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radioactiveparker · 7 months ago

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The Breakfast Club - Eddie Munson X F!Cheerleader!Reader

Part Two - Low Tolerance For Dehydration

Chapter Summary - We begin to learn the truth about why these kids are the way they are. (A retelling of The Breakfast Club, written and directed by John Hughes.)

Chapter Warnings - Characters are all 18+ / Strong Language / Illusions to Abuse/ Abusive Relationship / Dysfunctional Families / Kleptomania / References to Religious Beliefs / Sexual References / Drug References / Stereotyping / Angst

Word Count - 7.2k

(Series Masterlist) (Masterlist)

(Part One) (Part Two) (Part Three) (Part Four) (Part Five)

-----

Saturday.

October 25th, 1984.

Hawkins High Library.

10:30am.

~~~~~

After that rather thrilling event courtesy of Eddie Munson and Principal Higgins, the next two hours went on forever.

The grinding of gears, the hum of the electric motor, and the movement of the clock's hands invaded the silence. The second hand made a rapid clicking sound. You counted each one. At twenty-second intervals, the minute hand squeaked. The clock sounds became the percussion for a lullaby that almost lulled you to sleep.

Eddie remained seated next to you, spending the better part of an hour sulking that he had just wrecked the rest of his winter. The rest of the time, he spent scratching markings into the table with his car keys (which you immediately told him to stop out of annoyance. He ignored you, of course) and counting all the pictures he can see in the medullary rays of the wood. In his mind, he connected the lines and dots. Before his eyes, they formed the crude outline of a shapely woman with her legs rudely spread apart. He used the notebook paper to cover it up. He did not want to spend the next five and a half hours with a boner he couldn't get rid of. Especially one given to him by something as ridiculous as an imaginary table lady.

Steve was lazily picking off the fuzz of a tennis ball that he found in the lost and found box behind the front desk, piling it up in a small illuminous heap. The bald patches reminded him of principal Higgin's round, balding head. He picked at it harder, really digging his fingernails into the stringy felt like it had personally offended him.

Nancy was trying to write her paper. Normally, the undisturbed silence would be prime time to work on an essay, but she began staring off into space, her mind wondering. All she had managed to write was a title 'Who Am I?', her name, the date, and the time. Each time she would bring herself back to reality, she would check her watch, then erase the time and write the new one.

Robin was hunched over, hidden in her hair as she scribbled over her cherry red converse. She wrote whatever came to mind; her name, milk duds, a drawing of the top half of a naked woman, a copy of her fingerprint. She kept going until the red had almost disappeared.

You rested your head in your palms, eyes looking up as you counted the tiles on the ceiling. You got to thirty eight when Eddie nudged you. You opened your mouth to scold him for making you lose count, when he slid a sheet of paper over to you. He'd drawn a tic-tac-toe grid and placed an X in the centre square. You grabbed a pencil and drew a circle in the top right corner, deciding to keep him entertained before he starts causing more trouble. He smiled cutely when you slid the paper back to him.

The two of you played until both sides looked like a gingham tea towel. Much to your distaste, you lost 38 - 43. Eddie pulled tongues as the victor and you decided then to never play tic-tac-toe with Eddie again; you didn't want his head getting bigger than it already was.

The library door swung open and Principal Higgins stood with a scowling face.

"All right. Who has to go to the rest room?"

All hands shot up.

