kirishima-san. Thank you so much!"

Shouto nods and gives her the cream coat.

"Hey, I want to talk to you. Could we go somewhere quiet?"

.

.

.

After leading his assistant to a secluded park, he stops and faces her. Shouto takes a deep breath and looks at Y/N in the eyes.

"I want to give you my response to your confession."

Y/N's face visibly pales and her eyes widen. "Sir, just forget I said that. I wasn't think straight and-" "No." Shouto's baritone voice interrupts hers, his hands instantly grabbing hers.

"Ah! Sorry, but... don't take it back. Please."

This is finally the time that I tell you the truth, there's no one stopping me now.

"I like you, L/N-san, and I'm not saying this just because you confessed to me."

"I like you because you are you."

Shouto closes his eyes, not ready to see her reaction.

"Y/N."

"Huh?"

The woman smiles. "I told you to call me Y/N before, didn't I?"

Shouto blinks for a moment, processing this information. Oh. He cracks a laugh.

"My apologies, Y/N."

Y/N's eyes widen again, clearly feeling butterflies from being called her first name by her crush and employer. Her cheeks turn pink as she hides her obvious blush in her hands.

"I-I'm so happy you feel the same way, Todoroki-san."

"Shouto. Call me Shouto."

This time, it is Y/N's turn to laugh.

"Ah, right. My bad, Shouto."

There is it again, the way his name naturally rolls off her tongue, her bright smile, her beautiful laugh.

"You know, your hands are really cold."

Y/N's blush deepens as she looks away bashfully. Suddenly, Shouto hears her voice in his head.

'My hands aren't the only hands that are cold.'

Taking note of this, Shouto looks down at his hands.

Cold hands are a sign of being cold. ...Or maybe it is a sign of nervousness.

Just then, the man feels a cool sensation on his cheek. Little white specks of snow start falling from the sunset-painted sky. Shouto sees Y/N smile at the beautiful weather, the world fading into a blurry background.

He gently cups his assistant's cheeks in his hands and tilts her head up. He gazes at her with tender passion and softly rubs her cheek with his thumb.

"May I kiss you?"

Y/N gives him his answer when she presses her cool, strawberry-flavored lips onto his.

Today slips away. The dawn of my tomorrow Waits there in your smile.

-Richard Campbell

A/N: Wow. What. A. Journey. This story has been an emotional rollercoaster for me. This chapter is pretty much the end of the series (an epilogue will be coming, *wink* *wink* :DDD), so thank you all for reading <3 I hope that you not only enjoyed this chapter but the entire series!! What originally started as a random thought was able to grow into a work that I had never imagined that I would make.

Thank you for your patience, understanding, support, and love ^^ Words cannot express how grateful I am to all of you readers ToT I have shorter story ideas marinating in my head that I cannot wait to start on once I organize this series properly.

~entire fic and notes written by me: fujoshirat!

Taglist (thank you <3): @boogiemansbitch, @bleedingwhiteroses22, @atashiboba

[sl-newsie]

American Woman (Thomas Shelby x American OC) Ch. 20: One Day At A Time

“Do you think someone will die?” I ask blindly, peering out from behind the curtains at the eerily quiet streets.

“Who’s to say,” Polly answers as she sips her tea.

It’s been half an hour. How does it feel like an entire day? Ada, being the tired new mother she is now, drifted off to sleep not too long ago so it’s just Polly and I. Every minute that goes by I keep expecting someone to burst in carrying an injured Blinder. Or worse, a corpse. I don’t know why, but I’ve got a gut instinct telling me something’s wrong. Is it because of the fight or my conflicting emotions toward Thomas?

I check the clock again. Forty five minutes. “Polly, is it-?”

“Ada, wake up.”

The Peaky Blinder leader himself bursts into the room, frantically searching to see if we’re all safe.

Polly looks up from her book. “Thomas? Back already?”

Thomas helps Ada up and ushers her out. “You and the baby get into the Bull Ring where there’s lots of people. Go with them, Verena.”

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“We’ve been fucking betrayed,” he growls. “Someone let slip and now Kimber’s men are on their way here. We’re outnumbered.” Thomas walks to the desk and slams his fist. “Fuck!”

I would point out to tone down his language in front of Karl but I keep my mouth shut.

“Who else knew about today?” Polly asks as her eyes search frantically for unknown answers. “Who else did you tell?” 

Thomas’ gaze goes unaltered as he stares at the desk in front of him. We all know what he’s thinking. Polly is the one to address it.

“There’s only one thing can blind a man as smart as you, Tommy. Love. It was that barmaid. I will deal with Grace. If you set eyes on her again you might kill her.”

