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#and i have to drive 20 minutes to and from school on thursday
word-wytch · 4 months
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Don't Stand So Close To Me — Chapter 16
Eddie x Teacher!Reader
Chapter 16/? 9k. Series Masterlist
✏︎ Frustrated by inconclusive endings, Eddie takes a seat behind the wheel. 
✏︎ Series Summary: Forced to move back home to Hawkins after your fiancé cheats on you, you begin to fall in love again with an audacious 20 year old metalhead, only there’s one problem — he’s still in high school and you’re his English teacher.
While you struggle starting over in a place you never thought you would return, Eddie struggles feeling stuck in a place he can’t manage to leave — until you offer to help him. Of all the lessons learned, the most important are the ones you teach each other.
✏︎ Series CW: forbidden romance, slow burn, true love, smut (18+ mdni), internal conflict, student-teacher relationship, 10 year age gap, mutual pining, sexual tension, emotions, drama, angst, character development, happy ending :)
✏︎ Chapter CW: general angst, paternal angst, drug mention
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Thursday, December 12th 1985
Before the first morning bell, Eddie gave Judy at reception his best impression of Wayne over the phone. He wasn’t totally lying, he was in fact, quite sick. Sick of all the taunting looks from meathead jocks. Sick of the way Ms. O’Donnell cleared her throat every five minutes. Sick of waking up so goddamn early. Sick of wasting his time. So after hanging up the phone, he stuffed a few essentials in his backpack and made for the door. 
Like clockwork, Wayne always came home at around 8:10 AM, and though it would be far from the first time he’d skipped school, Eddie would rather not have to explain himself. Besides, he could use a change of scenery. There was no denying winter anymore, the ice he scraped off his windshield made sure to remind him. On a typical hooky day he would drive down to Lover’s Lake and toss open the rear doors, catch a breeze, light a joint, sit back and take in the ripples on the water and the rustling leaves. But that had all frozen over, so unless he intended to burn through his whole tank of gas, he would need to get creative. 
That was how he found himself at Benny’s at 7:58 on a Thursday morning, setting up camp in a booth at the back of the restaurant. He ordered his usual — bacon, scrambled eggs, and a stack of pancakes in addition to white toast. Tossing his fourth emptied sugar packet beside the leaning tower of creamers, he sat back in the sticky, padded seat and took his first deep breath all morning. 
The diner was bustling lowly, a handful of regulars perched on silver, spinning stools at the bar. From the frosted window leeching cool air beside him, he watched the funeral procession of headlights down Washington under a mournful sky. Just another day for the upright citizens of Hawkins, Indiana. From his cozy booth, Eddie sipped the top off his very full mug and smiled to himself. 
Sprawling his belongings around the piping hot plates, he popped on his headphones, cracked open his monster manual, and got to work. The first hour flew by like his pencil across the graph paper. Between the bacon bits that had leapt from hand to page, a formidable lineup of foes was taking shape. Bottom line; the boys were in for a world of hurt tomorrow. He did his best to resign the grease to the flimsy napkins, but by the time he was finished, syrup tacked the gargoyle and gorgon pages together. 
“Anything else I can grab for ya besides the check?” Sheri—according to her name tag—asked with a tired lean as she reached to clear his plates. 
Eddie glanced down sheepishly at his freshly topped off mug. “I uh, think I might be staying for lunch.”
Sheri forced a hot pink smile, catching the fork with her decorated finger when it threatened to slide off the plate. “Y’ want me to get a room set up for you too?” she joked with a wink of her spidery lashes. “Just teasin’ sweetie. You just flag me down when you’re ready.”
Switching out his tapes, Eddie shut the cassette player and stared out the window as the men at the bar tossed their napkins and fished out their wallets. Snow was falling in lazy clumps, clinging to his windshield. Somewhere behind the overcast clouds, the sun was rising steadily. It was dismal, a fitting backdrop for the opening track of Black Sabbath’s Heaven and Hell. Of all the seasons, winter belonged to metal. Like it was made for cruising down a quiet, snow-covered street in the middle of nowhere. Made for drowning out Bing Crosby crooning from the speaker in the corner above him. Tinsel glittered on the small tree perched on a cloud of fake snow beside the cash register. Ornaments on swags swayed to the thump of footsteps passing. Eddie sighed and stared into the changing street lights.
Glancing at his watch he figured you were probably wrapping up the film with second period, knitting your brow and drawing your pen across the papers you were grading. He wondered what you’d think when the bell rang for fourth and you found his seat empty. Would you think he was upset with you? There was a small part of him that hoped so, and another part that hoped you would understand. After all, he was giving you the space you asked for, was he not?
Like a siren, your story—tucked between his notebook and the magazines he’d exhausted twice cover to cover—called to him. Cracking open the plastic spine, he dove headfirst into the typewritten pages.
For the whole narrow path into Rower’s End, Cybelle had sat in the front of the caravan, breathing the briny air unhindered by a barrier. Lazarus admired the brilliant fullness of her smile as she watched the seagulls soar overhead, under the clouds she had only ever seen from above. The sunlight had graced them then, beaming down in golden rays, glinting on the distant waves as they approached the sleepy seaside town. 
Eddie could feel the corners of his mouth tug as Lazarus regaled Cybelle with a story of a time when he’d accidentally taken a crab home with him after spending a day at the beach, followed by an explanation of what a crab was. Cybelle seemed delighted with the prospect of seeing one, even more-so when he told her how he’d discovered the little hitchhiker when it pinched his rear in bed that night. Eddie noticed the way Cybelle leaned closer whenever Lazarus told stories, the way her hand came to shield her bare face with a giggle when he mentioned his rear. The way her delicate, copper fingers lingered over the soft skin of his forearm when she checked beneath his bandage. The wound was healing nicely — no sign of infection and not a thorn in sight. She warned that it might scar, but Lazarus did not appear concerned—rather the opposite actually—as if a strange part of him was pleased with the idea of having something to remember her by. 
As they dipped over the final hill toward Rower’s End, Lazarus told her another story. A dream, rather, of a little cottage in Shantiglade with a full sized bed, and a garden, and a goose egg omelette big enough for two. A dream that would likely never come to pass. Cybelle seemed equally enchanted by it. Sitting back against the boxy, wooden seat of the caravan, she breathed in the salty air and imagined how good it would feel to do so every day. To experience the feeling of sand between her toes, of the ocean at her ankles, of propping her elbow against their shared kitchen table and gracing Lazarus with a naked smile before trying whatever an omelette was. It was good like this too — bumping along under a clear blue sky as Turnip plodded down the scarcely trodded path, watching the wind caress the wild grass and Lazarus’ even wilder curls, hearing his tales and his laughter.
Around the time he would be slumping into his desk in the back of your classroom, the bell dinged over the door of the restaurant. Eddie cranked the volume on his headset to drown out the chatter of a family of four clambering into the booth in front of him. The little boy had brought a pair of plastic drumsticks with him, beating a rhythm on the steel-rimmed table much to the annoyance of his little sister, who was clutching her book the way Eddie was yours. Dipping his few remaining fries into the smear of ketchup, he wondered why they weren’t in school on a Thursday afternoon. As he focused back on the type-written letters, he figured he should be the last to judge. 
Eddie felt for Lazarus, he really did. The way he looked at Cybelle as she emerged from the cave, cradling the ghostfern like a pale, translucent child. The scene was as beautiful as it was somber — waves lapping at the rocky shoreline as the setting sun cast its deep orange hues on both of them. The rocks—slick with algae—had Cybelle stumbling, but Lazarus was quick to offer his arm. She accepted without hesitance, clutching the plant like a bouquet as her deep earthen fingers braced the pale angles of his. He lead her down the cascading stone as if it were a chapel aisle, slow and steady until they reached the flat edge of the water. There—in the golden remains of the day—seagulls dipped and soared over the glittering ocean, clasped hands swayed in the lapping wind, and for a moment, they had everything they came for.  
After what seemed like both a small eternity and an aching second, it was Cybelle who broke away, tracing the ridges of his fingers as hers fell, stating out loud what both of them knew — that night was coming soon. 
The journey back to Torgaard proved easier than the journey out, at least in terms of natural foes. No fenfinks or villainous vines, but the sky seemed to hang much lower. Dark, stormy clouds loomed overhead, casting its pale grey light over the moss curtains outside of Fenwood, over the verdant  forests that shuddered in the gusting wind. There was a tension, a dread looming on the horizon that grew with each passing day. Even Eddie could sense it — the way Cybelle stared out into the swath of shifting green like she was attempting to soak up enough for the rest of her life. The way that Lazarus’ jokes were swallowed the creaking of the caravan. How nights that were once spent laughing over a roaring fire were now spent silently watching its crackling embers.
One day—just a few outside of Torgaard—the sky came crashing down. It sobbed in sheets, heavy enough to soak through Cybelle’s coat, to find the tear in her tent and make a lake of it. Lazarus ushered her inside the wagon, offered her a shirt that fit like a dress, offered to sleep on the floor. Assessing the size of the bed, and then the hard, narrow walking path, it was Cybelle who insisted they share it. She was small enough, or at least that was what she rationalized out loud. Lazarus did not argue. Her logic—unlike her tent—was water-tight. And so she climbed in between the soft linen sheets, tucked herself under the weight of the down blanket, and rested her damp, weary head on a pillow that smelled just like him.
Eddie glanced sheepishly around the restaurant, shielding the binder with his arm as Lazarus climbed in beside her. He hinged on each type-written word, lingering over the ones that stirred a fuzzy feeling. Written with careful attention to the way Lazarus’ chest rose and fell, how stiff their bodies were in hyper-awareness of the nearness to each other. How solid his shoulder felt under Cybelle’s cheek when the corner of pillow no longer sufficed. Slowly, they relaxed into the feeling. Not enough to sleep, but enough for Lazarus to free the arm that she was crushing. Enough to wrap it around her shoulder, to relish in the feeling of her cold nose in the warm crook of his neck.
It was good like this. Better when her fingers draped across the landscape of his pecks, felt his chest rise and fall like waves. Best when they awoke in the morning to the sun steaming in through the small, stained glass window above them. When their giggles shook the wagon. When their eyes met, closer than they’d ever been before. There, in the dim cocoon far outside the turning world, the smile that she had hidden for so long finally grew brave enough to capture his. And by the time they reached the towering stone walls of Torgaard, there was nothing more to hide from one another. 
Eddie flipped the page to find only a black, plastic pocket. He rubbed it with his fingers to make sure it wasn’t sticking to another. When it failed to separate, he sat back and fumed. That was it. There was no more. No ending, no closure.
Sheri leaned against the top of the booth seat opposite him, hand on her hip, shifting between her dirty white sneakers with a tired sigh. “Listen sweetie, I’ve got ten minutes left of my shift. You’re welcome to stay as long as you want, but I’ve gotta cash you out before I leave.”
Eddie glanced at his watch, almost 2:00. “Yeah—yeah, no problem. Sorry for the trouble.”
“’S no trouble, just the way it goes around here. Hope you enjoyed your stay,” she said with a wink as she dropped the check. 
After six hours and two meals, Eddie had gotten his fill of watching the world turn through an old, frosted window. His head was spinning enough on its own. With a frustrated huff he peeled his graph paper and manual away from the sticky table before shoving them into his backpack. Slugging it over his shoulder, he grabbed the grease-stained check and made his way to the register. That was when he noticed it — the lonely, half-eaten omelette on the bar.
“Alright that’ll be ten seventy-five,” chimed Sheri. 
Tinsel glittered on the tree. Red, metallic bulbs swayed in the echo of his footsteps. Judy Garland caroled on about a merry little Christmas and he wondered if your characters would ever enjoy anything over their shared kitchen table or if that dream would be abandoned for their duties as well.
“Sir?”
Snapping out of his trance, he fished for his wallet and palmed her a twenty. “Keep the change,” he muttered before turning toward the door with a hoist of his backpack.
Her jaw hung open. “Oh my word, are you serious?” she called to his back, but the bell above the door was the only answer she received.
______
Main Street Vinyls was a ghost town on a Thursday afternoon, and Eddie preferred it that way. Aside from Jerry at the counter, it was just him and his noisy thoughts, accompanied by the slow plod of his own heavy boots as they weeped against the carpet. At least in this store he could escape the onslaught of Christmas tunes. Jerry—old hippie that he was—at least had some sense. Sometimes even sense enough to play some halfway decent rock music, but today Eddie would settle for Neil Young over the jingle bell garbage blasting through every speaker in Hawkins.
Glancing down the rows of plastic cassette spines, Eddie perused the M section as he kicked himself for giving away almost ten dollars. There was an album by a new band he’d only read about in magazines called Megadeth. Turning the tape over in his hands, he examined the cover. Everything about it spoke to him — the skull with its mouth chained shut surrounded by knives and candles, the title — Killing Is My Business. Flipping it over to the back, the phrase continued in haunted red letters …and Business Is Good! 
The change he gave away in a fit of blind stupidity would have easily afforded it and left him with some to spare. With a bitter sigh, he shoved the tape back in its slot, knowing for a fact that the cash register at Benny’s had eaten the last bill he had in his wallet. Padding slowly down the aisle, he began his calculations. 
He had a few regular deals lined up this weekend but would need to dig into his “savings” in the bottom of an old tobacco tin and pay Rick a visit before any of that happened. He might make eighty bucks if he was lucky. Maybe eighty more over the course of the week between the deals at school. Nobody wanted to spend too much time outside this time of year, so the park bench location was always iffy depending on how bad it was. He would resort to other classic meetup spots, like under the bleachers or the back of his van. 
If he networked enough he might have some left over after helping Wayne with the bills. Scanning past the Tina Turner and T-Rex tapes, he wondered how much Wayne suspected about his little business. Surely he had to have some suspicion. Gig money, odd jobs, and oil changes for neighbors couldn’t possibly afford the kind of gear he had, or the ink in his skin, or the cash he contributed monthly. Wayne was sharp, and though he was no saint himself, he shuddered to think what he would say if he discovered his nephew was straying down the same path his brother took.
Peering back over his shoulder, he eyed the Megadeth tapes again—only three in stock—lined up like gifts wrapped in cellophane. They were such tiny things. Small enough to hide beneath his palm, to slide into the pocket of his coat with room to spare. Glancing up at the angled surveillance mirror in the corner of the store, he saw Jerry at the counter, humming obliviously as he stuck price tags on a fresh shipment of tapes. Over the tall shelf that separated them, he expected to meet his own eyes, but instead saw another man. A man he hadn’t seen in quite a while.
Eddie remembered finding a G chord for the first time; how big the fretboard felt in his small hand, how awkwardly his fingers had to stretch, how a larger set of hands had helped him find it. He earned a broad smile when the chord rang out, one he would search for again and again with every strum. 
Sometimes in the late evenings as he crept past Wayne with a lunchbox full of drugs while he was watching reruns of Bonanza on the couch, Eddie would tell himself that at least he wasn’t stealing cars, or drinking himself half to death, or rotting behind county bars. At least he was still in school, something Warren Munson couldn’t say even at sixteen. At least Eddie could say he was trying.
With a bitter shake of his head, he continued down the aisle, leaving the tapes behind for the record bins that lined the walls. Mindlessly he walked his fingers over the cardboard spines, glazing past titles he’d seen a dozen times. Nothing new. Nothing different. Few things ever were in Hawkins. Every day he’d wake up and slog himself to a different type of prison, sit in a classroom for eight hours and actively feel his brain rotting. He would crumple up his failed tests and shove them in his backpack, endure the stares from kids whose parents cared enough to give them a ride to school, day after day. And every day he would come home and see the twinge of pride on Wayne’s face for the fact that he’d gone at all.  