Higgins gave a single nod, signalling that everyone could get out of their seats. You groaned in relief when your spine cracked, though you still had pins and needles in your left foot and your butt was numb from sitting on it for too long. The Principal lead you all down the hall to the restrooms, where he unlocked them with a jingling of keys.

"Two minutes for the boys. Three minutes for the girls." He stared at his watch like he was already starting the count down.

"How come they get an extra minute?" Eddie complained, pointing at the group of girl who all had their arms crossed, looking at him like the answer was obvious.

"Try and remember your biology, Munson." Principal Higgins rolled his eyes, still staring at his watch.

"Oh, right. Does that mean Harrington gets another minute?"

Annoyed, Steve pushed through into the bathroom. Eddie followed behind, laughing manically.

The two of them rarely used the schools restroom, even for Eddie who was kind of a slob, they were too disgusting. Students only ever really used them to hide when skipping classes. The walls were covered in graffiti and a few of the tiles were cracked, and there was always something on the floor that made the bottom of their shoes sticky. They didn't even want to try to guess what it was. Steve stood in front of the urinal and unzipped his jeans. Eddie hopped onto the countertop and fished through his hair to retrieve the cigarette from behind his ear.

"You want one?"

Steve took a peek behind him. "Oh yeah, ten of 'em please. I need to prove I'm a man."

"Whatever man." That was the last time Eddie would offer Steve anything ever again.

He fumbled in his pocket, took out a lighter and lit his cigarette.

Meanwhile, the state of the girls bathroom wasn't much better. The floors were less sticky, but there was always tissue all over the place, and a funny smell in the air.

"Is this a drag, or what?" You looked at your tired eyes in the reflection and started complaining about them to the girls.

Nancy rummaged through her purse, pulling out perfume bottles, make-up, compacts, brushes; an incredible amount of things that she probably didn't need. Nancy very helpfully let you borrow the make-up out of her bag. You were looking as good as new in no time.

"You want one?" Robin pulled out a pack of spearmint gum and stuck one in her mouth.

You looked at her repulsed. "Robin, you can't eat in the bathroom. What if you get VD of the mouth or something!"

She paused like she hadn't thought about that. She quickly walked to the sink and washed her hands. She grabbed a paper towel to dry them and then used it to open the door. She held the door open with her foot, wadded up the paper towel and made a three pointer into the waste bin. A shot that even Steve would find impressive, even if she did surprise herself making it in the first place. She didn't show that though.

"You're into washing your hands, but you eat inches away from a live toilet?"

She gave you an offended glare her, and left the bathroom, letting the door close on you and Nancy. You turned to Nancy and gave her a look that said 'I'm not crazy for thinking that am I?'.

"I mean that was a little disgusting, but you could have worded it a bit nicer."

She walked out, leaving you wondering whose side she was on.

"I didn't mean to upset you." You called after Robin. "I was just reacting to something I thought was seriously weird. I mean, I'll listen if you needed some one to talk to about it."

Robin didn't give you the time of day, just rolled her eyes to herself. She didn't appreciate the way you worded your apology; like she was the one with the problem.

"Let's go. Shake it off!" Higgins called into the boys bathroom.

Even with the extra minute you were given, the girls still managed to be done before the boys. Eddie opened the door, smelling strongly of tobacco.

"Where's Harrington?"

"Drowned." Eddie said bluntly.

The Principal crossed to the door and peaked his head in. "Alright, Harrington, c'mon. Lets go!"

Steve made a few final adjustments to his hair, raking his fingers through it to position his chestnut curls perfectly on his head. Principal Higgins dragged him out before he could finish.