As much as I want to point out I was right, this is not the time for an ‘I told you so’ moment. The Blinders, the Shelbys, are in danger.

I step forward. “Can I come as well? I’ve met Grace. I should give her a piece of my mind after what she did.”

Polly puts a hand on my shoulder. “You need to stay with Thomas. He trusts you to guard Ada and now I’m trusting you to guard him.”

She grabs her purse and shuts the door before Thomas can argue. The only other time I’ve seen his eyes like this is when the Lees mocked his mother. Cold, cruel, and inhumane. 

“You were right,” he mutters, still staring at the desk. “She was a spy.”

A part of me feels ashamed for wanting to gloat. Thomas really does love Grace and it’s selfish of me to want to keep him for myself. He trusted her. It must sting him deeply to feel this way.

I walk over slowly and pour him a small drink, which he takes and downs in one swallow.

“Did Thomas Shelby, the infamous leader of the Peaky Blinders, just admit he was wrong?” He merely huffs at my attempt at a joke. “I’m sorry you had to find out like this.”

Now his eyes transition to a calculating stare, scanning me for any sign of mockery.

“I don’t need your pity.”

“I really am sorry. Is there no way for me to negotiate? I could talk to Campbell and get reinforcements-”

“It’s the coppers that helped betray us, Steenstra. No good use of talking now.”

It feels like being trapped between a rock and a hard place. “Can I at least wait in the Garrison?”

“No,” Thomas answers sharply. “That’s a death wish and I can’t have you killed. I’ve already had to deal with enough stress today.” He looks out the window again. “I’m headed out. Stay with Finn and Ada.”

I know his unspoken message. If it all goes wrong today then she and Finn might be the only Shelbys left.

“I will pray for you, Mr. Shelby,” I say softly and follow him to the door.

His jaw remains tight but something in his eyes softens. “Goodbye, Miss Steenstra.”

I shake my head, trying to be optimistic. “Not goodbye. I’ll see you for dinner. I’ll make biscuits.”

This gets him to crack a smile. “Funny. You said biscuits and not cookies.”

I reflect his grin. “Maybe your Brummie talk is starting to rub off on me.”

Thomas tips his hat and opens the door. “See you later, Verena.”

“Good luck. But you won’t need it.”

The door closes. More waiting. Is that all the women do here? Wait for their loved ones to safely return from battle? Yesterday I wanted to leave more than anything but now I won’t sleep soundly again until all the Shelbys are out of danger.

Ada’s just as restless because she can’t sit still either. She’s walking around gathering Karl and his blanket, placing them in a stroller and- And heading for the front door?

“And where are you off to?” I ask in a threatening tone.

The Shelby sister ignores my warning and holds her head high, now wearing a black veil. “I’m going to stop this nonsense the way a woman does. By talking.”

The shadow of a smile creeps onto my face. “Let me grab my coat.”

It takes hardly no time at all to find where the fight is. Everyone in Birmingham must have gotten the message because the usually busy streets are completely empty. I stay in front of Ada and Karl as we march towards the battle.

There they are. Caught at a standstill with their guns pointed. Kimber looks just as much of a prick as the last time I saw him.

“What’s the plan?” I whisper as we peer around the corner.

Ada doesn’t answer. Instead she begins pushing the baby buggy farther down the street. Thomas is going to kill me! I’m supposed to protect her!

“Wait up!” I hiss and jog to catch up, shielding her.

“Move!” Ada orders as she plows through the Blinders, all the way to the center of the space between the two gangs.

Kimber blinks, trying to understand what’s going on. “What are you doing?”

“I believe you boys call this No Man’s Land.”

“Ada!” Thomas finally realizes her plan.

She doesn’t budge. “Shut up and listen.”

“Have you lost your mind?”

“I said shut up!”

Thomas points to me. “Steenstra! You were supposed to be watching her!”

“I am. Here I am, watching her stop you all from killing each other.” I look between the two leaders. “There has to be a diplomatic solution.”

Kimber scoffs at my accent. “This ain’t a tea party, duchess. Who’s the American broad?”

Thomas keeps trying to keep us away. “Ada, Verena, please-”

“Thomas.” He stops and looks at me. I give him a steady and determined stare, nodding to Kimber. “Only one need die.”

The man himself isn’t impressed. “You’ve got no clue what you’re talking about!”

My head snaps to glare at Kimber. “I’ve heard enough. You’re an evil person who should walk away before things get ugly. For the good of your men and their families, walk away. This is Peaky Blinders territory.”