There were a few perks to sticking around, like running his club, and saving lost sheep, and seeing his friends everyday. Like having a swath of potential customers all in one place. It was safe and familiar, like a cage. His little business might be dangerous and criminal but at least it could afford him one thing he valued even more than ink or gear — freedom. Time, for another thing. Flexibility. It sure as hell beat making three dollars an hour flipping burgers or having to answer to some corporate boot-licker telling him what to do. Eddie huffed sharply, wondering what you would think if you knew. You, with your tightly buttoned blouses and endless patience. You, the very last person he wanted to disappoint. 
The last look he’d seen on you destroyed him when he thought about it; the pain in your eyes and bitter line your pretty lips became. You were just about the only reason he had left to show up to class anymore, and now that was getting in the way of the one thing that actually had potential in his eyes. Way more potential than a stupid piece of paper that says, congratulations, you’re a real member of society and not a complete disappointment. 
You had asked him a question back when you’d first made the arrangement to help him, one that rattled around in his brain ever since. Why did he want to graduate? If his memory served him, he’d given a relatively bullshit answer: to prove all the assholes in this god-forsaken purgatory wrong. It still held a fair amount of truth, but when he glanced up at the surveillance mirror again and saw himself this time, the real answer was abundantly clear. But was proving a point worth the risk of losing you?  
The smell of cardboard and cellophane kissed his face as air puffed between each record falling forward. Each a different picture, some repeats of the same. Rock gods wielding wicked weapons, bathed in holy stage lights somewhere in New York or Los Angeles probably. Somewhere important. Sometimes at the Hideout he would close his eyes and imagine he was on one of those stages, but when he would open them as the last note rung out, it was always the same — just Bill and Drunk Sam, maybe a couple of bikers perched at the bar with their backs to him. Empty stools and sticky tables. A weak applause.
Eddie stepped back from the record bin with a heavy sigh and glanced at his watch. He’d killed about thirty minutes in this store, which meant he had at least twenty more before he could return home without triggering Wayne’s suspicious questions. The walls were starting to close in around him — posters like windows into a world far out of reach. Every million dollar strum reverberating through the speakers like a mocking reminder. With a half-hearted wave to Jerry stocking shelves, he left the store. Empty handed. 
The drive down Randolph was always dismal, especially in the bleak winter light. Storefronts with yellowing signs that hadn’t changed in twenty years selling mattresses and televisions. A gas station with a rusted awning, dusted with snow. Architecturally speaking, the church was about the most interesting building, but only because it was brick and made up of more than just four flimsy walls. Even that was being generous though. The most exciting thing to happen to Hawkins since the housing development over by Factory Lane thirty years ago was the shopping mall that opened this past summer. Thrilling. 
No matter where he drove within a fifty mile radius, it was all the same — a tomb where dreams went to die. 
Gripping the steering wheel, he watched the car in front of him make grooves in the dirty slush, hypnotized by the spray off the sides of the tires. It wasn’t until he saw the high school approaching in his peripherals that he even looked up. It always felt good to be on the other side, especially when he wasn’t supposed to be. He could almost see you in there; brushing the chalk off your hands, shifting between your tired feet as you glanced at the clock, gazing out the window with a longing he’d seen in his own reflection — caught sometimes at night in his drivers seat window as he cruised the highway, dreaming of where it could take him. 
As the squat fortress faded in his rearview mirror, he pictured you five years from now. Ten. Twenty. Wasting away in front of that chalkboard. Rattling on about stories written by dead people while your own collected dust inside a closet. While your talent withered like the dead, crumpled leaves under the snow; buried and forgotten. 
With a hard right onto Prospect, he set out on the final stretch towards home. Sometimes he liked to imagine what might happen if he just kept going, just drove into the sunset and only stopped for gas. He had a vague idea from the movies and the maps that swayed in the wake of Ms. O’Donnell’s lumbering footsteps. Sometimes in the height of his boredom he would lose himself in them, imagine he was at a diner in the desert on his way to a gig with an actual sound system. Because somewhere out there—beyond the flat horizon—there were mountains, and canyons, and cities where names couldn’t follow. 
______
“How does it end?” Eddie asked you on Friday between the fourth and fifth period bells. You glanced up from the stack of papers on your desk, cocking your head with narrowing eyes. “Your story,” he clarified.
“Oh.” Blinking, you sat back to ponder. “You know, I don’t think I ever fully decided. Cybelle is in a difficult position. The whole reason she set out on this adventure was to save her brother. I imagine she would want to fulfill her quest, but if she returned to Myrne, it may be difficult to leave again. Plus, she may receive some sort of punishment for leaving in the first place. I had written the laws to be quite strict, if I recall. And then if she chose not to return, her mother would lose two children. No matter what, she loses.” 
Eddie furrowed his brow, shifting between his boots with a pained sigh. “I would hardly call a life with Lazarus losing. She seems happy with him.”
“Right, well, of course that would be ideal, but…” you tsked, “it’s complicated, and honestly that’s partially why I abandoned it. I really wrote myself into a corner. Well, that and student teaching started to eat up my time. Then it was finals, and moving, and then after that I met…” you trailed off with a bitter shake of your head. “Anyway, I guess life got in the way. It has a way of doing that, I’ve noticed.” 
Eddie looked at you, really looked. You, in your cable knit sweater with pen on your hand and sandbags under your eyes, casting them down over your work with the same amount of hope he’d seen from players rolling threes with even fewer hit points to spare. He racked his brain for something he could offer—a dramatic death speech or a new character sheet—but you weren’t playing and he wasn’t prepared. Any words of comfort forming on the tip of his tongue were swallowed by the ringing bell, and he exited your classroom feeling the same as when he entered; unsatisfied. 
______
It was starting to close in around you — the colored lights and ornaments, the mall Santas and fake green swags draping from shop windows. It was the first Christmas you’d truly spent in Hawkins since you graduated college, outside of day trips for visits. Surprisingly little had changed, the main thing being the fact that there even was a mall for Santa to post up in. Duplication must have been one of his many powers because he was still at Sears too, at least he was on Saturday when you dragged yourself out of the oppressive quiet of your apartment and into the bustling chaos. 
You had no idea what to get your relatives for Christmas. You never really did, but this year it seemed insurmountable. This year you had no one to bounce ideas off of, and the constant mental chatter left little to no room for inspiration. As you scanned the shelves of cookware and appliquéd dish towels with snow men and reindeers, nothing really seemed to jump out at you.
What did jump out at you—or rather, jumped out at his sister—was a little boy across the aisle hiding in a circular rack of women’s bath robes. Pressing apart the terrycloth like curtains, he would retreat into his makeshift cave to the complete oblivion of his mother, who seemed more preoccupied with the price tags on a set of lingerie than with the whereabouts of her children.
A fantasy tugged at the corners of your mind, more sinfully indulgent than the one you had in class last week involving your desk and Eddie’s tongue. This time the set was the same as the scene before you, only the little boy had a mess of dark curls and Eddie was diving in after him. Not to scold him, but to play. You could almost see those fraying knee holes widening from contact with the carpet. Almost hear the giggles and the shushes and the click of his rings against the metal pole in the center of the rack for balance. You could almost turn around and see them popping out at you, feel the laughter ripple up through your very full belly and into the corners of your eyes as you feigned surprise to both of their delight. You could almost feel the glares from the other shoppers, the regular people eager to get on with their Saturday in peace, same as any other. It wouldn’t matter though, not in your little world.
The real mother in the real world did eventually turn around, grabbing the boy by the wrist and demanding he stay by the cart. Turning a dish towel over in your palms, you lowered your eyes to the machine-embroidered stitching of a corn cob pipe and a button nose as the fantasy disintegrated. You left the store shortly after, your cart just as empty as when you’d arrived. 
On Monday it was hard to look him in the eyes. It was easier to meet Diane’s. At least this week you could hold a conversation without crumbling like Ms. Click’s half-eaten fruitcake up for grabs in the teachers lounge. But the coffee was bitter on your tongue, like a lie you were telling yourself. 
In accordance with your wishes, there had been no rap of knuckles on your door frame after school, no screeching of chair legs dragged across the tile, only the dull thud of folders sliding into your bag, the surprising click of a magnet under the flap. 
On Wednesday you left behind footprints in the parking lot before it had even half cleared, only to be swallowed by the emptiness of your apartment. You filled the space with what you could manage — an early dinner, and an early bedtime. Sleep seemed to be the only thing that quelled the battering ram thoughts, the scales tipping back and forth so much it made you queasy. You would lie there and dream of swirling smoke and plush lips, of arthritic fingers punching numbers on an office phone as you sat and accepted your fate. You would toss and turn, back and forth until your sheets became a tangle, and when you faced the mirror Thursday morning you barely recognized the person staring back. 
When the final bell rang on Friday, the hallways cleared out like someone had yelled fire. A mass exodus of students and staff, flowing into the parking lot like a tidal wave outside your classroom window. You watched them as snow fell in clumps, as bright colored backpacks disappeared into the back of sedans, as cars peeled out like a parade into the street. 
Assessing the paper mountain range framing your desk, you made an educated guess at how you would be spending your two week break. In hindsight, it might have helped to make the due date for the senior creative writing project last Friday instead, but deep down you knew you would have hardly made a dent by now. 
When Ms. Click popped her head in to wish you a merry Christmas on her way down the hall, she seemed surprised to find your hand still moving across paper, not swaddled in mittens like hers. You brushed it off with something casual, the type of thing any regular person would say before the holidays. That it was too much to take home. That getting work finished now would leave more time with your family. You omitted the more personal details like how empty your apartment felt and the small, naked tree your mother brought over last weekend. This seemed to placate her, and with a cheery wave she left you in the silence of your classroom with only the ruffling of paper for company.
It was eery how quiet it was, but it afforded you a small hill of graded papers in the last hour, double what you would typically accomplish in front of the television. Thumbing through what remained of that stack, you counted each staple. Five, six, seven… you stopped when a certain name jumped out in MLA format. 
Eddie Munson American Literature — 4th Period 20 December 1985
No title. 
Papers fluttered to the desk as they fell from your hands, leaving only his. You held it gingerly between your fingers, as if it was alive. As if it could feel you, or rather, you could feel him through every type-written letter, through the thumb-sized grease stain in the top righthand corner. You could almost hear him too, shifting into a deep, dramatic narration.
Mount Myrne loomed on the horizon like a dark omen. Towering over the bustling docks of Torgaard, it disappeared beneath the ominous clouds with a formidable presence. Merchants scattered about, hauling their wares in heavy crates and barrels onto the many zeppelins. 
This was where Lazarus first met Cybelle. In his mind’s eye he could almost see her stumbling about in her clean silk boots and glimmering gold coat. But her appearance today told a different tale. Her boots were caked with mud, her coat was splattered with muck and tattered by claws, her mask hung crooked on her face. Those large eyes that once glimmered with hope and wonder now stared off into the distance with oppressive sadness at the looming mountain. 
This was where he was supposed to leave her. This was what they had agreed upon many moons ago. Cybelle just stood there, shifting back and forth between her tired feet as she dug her thumbs under the straps of her heavy knapsack that now held the rare and precious ghostfern. She finally had what she came for. Any moment now she would be moving those muddy boots toward the docks and use what little coin she had to barter a one-way trip back home.
That was the plan anyway..
Cybelle was frozen though. Fearfully, woefully, bitterly, she gazed upon her gold gleaming home in the sky with a sadness that was only dwarfed by Lazarus looking down at her. He looked at her beautiful face like it was the last time he was ever going to get the chance to. He memorized it in his mind as he shuffled his own dirty boots against the cobblestone. He didn’t have eyes for anything else. Not the zeppelins, nor the merchants, nor the mountain. Only her. After a moment that felt like an eon, Cybelle took a step forward.
“Wait.” said Lazarus. Cybelle turned around with surprise but also a hint of relief. “You don’t have to do this.”
Cybelle looked up at him with a mournful frown. “Of course I do, my brother will die if I stay here.”
Lazarus shook his head bitterly. “No, he will die if the ghostfern stays here.” he said.
Cybelle sighed as she looked out across the docks, “But how is it going to get there if I do not deliver it? No one is allowed within the city walls if they are not from Myrne.”
Lazarus furrowed his brow as he watched the merchants at work, hauling their wares aboard the large, formidable aircrafts. Suddenly he had an idea. “There are docks in Myrne, correct? And Myrnish merchants who take goods into the city?”
The gears were starting to turn in Cybelle’s head. “Yes, there are.”
“Well then, can we send the plant with like, a note or something? Some instructions and directions for the merchant to take where it needs to go?”
Cybelle thought for a moment. “I do know a few of the merchants by name. Arturo and I grew up together. He was my neighbor for a long time. He would know where it needs to go, and my mother would know what to do with it.” The brightness in Cybelle’s eyes dimmed suddenly as she had another thought. “But… I would never seen them again. My family.”
“Never say never, Cybelle.” Lazarus said. “Do you know that for a fact?”
Cybelle frowned heavily, “The laws in Myrne are very strict.”
“What if in the letter you told your family to meet you on the docks some other time? Perhaps in another moon or two once your brother has recovered?” Lazarus offered.
Cybelle sighed bitterly, “Only merchants are allowed on the docks. It is strictly prohibited. I was only able to come here because I snuck inside a crate. It was a miracle that they didn’t notice me.”
Lazarus kicked a stray pebble and huffed. There was a long pause before he spoke again. “I cannot tell you what to do, Cybelle. Only you can make that choice. But what I can do, really the only thing I can do, is tell you how I feel.” 
All of a sudden there was a knot in his stomach. Because if he was going to say anything he knew that this would be his last chance.. 
“All my life I’ve dreamed about that cottage by the sea with the garden, and the bed, and the omlet. When I saw that pendant you were wearing I knew that it would be my only shot at ever getting what I wanted. Magic tricks are….. not exactly lucrative. And actually, if I’m going to be totally honest here, I figure you should know the truth about me. The whole truth.” Lazarus sighed, swallowing the bile creeping up his throat at the mention of the truth. He was going to be honest though. Maybe for once in his whole life. “This is difficult for me to say, but I owe it to you if nothing else. I’m a thief, Cybelle.” 
Lazarus winced at his own words and Cybelle’s fallen expression, but he bravely continued..
“I confess that for a moment when I first saw you I thought about stealing that pendant, but once I heard your story and saw so much of my own I simply couldn’t. There is a goodness in you that I admire, how selfless and pure your cause is. Over the course of the last few moons I have had the privilege of spending with you, I have come to discover how beautiful the woman beneath the mask truly is. How kind, and curious, and patient you are. I have been all over this land. Traveled far and wide, through forests and over mountains. I have swam in lakes and oceans and gazed out over countless valleys. But never has the world looked quite so hopeful than when I saw it through your eyes. It made me believe that if you could see the beauty there, if you could see the goodness in me, then perhaps I can as well.”
It was startling — the tear that leapt over your lash line. Violently enough to hit the page, to blur the Os in goodness. 
“If you choose to stay I promise you that I will never steal another coin or pocket watch. It may leave me poor for the rest of my days but if they’re spent with you, then I would be the richest man of all. It is all that I can offer you. My honesty, and a promise that I will show you more beaches, more mountains, more of the world than you could ever imagine. And since I intend to keep my promise, here is my honesty: I love you. Regardless of what you decide.” 
With a trembling hand, you turned the page only to discover there was nothing on the back. Sitting back in your seat with a ragged sigh, you stared out into your empty classroom. Your nose stung, fluorescents flaring in your tear-blurred vision. Separating the pages with your thumb, you flipped back and read it again. The last paragraph. The last two sentences. Those three type-written words. Over and over, wedging in the cracks of your armor as your sniffles echoed off the tile. 