~~~~~

11:30am

~~~~~

You laid across three chairs as some sort of make shift bed and tucked your coat underneath your head for a pillow. You had planned to take a nap, but Nancy had decided to sharpen her pencil. The winding and grinding of the sharpener grated your ears. She knew she was making a lot of noise, but she couldn't seem to get a good point on her pencil. She took it out of the sharpener, blew the dust from the tip, and examined it before shoving it back in. She had three quarters left of her pencil.

Steve had a straight leg on the front table and reached over to touch his toes, stretching his hamstring. How he did it in those jeans was beyond you. His little grunts of effort and heavy breaths as he switched legs annoyed you almost as much as Nancy's sharpening. Robin was in her same seat, picking at her black, chipped nails in her lap and chewing her gum loudly out of spite. How you had gone from sitting in hours of silence, to a sudden ruckus when you wanted to sleep was just your luck.

Eddie had chosen to sit in front of you on the table, ripping out pages of textbooks from the history section.

Nancy winced at each tear. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing, Princess? I'm vandalising public property." He said it like it was obvious, loudly ripping another page to emphasise his point. "You get off on being stupid, or something?"

"You're such a waste."

Eddie placed the book gently on the table, giving it a few taps for good measure. He sat up straight, hands on his knees like a teachers pet. He nodded sarcastically in agreement. "You're absolutely right. It's wrong to destroy literature. It's such fun."

He jumped down off the desk, kicking up loose pages as he stalked over to his next victim: the card files. He pulls out the entire draw completely and lugged it back over to his spot on the desk. The unexpected slam of it on the table startled you, and you sat up with a huff. There was no way you were getting sleep any time soon.

Nancy scoffed as he began yanking the catalogue cards out and putting them back in a random order, creating a horrible mess for someone to sort out later. She continued to grind the sharpener.

"Big deal." You mocked her, she and the sharpener were really starting to get on your nerves. "It's not like there's anything better to do."

Eddie was impressed. He turned to you. "You grounded tonight?"

His question threw you off, but you knew there was definitely more to it. "No, why?"

He looked surprised that you weren't, but he didn't know that your parents weren't even aware you were here in the first place. "Reefer Rick is throwing a Halloween party down by Lover's Lake tonight. Wanna come?"

Apparently, all it took was a few games of tic-tac-toe to get into Eddie's good books. There was a part of you that wanted to go. It was another excuse to get away from your parents, but you didn't want to imagine the shit you would get from Carol if she found out you had gone to a party with Eddie 'The Freak' Munson. Then Billy crept back into your mind. Your blood went cold at the thought. You knew he wasn't here, but you expected him to come charging through the doors any second now. You had to make sure he knew you weren't interested in Eddie. You didn't want another repeat of this morning.

"Why would I want to go to that crackhead's place? I'll probably catch a disease."

Eddie looked a little disappointed and a little offended that you had insulted his friend, but he hid it well. So why did you feel kind of bad?

You looked up at him with big eyes. "I mean, my mom doesn't like me going to parties anyway."

"What about your dad?"

"If I do what my mom doesn't want me to it's because my dad says it's okay. And if I do what my dad doesn't want me to it's because my mom says it's okay. It's like this whole big monster deal. It lasts forever and it's a total drag. It's like any minute: divorce." You hated talking about your parents, but I felt good to get off your chest. Carol and Tommy never cared to ask.

"Who do you like better?"

"Huh?"

"You like your old man better than your mom?"

"They're both screwed." You sighed. You didn't like where this conversation was headed anymore. Nancy had stopped sharpening her pencil and you could feel everyone listening in.

"If you had to pick?"

"I don't know. I mean, they must have loved each other at some point, but I guess I wasn't around for that part. So I don't think any of them really care about me either. They just use me as ammunition in their little wars."

"HA!" Your response had provoked a laugh from Robin. A laugh that let you know she thought you deserved it. She was more offended by that comment in the bathroom than you had thought.

"You're just feeling sorry for yourself." Steve added, shaking out his legs.

You didn't find it very fair that they were ganging up on you all of a sudden. "If I didn't, nobody else would."