His face twists into a snicker as he brandishes his gun. “If that face wasn’t so tempting I’d cut it off. Back away, whore!”

Ada steps up now. “I’ve got brothers and a husband here but you’ve all got somebody waiting for you.” She gestures to her veil. “I am wearing black in preparation but who will wear black for you? Think about them. Fight if you want to but that baby ain’t moving anywhere. And neither am I.”

I walk up next to her. “Nor am I.”

Seconds tick by. Not a sound. The only noise is the distant clanking of factory workers and trotting horses.

“She’s right, you know,” Kimber speaks up. “Why should all you men die? It should just be them who’s caused it!”

It happens so fast. A shot rings out and I see red burst from Thomas’ chest. One man jumps in front before another bullet can reach him and crumbles to the ground. On instinct I swerve in front of Ada and the stroller. Thomas raises his gun and fires a perfect shot to Kimber’s skull. He falls over the same as a dead tree. It’s done.

“Enough!” Thomas barks, addressing both gangs. “Kimber and me fought this battle one-on-one. It’s over. Go home to your families.”

Both sides look at one another trying to decide how to walk away peacefully. Eventually they disperse and disappear down the streets. The problem remaining is the bullet in Thomas’ chest.

My heart drops at the sight of red blooming from his shirt. Immediately I rip off part of my lower skirts and push it against the wound. 

“Ada, take Karl home. Thomas, you need a doctor-”

“No doctor!” He argues, nearly crushing my hand with the force of his own. “Just get this bloody thing out!”

We push him back and into the Garrison. Thank God there are no customers to deal with. We’re going to need all the liquor we can get.

“I can help.” The minister from earlier, Jerimiah, steps forward. “I’ve done this back in France.”

That’s good enough for me. What’s important is getting the bullet out as soon as possible. Jerimiah goes straight to work, pulling off Thomas’ shift and sterilizing some tools. Arthur and John pin Thomas against the table and he begins the surgery. It’s not pretty.

“Ugh! Ugghhh!” Thomas tries hard to stay tough but this is no minor cut.

“Fight it, Tommy!” Arthur pushes him.

I take his hand, still losing most circulation from his grasp. “It’s almost out. We’re all here with you, Thomas.”

He lurches forward again and we shove him back down. Almost-!

“There! I still have the knack,” Jerimiah celebrates as he triumphantly holds up the bullet.

Arthur pulls out a bottle and hands it to his brother. “Have a drink. Deep breath!”

Thomas downs the whiskey and winces. “Ah!”

I pat his shoulder (trying so hard to ignore the fact his chest is still bare). “That’s it. It’s done. Kimber’s gone. You did so well, Thomas.”

His blue eyes shift up towards mine, holding pain and triumph. “Ada? That was her idea, eh?”

“Yes. We both weren’t going to wait around for you to return bloodied and bruised. Us women like to talk but at least we don’t blow each other’s brains out. She and Karl are safe. Finn is reading in the kitchen. Relax.”

And he does. Thomas takes another drink and leans into the chair with his eyes closed. By now the other Blinders are getting rowdy.

“I think a celebration is in order!” Arthur declares.

“How ‘bout a family meeting in the next hour?” John suggests. “I’ll go get Pol and Ada.”

That’s not on my mind. What I care about is that the storm has passed and the Shelbys are safe… for now.

Sure enough, the entire Shelby clan is seated in the Garrison in the next twenty minutes. Finn and I sit away in the back, since our status isn’t ranked high. Thomas stands at the front and we all lift a glass. I’m the only one drinking water.

“Today was good enough to us,” he announces. “The Lees took all the pitches at the Worcester race while Kimber was here.”

Thomas chats a while with Arthur, then spots Finn and I. He joins us at the bar and for some strange reason Finn randomly decides to wander off, leaving us alone.

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” I say gently, remembering the gunshots. “Danny was a loyal friend.”

Thomas gets straight to the point. “I’m here to ask if you’ll come back to work. For good.”

So he does trust me now. Enough to protect his own family. But is it worth all this? All the accusations, the fighting, the stress?

“I don’t see a reason why.” I take a sip of water. “I’m set to go back home in a week and no one seems to care. Plus you never said sorry.”

Thomas’ brow creases. “Yes I did!”

I arch an eyebrow. “You said that you were wrong, not sorry. There’s a difference.”

He smirks. “You bloody Americans and your stubborn attitude.”

I smirk back. “You Brits and your proper manners.”

“You should be thankful our ‘manners’ restrict me from hitting a woman,” he replies smoothly and leans in closer. “Though I’m never one to always follow the rules. I'm sorry, Verena.”