The sun was dipping below the treeline, flooding the near-empty parking lot with a wash of somber pink. The snowfall had ceased, settled into the footprints and tire tracks. Glancing up at the clock and back down at the papers, you tried to imagine lifting another, scanning over sentences and writing in the margins like you hadn’t been completely upended by the one that trembled in your grasp. You couldn’t. 
Tears dripped down your cheeks as you donned your coat, as you shuffled overstuffed folders into your satchel and slung its weight over your shoulder. You swiped at them with your scratchy wool sleeve, flicking off the lights and shutting the door.
The soft pink had cooled to twilight blue when your boots met the blanket of snow, leaving tracks in the clean, fresh powder. Your breath trailed behind you in heavy clouds. It was quiet here too, barely a scattering of cars in the parking lot. Not even the wind disturbed the limbs of the orderly saplings between the curb and sidewalk, dusted with a glittering powder. 
Your hands found your keys, and the key found the hole, and soon you were sliding into your frigid leather seat, tossing the weight of your satchel on the passenger’s side with a dejected thump. You sat there a moment with only your breath for company before flicking your wrist at the ignition. 
Nothing.
Stomping on the break, you lurched forward with conviction this time, as if you could convince it you were serious. All it awarded you was a weak, persistent click. It’s fine, you told yourself through gritted teeth as you lunged again, snapping your wrist with a startling anger, like the seal had been cracked on a two liter pop bottle that had rolled around in the trunk for a week and a half. Still, nothing but a pathetic click. A split second thought crossed your mind—that the ferocity of your stomp might actually damage the car—but the logic was quickly snuffed out by your rage. The hard plastic key bit into your numb fingers. Over and over — stomping, twisting, cursing. Cursing yourself most of all for being stupid enough to let this continue for months. You were paying for it now. 
The tears were already waiting, primed behind your eyeballs, hardly dried on your cheeks when you left out the back door. They spilled over again, cooling as they dripped past your lashes, down the slope of your nose. One more time, you begged. Just one more time and I’ll be good, I swear. But the white Chevy Nova sat unmoved, offering only a vacant whine where there should have been a roar. You tossed back in your seat and huffed, chest heaving, filling the cramped space with the furious steam of your breath. 
Snowflakes glittered in the floodlights, shining like flares through the blur of your tears. It might have been beautiful on any other evening — one where the engine was warm, and your mind was clear, and your heart didn’t sink like a pit in your chest. It was hard to notice anything outside your bitter sobs, most especially the shadow that appeared in the window beside you. The rap of rings on the glass had you jumping, whipping your head to face the set of eyes you’d been avoiding most of all. 
“Need some help?” Eddie offered, bracing his knees in a crouch, eyes brimming with concern. 
Your stomach twisted with relief, then embarrassment, then a million other things rolled into one, sick knot. Wiping the evidence from your cheeks with a futile swipe of your sleeve, you cranked down the window with your left hand. You must have looked like an absolute basket case, jerking your arm in tight circles as the barrier lowered with the urgency of a tortoise. When where was enough space for him, Eddie braced against the top of your door and ducked his head inside. 
“Hey.” The warm sigh of his greeting kissed your cheek, thawing the sting of the cold. 
“Hey,” you mimicked, sounding just about as stable as you felt when it came out. “W-what are you doing here so late?” 
“Hellfire,” he stated simply. “You know, I could ask you the same question.”
Despite how true it was, it still felt pathetic when the answer left your lips. “Just… trying not to take so much work home with me.” You said it as casually as you could muster, but your voice betrayed you. Your cheeks were still cooling from the remnants of your tears, framing the heat from your dripping nose. 
Eddie suddenly looked very serious, splintering your armor with his softness. “You ok?” 
You gestured dejectedly at nothing, offering a hollow laugh. “No.”
Eddie filled the cabin with his sigh, eyes narrowing like he wanted to lunge through the window. Instead he just thumbed at the rubber and tipped his head closer, creaking your chest plate with the weight of his gaze. “You know, I could hear you clear across the parking lot,” he joked softly. “The car—I mean. Mostly. You leave your lights on or something?”
You shook your head. “It’s been doing this for months, ever since it started getting cold. I should have taken it to get checked out, but it usually starts after a couple tries.” 
“Sounds like it might be the battery, or maybe the starter. I won’t know unless I try and jump it. I’ll swing around—if—if that’s ok.” 
The wind ushered a curl toward his lips, and you clenched your hand to subdue it. “Yeah, it’s ok,” you sighed. “Thank you.”
With a nod, Eddie ducked out of the window and pivoted swiftly on his heels. From your side view mirror, you watched him make tracks in the blue snow with his heavy boots, hands shoved in his pockets as he glanced left and right, the ghost of his breath trailing closely behind. The seat creaked as you sat back and blinked like the cursor on a computer monitor; processing. One glance in your rearview mirror told you how disheveled you looked. Even in the twilight there was no masking the puffiness around your eyes, the mascara bleeding toward your cheeks. You swiped at them again, this time with a napkin from your glove box.
With a yank of the frigid handle, Eddie slid across the plaid and pleather padding into the drivers seat of his van. He froze for a second, glancing in his rearview mirror toward your small white sedan. Butterflies tore through his stomach, churning like a tornado as he flicked the ignition. Out of all his ridiculous fantasies, he hadn’t entertained this one. Not exactly anyway. One where you were the damsel in distress. One where he got to be the hero. 
The parking lot was vacant enough to drive across the lines. Ploughing through the naked patches where cars had spent the afternoon, he rumbled up beside you. Your stomach did a summersault when he stepped out, plodding around to the front of your car with jumper cables slung under his arm. 
“Can you pop the hood for me?” he asked.
The summersault rippled south through your abdomen. Reaching down under the console, your fingers found the leaver and obeyed. You felt kind of useless, just sitting there while he propped the hood onto the stand, shielding him from vision. Before you could form another thought, your hand was moving on its own, finding the plastic leaver of your door and opening it to the cold evening air. 
Eddie gave a shy look from behind his curtain of curls before stepping back with a nod. “Well, good news, there’s no monsters,” he joked. 
A smile cracked across your face, so genuine it almost felt foreign. You tucked your hands into your pockets, stepping closer to assess the engine like you knew what you were looking at. Your aura prickled with proximity, like his heat could thaw you even from where you stood. Eddie’s glance was soft and quick before procuring a small flashlight from his inner coat pocket. He held it in his teeth, flipping up the red and black plastic covers on the battery terminals. 
“I have hands too, you know,” you said with a smirk.
With a playful side-eye, he clamped the appropriate cables onto the terminals. Removing the silver torch from his mouth, he made room for his retort. “Mmhm, best keep ‘em warm. It’s uh, kinda chilly out.”
You shook your head as a laugh escaped your nostrils in a plume. Sauntering over to his van like a dark knight, Eddie leaned in the door to pop his own hood. Your boots made tentative tracks in the snow, drawn like a magnet as he hoisted the metal. From the light pinched in his teeth you could see the expanse of the massive engine, the shadow of his furrowed brow as he unscrewed plastic knobs. What you saw more than anything though—like a filter laid over the scene—were three type-written letters. The hands that typed them fumbled with the cables, squeezed around the thick, jaw-like clamps. When they bit right where he wanted, they released; tendons flexing, knuckles pinking from the freezing air. Reflexively, he wiped them on the chest of his black hoodie peeking out from his open coat. 
It might have just been the cold, but even in the twilight—in the absence of the flashlight he was tucking into his pocket—you could have sworn his cheeks flushed when he caught you staring. “Alright, um, go ahead and start your car. I’ll do the same.”
Following the tether that joined the two vehicles, you did as he told you. Nothing came of it though, just more incessant clicking. Exasperated, you tossed back in your seat before slumping out of the car once more. 
“Shit, it must be the starter. Probably cracked, that’s my guess anyway by the sound of it,” Eddie explained as he stepped around to face your engine again. Clicking his flashlight, he peered into the compartment. “See, if you follow the positive terminal line all the way down, that’s where the starter will be. Only problem is it’s tricky to get to without a lift.” 
You followed his grease-stained finger down the dirt-dusted tangle of tubes, drawing nearer under the subtle guise of interest in your engine. You stopped just inches from his solid leather frame, close enough to brush him with your elbow. “You seem to know your way around a car.”
He huffed, shaking his head as he muttered. “Wish I didn’t.” But before you could comment, he was shutting the hood. “I’m sorry, but I think we’re gonna have to call a tow truck.” 
Your defeated sigh rose toward the clouds as you glanced at the squat school building. The lights were off. Judy’s car was absent from the lot, as were all but a handful, including the two of yours. Glancing at your watch under the floodlights, the big hand tipped past the golden dot where a five should be.
Eddie stepped closer, filling the gap with a heavy exhale before meeting your eyes. “You know I could, um—” he scratched the back of his neck, words evaporating quicker than his breath. What could he do? What could he really do about any of this? For most of his life he’d been a leaf on the wind, scuttling across the pavement toward the gutter, struggling to steer himself away. But you were stranded, and if there was anything he was good for, it was a ride. “I could—I could take you back to your place. If you’re ok with that, I mean. We could—fuck—I mean you could call from there a-and I could—”
There were chinks in your armor, cracking with each bumbling word. You looked at him, really looked. Eddie Munson, with grease-stained hands and eyes that pierced like arrows in their pleading. Straight through to the softest part of you, the place between your ribs that cries I want. And oh, how desperately you wanted. Wanted to soothe his worried lips in yours again, to feel his pounding chest again, to be thawed by his heat again. But you just stood there, frozen.
Shoving his hands into the pockets of his open coat, he shifted on the balls of his feet as he searched for more words in the snow. “Look, I know you said you wanted space, a-and it probably seems like—shit.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, releasing with a sharp sigh. “I just want to help you. Will you just let me help you? Please?”
Your chest plate clattered to the concrete, gauntlets falling in a heap beside your greaves. There was no white flag to wave. No sword to relinquish, or shield to discard. Your surrender was nothing but a soft “okay,” barely heard above the howling wind. 
______
A/N: After over a year and 100k words, the smut chapter is finally upon us! Thank you for coming with me on this very long journey and sticking it out. I have no idea how long this next one is going to take me to write, but I can promise you that when it’s finished you will experience every moment in exquisite, delicious, poetic detail. 
You might have noticed that I’ve pulled a few small details like character names and places from Flight of Icarus, but I will not be retconning any of Eddie’s backstory. 
Also random, tumblr decided to make that one paragraph bold once I changed it to chat font with no ability to unbold it, but that wasn't intended. It kind of worked though so I'm not mad.
Taglist: @mermaidsandcats29 @toxicjayhoo @ooo-protean-ooo @jadequeen88 @wroteclassicaly @kissmyacdc @raccoonboywrites @storiesbyrhi @trashmouth-richie @keeponquinning @munson-blurbs @blueywrites @alottanothing @bebe07011 @idkidknemore @alizztor @godcreatoreli @ethereal27cereal @munsonsgirl71 @mrsjellymunson @emxxblog @siriusmuggle @sidthedollface2 @dollalicia @lma1986 @catherinnn @eddiemunson4life420 @readsalot73 @big-ope-vibes @barbiedragon @ladylilylost @3rriberri @princess-eddie @nightless @eddieswifu @thew0rldsastage @chaoticgood-munson @hanahkatexo @eddiemunsonsbedroom @beep-beep-sherlock @averagemisfit03 @vintagehellfire @haylaansmi @sllooney @lunaladybug734 @callingmrsbarnes @ajkamins
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Late Night Rides
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Moodboard made by me
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Pairing || Dilf!Neighbour!Bucky x Female!Reader
Summary || Having a secret affair with Bucky and needing to meet up secretly in his car for a chat and sex so you won’t get caught.
Text messages; Bucky || Reader
Word Count || 3987
Contents & Warnings || Smut, Fluff, Slight Angst — NSFW, 18+ Only, Minors DNI, explicit content/language, major age-gap (reader is early 20’s, Bucky is early/mid 40’s) infidelity, pet names (babe, baby, doll), unprotected vaginal sex, lots of kissing and touches, teasing, grinding, spanking, praise kink, creampie, mention of bodily fluids.
Authors Note || I’m so happy with this fic! I really put down extra love and care into this one and I’m so excited for people to read it <3 but also nervous
Disclaimer || English is not my first language so I apologise for any mistakes or misunderstandings!
Dilf!Neighbour!Bucky Masterlist
I don’t do taglists anymore so please follow @bucky-barnes-diaries-library and turn on notifications to never miss out on my writing!
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It’s Wednesday night, and you've been cooped up all afternoon inside your room to do some last-minute studying for an important exam tomorrow. You’re lying on your stomach on the bed with your comfy clothes on. Legs crossed in the air as you review some final notes to ensure you are 100% prepared for tomorrow.
You’ve created a pleasant atmosphere for studying—calming music is playing through your AirPods, and the healthy snacks and drinks you’ve made for yourself keep your brain fed so you can cram all the knowledge into your memory with no problem.
A ping of your phone, signalling a text, pulls you out of the concentration, making you groan in annoyance. But once you see who the message is from, you can't help but feel all giddy inside like a schoolgirl with a major crush.
It’s from Bucky, your hot next-door neighbour and the man you’ve been hooking up with behind everyone's back for a few months. It’s been a while now since you’ve talked or texted.
You’ve both been busy with your lives the past two weeks; you with school and him with his wonderful two kids and his bitter wife, so you haven’t been able to see each other in private.
The only contacts you’ve had were some quick hello’s and secret glances when you bump into him in the neighbourhood. Every time you saw him, you yearned for his delightful touch and attention—his soft lips on yours and his intoxicating hands worshipping your skin as he whispered how good you are for him. You shudder at the thought as your stomach fills with tingling butterflies.
For a few days now, you’d hoped you would meet up again soon, and it seemed like tonight might be it, although you should be studying…
Hey! You still up?
Hi! Yeah looking over some final notes for my exam tomorrow 🤓
Right yeah I forgot it's on Thursday. Good luck baby ❤️ Text me when you finish tomorrow
I will 😚 But was there something you wanted due to the late-night text?
Just wanted to see if you were up for a drive. Everyone’s asleep and I could use the company. But I don’t want to disturb you. Do some more studying baby. Get a good night's sleep! I know you will ace this exam tomorrow because you’re such a smart girl ❤️
You felt your stomach fluttering as he called you a smart girl. He was right. You would absolutely smash the exam tomorrow because you’ve been studying hard and you knew the topic like the back of your hand.
You needed a break; you deserved it. So you decided to take up his offer and have some much-needed fun with him (which would definitely lead to sex.)
I want to see you. I’ve studied enough now. Give me a sec. I just need to get dressed and I’ll be out ☺️
Really!? Ok I’ll wait at the usual spot
You put on some more appropriate and easily discardable clothes for your and Bucky’s “date”, if you could call it that. A short skirt, a cute top, and a cardigan to keep you warm on a chilly night.
Very quietly, you tip-toed downstairs and out the door, making sure not to wake your parents, who were sound asleep.
Although it's late and dark, you walk quickly past the neighbouring houses. Paranoia overwhelms you that someone may see and recognise you, despite all the houses being pitch black and not a single soul walking the streets.
You get into Bucky’s car that’s waiting for you a few houses down. You don’t even get to say hello before he’s cradling your face and pressing his lips firmly to yours—eagerly moving them against yours to familiarise himself with them again after the long absence. You melt into him and place your hands on top of his as you make out.
After a few moments, he pulls away, leaving you breathless and making you inhale a shaky breath. He smirks as he brushes his nose with yours while muttering a low “hi.” You feel heat rise to your cheeks as you also greet him with a trembling “hey”. Your mind still foggy from the kissing, and butterflies flutter in your stomach at being in his presence.