"Oh, you're breaking my heart." But Steve didn't sound sincere at all. You weren't enjoying this side of Steve one bit. And it was all because of Billy.

"Do you get along with your parents?" Eddie sided with you.

"If I say, yes, I'm a real idiot, right?"

"I think you're an idiot anyway. But if you say you get along with your parents, you'll be a liar, too."

"You know something, I've just about had it with you. If we weren't in school, man, I'd wail all over you. They'd have to pick you up with tweezers."

Eddie didn't seem fazed. Eddie got threats like this all the time, it wasn't anything he hadn't already heard before.

"I don't really get along with my parents." Nancy piped up, trying to get the boys attention away from each other so there wasn't a brawl in the middle of the library.

"Yeah right, you're every parent's wet dream."

"That's the problem." She paused, you saw her eyes glaze over then looked at you. "I don't think my parents ever loved each other either."

Everyone was silent, looking at her like they were waiting for her to burst into tears. She regretted bring it up.

"They must have married for some reason?" Steve asked. Whether it was because he was being nosey, or he was concerned for her, you couldn't tell.

"My mom was younger. My dad was older, but he had a cushy job, money, came from a good family. So they bought a nice house at the end of the cul-de-sac and started their nuclear family."

"Screw that."

"Yeah, screw that."

"I could see you not liking them for making you wear those kind of clothes, but, shit, what else would you be doing if you weren't busy making yourself a better citizen?" Eddie clearly hadn't read the room.

"Why do you have to insult everybody?" Eddie was really pushing Steve's limits. You noticed it happened especially when it came to Nancy.

"I'm being honest, asshole. I'd expect you to know the difference." He said it like he had had a similar argument with Steve in the past.

Nancy raised her middle finger at him.

"Whoa, obscene gestures from such a pristine girl."

"I'm not that pristine." Nancy argued, though she regretted it almost immediately.

She cleared her throat and make her way back to her seat.

"Are you a virgin?" She caught Steve's eye, they shared a look, but Eddie missed it. "I'll bet you a million dollars that you are."

"Would you take that bet, Robin?"

"Not really."

"That's the last time I call you 'Robin', Buckley."

He continued. "Have you ever been felt up? Over the bra, under the blouse, shoes off...hoping to God your parents don't walk in?"

Nancy was getting upset. "Do you want me to puke?"

"Over the panties, no bra, blouse unbuttoned, Calvin's in a ball on the front seat past eleven on a school night?"

You squeezed your thighs together. His voice was deep and masculine, sending you off into an alluring day dream. You found yourself in the back seat of a car, a strong man towering over you, rough hands caressing your soft skin. He takes off your bra, exposing your breasts to the cold air of the night, nipples hardening. He's groping them, kissing them, loving on them. Your moaning and he's trailing his lips lower. Your hands thread themselves in his brown, wavy hair. He's pulling your panties down with his teeth, looking up at you with those big brown eyes of his. And suddenly you were in the back of his van, pulling off his patched, demin jacket until he's leaning over you completely naked. He put his lips to your ear, whispering --

"Hey, why don't you leave her alone!" Steve breaks you out of your imagination.

"You gonna make me?"

"Yeah."

"You and whose army?"

"Just me and five of my fingers. I hit you. You hitting floor. Anytime you're ready."

Eddie realised that Steve was being serious, but doesn't believe he is quite capable of making good on his threat.

"Yeah? You want a black eye to go with that split lip? You couldn't fight Billy Hargrove, what makes you think you can beat me?"

Your chest tightened at his name and your eyes darted to the door. They stayed shut. It calmed you a little, but your heart was still beating against your ribcage. You placed a hand there in case it burst out. You wondered how Eddie knew about the fight at the party, you hadn't seen him there. But then again, word travels fast around Hawkins High. Your breathing became heavy. All this arguing was making you dizzy. You could do without a repeat of last Thursday.

"Try me."

"Eddie." You pleaded him not to retaliate, swallowing down your pride for a second of peace.

He looked at you, and suddenly Eddie was not in the mood to fight Steve. The fear in your eyes scared him a little. You were serious about them not fighting. But luckily for you, Eddie knew when to stop. Besides, there were ladies present, and he was a gentleman.

To some extent.

"Whatever man, I'm not getting into this with you."

"Why not?"