Lord. He’s drawing me in again. Steady, Steenstra. You need to decide. Birmingham, or home.

“Ah, what the Hell. Brooklyn’s not going anywhere. What’s a few more months?”

My words spark Thomas’ eyes to brighten even if he doesn’t express verbal delight. He’s glad I’m staying.

“Perfect, now Finn won’t kill me. Enough business.” He offers a fresh glass. “Care for a drink?”

I eye it skeptically but my Irish side wants me to try it. “After the past week I think a small shot is appropriate.”

Thomas clinks our glasses together and stands up to face the room of people. “We are now the third largest legal race track operation in the country! And all my family’s here to celebrate. To Shelby Brother’s Limited! Cheers!”

We all raise our glasses and more alcohol is passed around. Despite the welcoming atmosphere I still can’t help but feel out of place.

“Before you reject,” Finn interrupts my thoughts. “Yes, you are family to us. You are staying, right?”

I turn in my seat to face the youngest Shelby with a smile. “Yes, Finn. I am staying.”

His face lights up. “Good! What’s the next lesson?”

I let out a deep laugh and hold up a hand. “One day at a time, Finn.”

Behind me I hear Polly and Thomas’ conversation. Not to pry, just overhearing.

“There will be others,” Polly inputs.

Grace. She must mean Grace. 

“To the others. All of them.”

Quick peek, quick peek- I turn to look over my shoulder and there it is. Instead of Polly looking at Thomas, who’s watching his glass, she’s looking at me. Polly, what on Earth-?

“Finn, come here for a moment.”

Polly pulls Finn away and I swear she’s trying to get Thomas and me closer. He’s still sipping his drink and seems lost in thought. Hm. He’s appreciated me listening to his worries so far. 

“You’re still thinking about Grace?” I ask softly.

He nods gruffly, unblinking eyes facing the wall. “There was never a chance. I can’t love an enemy. There’s too much deception.” He turns to face me. “She’s headed to New York now. Your territory.” 

So now it will be her lost at the train station. Not me.

[fibrespace]

You guys will never believe what happened to me. I was walking down the street today and I just so happened to trip and fall right into my local yarn store.

Luckily for me, I came out of the ordeal mostly unscathed. They were having a 60% off sale on Rainbow Beach by Queensland collection, and I managed to score seven skeins for $7.20 each. And I mean, what could I do? They practically followed me home Campbell's soup style.

[campcamptocsau]

Happy Halloween everyone. The first part of TOCS is still being worked on. It’s taken a bit longer than expected because of school so for now take this Magic Kids drawing

[rotomartsblog]

I’ve gotten most of TOCS au written in a way that I’m happy with finally so I’ll be properly setting up a sideblog for the AU and posting the first part maybe tomorrow or overmorrow

[sozdary]

✨️Naomi Cambell✨️

[turneradora]

NEW ABOUT RIVALS 💯💯💯💯

New article in the Harper's Bazaar UK, October Issue, to promote "Rivals"!

Amazing photoshoot !

Here is the article of the Harper's Bazaar Uk magazine !!

Thanks to Emma Jones for the written transcription ! 🙏👍🌺

Harpers Bazaar - October 2024

BEST OF ENEMIES

Bazaar recreates the fictional county of Rutshire to meet the cast of Rivals, a new TV adaptation of Jilly Cooper’s racy 1980s blockbuster

As Jilly Cooper’s Rivals leaps rambunctiously to our screens, we meet the cast of the saucy new show

It’s 1986 and, high over the Atlantic, a London-bound Concorde is about to break the sound barrier. Most passengers continue smoking, flicking through magazines and ordering martinis, while the rattling WC door indicates that two are currently joining the mile-high club. Moments later, an unruffled, glamorous couple emerge triumphantly from the loo and the tannoy announces that supersonic speed has been reached: everyone whoops; glasses are clinked; and the thumping chorus of ‘You might as well face it/you’re addicted to love’ is amped up. This is the opening scene of Rivals, the much-anticipated new television adaptation of Jilly Cooper’s bestselling novel, and it’s so unsubtle that, even alone in a dark screening bunker below the streets of Soho, it makes me splutter with laughter. It is also irresistible.

The 1988 book is a classic of the Cooper canon and part of the Rutshire Chronicles, a series based in a fictional Cotswolds county that follows the lives and loves of the affluent elite – an area the team behind its new, and first, on-screen adaptation are well-versed in bringing to life. Produced by A Very English Scandal ’s Dominic Treadwell-Collins and written by Laura Wade, who was behind The Riot Club, Disney+’s eight-part drama is also executivelyproduced by both Cooper and her literary agent Felicity Blunt. It is largely faithful to the novel but, as that has 700 pages and 79 characters listed by name and personality trait in an A-Z at the front, the show necessarily homes in on the central plot lines.