“I missed you so much, gorgeous.”
“I-I missed you too.”
He pressed his lips to yours again, wanting to continue where you left off and then some. He put his hands on your waist, wanting to pull you on top of him so you could progress this even further, but you stopped him before he could. It’s not that you didn't want to be pressed up against him; you just didn’t feel so comfortable going at it right in your neighbourhood.
“B-Bucky.” You placed your hands on his chest and lightly pushed him away. “I-I don’t feel comfortable doing this here. Can we drive somewhere a little more private, please?” You pouted.
If Bucky could choose, he would have you right here and now. Loving the rush of potentially getting caught by one of your neighbours that decided to go for an evening stroll, but he knew you weren’t comfortable with it, so he respected your boundaries.
“Of course, we can, baby.” He caressed your cheek while giving you a heartwarming smile, making his eyes crinkle. “I never want to do something you’re uncomfortable with.” “Thanks, babe.” He gave you a sweet peck before he put the car in drive, and off you were.
He turned up the radio a bit to have some pleasant background music and put the heating on to warm you up.
You removed your cardigan, which made him side-eye you and lick his lips as you revealed more of your tempting skin. He gripped the steering wheel hard to try and resist the urge to stop on the road and take your hard. He wanted to have you somewhere alone and secure before he started exploring you because there was no way to stop him when he began.
You glanced over at him as well. He was clad in jeans and a thin sweater, so you couldn’t see much of him. But you knew he was packing behind those pants and that his torso looked like a Greek statue. It made you ache between your legs and mouth water that you would soon have all the time to explore his naked body.
After a while of comfortable and sexually charged silence, you and he effortlessly slipped into a conversation as you talked about your weeks apart—catching up with each other’s lives. There wasn’t much to talk about from your side. It mostly revolved around school and studying for the exam.
Bucky had loads to talk about, especially with his two kids. He beamed with love and happiness as he spoke of them. Laughing and getting so enthusiastic as he shared the latest. It was so heartwarming to see and hear.
You missed them as well. You’d gotten a good connection with them the first time you ever went to babysit. That’s how you met Bucky, and you had fallen for him instantly.
Talking about his kids naturally moved the conversation over to his wife. That’s when the atmosphere switched to something more unpleasant and tense. You didn’t say much while he talked about her, just listening to him complain and letting him vent about how much he essentially hated her, although he never said it straight out.
It wasn’t really your place to say anything about her, although you had lots of input. You wanted to tell him to get a divorce because the constant arguing between them wasn’t leading to anything, and it was bound to be taken out on the kids negatively. You wanted to tell him that he deserved to be happy. If not with you, then with someone else who would give him the love and intimacy he deserved. You just wanted what’s best for him and his children.
After the rant and mention about his wife, it got a little awkward in the car. You knew what you were doing was essentially wrong even if their marriage was on the brink of collapsing and probably not savable, but still, you felt a little guilty about being with a married man. A homewrecker was something you never wanted to be, although his wife was doing that just fine herself.
“You know, the kids miss you. They're always asking when you’ll come over again to play.” Bucky said while looking over at you with a smile, trying to break the awkward tension he created between you two.
Your heart filled with warmth when he told you that they’d been asking for you. You missed them so incredibly much as well, and you couldn’t wait to see them again soon.
“How about this weekend? After my exam, I’ll have loads of free time to hang out with them.”
He placed his palm on your naked thigh, giving a squeeze, as he beamed with happiness once again. “They would love that, and so would I.” He looked over and smiled, which made you feel all fuzzy inside.
For the remaining few minutes of the car ride, until you got to your destination, you sat in now comfortable silence with each other.
Once you arrived at a more secluded area, Bucky turned off the car. You were all alone now. No one would be able to disturb the two of you.
You thought now, when you were for yourselves, he would toss himself over you like he usually did, but he retracted further from you as he furrowed his eyebrows, looking deep in thought as he tried to find the right words to tell you something.
“I’m sorry about the whole, you know….” He gestured with his hands, hoping you would understand his meaning without mentioning who or what he was talking about.
“Bucky, it’s okay. You can always talk to me about anything that’s bothering you, no matter what it is. I’m always here to listen.”
He let out a puff of relief that he hadn’t screwed up anything with you. “Thank you.” He tilted his head as he looked at you, a smile decorating his beautiful face. “That means a lot.”
“I just want you to be happy.” You took his hand and gave it a tight squeeze. It fit so perfectly in yours, like two puzzle pieces meant to be. You never wanted to let go. “I really care about you, Bucky.”
“I care about you also, so much.”
The words you said to each other felt like they held an entirely different meaning. A synonym for those three words that would absolutely change everything if you said it. But neither you nor Bucky were ready to take that next step yet, so for now, “I care” was enough to convey your feelings for one another.
You gazed into each other’s eyes for a few moments. An entirely new atmosphere was brewing around you—one of intimacy, love and neediness.
Bucky’s eyes were fixated on your lips before they flickered to your eyes and then back down again. Your heart beat fast in your chest, and your core fluttered as you leaned into one another. When your lips came in touch, there was no denying the sparks that exploded between you two. You and he were perfect for each other; there was no denying your intense chemistry together.
You kissed slowly and sweetly at first—expressing your love and care for one another through it. The kiss gradually built momentum when his hands grabbed your waist, digging his fingers into your skin, and yours snaked in the hairs at the back of his neck. Your lips now eagerly moved against each other as you were both impatient to feel one another to the fullest.
Bucky nips your bottom lip and growls against you as he tugs you towards him, conveying that he wants you on top. With a bit of awkward shuffling, resulting in a few “ops” and “sorry’s” and lots of giggling, you managed to find your place on top of him, resting your legs on each side. Due to the car being so crammed, your head hits the roof when you go to adjust yourself in his lap.
“OW!” You cry as you rub the top of your head while wincing in pain, which sends Bucky into a slight panic that you’d hurt yourself pretty bad.
“Oh my God, baby, are you okay?” He questioned nervously as he cradled your head while concern was written all over his face. He didn’t like seeing you in pain.
“Y-yeah.” You grit your teeth and suck in air as he touches the tender spot.
“You sure?” Bucky can’t help but chuckle a little, which you do as well.
“I’m sure. All is good now. I-I’m sorry, Bucky. That wasn’t very sexy of me.” You look down in shame, fiddling with your fingers, thinking you ruined the moment between you two with how clumsy you were.
“Hey.” He lifts your chin with two fingers, making you look at him. “You’re always so fucking sexy, even when you smack your head on the roof of my car.” He chuckles again. “You still want to keep going?” He runs his hands up and down your naked thighs, which makes you sink further into him, craving his closeness and intoxicating touch.
“I do.” You mumble against him as a smirk curves on your lips. You cup his cheeks, feeling his scruffy beard underneath your palms, and press your lips firmly to his, continuing where you left off a few moments ago. His tongue caresses yours as his hands reach under your skirt, palming your ass, kneading and squeezing the plump flesh in his grasp. With his hands holding a tight grip on your ass, he aids you in grinding on his covered bulge; your clothed core glides against the rough material, making you moan into his mouth.
With a slight change of angle, your clit brushes against his hardening cock, making you gasp while Bucky leaves open-mouth kisses underneath your jaw. His beard tickles and makes your skin feel tingly when he kisses down your neck.
“Hmm… that’s the spot, isn't it?”
“Y-yes.”
“Keep going, baby.” He mumbled against your collarbone while travelling his hands upwards, leaving you to take control of your hips as he danced his fingers on your waist. “Grind yourself on me, my pretty doll.”
You keep moving on him as he kisses and touches your flesh. Bubbling pleasure builds fast in the pit of your stomach, and you want to chase it, but you need his cock buried deep within you much more.
You stop and call his name, which makes him look up at you with a puzzling expression on his face.
“Why’d you stop?”
“I-I need you so bad.” You grab him through the jeans, making him groan as you palm and caress his cock through his pants. “I want your cock in me so bad.” You purr in his ear, grazing your lips on the shell of it, making him shiver against you while a growl vibrates in his throat.
Becoming impatient as well, he helps you with discarding your top, followed by swiftly unclasping your bra and letting it fall down your arms. His eyes widen when your breasts are exposed, muttering a curse as he takes in their beautiful curves. He’s quick to kiss down the centre, taking advantage of the newly bare skin. You moan and toss your head back as he licks each nipple and tugs at them, making you hiss at the dull pain and grip his dick firmly.
“I love how easy it is to get you so riled up, gorgeous.” His words tickled your skin as he kissed each breast before he got to work on removing this jumper while you undid his pants.
Once he was bare in front of your eyes, you took a minute to study his physique. Your eyes follow your finger as you trace every contour and dip of his chest and abs while he continues trailing his hands on your skin. You part your lips as your eyes fall on his cock, quickly taking him in your hand, making him groan. A glob of your spit falls on his tip, saliva coating his length as you stroke him in teasing motions.
Your lips find his again as he reaches under you and presses his fingers to your covered core, touching you through the soaked material. Yours and his groans and moans muffled into the kiss as you feel and tease each other.
He pulls your panties to the side and yanks your pelvis closer to him, desperate to feel you wrapped around him.
Once you’ve felt like you both had gotten enough of the teasing, you glide his tip through your messy and sticky folds before lining him up with your entrance. Slowly, inch by inch, you descend onto him, your walls hugging his length to perfection, making you and he sigh in satisfaction at finally being connected after so long.
Bucky was starting to become impatient, so he slammed you down the last few inches until you sat on him entirely, making you cry out at the force. He takes hold of your jaw tightly. “That’s it, baby. Right where you fucking belong on my cock and nowhere else.” He grunted against your lips as shivers ran down your spine at his assertion. “This is my little pussy, isn't it?” You nod yes as your eyes become heavy and your mind gets lightheaded with his whole cock sheathed inside you. “Be a good girl and ride me.”
Slowly, you start to rock back and forth on his cock, getting used to having him nestled deep within your walls. He grabs your ass in his hands, helping you move on him as he looks over every inch of your body, licking his lips at having you in such an intimate and personal way, looking so fucking gorgeous and sexy.
You wrap your arms around his neck for leverage as you move up and down on him in quick motions as sounds of pleasure escape your parted lips. “You feel so good inside me, baby.” You whimper against him as your lips brush. His tongue pokes out to swipe on your bottom one.
“You’re so fucking tight.” He gives your ass a harsh spank, making you yelp and jerk upwards till only his tip is inside you before he slams you right back down, your ass slapping his thighs. Continuing this movement rapidly till the only sound filling the car is skin on skin.
Due to your activities, it was starting to become hot and steamy in the car—the windows fogged up. Your glistening bodies moved effortlessly against each other due to the slickness.
All the sensations and stimulations of feeling every ridge of his cock and his tip brushing against your sweet spot, along with his fingers dancing and digging into your sensitive skin, has your face contour in pure pleasure as moans, groans, and whimpers from you both echo in the car.
After a short while, it was starting to become a bit difficult to move on him with the limited space, so Bucky reclined his seat backwards until he almost laid down flat, making it easier for you to ride him.
Placing your hands on his chest, you roll your hips on him, finding the perfect rhythm as your breasts dance along. Bucky trailed his hands all over your body, kneading and caressing your flesh, as his hungry, dark eyes took in your mesmerising form, licking his lips and muttering a curse. “Just like that, baby. God, you look amazing.” You were so appealing as you rode him, so sinful as you claimed his cock and soul for yourself.
His cock twitched against your fluttering walls as he produced a throaty groan when you ran your hands over your naked body. From your hips, up your waist, until they rest on your breasts, palming them in your grasp as you close your eyes and toss your head back. Your face presented pure pleasure as you got deeply lost in the sensations. “God, you’re so fucking sexy it’s unbelievable. That’s it, baby. Such a pretty girl for me.” The sound of his deep and husky voice praising you goes straight to your tingling clit, which Bucky finds a second later and circles with his thumb, making you convulse on top at the overstimulation.
All the sensations are so deliciously overwhelming that you find it hard to keep upright as your mind becomes foggy and your body becomes weak. You fall onto him and let him take charge.
He braces himself, holding your ass firmly in his grasp before he starts thrusting upwards in long and satisfying strokes, till his tip is inside and then forcing himself balls deep, having your cry against his lips as he keeps praising what a good girl you are for taking him all. Your orgasm builds rapidly, ready to snap and wreck you at any moment.
“Fuck, I’m gonna come, Bucky.” You bury your face in his neck, crying against him as you shut your eyes hard. With a few more quick thrusts, the coil in the pit of your stomach ruptures, sending you into a mind-blowing frenzy of nothing but overwhelming pleasure. You embrace the euphoric orgasm as it impacts every single nerve in your body, making you convulse against him as your pretty sounds runs free.
Bucky mumbles a low curse as his cock twitches, and his hips jerk unevenly. He wraps his strong arms around your torso as he holds you close. Not a second later, he spills his cum deep inside you, decorating your fluttering walls as he grunts and moans deeply.
You’ve never felt more satisfied and complete as he fills you up to the hilt with his cock and seed. While Bucky couldn’t imagine anything more remarkable than your tight and warm walls hugging his length.
Once he’s given a few more calm thrusts, ensuring you’ve both gotten everything out from your orgasm and you’re both fucked out and satisfied, he stills, nestling inside you where he belongs. You exhale a shaky breath as he cradles your face and makes you rest your forehead on his, your noses brushing. “You’re so good to me, baby.” He mumbles as he runs his hands up and down your clammy back, making you shiver at his electrifying touch.
His crystal blue eyes gazing into yours, displaying nothing but adoration for you, made you almost utter those three words you’ve been holding in. You even parted your mouth to say it, lips quivering, but instead, you crashed into him to stop yourself. You poured the love into the kiss instead, hoping he would understand as you moved your lips against his passionately. “I know, baby.” He whispered against you, knowing exactly what you were trying to say.
He caressed your cheek as he furrowed his eyebrows, looking intensely at you.
“You said earlier that you wanted me to be happy.” You nod your head yes. “Well, I am happy. When I’m here with you, I’ve never been happier.”
He smiled from ear to ear, eyes crinkling. It made you fall for him all over again. Your face beamed with happiness upon hearing that, making you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. “I’m happy too, Bucky.”
He gives you a final sweet peck before you nuzzle your face in his warm and comforting chest, sighing in delightfulness as he strokes your arm and back lovingly. You stayed for a while longer, holding and cuddling each other, appreciating the last moment of your private and intimate alone time before you had to return to your everyday lives where you had to keep your relationship secret.
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Thank you for reading 🖤 Feedback through a comment is highly appreciated! Or let me know through an anonymous ask if that feels more comfortable. As well as a reblog to share my work with other people!
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buzzheadchick · 1 month
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Okay time I do my Walten Files posting. I’ve noticed some confusion regarding timelines and what’s happening when, so I want to try to write down what happens and when. Now someone this stuff not make much sense, and some may possibly be retconned, but this is what we are given.
The crash happened the night of May 2nd. Multiple times in the series we are told this. Jack calls Felix that night, Felix does not pick up. Jack goes to Felix’s house (12:23 AM according to CC), Felix does not answer. Jack says “I know you can hear me” and “I know you’re in there,” but we are to presume this is wishful thinking on his end, because Felix is not actually home. Felix was out until early hours of the morning the next day (May 3rd) digging the graves (still sitting in one as of 8:56 AM according to CC), throwing the bag into the river, and then going to the police station. Even earlier in the morning, presumably after Jack went to Felix’s house (which was past midnight and thus morning), Jack had already gone to the police. We learn this in the description under Lacrimosa.