"Why not?" He paused. He wasn't going to tell Steve he did it for you. "'Cause I'd kill you. It's real simple, you'd die and your fucking parents would sue me and It'd be a big mess and I don't care enough about you to bother. So drop it."

"Chicken."

"You know, you should see a doctor. I think those steroids are frying your brain."

Steve just laughed him off, believing that he had scared Eddie into yielding and he was just giving one last dig to preserve his pride. Eddie looked a Nancy, but she was already staring at him.

"What is it that makes you act like such a fool?"

"I'm not getting enough vitamin B."

Steve fumed. He wanted his fist to connect with that smartass mouth of his. "Let's end this right now. You don't talk to her...you don't look at her and you don't even think about her! You understand me?"

"I'm trying to help her." He said it like it was as plain as a pikestaff.

"Help me?" Nancy was insulted. "Why don't you work on yourself?"

"I did. I finished last Tuesday. Now I'm working on the rest of the world." He pointed at Steve, who looked about ready to swing. "I could help you, big boy."

"Spare me."

"I can help a lot of people, all they have to do is ask nicely."

"I'll kill you." Steve threatened with a clenched fist.

Eddie looked unmoved. He heard threats like that at least five times a day. "Well, I should just let you and everyone else who wants to kill me fight for the privilege."

There was a rumbling from beyond the library door. In a flurry of panic, everyone got themselves into position, acting like they hadn't moved an inch away from their seats. Eddie sat next to you again, accidently kicking your foot under the table. You kicked it back in annoyance. He did it again, only on purpose this time. 'What a child' you thought. You put your coat on the back of your chair and sat up straight, expecting Principal Higgins to come storming in.

Everybody visibly relaxed when Carl, the janitor, came rumbling in with his music playing quietly from his radio, dragging his cart behind him. He had a face you didn't quite know how to take; he looked friendly enough, but could turn at the snap of your fingers. He was skinny and stood at a height of 5"8, with a limp of a man who worked hard for his living. He smiled everyone, but the only one who seems the acknowledge him was Robin. She returned the smile and gave him a small wave, in hopes of being nice but not letting the others see. He went into the librarians office and grabbed the waste basket.

"Hey Sweetheart, your dad's here."

You gave him an unamused smile and kicked his shin under the desk once more.

Carl came out of the office and dumped the basket on his cart. He left his cart in the main library and walked down the pathway to grab another trash bin at the back of the room.

"Hey, Carl?"

Carl paused in surprise that any student here, with the exception of Robin, would talk to him. He turned around, but Eddie still remained facing the front, putting his back to him.

"How does one become a janitor."

Everyone supressed a giggle, even Steve despite his dislike for Eddie. Only Robin remained silent. She didn't find it very funny.

"You want to become a janitor?" Carl raised an eyebrow.

"No I just wanna know how one becomes a janitor because Steve here, is very interested in perusing a career in the custodial arts."

Steve stopped laughing at that. Carl scratched his head. He knew that they were making fun of him. But Carl wasn't one someone should mess with. He turned off his radio, pulled off his rubber gloves and shoved them in his back pocket.

"You guys think I'm just a lowly janitor. Some fucking untouchable peasant. Maybe so, but following a broom around after shitheads like you for five years, I've learned a few things. I read your notes, I go through your letters. I listen to your conversations. I am the eyes and ears of this institution. I know where you are now and I know where you'll be in the future."

Everyone exchanged worried looks as Carl moved to tower in front of Eddie. "You got ten years, max. Drugs. Rundown trailer in West Texas. Whore wife takes the baby, you shoot a fatal dose. Probable? Maybe not. Possible? Think so."

He turned to you. "You get married to a guy with lots of material success. Corporate position. Big bucks. Black Jag. You have three kids, nobody gives a shit. You get divorced and have a big fuckin' heart attack at thirty-eight, thirty-nine."

Steve was next. "District sales manager for a golf club manufacturer. Shitty little compact company car, twenty-two five a year and a wife as big as a boxcar."

Finally, Nancy. "Six face-lifts and two boob jobs by forty and a husband with more girlfriends than anniversaries."

He stepped back and put on his gloves. The stunned reaction on everybody's faces made him smile. "But I'm just a janitor." He shrugged.

And with that, he grabbed his cart, wheeled it around and headed out. He paused at the door and looked at the clock.

"By the way, that thing's twenty minutes slow." He winked as he left and everybody groaned.