The two main protagonists are Rupert Campbell-Black (played by Alex Hassell), a former Olympic-gold show jumper turned Conservative MP (and, incidentally, the ‘best-looking man in England’); and Declan O’Hara (Aidan Turner), an Irish broadcasting star who leaves the BBC to move to Rutshire with his actress wife Maud and children Taggie, Caitlin and Patrick. Declan’s new employer, Corinium Television, is run by David Tennant’s vile Lord Tony Baddingham and his sidekick Cameron Cook, an American producer he has lured over from New York, depicted by the US native Nafessa Williams. They are joined by a large supporting cast that includes Danny Dyer and Emily Atack.

The titular rivalries are many and varied, primarily centred on the struggle to win the local TV franchise; simultaneously, characters lock horns over love, money, class, pets, politics and property, while presenting chat shows, throwing parties and playing nude tennis. The resulting viewing experience is both a period drama that seems set on another planet and a series exploring themes that still resonate today.

Cooper – who, at 87, is still in full ownership of her signature cloud of coiffed hair, inimitable charisma and a hundred-mile-an hour conversation – loved working on the project. ‘It’s terribly exciting,’ she tells me, with an amazed shake of the head. ‘Other books of mine have been televised and it was awful – but with this, we took casting very seriously and I can’t fault any of them.’

During a break on Bazaar ’s shoot, Turner tells me how Cooper gave a cocktail party for the cast in her garden, and what a ball they all had filming in the West Country last summer. (The latter is clear: he’s delighted to see his co-stars, including the mongrel Pontie, who plays Gertrude, the O’Hara family dog, and some of her canine colleagues brought along for a day in front of the camera.)

The series appealed to the Poldark star immediately. ‘I thought the scripts were really, really funny – line-wise, I have some crackers,’ he says. Turner’s Declan is a big-hearted if self involved journalist, wrestling to reconcile his bosses’ desire to monetise his charm, his own dream of writing a Yeats documentary and the need to bread-win for his profligate family. Although this push and pull between being commercial and creative, between the professional and the personal, plays out in a larger-than-life fashion, it still somehow feels familiar to a modern viewer. ‘That’s the sign of really good television, isn’t it, when it holds the mirror up to our present,’ says the actor. ‘What have we thrown in the trash? What still needs to change?’

The ways in which prejudices have evolved in the past 40 years are thrown into quite harsh relief in the show. Casting a Black actress to play Cameron Cook, the damaged but resilient hot-shot American producer, gives the series an opportunity to delicately include a glimpse of the regularity of what we’d now recognise as racist micro aggressions. Equally, Cameron’s strength is joyful to witness. ‘Such a spicy, smart character – especially a Black woman, who can carry her own and get her way in the male-dominated world of that time – I wanted to sink my teeth into that,’ Williams says. ‘I also love the glamour: the red lip, the red nails.’ (The cast have embraced the scarlet-stiletto emoji – a replica of the original image on the classic book cover – as their unofficial series motif when posting on social media.)

The changing dynamics between men and women are portrayed with a light touch. Victoria Smurfit read Cooper as a teenager, and has now adored playing Declan’s wife Maud O’Hara – an insecure, attentionseeking former actress, the kind of mother who arrives at her son’s New Year’s Eve 21st-birthday party in the Cotswolds on a camel. ‘There are aspects of Rivals that make you think, “Oh my Lord, can you believe they got away with this back then?”’ the Irish actress says. ‘But in the show, it’s delivered in such a clear, fun, gentle, appalled way that a 2024 audience can digest it very easily.’ When I suggest the series has made more of the women and ensured they have three dimensions, perhaps to modernise the story a little, she makes a good point: that Cooper’s male characters – be it the rakish Rupert Campbell-Black or the angelic Lysander Hawkley of The Man Who Made Husbands Jealous – may seem the most famous because it was mostly women reading the books, and the author had designed her heroes – or antiheroes – to be ‘their perfect man’. ‘But look closely, and the women are not less than the men,’ she says. ‘Essentially, every character wants something they don’t have – usually love and safety – whether from their partners, animals or colleagues. Women in this world are entering the era of “having it all” and are learning to be open about what they want – and, by the same token, we are starting to see a softer side to the men.’