"Report 90892 May 4th, 1974 - Brighton City Police Department
Wrr: Frank Davis
Felix Archer Kranken reportedly arrived at the station in the morning on May 3rd, He had a broken pair of glasses, dirty blue pants and a yellow dress shirt covered in dirt and blood. When I got the call He was already taken into custody, we sat him down for a few hours and he revealed valuable information about a case we were previously told about earlier that same day by Mr. Jack Walten. Walten's 2 youngest kids, Edd and Molly Walten, had disappeared with Kranken the night prior. Felix's alibi stated he was unconscious or about 20 minutes, when he woke up the kid had ran off."
In TFW4, we get a sort of update from Felix from “3 days after the accident.” He said he “finally told them what happened” in his office, which I think we are to believe he told them the truth, as opposed to the lie he told the police. However, he still lies about the Rocket doll. In the description under Guilty, we see this:
"In memorial of Edward Walten - Molly Walten:
- Ed (12) and Molly (9) died Thursday, May 2nd, 1974 in a fatal car accident, they were leaving a party made by their school to celebrate Spring. Jack Walten (father, husband) couldn't take the kids to the celebration because of work. A friend of Mr. Walten would take the kids instead. On the way back home, Jack's friend would be driving in questionable conditions, thus crashing his car near the road next to Saint Juana's forest. Instantly taking both Edward and Molly's lives. You will be remembered, our little angels, our little red children."
The video Guilty is from three years ago, so this may be retconned, but it is the current understanding that by the time of the funeral for Ed and Molly, they knew the truth of what happened. This points to the idea that during the meeting in Felix’s office, he told the truth. However, it is unclear if this truth went out to the police. There are a few reasons why The Waltens may not go forward with the information Felix told them, but I don’t cover them here as they aren’t explicitly stated.
It is unclear when the funeral is, but based off of the memorial, it is after Felix came clean. In TWF4, on “05/13” (May 13th) Susan and Charles only find out “weeks” later about the funeral, but it physically couldn’t have been more than ten days, implying the funeral was held quickly after the accident, possibly as soon as they Waltens found out the truth. With it also being clear it was “family only,” it seems in addition to not telling the police, the family hadn’t told ANYONE. It is unclear if Susan and Charles know the full truth, or only the truth given to the police, only that he was “drunk while driving the car.” By that time, Susan says she hasn’t heard from Jack “in a long while.” Both of them think there’s something off with Felix’s story, implying that they maybe don’t know the full truth, but they could just be doubting what we the audience have been shown (which still may not be the full story). Charles asks if the kids are “gone,” which is ambiguous wording. I think it may be intentional that we don’t know what they know. Some point prior to that, Felix hid Rocket at Bon’s Burgers, and told Susan not to tell Rosemary or Jack. Jack disappears almost a month later, on June 11th. Susan dies even later, on June 30th.
So that’s the timeline of the events we see surrounding the new video. I can’t tell you if maybe there’s more than Felix even knows happened that night, or who knows what, or why the Waltens haven’t gotten Felix arrested. But that’s the timeline.
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willowsgrl · 1 year
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EEE OKAY SO.
For older eddie I imagine reader working as like a waitress or something at like a local truck stop diner maybe and he comes strolling in and she instantly thinks he’s so gorgeous. She’s so flustered anytime she has to serve him and he’s always so sweet on her and tips her extra. He tries not let his gaze wander but she just looks too good in that little uniform she wears. Like she compliments him about handsome he is and he just gets so shy brushing her off like “‘m’not all that sweetheart..” I imagine a lot of pining and cute flirting till he finally asks her out. He’s so so nervous when he does because he’s just an old man and if she declines he can never show his face again in that diner.
Drooling over this!!
She'd feel so pathetic giggling and twirling her hair for him whenever he came in. It was routine for him to visit every Wednesday and Thursday, which lead to her making a little extra effort for him when getting ready for work. All the other staff took notice almost immediately and would tease her constantly for it. Calling her a lovesick puppy fawning over a trucker almost 15 or so years her senior.
When he walked in today, she was as dolled up as ever. Her smile widened, and she instantly got all flustered watching him walk towards her with a wink. Her chin found her elbow when he sat on the stool Infront of her.
"Good afternoon, pretty girl. How's your week been, hmm honey?"
"Hey Mr Munson, it's been okay.. better now I guess." She was already twirling her hair in her fingers, how much more obvious could she be "your usual, sir?"
"aw Honey don't start with all the Mr and sir shit today, I'm already putty in your hands, darl.." he loved watching her squirm under his gaze. His hand reached over and he tucked her chin in between his thumb and pointer finger.
She couldn't bring herself to speak when he touched her, instead she made herself busy by putting in his order. The kitchen staff all gave her knowing looks and cheeky grins causing her to feel completely embarrassed by her school girl crush. About 20 minutes into his visit, food halfway eaten she finds herself in front of his again.
"Everything okay, Si- um Eddie?" She resents having to wear her hair in a ponytail currently as the small strands of hair that frame her face are not enough to hide the embarrassment of her stuttering.
"It's lovely as usual, pretty."
They stared at each other for a while, just smiling and silently admiring each other.
"you're so hot.." Did she really just say that outloud!? Judging by the shocked look on his face, she must of. Her eyes widened and a mumbly nervous apology was tried to escape her
"aw, shucks baby, I don't think you mean that about me, hmm?" His usual confidence had vanished. She was still trying to get her words out when he thought it's now or never.
"You finish at 7 today, right baby?" She nodded, "I'll drive you home then. We can get some beers in and I'll treat you to a nice dinner, maybe a movie... How's that sound?"
"really?! Like.. like a date?" He nodded, fear of rejection building inside him but instantly getting knocked back down when she smiled and took his hands, jumping and squeaking with excitement.
"oh my gosh, Eddie yes!! I can't wait!" Oh how sweet she was.. he was in trouble now.
After he paid his tab and left to finish his shift, the regulars as well as the staff all cheered and swapped money from bets they placed on when the pair would finally cave and go on a date.
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buzzthetower · 2 years
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Maverick buys a car after Bradley’s second week of first grade. Because Carole calls him on a Wednesday sounding stressed and tired saying she needs someone to pick Bradley up from school, and after he spends ten minutes scrambling and on the phone with Ice asking if he could borrow his, he realizes he’s going to need one.
So on a Thursday morning he finds himself in the corner of a used car lot, feeling a little stupid and a lot like he’s out of his element, buying a car. He buys the blue bronco parked outside because he remembers being barely 20 and hearing Goose wax poetically about a dream car, a conversation he can’t remember much else about now except for it being a bronco. Bradley comes running out of the school building a few weeks later when Carole calls him again, climbs straight into the backseat and throws his lunchbox beside him. He could get used to driving this. I like blue cars, Uncle Mav.
Bradley turns 16 and the same morning Maverick leaves it parked on the street outside of the house Carole had ended up moving into, walks inside and throws his keys across the island in the kitchen to Bradley. The smile that creeps onto his face looks so much like his father that Maverick can barely keep it together as he’s slammed with a hug by the full force only gangly teenage boys can manage. He doesn’t tell him he’s scheduled to ship out on deployment in two days. He can’t. I love it, Uncle Mav.
He doesn’t know how many years later he’s walking away from The Hard Deck, sand sticking to unfortunate places in his clothes, when he sees it again. A blue bronco parked away from all the other vehicles, and he smiles. You did have pretty good taste, Goose.
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yearningagain · 10 months
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don't let me drown
[PART ONE], PART TWO
so i had this thought and decided to elaborate on it, but i ended up having 1.5k words and i'm not even a third of the way done :,) so pls let me know if this would be something you guys would like more of!! this is my first time posting writing here except for a few snippets, so pls be nice but constructive criticism is welcome!
ft. modern au, Single(Seahorse)Dad!Eddie, SwimInstructor!Steve
Eddie Munson didn't know how to swim. Growing up in landlocked states while despising every swimsuit he was ever presented with, it just made sense. He didn't need to know how to swim, there was no reason for it, and he was perfectly fine with it.
Until Max.
Specifically, until Max decided, after watching the 2020 Olympic swimming, that she was going to be an olympic swimmer. She kept bugging Eddie, begging him to sign her up for swim lessons with all the umph a six year old could muster.
And Eddie was a weak willed man, especially when it comes to his daughter. So he said yes.
Eddie spent the next week and a half researching the best swim instructors around, googling and calling and looking at reviews. Eventually, he settled for the Hawkins Aquatic Center. With it being relatively close, a 20 minute drive at most, and having the best reviews out of any and all other pools in the area, it was a clear winner.
So that Tuesday, while Max was at day camp, Eddie made the call.
“Hawkins Aquatic Center, this is Robin! How can I help you today?” One of the bubbliest voices Eddie had ever heard answered the phone, immediately putting him a little more at ease.
“Hi, I was looking to set my daughter up for some swim lessons?” He asked, hoping Robin didn't pick up on his slight nervousness.
“Of course! I just need a little information. Her name, age and birthday, and skill level is what I need now, and I’ll ask for some more information about you once we schedule.”
“Yeah, for sure. Her name is Maxine Munson, but everyone calls her Max. She’s six, her birthday is June 14th, 2014. She doesn't really… know how to swim?” As he gave her the information, his nerves almost doubled. He couldn't swim, he wouldn't be able to practice with her! What if she drowns? What if something happens? What if-
“Alright, Mr. Munson, I’m assuming?” Robin asked sweetly, interrupting his spiral.
“Uh- yeah that's- that’s me. You can just call me Eddie. Eddie Munson, at your service! Ha! Sorry, that was, like, super lame.” He cringed at his antics, but a bubbly laugh filled the phone.
“Got it, Eddie! So from the information you’ve given to me, it seems like it’ll be best to put her in our beginners class for kids under 7. We typically have two instructors that rotate throughout the week, but one of them is on paternity leave, so she’ll only be with Coach Harrington. There's two options for this class. Twice a week, on Tuesdays and Thursdays from 4 to 5:30 in the afternoon, or three times a week, on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays 5 to 6:30 in the afternoon. Do either of those work for you?”
Eddie hesitated. He knew how much enthusiasm Max had about swimming, but he was nervous about taking her so often. But the more time she can get in the water, the more she’ll practice. Plus first grade homework isn't terrible, so she’ll be able to continue when school starts up again.
“Eddie? You still with me?” Robin asked. He must have taken too long to answer.
“Yeah, sorry! Just, uh, just thinking.” He replied lamely.
Robin seemed to catch on to his anxiety. “A lot of parents are nervous about teaching their kids how to swim, I get it! But Steve, or Coach Harrington I should say, is the best in the area. He’s been an instructor here for a few years and loves it. There’s always lifeguards on duty and all of our staff are trained in basic first aid and CPR. Parents are always welcome to sit in on lessons as well, there's seating in the instructional pool area. Max will be in great hands!”
Eddie took a breath. Robin's ramblings helped put him at ease, knowing all of the precautions the center takes to keep everyone safe.
“Thank you so much, Robin. I think three times a week will work best, Max has been bugging me for weeks! I know she’ll be ecstatic when I tell her I signed her up.” Eddie can already picture her reaction, grinning and hopping around in excitement.
“Sounds great, Eddie! I can guarantee she’ll love it. So now I just need to ask you a few questions! I just need your email, the best phone number to reach you at, an emergency contact other than you, and we can get her all set!” Eddie breathed a sigh of relief, giving her the information she asked for.
“Alright, we’ve got her in the system! You guys can come in any time this week for a tour of the place and meet Coach Harrington, but her first lesson will be next Monday, August 10th. We do ask that she brings goggles, but we have extras in case she forgets them. Do you have any other questions for me?”
Taking a second to think, Eddie replied. “I think we’ve got everything covered. Thank you, Robin. I really appreciate your help!”
“It’s really no problem! If you do think of any questions you may have, you can always ask when you tour, or call us! We look forward to seeing you!”
All that was left to do was to invest in a good swimsuit, some goggles, and tell Max.
—-------------------------
“Hey, stinker! How was camp today?” Eddie asked as Max climbed in the car and got herself situated in her seat.
“It was great! We did finger paintings ‘n played on the playground! There was a worm on the slide and Lucas was too afraid to touch it, so I got it ‘n brought it to the grass!” Max beamed at her father, showing her gap toothed smile. “I’m gonna bring home the art tomorrow, but Miss Joyce said we have to let it dry tonight. I did a picture of us!”
Eddie laughed lightly at his daughter's antics, smiling right back at her. “Sounds like today was fun, bug! I do have a little surprise for you when we get home though, okay?”
That got Max’s attention quickly, asking all sorts of questions about it. Eddie simply smiled at her and turned up the music, an old The Cure CD playing on the radio system. As the volume rose, all Eddie could hear was an exasperated “Daaaaaad!” from the back seat.
The ride home was short and sweet, the ending of Friday I’m in Love fading out as they pulled into the driveway. As soon as the car stopped, Max unbuckled and sprinted towards the door, abandoning her backpack and lunchbox.
“I know you're excited, Max, but you have to come get your stuff!” Eddie called out as he exited the driver's seat. The sound of her Skechers on the concrete and her small giggles approaching before receding back to the front door where she bounced on her feet in a poor attempt of patience.
Eddie sighed and shook his head, a small smile playing at his lips as he unlocked the front door. Immediately, Max ran inside, throwing her stuff on the couch and turning to her father expectantly.
“Where is it? What is it? Can I know now?” She asked, her little body practically vibrating in excitement and anticipation.
Eddie laughed warmly, dramatically rolling his eyes. “I guess you can know now, since you’ve been so patient.” Max snorted at his sarcasm, eyes going crinkly at the corners. “Go look in your room, love.”
And with that, she was off. Running as fast as her little legs could take her, not minding her dad’s warnings to not run in the house. Practically tearing her bedroom door off its hinges, she rushed into her room. Sat in a neat pile on her bed was a small black and red one piece swimsuit, a pair of black goggles, and a print out of the confirmation email from the Hawkins Aquatic Center.
Finally catching up and leaning on her door frame, Eddie quietly asked, “What do you think?”
It’s a miracle the neighbours didn't call the cops that day.
All of Max’s excitement and happiness seemed to explode out of her, letting out one of the loudest screams he had ever heard. Before he could blink, the small child tackled Eddie into a crushing hug, jumping onto him like a koala.
“Really? You’re for real?” She asked, pulling her head back from the embrace to look at her dad, unshed tears threatening to escape from her eyes.
“I’m for real, baby. I promise.”
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achos-laazov · 7 months
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In the interest of procrastination - I should be calling students' parents to introduce myself at the beginning of the school year; or alternatively clearing up supper
Here's Blaze's birth story
I had been having prodromal-type labor on and off for a week already. The 8th grade yearbook had to be in at the printer by 5pm Friday in order to have it at graduation. (I was also giving a math final that coming Tuesday that I hadn't made up yet.) So Thursday night, after I put the kids to bed, I sat down with my graphics laptop to work.
Of course, I was having random contractions. Ranging from 2 to 12 minutes apart, and pretty ignorable. Like maybe had to stop working for a couple of seconds at the peak.
At about 10:35pm, I called my husband home from night seder because I had a couple of contractions in a row that I couldn't ignore. His yeshiva is about a 40 minute drive away, so by the time he let his chavrusas know he was leaving and got home, it was around 11:30.
He watched me work for a bit, started putting up the cholent and cleaning up for Shabbos. After a bunch of contractions in a row that I couldn't sit through - I had to stand up and pace and breathe through them - he convinced me to call my midwife. I agreed to stop working and get into a warm bath and call her at about midnight.
(I still wasn't convinced that I was having the baby that night so I didn't put away my graphics stuff - just closed the laptop and stacked it on my tablet and pushed it to the back of the table.)