~~~~~

12:30pm

~~~~~

Everybody was bored out of their skulls after the shock of Carl's speech had worn off. You took the time to think about what he had said. He had tried to put a downer on you, but the life he had predicted for you sounded like paradise, compared to now. Even if you did only have twenty years left to live. As crazy as it sounded, it gave you a bit of hope. There was a chance that you could work up the courage to leave Billy and meet someone nice, or at least wealthy. You had never given any thought about having kids, especially not with Billy, but now, maybe you could see yourself with a kid. You'd want a boy, and he'd look just like his father; Curly brown hair, big russet eyes, and a toothy smile. What would you name him? Would you name him after his father? Maybe Michael, or Christopher, James. Edward? You liked that name.

Your eyes flashed to the door as it opened. Principal Higgins strolled in with a frown of his face, even though no one had done anything to upset him yet.

Yet.

"Thirty minutes for lunch." He declared.

"Excuse me Sir, I think the cafeteria would be a more suitable place to eat lunch."

"I don't care what you think, Harrington."

Steve sunk back into his seat.

"Uh, Dick?" Eddie cleared his throat. "Sorry, Richard. Will milk be made available to us? Someone like Steve could choke to death on a dry sandwich."

"I have a low tolerance for dehydration, Sir." Robin added.

"I've seen her dehydrated, Sir." Steve sat up again. "It's pretty gross."

You wondered if that was true, or if he was just playing along. The things he said about her, you wondered if they knew each other. Probably not, you brushed off the thought. They were on complete opposite ends of the spectrum, there was no way they knew each other.

Principal Higgins scowled.

Eddie stood and raised his hands like he was trying to calm a wild animal. "Relax, I'll get it."

"Ah,ah,ah. Grab some wood there, Munson. You think I was born yesterday? You don't fool me for one minute. I'm not having you roaming these halls."

Eddie plopped back into his seat with a defeated sigh. It was worth a shot.

"You." He pointed at Steve.

He eyed up the other students, skipping over Eddie as he decided who else was most suitable to leave. You sank into your seat. You did not fancy having some alone time with Steve. Steve stared directly at the Principal before darting his eyes to the right where Nancy was sat, signalling for him to pick her. She sat up to make herself more evident.

Higgins ignored them and pointed a finger at you. "And you. There's a soft drinks machine in the faculty lunch room."

You broke into a cold sweat. This was going to be the most awkward ten minutes of your life. Either Steve was just going to pretend you didn't exist, or he was going to absolutely grill you. You hoped for the former.

As you reluctantly got out of your seat, Steve held out a hand to the others for money. Nancy took out a change purse from her bag and handed him fifty cents. Robin does the same with the loose change in her jeans pocket. Eddie fished through his coat pockets. He found some assorted change, crumpled gum wrappers, some loose tobacco and a screw. He handed it all to Steve.

Steve made his way out, not even looking to see if you're following him. You do, of course, but you lagged behind him, not feeling particularly comfortable being alone with him. You counted your steps as you walked, fiddling with the delicate chain around your neck. It was a simple design: just your name written with gold, cursive lettering. But it was the only jewellery you never took off. Your parents had bought it for you when you had started cheerleading at eight years old. It was a reminder of when life was much more simple, when you believed that your parents actually loved each other, that they loved you.

A minute passed and you already couldn't stand the silence. You dreaded it, but you knew this would probably be the only opportunity you would get to hash out your grievances.

"Why do you hate me?" A forward start, but at least it's a start.

"You know why."

"Look, what Billy did wasn't my fault --"

"Of course it is. If you hadn't been there in the first place he wouldn't've showed up."

"Hey, I didn't even tell him I was going to that stupid party. He was there anyway. If you hadn't come over and butted into our argument, maybe you wouldn't have that split lip."