This is embodied perfectly in Bella Maclean’s Taggie O’Hara, the delightful, very dyslexic cook and daughter of Declan and Maud: on screen, she has slightly more twinkle in her eye than in the book – a good decision, as otherwise Taggie could be seen as almost too virtuous to be true to a modern audience. ‘But it’s so nice playing someone with a really strong backbone – it slightly rubs off on you,’ says the actress, who appeared in the latest Sex Education series and has just shone as the lead at the National Theatre’s London Tide. ‘Among all the silliness, the shoulder pads and mad hairdos, there’s always an undercurrent of something thought-provoking,’ she says of the show that could prove to be her career’s turning point. ‘There’s a love story that blossoms out of something really unpleasant. There’s light and shade.’

But the figure with perhaps the most chiaroscuro is Rupert Campbell-Black, Cooper’s number-one character, into whose shoes Alex Hassell is amazed to be stepping. Hassell is a seasoned RSC actor, with turns in The Miniaturist and His Dark Materials, whose theatre company The Factory counts Mark Rylance and Emma Thompson among its patrons. ‘I’m also from Essex, with dark features,’ he points out wryly, in reference to the white-blond locks and blue eyes of his new alter-ego, both of which are oft-alluded to in the books, and about which many young women dreamed in the 1980s and 90s. (Cooper was initially appalled.) ‘Rupert exudes privilege and confidence, so I had to learn a loucheness. It was helpful that everyone was told to treat me as if I was extremely attractive,’ he continues, laughing. ‘When you walk into a room of supporting artists who’ve been briefed to fall over themselves looking at you, smouldering becomes a lot easier. They imbued me with a certain power.’

In the Rivals prequel Riders, there are some pretty unpalatable aspects of Rupert’s personality – particularly the way he treats women and animals – that haven’t aged well. ‘We never explicitly had this conversation, but for my portrayal of Rupert, we’ve kept some parts of that history and taken out others. In our version, there’s a loneliness to him: he is a shit, but he has a kindness.’

However, there are two elements of Cooper’s storytelling to which the show stays steadfastly loyal: the abundance of sex and wordplay. Rupert’s dialogue is riddled with quips – some very clever, some very… Eighties. Hassell’s favourite is delivered just as Rupert is getting down to it, and involves a pun that combines Tories and the clitoris. ‘It was a hard sell,’ he says, laughing.

His character and storyline – which takes Rupert on, dare I say, a journey – are key to the show’s charm, pace, plot and sociopolitical signposting. What would Hassell like viewers to make of the series? ‘I hope people enjoy it, have conversations about the knottier topics it raises, and maybe have sex later,’ he says. ‘I say that jokingly, but – and maybe this is high hopes – perhaps for people who don’t talk to one another that much, as the series goes on, watching it with someone else might allow certain things to come to light.’

Cooper is delighted by this possibility. ‘Well, we’re philanthropists, aren’t we? I keep reading that the birth rate is going down like mad. Putting Rivals on the telly may help,’ she says, with the enthusiasm of a writer who has long had one foot in showbusiness: in her forties, she appeared in her capacity as a celebrity columnist on the BBC game show What’s My Line, and wrote a sitcom about a four-girl flat-share with Joanna Lumley in the lead role.

Revisiting the world she created – and partially lived in herself – 40 years ago has been bittersweet: it made her miss the era (‘it was much more naughty’), but also her late husband (‘there’s a lot of darling Leo and his jokes in the book’). Indeed, what today’s viewers may not clock is the real people Cooper drew on to shape several fictional figures, namely the ‘glamorous aristocratic types who were floating about when I, middle-class Jilly, moved to the country in ’82’. Rupert Campbell-Black, for example, is a patchwork of Andrew Parker Bowles, the late Earl of Suffolk and the fashion designer Rupert Lycett-Green. Her ‘beloved’ Taggie is entirely made up, but the scruffy Lizzie Vereker – a novelist whose husband cheats on her – is, she admits, based on herself: ‘She is nicer than me, though. I love her – that’s terribly narcissistic to say, but I do.’

Like her conversation, Cooper herself still rattles along at a good clip – last year, she released a bonkbuster about football inevitably titled Tackle!; this May, the King presented her with a damehood for services to charity and literature, and she’ll be tapping away at her typewriter on various secret projects right up to the very moment she is dragged out of rural Gloucestershire to the premiere of Rivals.

To all these endeavours, Dame Jilly continues to bring the same philosophies she always has: a disregard for snobbery (like many great minds, she rereads Proust and loves Helen Fielding) and a straightforward goal of contributing to the gaiety of the nation. ‘Maybe one day I’ll write something serious,’ she says. ‘But, at the moment, there’s some terrible sadness and loneliness, isn’t there? So, more than ever, and more than anything, I’d like to cheer people up.’