Anyway, I went upstairs and filled the bath, and called the midwife as I was getting in, around 12:20. She left to come to us.
Around 1:10am, my husband noticed the same car drive past our house for the second time so he went out to flag her down and point out that she could park in our driveway. She came up to my bathroom at 1:25ish.
I gave birth at 1:49am. I was mildly in denial that the baby was arriving right then - I thought I had another ten minutes at least - so I was not in the best position. That, coupled with the fact that he was facing posterior (and possibly a little broader than my others), meant that his shoulders got stuck for a second. I think. At least, it's the only one of my kids that I remember actively pushing to get the shoulders out.
I bled a lot right away so I couldn't sit and relax in the water for a bit like I did at my other waterbirths. The midwife and her assistant helped me out on to the toilet, and after some discussion, we decided I needed an IM pitocin shot, so that happened. Placenta took its merry time to come down, too, but nothing very crazy.
Baby was 7lb 14.8oz and 20.25" long.
Switching midwifery practices for this birth was the right choice. Even though I miss (most of) my old midwives, and this birth was not as smooth as past ones (see: stuck shoulders, IM pitocin), I felt much better about this one than the last.
With Chuck, I felt like the midwife was manipulating me to agree to interventions that may not have been necessary (but I can't know because of what she did at the time). She's the one I don't miss.
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aestheticvoyage2023 · 6 months
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Day 278: Thursday October 5, 2023 - "Mornings with William"
Now that we've made the adjustment from weekends to weekday Daddy duty, I have a special responsibility of getting this guy up and to school. After whatever the chaos of September was, William is back to a really good sleep routine again, regularly sleeping in now until about 630-7am. Oh what a difference those 60-90 minutes more of sleep in the morning make, at least on the psyche. But he still wakes up rearing to go, and has lots of opinions on how he wants to start his morning with the first 90 minutes of the day. I've been starting my work day at 7am too, so there is the occassional work call that he has to take care of himself for but I know the tricks for what will keep him entertained for at least 15-20 miniutes. I make the coffee, I make his lunch, I make his breakfast. We're building routines for the morning to go as smoothly as the night and I am figuring out those best steps, settling into this knowing this is going to be long term now. I enjoy it all best I can, and find gratitude when hes let me stay in bed until I am ready. He takes care of potty all by himself, no accidents and does everything he needs to do so that at 8:20am when I am throwing his clothes on and brushing his hair, he is on board. I try to start his day off well - positive, easy, helpful, nurturing. Set him up for success and a good day. The real champ in all of this effort, is him. He lets this thing work with mama being gone, and working with me and trusting me. I love him for it. Being the morning parent- the school parent, is the next role I am growing into and I know that how this feels and works will set a tone for so many years, just like bedtime. It will be a routine he remembers. Important, oh so important to get it right. And its something I am working on each and every morning on our own.
Song: Snoop Dogg & Wiz Khalifa - Young, Wild and Free ft. Bruno Mars
Quote: "Either peace or happiness, let it enfold you. When I was a young man I felt these things were dumb, unsophisticated. I had bad blood, a twisted mind, a precarious upbringing. I was hard as granite, I leered at the sun. I trusted no man and especially no woman... I challenged everything, was continually being evicted, jailed, in and out of fights, in and out of my mind... Peace and happiness to me were signs of inferiority, tenants of the weak, an addled mind. But as I went on...it gradually began to occur to me that I wasn't different from the others, I was the same... Everybody was nudging, inching, cheating for some insignificant advantage, the lie was the weapon and the plot was empty... Cautiously, I allowed myself to feel good at times. I found moments of peace in cheap rooms just staring at the knobs of some dresser or listening to the rain in the dark. The less I needed the better I felt... I re-formulated. I don't know when, date, time, all that but the change occured. Something in me relaxed, smoothed out. I no longer had to prove that I was a man, I didn’t have to prove anything. I began to see things: coffee cups lined up behind a counter in a cafe. Or a dog walking along a sidewalk. Or the way the mouse on my dresser top stopped there with its body, its ears, its nose, it was fixed, a bit of life caught within itself and its eyes looked at me and they were beautiful. Then...it was gone. I began to feel good, I began to feel good in the worst situations and there were plenty of those... I welcomed shots of peace, tattered shards of happiness... And finally I discovered real feelings of others, unheralded, like lately, like this morning, as I was leaving for the track, I saw my wife in bed, just the shape of her head there...so still, I ached for her life, just being there under the covers. I kissed her in the forehead, got down the stairway, got outside, got into my marvelous car, fixed the seatbelt, backed out the drive. Feeling warm to the fingertips, down to my foot on the gas pedal, I entered the world once more, drove down the hill past the houses full and empty of people, I saw the mailman, honked, he waved back at me." ~Charles Bukowski
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nerdgirlriot · 1 year
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I'm already falling behind on these things, so I'm combining Thursday and Friday, even if Thursday is turning into a fading memory
Thursday was basically a very laid back day. We went to our go-to eatery for the duration of the convention, Panns Restaurant, which is an old-school diner located a few miles away. Since we drive down from San Francisco every year, we have a car and our eating options open up, but we always go back to this place. It's been consistently great, delicious, and the service is top-notch. Their chicken and waffles are my favorite breakfast on the planet and I always get that or some variation of it every time we go.
After enjoying our first of many breakfasts at Panns, we returned to the hotel, and again, met up with some friends who were already here. I think at its core, I only go to these things as a reunion. I mean, we all keep in touch on Facebook (which is bascially the only reason I still keep a FB account) but it's so great to meet up in person and hang out.
Ate dinner at the Social Eatery restaurant in the hotel, where they weirdly broke up our group of 13 (!!!) into tables of four. I wish they'd given us the conference room located in the back so we could all see each other, but alas. I had the ramen. It was...fine. Hotel restaurant food is hit or miss at the Marriott. I really wish there were more noodles. A good bowl of ramen has enough to do a great noodle pull before you shove the entire thing in your mouth, which is one of the great pleasures of ramen. Alas, not enough noodles existed in my bowl to have that experience. I'd not get it again. And I'd certainly not pay $20 for the privelege. I'm kind of tempted to go eat at a proper ramen place (we're in fucking L.A. after all, there's no shortage of great ramen shops) to quell my disappointment.
Friday kicked off with Panns again, but we took some of our friends and I treated them to breakfast because I love them a lot lol
Wandered through the convention areas, checked out the dealers' room and picked up my pre-ordered shirts and tote. The logo for the con is really cute this year, Beatles themed, Sgt. Pepper specific. And I'd noticed that it matched perfectly with my Loungefly Sgt. Pepper wallet. Nice.
More wandering, more hanging out. I realize now that I do Gally the same way I do Disneyland, have a rough plan of what one wants to do but don't be disappointed if those plans fall through.
The only must-see panel for me this year is the Doctor Who Deathmatch, where Paul Cornell and a bunch of panelists decide bracket style on that was the best Doctor Who thing. It just goes off the rails very very quickly each time and it's fun seeing Paul get so flustered. I know, i'm mean. This year was regenerations, and good lord Riley Silverman did wonderfully defending both the First to Second regenration and the Twelfth to Thirteenth. Capaldi to Whittaker won btw. Doctor Who Deathmatch said Trans Rights.
Dinner was at a small Greek restaurant called Aliki's which is around a 10 minute walk from the hotel. I love this little place. Really great food. I had the falafel plate and it was just as good as i remember.
Roll on for Saturday.
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Guatemala Days 12-13
Chichicastenango
Writing this a day late to catch up from the power outage.
Yesterday we went on the wild ride that is Guatemalan public transportation. We took the bus which is called a chicken bus and it is literally a refurbished American school bus. They reminded me a lot of the jeepneys in The Philippines. I bet there is an interesting story somewhere there.
We had to take three chicken buses through the windy mountain roads to get to Chichicastenango. The roads in Guatemala aren’t really maintained by the government and the terrain is very intense so even things that are not very far away take several hours to get to. This is part of the reason why there are so many different languages and cultures within Guatemala.
We had to hang on pretty tight as we took the sharp corners and got some air time when we went over bumps. But at least this time we didn’t have to drive across a small river like we did on our way to Panajachel (a bridge had collapsed so the road was just rerouted through the river).
When we finally got to Chichicastenango we went to the market. Chichicastenango’s market is the largest market in Central America and happens every Thursday and Sunday. It reminded me a lot of the bazaars in Istanbul. Very windy and maze like, you go in one way and get spit out two hours later somewhere completely different.
In the middle of the market is the Iglesia de Santo Tomás, which is another Mayan -Catholic church. We witnessed some Mayan ceremonies happening on the steps with people lighting incense on an alter and leaving flowers. The Mayan - Catholic churches were generally built on top of Mayan temples that were destroyed by the Catholic church, but leading up to them are generally 20 steps symbolic of the Mayan calendar and oriented a specific way to face towards landmarks like volcanoes or toward certain astrological constellations.
Chichicastenango is located in the region of El Quiché, which is where a large part of the Guatemalan Civil War happened from the 1980’s-1990’s. From what I understand this was between the indigenous peoples and poor working class of Guatemala against wealthy landowners trying to buy up indigenous land and mistreat workers on fincas (similar to plantations). The indigenous peoples organized themselves and resisted but the landowners were supported by the army, the government, and foreign businesses (namely the US government and the United Fruit Company). The government at the time was supported by the US after the CIA ousted the former president, and the US funded a number of armed militias to enforce their interests as well.
Countless indigenous people were disappeared, tortured, and massacred. To this day people don’t really talk about what happened out of fear for their own safety, many indigenous people still live at risk and face discrimination and violence; resulting in a lot of the immigration we see today.
For more information I’d recommend looking up The Banana Wars. I’m reading Rigoberta Menchú’s autobiography now which is really sobering and eye opening. She is a Guatemalan indigenous rights activist.
Anyway we spent several hours at the market and then made our way back to Panajachel.
Today we visited San Juan La Laguna again in the morning and visited another indigenous women’s weaving co-op called Casa Flor Ixcaco which does some amazing work in the community. If you’re interested in supporting them they have an online shop as well.
We did some shopping there and then tried to get back to Panajachel in time for our bus to Guatemala City, but we got delayed at the boat dock for over 45 minutes because the boat couldn’t depart unless it was full apparently. When we finally got back we rushed and made our bus in time.
The bus made an unexpected stop in Antigua and we got to have lunch in a cool rooftop café there which was a really nice, unexpected break. Then we got back on the bus to Guatemala City.
Guatemala City reminds me a lot of Mexico City in that it is humongous, loud, polluted, and absolutely crazy. We’re just staying the night here and have been warned many times not to go out of the hotel because there is a lot of crime in this city. I’ve heard that about a lot of places and it usually tends to be exaggeration but we’re gonna play it safe. This seems like the kind of city where you should have a good idea what you’re doing (i.e. not walking around totally lost).
In the morning Emily is flying back home and I’ll be continuing my solo journey for the next week,
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occult-roommates · 1 year
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Nobody likes you when you’re 23
Whelp, not only has it been a month since Dawud moved to San Myshuno, it’s also his 23rd birthday. He wasn’t planning on doing anything special, especially since it fell on a Thursday, but then Rudi insisted on going to a karaoke bar to celebrate these two occasions. Which Dawud wasn’t that looking forward to, especially since he doesn’t drink and he can’t sing, but whatever, he had nothing better to do that night.
Dawud: 23...Like...I know I’m not old, but still impressive I made it to 23 and without achieving anything. Charlie: Eh, at least you made it to 23. Meanwhile, call me a clothing store with a target audience of teenage girls, cause I’m forever 21. Daniele: And at least you became a vampire after becoming old enough to drink. Look at the bright side! Charlie: Wait a minute, aren’t you yourself only 20? Daniele: Yeah but not only do the bartender doesn’t know that, but I’m from Italy. I’ve been drinking wine at every dinner time since I was like, 9. Like, most countries have it at 18, not my fault if this place is backward.
Dawud laid his head against the table, in a mild sense of despair (and also from how loud and bright everything was). He knows all thing considered, he’s still young, and his situation is not all that unusual amongst people his age nowadays, but still. That’s not where he was expecting his life to go when he was put in a gifted kids class, skipped a grade, and then graduated high school early at the top of his class. And here he is now, a college drop out working as a janitor and living in an overcrowded apartment. At least he knows how to drive, but he doesn’t have a car so what’s the point then?
Daniele: You already look wasted and you only took one sip of your drink. Dawud: Even funnier and/or sadder is that there’s no alcohol in there. It’s sparkling apple juice. I don’t drink for religious reasons. Daniele: You’re regularly having premarital sex with a vampire, two things frowned upon in pretty much every big religions, and you constantly walk around the house half-naked even though you’re “insecure”. We both know you’re not that religious. Dawud: Clothes are uncomfortable and I still don’t wanna drink ok. Let me live. Akva: It’s ok, I’m not drinking either. Like, not only am I 19 but I’m also, you know, pregnant. Daniele: Oh so you’re keeping it? Damn, what am I supposed to do with the five miscarriage potions I made then? Charlie: I don’t think we would have needed that many potion anyway. Unless Kino is right and everyone in this house is somehow “with child”. Daniele: Yeah, Dawud, don’t feel too bad about what Kino said the other day. Like, they pretty much asked me the same thing when we first met, and when I said no they told me “but you have such beautiful child-birthing hips”. This was a little over a year ago and it still haunts me.
Akva took a sip of her cherry soda, and then confirmed that yes, she decided to keep it. Though she’s not really sure if she wants to raise the baby or put it for adoption. All of this because she managed to guilt trip herself by watching videos made by women with fertility issues, which might be the worst reason imaginable to have a baby, but at this point there was nothing to do. Her mind was made. Hopefully, this won’t be a mistake. After all, better to regret not having a child than regret having one.
Dawud: “The doctor said my mom should have had an abortion”. Charlie: Oh no, really? That’s kinda sad. Dawud: It’s from a song. I like early 2000s pop-punk. Makes me nostalgic even though I was just a toddler back then.
Rudi, who had just left the bathroom, heard this, and it gave them an idea. The friends were at a karaoke bar after all, and Rudi wanted to sing. Dawud and Charlie sat together, in front of the karaoke machine, next to Kino who was already watching other people’s performance. Charlie then sat on him, and kissed him, which he reciprocate with joy. It had been a few weeks already, but the young man still felt in awe over the fact that he kinda has a girlfriend now, even though they were both a bit hesitant to make this official. They literally met only a month ago after all.
Kino: Get a room. Rudi: Ok everyone, so since today my dear friend Dawud is turning 23, I’ve decided to sing for him What’s My Age Again by blink-182.
To show his approval, Dawud gave them a thumbs up. He was too busy shoving his tongue down Charlie’s throat to give a verbal sign. And as Rudi began to sing, he kept on doing that, while Kino sat there mildly uncomfortable.
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ingek73 · 2 years
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Meghan Markle Said She Held Her Children “A Little Bit Tighter” After Learning About The Uvalde School Shooting
The director of the Uvalde community center where the Duchess of Sussex donated food told BuzzFeed News how Meghan’s visit unfolded.
UVALDE, Texas — Meghan, the Duchess of Sussex, told the director of a community center in Uvalde, Texas, that she held her children Archie and Lilibet “a little bit tighter” when she learned about the elementary school shooting that killed 21 people, including 19 children.
On Thursday, Meghan quietly visited the Herby Ham Activity Center, which hosted an emergency blood drive to help victims of the shooting. Director Sue Rankin told BuzzFeed News that late in the morning on Thursday, a member of the duchess's security team walked into her office and told her that Meghan was in Uvalde.