"My parties aren't stupid."

"Is that seriously all you took from that?"

"No..." He paused. After hearing your side of the story, he was beginning to feel like a fool. "What were you guys even arguing about?"

You sighed. "Billy and I had plans to go to this drive in movie theatre. I don't think he wanted to watch a movie though, I think he was just hoping to get lucky." The two of you had stopped walking. Steve looked at you intently, encouraging you to carry on. You shifted on your feet. "If I'm being completely honest I didn't really want to go, but then Carol asked me to go to your party and I took it as an excuse not to go with Billy. I knew he would be angry if I cancelled our plans last minute, so I told him I was sick. Biggest fucking mistake of my life."

"So you went to the party and Billy caught you out in your lie."

"Yeah. Turns out one of his friends had asked him to go but he'd declined 'cause we were going on a date. He accepted the offer once I'd cancelled our plans."

Steve started walking again. You followed next to him this time. "I know Billy is a bit of a shitbag, but why didn't you want to go on your date? I mean, it seemed like a good time."

There was no such thing as a 'good time' with Billy. He had his moments, sure, but he was as cranky as a wet hen. Time with him was like trying to swim with rocks on your back. He sucked all the fun out of everything until you started drowning. You didn't tell Steve that though.

"I just wasn't in the mood to be around him, is all." You brushed him off. "But he's bringing it up all the time, and were arguing all of the time. Even in school."

"Is that why you're here today?"

His question made you pause. He stopped a couple of steps ahead of you and turned around when he saw you weren't next to him anymore. You played it off like you were itching your leg and jogged up to him. The two of you made it to the teacher's lounge.

The first thing you noticed was that it was very brown. The floor and ceiling had the same white speckled tile that ran throughout the entire school, but everything else was just ... brown. Brown wallpaper, brown leather sofas, brown table, brown countertop. Even the fridge was brown. The vending machine was in the far corner.

"Why are you here?" You asked Steve, hoping he hadn't realised that you hadn't answered his question.

"Me? I'm here because my father and my coach don't want me to blow my ride." He started feeding the change into the machine. "They think my intensity's for shit. You see, I have a different set of standards. I get treated different because Coach thinks I'm a star. So does my old man. But you know what? I don't care. I'm not a star because I want to be a star, I'm a star because I got good legs and reflexes. I'm like a racehorse. That's about how involved I am in what's happening to me."

You nodded, but you had a suspicion that that wasn't the whole truth. "Yeah, so why are you really here?"

Steve was annoyed that he hadn't managed to persuade you. "Forget it."

You studied the set of lockers on the other side of the room. You walked over to them out of curiosity, trying your luck with one of the doors. To your surprise it opened.

Steve caught you out of the corner of his eye. "You really shouldn't be doing that."

Inside lay a set of keys attached to a green Hawkins High lanyard, a pack of cigarettes, a 'thank you teacher' mug, and a Prince's Purple Rain album on vinyl. Steve came up behind you, looking inside and letting the soda cans thunk loudly at the bottom of the vending machine.

"This is a teacher's stuff?" He asked surprised.

"Yeah. Does this mean that they're actually human?" You laughed together for the first time.

Daringly, you pocketed the pack of cigarettes in your cardigan pocket and took the record.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. No, put them back."

"C'mon Steve, when are you ever going into the teacher's lounge again? Besides, it'll give us something to do while were stuck in that god damned library."

You shut the locker door and brushed past him. You gathered up the soda cans, giving Steve his share to carry and made your way back to the library.

"It was pretty strange looking at teacher's personal shit, huh?" You said, examining the purple record sleeve.