‘Rivals’ is released on Disney+ in October.

[reasonsforhope]

Odd jobs are few and far between in Nearobo. Peter knows because every day he walks the streets of his village in south-east Liberia looking for one. In a good month, he might make $20 (£16.70). That’s hardly enough to feed himself, let alone his children.

But today things are looking up. As part of an innovative new donation scheme, Peter receives $40 (£33.40) per month for a minimum of three years. No paperwork. No requests for receipts. No catch of any kind, in fact. Just hard cash transferred straight to his mobile phone. 

The 59-year-old casual labourer plans to use the money to buy materials for a new home for himself and his family, he says. “Although it is going to take long, I will continue until my house is completed.”

The scheme is part of a new-look approach to development assistance that, if taken to scale, could potentially turn the £156bn international aid industry on its head.

At least, so says Rory Stewart, the former UK foreign secretary turned podcaster-in-chief (he co-hosts ‘The Rest is Politics’ with Alastair Campbell, a surprise hit which has topped the Apple podcast charts virtually every week since it launched a year ago). From his new base in Amman, Jordan, Stewart heads up GiveDirectly – the world’s fastest growing nonproft – who are behind the initiative.

“It’s a rather radical, simple idea to help people out of extreme poverty. We deliver the cash directly … there’s no middleman and no government getting in the way.”

It feels like an odd statement from someone who has spent much of his life in government service: first as a junior diplomat for eight years (during which he penned a bestselling book about dodging Taliban bullets and hungry wolves whilst walking across Afghanistan), followed by almost a decade as a politician at Westminster.

Pictured: Rory Stewart and GiveDirectly’s Ivan Ntwali talk with a refugee household in Rwanda. Image: GiveDirectly

His enthusiasm is even more surprising given his initial caution. During his various ministerial stints at the UK’s department for international development (including three months as secretary of state), he was an out-and-out “cash sceptic.” 

Giving away money with no strings attached was, he felt at the time, an impossible sell to tax-paying voters. What’s stopping recipients spending it down the pub? Or investing in a hair-brained business venture? 

Quite a lot it turns out. No one knows the value of money more than those who don’t have any, he argues. Give an impoverished mother-of-four $40 (£33.40) cash and, 99 times out of 100, she’ll spend it on something useful: repairs to the house, say, or school fees for her kids...

By virtue of GiveDirectly’s model, participants can spend their money on whatever they choose, but the charity’s research indicates that most goes towards food, medical and education expenses, durables, home improvement and social events.

On the flipside, Stewart also has numerous examples of well-funded aid projects that deliver next to nothing. A decade ago, the then United Nations general secretary Ban Ki-moon estimated that 30 per cent of aid money disappears in corruption. There is little to suggest much has changed.

The aid industry doesn’t need corrupt officials to see its funds evaporate, however; it has its own voluminous bureaucracy. Stewart recalls once visiting a $40,000 (£33,560) water and sanitation project in a school in an unnamed African country. The ‘deliverables’ were two brick latrines and five red buckets for storing water...

The beauty of direct giving, he stresses, is not just that it annuls opportunities for thievery and red tape; it also frees the world’s poorest individuals from the well-meaning but, very often, misplaced guidance of donors. An aid expert in Brussels or Washington DC may well have a PhD in development economics, but who is best to judge what a single mother in a Kinshasa slum needs most and how to obtain it most cheaply: the expert with her degree, or the mother with her hungry children?

Empowering recipients to decide for themselves helps end the kind of “mad world” where aid agencies pay to ship wheat from Idaho, US, to Antananarivo, Madagascar, only for local people to sell it in order to buy what they really want, Stewart reasons.

“So often, these communities are having to turn the goods we send them into cash anyway, but just in a very inefficient and wasteful fashion … instead [with direct cash transfers] they are given the choice and freedom in how to spend it.” 

Pictured: Villagers in Kilif, Kenya, at a public meeting about the GiveDirectly programme. Image: GiveDirectly

Is the system perfect? No, clearly not. Stewart concedes that opportunities for fraud and coercion exist. To minimise these risks, GiveDirectly employs field officers to meet face-to-face with recipients, as well as a team of telephone handlers and internal auditors to follow up on reports of irregularity.

By his reckoning, however, the biggest impediment to direct giving really taking off is donor reticence. At present, only 2 per cent of official aid is given direct in cash. Stewart thinks it should be closer to 60 or 70 per cent...

‘My children will not have to beg anymore’

Happiness Kadzmila from Malawi enrolled on GiveDirectly’s Basic Income project last summer. She will now receive $50 (£41) a month for a year ($600/£496 in total).