“She wanted to come by and just see everything that was going on with the blood drive and to help. Her whole thing was she wanted to help,” Rankin said. “She was going to be incognito, he told me that she was going to be wearing a T-shirt and ripped blue jeans and a hat and a mask and no one was going to — he didn’t want anyone to know who she was because she did not want the press attention.”
Rankin said she was told Meghan was on her way to a nearby H-E-B grocery store to pick up food platters for the center’s volunteers and people who were giving blood.
“She went and picked up trays and trays of sandwiches and snacks and everything for the people who were coming in and giving blood. It was for our workers. It was for myself,” Rankin said. “It was for anybody that wanted to, you know, have lunch.”
When Meghan arrived, she said, the duchess's security team did a sweep and then asked the director to meet her outside the center. “I did, and we visited for a few minutes. She did have her mask on. She kept it on the whole time. There were no cameras whatsoever.”
Rankin brought Meghan from the back door into the kitchen, where she was introduced as a volunteer.
“There was no ‘Look! It’s Meghan Markle!’ Nothing. And she introduced herself as Meghan,” Rankin said.
“She said, ‘My name is Meghan,’ and didn’t go into any more detail,” Rankin added. “She started passing out sandwiches to the people who were donating [blood] and it was, she was delightful.”
“I didn’t even tell my poor husband,” she said. “So when she came here, he walked in and he met her and she said, ‘Oh, you must be Jimmy!’”
A number of volunteers at the center told BuzzFeed News on Thursday that they had conversations with Meghan and didn’t know who she was until after she departed. Rankin confirmed this, saying that after the news spread that Meghan was in Uvalde, she was approached by several people at the center who chided her for not revealing Meghan’s identity while she was there.
“One of the nurses … came over to me and said, ‘I cannot believe you did not tell us Meghan Markle was here. We were standing right next to her,’” Rankin said. “And the head of the volunteer crew said, ‘I stood there and talked to her for 10 minutes. I had no idea.’ And I said, ‘That’s what they wanted. They didn’t want you to know that she was here.’”
Rankin said that she spoke with Meghan for about 20 minutes about the tragedy, the blood drive, the work that the center does — and the Sussex family’s life in the United States.
“I asked her, ‘So, how’s your husband doing?’” Rankin said. “She said, ‘He’s doing very well.’ And then she whispered to me, ‘Don’t believe what you read.’”
Rankin also told Meghan about the community center’s Quilts of Grace program and how they give quilts to kids who have been removed from their homes because of abuse and neglect.
“And tears came in her eyes,” she said. “And tears came in her eyes when she was talking about the tragedy that happened here, and the families, and the children,” she said.
Rankin also shot down internet speculation that Meghan visited the center with an accompanying camera crew or personal photographer.
“It was not a photo op,” she said. “I reiterate: Meghan did not bring any cameras with her. She didn’t bring any reporters.”
In fact, she said, Meghan had expressed a desire to stay at the center for more time, but she and her security team left when Texas gubernatorial candidate Beto O’Rourke arrived with a crew of news reporters in tow.
“As a matter of fact, as soon as his team arrived for him to get the notoriety of giving blood — when Beto’s crew arrived, they left. And I didn’t know that they had left.”
Rankin said she got a call from Meghan’s security team apologizing for the quick exit, as they didn’t want the duchess to be recognized by the members of the press arriving with O’Rourke.
She said Meghan told her that she had made several other quiet stops at various locations around Uvalde.
“There were other places in town that knew she was coming because she did the same thing,” she said. “She went into other places around town incognito. No one knew she was here.”
Rankin said that, because of the promise she’d made to keep the visit secret, she only agreed to talk with BuzzFeed News after her contact from Meghan’s team told her it was OK, as news of the duchess's Uvalde visit had been made public.
In response to a request for comment from BuzzFeed News, a spokesperson for the duchess confirmed that Meghan had made “multiple stops” in Uvalde but declined to provide details of the other locations that were visited. The Sussex spokesperson emphasized that the duchess had traveled in her personal capacity as a mother, without any press or media coordination.
“‘It’s about the kids. It’s about the families. And I don’t care if anyone knows that I’m here’ — she told me that herself personally,” Rankin said.
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amarantine-amirite · 2 years
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I Believe In Collision Courses
I found out I was going to Sailing Camp when my dad brought home a life jacket. He asked me to try it on and see if it fit. "OK, where's this coming from?" I asked
"Elaine, let me explain," he said, "Your Aunt Ruby saw something on the news about how the rocking motion of a sailboat on the water helps autistic kids' brains quiet down"
"What does that have to do with anything?" I asked,
"Anyway, she asked me if you'd like adaptive sailing, so I told her we'd give it a shot."
I shrugged my shoulders, "OK," I said, "Works for me". I had no clue that it would be completely different than what I expected.
I quickly learned that those news articles about autistic kids who benefited from adaptive sailing didn't tell anybody about the 49 other people on the spectrum that got funneled into mainstream sailing programs because they were too high functioning for the adaptive program. They also didn't say anything about how crowded the mainstream program was. The yacht club in our area offered families financing options to cover the cost of lessons so that meant that they took in more kids than they had space for (because there's no point in providing financing if the kid doesn't get a space in the class). The result? They had 20 kids in the program, but only five boats.
Usually, you're supposed to learn how to operate the tiller and the mainsail at the same time, and then you learn how to operate the tiller and both sails. They didn't teach us that. They emphasized working as a group and they put everyone in groups of four. One person drove, a second operated the main sail, and the other two handled the sail at the front. To stop us from getting over-specialized, they expected us to take turns. To make space for more people on the boat, they removed the extenders on the tiller. The person who drove had to sit very far back. The boats had seats on the side, so you had to look over your shoulder to see what was in front of you. If I wanted to see where I was going, I had to sit in this awkward position where I faced forward but had my arm behind me. Coming home with a sore shoulder was not uncommon.
I didn't get along with the kids in my boat. Darren and Marcus would rock the boat while I was driving. They would also push the mainsail against the wind whenever I operated the mainsail, let the jib out without securing it, and try to sink the back end of the boat.
Theo wasn't any better. Theo would gag loudly and whine incessantly about how seasick he was. Every time we got on the boat, Theo complained that he was on the verge of throwing, something he finally accomplished on the Thursday of Week 2. He didn't even feed the fish; he threw up on me.
I tried to ask Vicky (one of the coaches) to put me in a different boat, but she just ignored me. All she said was, "Marcus, I know you're checking the coach boats for keys. Get out of there!" She then turned to me and said, "Stick with your group, Elaine. You will learn a lot from them."
She wasn't wrong. I learned that you can count on your crew to either be idiots or throw up on you.
On the Monday of Week 4, before everybody rolled in, I saw Marcus successfully locate the keys for a coach boat and take it out for a spin. Twenty minutes later, both coaches noticed that someone took one of the coach boats. They took the other boat and went to chase down Marcus as we finished rigging the sailboats and got them out on the water.
After I got on the boat, Theo and Darren prepared to board; but didn't. It soon became clear why. I saw about seven other kids pile onto the dock and start jumping up and down. As the dock begins to submerge, kids already on board exit the boats to stand on the dock to sink it further.
Both coaches and Marcus returned to an unwelcome sight for a couple of preppies who had to chase down a problem child before he tied up a shipping lane: the other kids submerging the dock. "Guys," Vicky barked, "there are things that we don't do in Sailing School. Whatever this is, it's right at the top of the list." The coaches pulled the boats to the submerged dock, "We want all of you off the dock, or else none of you are getting your levels! Nobody! Zilch!" the other guy (I think his name is Jay, but I could be wrong) said.
Darren jumped off the end of the dock into the water. "OK, Darren," Vicky scolded, "That wasn't even remotely funny!"
"But you said get off the dock," he smirked.
Both Vicky and Jay stopped to fish Darren out of the water. While they were busy chewing everyone out, I unhooked from the tow line, raised the sails all the way, and left. So long, suckers!
I quickly realized how good I was once I got out of the harbor and out into the water on my own. It's a lot easier to apply what you've learned when you aren't fighting off bratty 10 and 11-year-olds every six seconds.
I thought about staying close and doing the Pac-Man course like the rest of the class, but something changed my mind: a text saying that my new bras were ready for pickup at the Vineyard Vines in New Haven. I had an awesome, new plan: leave the yacht club at Guilford, head west, then go north and up to New Haven.
I can't say enough about the surge of confidence that sailing up to New Haven gave me. The wind shifted, turning a simple tack turned into an out-of-control slam-gybe. I didn't care. It left me racing south at 45 mph, I didn't care. I got bounced around on the whitecaps which made me feel like I was riding a mechanical bull, but I didn't care. I knew that I just had to keep calm and turn around.
The wind shifted again just before I could tack. This time, I got airborne. I want to say that I ran aground, but I didn't hit the ground: I hit a 5th-floor apartment somewhere on Long Island.
I stood up and assessed my situation. The boat had scratches all over the hull. The mast got bent into a question mark. The doors on the balcony were toast. The boat was in some stranger's living room, but I was OK.
I heard the door open. A realtor and a client showed up. "Oh, hey," I said, "You're home early".
"We don't live here" the realtor clarified. She reminded me of Suan Ross' mother in Seinfeld.
"I know, I was just screwing with you," I chuckled. I pulled out my phone and started making a video, "Hey Dad," I began, "if we're still looking for a condo in Long Island, I found somewhere nice." I panned to the crashed boat, "It needs a lot of work, but if you get the boat out of the living room, you could get a lot of use out of the space."
The client laughed. The agent did not. "The boat is in the living room because you put it there!"
I nodded. I'm pretty sure that what I did will force the condo to rethink its slogan. "Sail on in, you're home". And then someone did.
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crispyfryenperu · 2 months
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Another day another pet another
I haven’t updated the blog in so long, but when I look at my last post, it seems like little has changed.
Last week had incredible ups and downs. 
On Monday I had a Higiene class in my main school. I worked with a new teacher and everything went well.  I went to schedule another event with the health post. As I walked out and to the plaza, I was lost in thought and walked a meter from a sleeping dog. At the last moment i looked down at it, we locked eyes, and he bit me. I walked straight back to the health post. Fortunately the bite wasn’t bad at all, and the nurses agreed. I washed it out at home and called my Peace Corps doctors. They said they would send me rabies vaccines. Then, since the electricity went out in the morning, and no one could work on their computers, it was a great opportunity to force a meeting with my counterparts about our project. We were able to solidify the dates of our food higiene classes. By evening, phone service was also gone. Like people in the 20th century,  I walked over to my friends house to see if she was home. We joked around, and I bought a homemade chocopecan Paneton from her in a really cute Calango box. I went home to watch my favorite show and taste the paneton. It was very good! Then my host Mom said that something happened. A few hours earlier she had found our cat dead under a wheelbarrow. 
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What had happened to our dogs was HORRIBLE. And this felt horrible as well. I think my cat was sick, and that’s why she died. She had had TWO litters of kittens, and her body couldn’t handle it. We had plans to sterilize her, we were truly going to take her to the very next campaign. They often do different types of campaigns in Peru like sterilization of animals, COVID or flue vaccinations, or opportunities for eye tests and glasses. These campaigns cost usually 1/3 or 1/4 of what it would cost if you went to the doctor or vet on a normal day and booked an appointment. A couple months ago, i took our other cat, Negris aka Michicucho, to be sterilized in a campaign in a farther part of Mala. (They never do them in Calango) I hadn’t taken our other cat, the Michcucha, because she was pregnant at the time. So that’s how negligence killed our cat. Michicucha was a kitten who had just arrived to Calango at the same time I had. I thank her for all the time she spent with me and I’m sorry. Hindsight is 20/20 is true, but it’s obviously inexcusable to let someone you love (or anyone for that matter) die. 
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The next day I had an 8 am meeting time to go check out the chlorine in all of our reservoirs with my socia. I woke up, iced my puffy eyes for 15 minutes, and ran out of the house. My socia put her raeggeton on in the truck, and danced furiously in the car (she wasn’t driving). The views from the reservoirs are beautiful. As usual, no-one is disinfecting the water, only the Calango JASS.  I got back in time for another higiene class with fifth grade of high school. They were preparing Christmas desserts in groups, and presenting how they made them and maintained kitchen higiene. Funnily, I was their invited guest, so they directed their presentations towards me, and I was the first to try all the desserts. Shocking to say for any meeting or event in this chaotic school, but it was a lovely class. I spent the rest of the day writing invitation letters for my bosses who were coming to visit on Thursday, and feeding three kittens we had managed to keep. 
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Wednesday I went to Mala to pick up my rabies shots, visited Nathy, and ate a delicious pizza. In Calango I  had one more higiene class. It was a disaster. We were making fruit salad following kitchen higiene. A teacher was having a Zoom meeting in the laboratory classroom, and we ended up having to work outdoors with no chalkboard. The girls automatically took control of the fruit salad, cutting and disinfecting. All of the boys in the class refused to help cut. I sent them to wash their hands, and another teacher angrily scolded them for starting a water fight and told me to watch my kids. They came back to the class, and finally I gave them some apples to cut - that is, if they wanted any of the fruit salad. They claimed they didn’t know how to cut, and when forced to cut, it truly did appear as if they have never cut an apple in their life. But hey, they better learn. Finally the fruit salad was complete. The apples cut by the boys were set aside especially as a BOYS ONLY food (the girls didn’t want those crusty apples), and everyone was served in tupperwares that they each brought. (yay for the environment!) They put condensed milk and cereal on top. I brought whipped cream, and put a bit on top of everyone’s fruit salad. I was surprised they were extremely wary of the whipped cream - frosting exists here but whipped cream in a compressed can is unheard of! But everyone who tried it liked it. The students rushed to their next class and I sat with the Profesora eating our fruit salad. I was surprised that despite the chaos, the fruit salad was deliciously worth it.  
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Afterwards, I worked on my presentation of all my work in Calango. I stayed up until almost 2 am perfecting it, with way too many pictures. At 8 am I walked over to the municipality to prepare for my boss coming. There were three car accidents and she was 10 minutes late! But once she did get here, she wondered where the mayor was and said we would wait for him. While the mayor nor his second in command ever came down, they sent another worker down in “his representation.” I presented everything, we talked about our future plans, and people suggest some ideas for summer school classes. My boss them came over for lunch, and my host mom made us Calango apple juice and yuca a la olla - which is my favorite dish! It was perfect as always. After lunch my boss came to a higiene class with fifth grade of high school, and then she went back to Lima. The highs on this day were realizing how much work and photos I had to show for myself in my presentation, as well as being grateful to all the friends, family, and coworkers here in Calango. The low was the number of participants who came to my meeting, mainly a few who told me they would come and didn’t. But those who did come were impressed and excited to work more closely.
I took a nap, and at 7 pm went back to the muni to meet up with the La Capilla JASS and discuss the water fee per family. This went well, I have been trying to work with the La Capilla JASS, which is brand new, for several months now. 
Friday I finally relaxed, but by 3 pm had to go back to La Capilla and finish working with them on the water fee and the annual budget for the water system. We didn’t have enough time before their general meeting, which began at 5 pm. But I explained to them what we needed to do, and how we would convince the public. The public/ the families, have to vote to approve a change in the water fee and to approve the annual budget. It’s very difficult to get them to raise the fee - even though they currently pay 6 soles PER month PER household (~1.7 USD)!! And we only want to raise the fee to 7 soles per month. I explained to them that it would be necessary to raise the fee very soon. by 7 pm, the municipality sent a car to pick me up, so I left the meeting after my speech. The meeting would go on for several more hours. 
At the start of this week, we fed 8 cats. We had previously had 13 cats but my host mom gave away 5 kittens. Why did we have this many? Well, we had one cat. Michicucha. Michicucha grew quickly and got pregnant quickly. From her litter we kept one cat, Negris. Then Michicucha got pregnant again. While pregnant, she brought around her husband, who began to steal food from our house. Then we found out that her husband, was actually another pregnant cat! So we continued giving her food. The friend then gave birth to 5 kittens in the back of the house. A week or so later, Michicucha gave birth to 6 little kittens in the backyard. They each took care of their own kittens. Cande gave away 5 kittens - it seemed to be 5 of the little ones (Michicucha’s Michicuchinos). then we had 6 kittens left. Cande put 3 of them in a cage to bathe them. The friend cat seemed to leave, and take the other three kittens with her. Then we had three kittens and one mom left, Michicucha. And of course, Negris. Then Michicucha passed away. Then at some point during the week, we found that a kitten had fallen in-between two tight walls of the house, and had also passed away. But somehow, we still had three kittens. THEN Thursday night an orange cat, never before seen, was prowling around our house. The kittens, even though they had food, shelter and water, followed this orange cat. And now we have only Negris. What a nightmare. Calango is in desperate need of animal control.
So that’s another week in the Peace Corps. There were a lot of great moments but they were accompanied by tragedy. Although many weeks are a struggle to find work, and to get kids to listen, they usually aren’t so sad. 
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Do you spot her?
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beautifullybrave1111 · 6 months
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INTRODUCTION 10-8-2023
I haven't picked up a pen in over 20 years. It sort of showed me my age because I realized instead of writing I am typing my thoughts into my phone. Not ideal, but technology calls. My next obstacle to conquer, what to write about. I could give you a whole series with 8 books with all the thoughts in my head. So how about a memoir. Something simple but maybe able to help someone in thier early 20s.
I'm a 38 year old female living in Baltimore County, Maryland. One of my main goals in life it to help women realize that it is okay to put yourself first. Although, this lovely process of life I didn't figure out until 2020 at the age of 34.
Before that I was just a regular sheltered girl who was very vulnerable and gullible. I was born in 1985 in Baltimore City, Maryland to my mother Penny and father, John. We will get to my father later. But first, my mom.
Growing up wasn't always easy but my mother always made sure we were okay. My mother has a very raw personality and no filter, which is one of my favorite characteristics about her. There was nothing that she wouldn't do for me. She worked the jobs taking care of me after she left my father when I was 5. My grandmothers stepped up to the plate to help my mother with me so she could work. Even though I was a sheltered child, I know now that she wanted me safe. She would never allow another man to ever hurt me. She was successful. Although my mother worked so hard to take care of me, we now have a bond that alot of parents don't have with thier children. Our mother daughter dates started as a tradition and has lasted to this current day.
All it takes is a little coffee and some thrift shopping.
My father on the other hand had created a little life full of drugs and alcohol. This resorted to my mother leaving my father in 1990. There's just something about a man who sells his daughters toys for drug money that you can't forgive.
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At this point in my life I know exactly what happened in the past and why it happened. But my momma did a good job in making sure that my childhood remained intact while my father walked away while it burned. Listen, I'm not a "whoa is me type girl" but this leads to the current trauma in my life. Two years ago my father had a suicide attempt where he took ambien and drank alcohol, and thought it would be a good idea to drive. Turns out he did this on purpose and crashed his car into a pole (attempting to kill himself)
Here is the kicker, it was my fault.
What is it about men making women responsible for thier temper tantrums. At the time my father didn't seem to understand that my 5 year old at the time was in school. Kids get sick. Kids have homework but since we didn't have enough time for him, he decided to attempt to end his life. Then blame me. I guess this shouldn't suprise me considering the fact that when I was younger I was 5 minutes late to visit him. He then proceeded to lock the door and listen to me knock asking him to open the door. I'm getting ahead of myself.
As a child always knew the importance of hard work and self care. My mom sold Mary Kay for goodness sake. Facials all the time, Walks to Santonis, the laundromat, riding the bus to get places, I was definitely taught to take care of myself and always be myself.
My mom didn't want me to depend on any man. Little did we know I would come out of the closet at 16.
I mean I had a boyfriend at 15 but I truly felt love when I met my first girlfriend. From that point on I always connected with Females and I knew that is who I was. My mother is very pro gay. She couldn't care less and honestly already knew when I told her. This made me so happy.
At this point, I would usually only see my father weekly on Thursdays. Not saying everything was bad.
Wait until you read the chapter on my step dad. He is the man who raised me and my number one favorite guy. He does it all but walk on water. I'm the woman I am today because of him and my mother. Thier bond and willingness to raise me differently is what really made a difference.
As a grown woman with my own family, small farm and the knowledge of growth. I'm doing pretty damn good.
This book is to help anyone realize that no matter what happens in life you can break generational curses to save your children from any trauma you went through.
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papersandkeyboards · 7 months
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6/20-26: finding Pride in many things (cooking for friends, hosting a farewell party, and witnessing naked cyclists, among others)
39th WEEK, JUN 20-26, 2016.
(a.k.a the very very last one.)
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Wow. Okay.
Need to breathe it in for a sec.
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Alright. The last week of 9 months.
A lot has happened, because of course I willed myself to have a lot happening.
Monday, June 20:
I took this day to do a last good tour of downtown. Did some last-minute shopping, took a fair amount of photographs (which I lost along due to the broken hard drive), and overall feasted my eyes with the wonder of downtown Seattle with its high-rises and hills and valleys and blooming trees lining the wide curb and the pigeons by Westlake Center and the innocence of Pike Place Market and the breeze along the waterfront and the Gum Wall and the hustle and the bustle and everything else in between.
(you know what I will not miss? The weed smell. It’s so Seattle, but at the same time, I can live in a version of downtown Seattle with no marijuana scent constantly hanging in the atmosphere of alleyways and city buses)
Maybe in the future I could be living in another big city or some other beautiful places, but I always know that nothing beats downtown Seattle in all its grandiosity and color. Nada.
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Tuesday, June 21:
Part of the downtown tour agenda was shopping at Chinatown for ingredients for what I was about to do on Tuesday. Some of my friends from Rainier Beach (Mary, Rebecca, Emily, Kira) were coming to visit after school (they were juniors and so they still had school), and I planned to make some Indo food! The choice fell to the classics ketoprak (for its ease) and martabak manis (as my propaganda to promote chocolate-and-cheese combo to foreigners—don’t @ me).
I think I initially planned to make gado-gado but some veggies required in gado-gado were scarcely available even in Seattle’s Chinatown, so I settled down for something which ingredients are more readily available: ketoprak. As for martabak manis, I found a quick mix for that thing in the Asian market HAHAHA all I needed to do was wet the drys, pour them into the pan, and wait.
It turned out great—for an impossible-to-screw-up recipe, but I’m still proud of myself. As long as the guests were happy.
I’d see these girls again the next day on Wednesday, June 22, when we had a sleepover at Rebecca’s. Talk about sleeping over on a school night. But it was worth every second of it. I remembered we took a trip ‘round the city doing stuff, and we got back late at night, all of us piled into Rebecca’s bed straight away, too tired to think or do anything else.
Thursday and Friday I went to school to take care of some stuff. Friday, June 24, was the last day of school for the year at Rainier Beach HS (and for me, ever), and at the evening I had my own goodbye party hosted at home. I invited everyone from dear friends at AFS Seattle chapter and at school, former host families, to the adults I’ve gotten to know along the way, like Laura and Imad and other people.
Here's the funny thing: I couldn’t even eat for most of my own goodbye party. The party started at around 6 or 7 I reckoned, and sunset/iftar was not until 9. So what I had been doing—and Eric had been assisting me in doing—was once in a while grabbing a snack I wanted to eat and just sort of store them in a corner in case they ran out before 9.
Imagine roasting marshmallows and making s’mores but not being able to eat them straight away.
It was a fun one rather than a sad one, though, to be honest. Maybe because we weren’t yet registering the fact that a farewell is truly coming, and plus I still have one last chance for good-bye with my fellow exchange students.
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Like a normal person trying to squeeze out as many agendas as she can in her last days of living, after the goodbye party I went to Hinaho’s for a sleep over with fellow AFSers. I had been to Hinaho’s before, and I love her house and her neighborhood and her host family is just the nicest people, so I was excited to be back and we had a great time. We all camped in her living room and watched movies (one I remembered was The Divergent Series: Allegiant Part 1) until all of us just dozed off and the TV was left on.
(another personal, trivial moment I remembered was me waking up at the wee hours of the night in my sleeping bag, being reminded that it was time for suhoor, so I lazily grabbed one or two energy bars from my pack.)
(not that it’s a good advice to give, but during this time of the year I realized I could survive a fasting day without suhoor, as I almost never miss one my entire life until this year—and an 18-hour fasting day at that. So I figured, at least these energy bars would be enough rather than nothing at all.)
(and I don’t know, maybe being occupied in activities that make the time fly by also helps with fasting because you’re too busy doing these things you’re not reminded of hunger and thirst—as long as it is not a physically-demanding activity. It was pretty much like you’re too focused on doing something that you just forget to eat and accidentally skip meals. Another thing is that Seattle—even maybe the US in general—just did not have that Ramadan vibes, and that’s okay, because in Indo, I am always reminded of Ramadan because almost everyone is fasting and Ramadan being the festivity season that companies take so much advantage of as their marketing strategies. Sure, the lack of Ramadan vibes was saddening—in a way that I was just living my days without eating and drinking and getting angry without the semi-obligatory crowded late afternoon markets full of scrumptious snacks and gluttonous congregation, and nightly two-hour long prayers with noises of kids running around playing cat-and-mouse in the mosque yard—but that’s okay too, because I already knew these things when I jumped in. All I was worried about was surviving 18-hour fasting days and turned out it was the least of my worries.)
Saturday, June 25, Karen took me for a walk around Capitol Hill and Volunteer Park.
I couldn’t believe it was my second-to-last day and I was still discovering new things—Volunteer Park, especially, being so close to our house and I couldn’t believe I never went there before.
The park, like most Seattle parks, was a beautiful one. It was vast, with a greenhouse and a lake and even a museum (Seattle Asian Art Museum, which we didn’t have the time to visit). Karen took me up the water tower, which had an observation deck that provided a view of the park and a portion of Seattle beyond it. By the lake was a sculpture that the park was famous for—originally titled “Black Sun” by Isamu Noguchi, and colloquially referred to as “The Doughnut” (reminds you a lot of the same case with Chicago’s “Cloud Gate”, huh?). From The Doughnut’s hole, you can spot the Space Needle with the lake in the foreground, as though the Needle rose from the waters.
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The water tower (volunteerparktrust.org)
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The "Black Sun" aka "The Doughnut" (volunteerparktrust.org)
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Sunday, June 26: best day in Seattle ever.
No, not it being the last day in Seattle—that part was depressing. But at least I was ecstatic that I got to end the journey with a bang, by watching Seattle Pride Parade.
Add that to the list of things I would never ever ever get the chance to do in a million years had I not decided to jump into the exchange student bandwagon.
I forgot where I had heard of the Pride Parade from. Maybe Patricia and Amber. Maybe Karen, knowing my giddiness for festivals and public events to witness. At any rate, it was such luck that Pride Parade fell on that day, because if it were one day later, I wouldn’t have been able to attend and I would have missed one of the best experiences in my life.
So much coming from a mere spectator. But it truly was a thrilling experience.
Karen end Eric had stuff to do, so I hopped on to the bus downtown by myself (what else is new?) at around mid-morning, when the parade had just started. I was told that Patricia and Amber (along with Vera) would be there too (of course), so I planned on meeting up with them later on.
How was the parade?
Simply put, there were a lot of things.
There were of course big companies and brands with their employees dancing around carrying balloons with their brand on it, there were floats from big and local businesses, there were marching bands, there were local communities marching while carrying a long banner or letter balloons. Many floats have half-naked men dancing and having fun with themselves (from gay bars, mostly). There were people in just about any type of clothing and accessories dancing along the blasting music and giving free high-fives or even hugs to the spectators.
It truly was a day where people get to be free and themselves when 364 other days they don’t get to.
There were drag queens walking along with their stellar outfit and makeup, which amazed me the most because I had never seen such dedicated drag queens before. The image I have of drag queens are the ones available back in the home country—you slap a wig and dress and chest stuffing and you’re good to go to, either for busking around street food stalls for change or for other nightly services. Not saying that Indo drag queens are bad, but objectively the drag queen culture there is not as dedicated as it is in the US, with the addition that the US drag culture is well-facilitated, what with the bars and shows and RuPaul’s Drag Race and overall interest from the audience.
Suffice it to say, the drag queen industry was a flourish. And I was there to only experience the gist of it in the parade.
If I had posted this sooner, I would still have the chance to post the pictures, but since most of them are gone with the hard drive, here are some I vetted from my Instagram:
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I met Patricia, Amber, and Vera in Seattle Center area, by the Space Needle. I hung out with them as they had lunch, me enjoying my last moments of playing with sweet little Vera while she still knew me in her toddler life.
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After lunch, we went back to the streets. Vera looked excited at seeing these many things the parade had to offer (I remembered she was particularly excited when a group of people wearing leather and dog-like accessories—I later learned from Patricia that it was a community for enthusiasts of sub-dom puppy play and the sorts (CMIIW for the description)—and she went “pups!” so cute and blissful of her).
After a while, Vera no longer looked excited, which means she’s all drained. Patricia and Amber said goodbye while I stayed in the streets, still full of energy and not wanting to miss any of the event I would most likely get only once in this lifetime.
I walked along the streets from Seattle Center back to downtown, trying to find a good viewing spot. The floats were still floating, the dancers dancing, even the mayor was there too. At some point, I saw a group of people in the distance that I thought I had missed and would not see in this parade, but then again, on second thought, it totally should be in the parade.
Men and women and all the genders in between, cheering and cycling through the streets with their biggest smiles and hands waving.
They were in on it so good, I didn’t even notice until they got closer that all that was on them was body paint.
Naked cyclists!
My remorse of missing out on the Summer Solstice Parade instantly evaporated. Apparently I’m just that easy lol.
Not long after the cyclists, the parade slowed down to a close, the last show was people carrying a big-ass pride flag as wide as the street itself, facing the sky. The sun shining through the flag turned the asphalt below it into wonderful shades of rainbow colors.
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(southseattleemerald.com)
Again, to say that this was an exciting experience was an understatement. This was the thing I had been looking forward to, though I came in with no expectations. Personally admitting, the conservative corner of me was astonished upon seeing what the parade had to offer me, but as the day went by, I ended up enjoying every second of it. I was basking in overstimulation—the clear sky, the hot weather, the bright pride colors, the big floats, the loud music, a new thing to witness every 5 minutes, the sea of excitement radiating from both the spectators and the contributors, and most importantly, the overwhelming amount of happiness, freedom, and, well,
pride.
It may not be my freedom and pride, but seeing them celebrating it made me as jubilant as they were. Happiness is truly infectious.
The other thing I’m most grateful about from this experience is to be able to witness first-hand what the word ‘pride’ in this context really means. Sure, in this era, we can still educate ourselves on the matter—there are thousands of sources and internet friends you can find that can give you all the information you need—but honestly, the Internet can only do so much, especially if the surroundings you’re in do not support or facilitate the issue. I feel like if I hadn’t gotten out, I wouldn’t have been able to empathize this much. I did understand the existence of the issue and that there are struggles on it, but being in Downtown Seattle on June 26, 2016 was what really woke me up.
After all, it kind of boils down to one simple matter: if any goals you have in this life, whatever they are, lead to you being happy and living in a world that is also happy, then why can’t you let other people do the same?
-NS
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