What are the biggest hardships you’ve faced in life?

I am a divorced mother of four children. I got divorced in 2020 while I was eight months pregnant with my last-born child. Since then, I have been depending on working on other people’s farms. I get paid $0.49 (£0.43), or a plate of maize flour per day. As a result, it has been a challenge to feed my children, buy clothes for them, and to pay their school fees My firstborn child is in year 4, the school charges $0.69 (£0.61) per day for her. My second is in year 3, I pay $0.49 (£0.43) for him. There were days when I would have no food in my home, and my children would go to my neighbours’ homes to beg for food. This made me feel sorry for my children as a mother.

What does receiving this money mean for you?

I was so happy the day I received cash amounting to $51.75 (£43.56) from GiveDirectly. I used the money to buy maize at $9.88 (£8.32). My children will not have to go to our neighbours to beg for food anymore. I also bought a sheep at $34.58 (£29.10). I will be selling sheep in future when they multiply. I also bought lotion and soap at $1.88 (£1.58).

How will you spend your future payments?

I plan to renovate my house. I have always admired those who sleep in houses made of a roof with iron sheets because they do not have to think of fetching grass every year for a new roof. I will also start a business selling doughnuts to sustain my income after I receive my last transfer. I did not know that an organisation like GiveDirectly would come to help me this way All I can say to those who are giving us this money is ‘thank you’."

-via Positive News, 3/3/23

More and More People to Help

In addition to their universal basic income programs, GiveDirectly also has dedicated programs where you can donate to emergency disaster relief, people living under the protracted civil war and human rights disaster in Yemen, refugees, and survivors of the Syria-Turkey earthquake.

They have also commissioned a number of large-scale, third-party studies on the effectiveness of their numerous universal basic income models. Find these and other projects here.

[bebx]

Johnny Depp and Jamie Campbell Bower in Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street. Directed by Tim Burton

The movie was released 15 years ago today

[thepopcultureramble]

Now, lemme ramble a little bit.

I wasn't born in the 1990s, but its cultural impact remains. I'm here to talk about the music and cultural impact, in particular, because many would argue that it was the golden era. I got my glimpse through TV shows and music videos. 'The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air' was on heavy rotation in my household, as were Michael Jackson and Whitney Houston.

That was my introduction: my mom singing 'I Will Always Love You' while MTV music videos replayed in the background.

But the impact it has on pop culture today, 34 years after its emergence, is what really gets me. You can see its fingerprints all over contemporary music, fashion, and even internet memes. It's as if the '90s created a blueprint for coolness that refuses to fade away.

I can't imagine what hearing TLC's 'Creep' live right when it dropped would have been like, or being in the crowd when Kurt Cobain was scream-singing 'Smells Like Teen Spirit.'

It's that era that birthed groups and acts like Flo and Olivia Rodrigo.

You know, there's something about the rawness of '90s music that just hits different. It was a time when artists weren't afraid to push boundaries and speak their truth. Take Tupac Shakur, for example. His lyrics were like poetry, tackling issues like racism, poverty, and social injustice head-on. And then you had the Notorious B.I.G., spinning tales of street life with unmatched skill and charisma.

These were more than just songs; they were snapshots of life in the '90s, capturing the struggles and triumphs of a generation.

But it wasn't all serious stuff. The '90s also gave us some of the catchiest pop hits of all time. From the infectious beats of Spice Girls to the smooth grooves of Boyz II Men, there was something for everyone on the airwaves. And let's not forget about the rise of boy bands like *NSYNC and Backstreet Boys.

Ballads ruled the charts, with artists like Mariah Carey, Celine Dion, and Brian McKnight belting out love songs that still give us all the feels today. Whether you were nursing a broken heart or falling head over heels, there was a '90s jam for every romantic occasion.

Adele was kind of a product of that too.

Now, let's switch gears and talk about fashion. The '90s were all about self-expression, and nowhere was that more evident than in the clothes we wore. Grunge was king, with flannel shirts, ripped jeans, and Doc Martens becoming the unofficial uniform of rebellious youth everywhere. And let's not forget about the rise of streetwear, with brands like Tommy Hilfiger, FUBU, and Supreme making a splash on the scene.

But perhaps the most iconic fashion statement of the '90s was the rise of the supermodel. From Cindy Crawford to Naomi Campbell, these runway goddesses epitomised glamour and sophistication, setting the bar high for fashionistas everywhere.

So yeah, the '90s may be a thing of the past, but its influence? It still lives here.

This was a ramble by,

The PCR.