Steve shrugged, he'd seen stranger things. "I went over to Coach's house for dinner once during the summer. It was really weird to see how he lives."

He paused, anticipating a question, but you just looked at him to carry on.

"His wife was fat. And one of his kids was in a wheelchair. It was kinda sad. He was a nice kid."

"If he invites you over to his house, why does he shit on you?"

"He and my old man are working to get me a scholarship. It's not an economic issue. Scholarships make the newspaper. They think I have a shot at a full ride. They think I deserve a Big Ten school."

You simply nodded and walked through the library doors. The others were gathered in the corner by the comfy chairs. Eddie was holding a book opened to a page displaying a man with elephantitus to the nuts like he was reading children a bedtime story.

"How do you suppose he rides a bike?"

The clattering of soda cans on the table drew their attention away. They all walked over to grab a can. Before the others could take one, Eddie reached out and shook one furiously.

You look at him like he was crazy. Perhaps he was. "That's going to spray all over you."

"Not necessarily."

He put the drink back with the others and moved the cans around so than no one would know which was was shook up.

"You're such a dingus." Robin bravely took a can first.

Everyone else followed before taking their seats and pulling out their lunches. You simply took out an apple, loosing your appetite after seeing a man with elephantitus to the nuts. You noticed Eddie didn't have any lunch as he surveyed everyone else's.

"Where's your lunch?"

"You're wearing it." He winked.

You curled your lip in disgust, but felt about as red as your apple.

"You're nauseating." Nancy complained, opening her lunch.

"Look who's talking. You don't care what you put in your mouth." He eyed Nancy's lunch like she had just shown him a plate full of snails. "What is that?"

"Sushi."

"Sushi?"

"Rice, raw fish, and seaweed."

"You wont accept a guys tongue in your mouth, but you'll eat that?"

She scoffed impatiently. "Can I eat?"

"I don't know, give it a try."

The room went silent as everybody watched Steve pull out his lunch from a large brown grocery bag; three sandwiches, a family-sized bag of chips, an apple, a banana, a bag of cookies and a carton of milk.

"Are you really going to eat all that?" Robin asked in shock.

"No, I'm only going to eat half."

"What are you going to do with the other half?"

"Shoving it up Eddie's ass."

How charming. He reached for his can and everybody shrunk away, thinking it might explode. He cracked the tab.

Nothing happened.

Robin took out a sandwich covered in saran wrap. She unwrapped it and pulled the bread apart, starting to work on it like a mad scientist. She tossed the meat away, blindly whipping it to the side. It slapped on the wall and stuck there. She reached into her sweater pocket and pulled out a bag of chocolate M&M's. She tore the bag open and dumped all of it on the buttered bread. Out of her coat pocket she pulled out a little baggie filled with Captain crunch cereal and sprinkled it over the M&M's. She closed the mess of a sandwich and took a huge bite. She noticed that everyone was watching her.

"You are bizarre." Eddie thought Steve's lunch was bad.

She reached for her Pepsi to wash it all down. She put it to her mouth and popped it. The soda sprayed cleanly into her mouth.

After the fizz was gone, she smirked at Eddie. "Nice try, dingus."

"What do you have?" He turned to you, watching take a bite into your apple.

You handed your bag over to him, rather than speaking with a full mouth. He started pulling things out. He pulled out a sandwich, a thermos of soup, which he opened and give a big whiff, and a bottle of water.

"Well Sweetheart, this is a very nutritious lunch. All the food groups are represented. Did your mom marry Mr. Rodgers?"

Eddie stood so he was front and centre of the room, all eyes on him.

"This is my impression of life at our darling Sweetheart's house." He gestured to you and your face flushed.

"Hello, dear. I'm home from the coalmine." Eddie impersonated your father.

Eddie quickly played your mother. "Oh, hello, sweetie pie. Dinner's almost ready. I'm serving stuffing instead of potatoes."

"My favourite!"

His voice turned high and shrill, playing you. "Hi, Dad! Yippee, you're home! I danced in a skimpy skirt in front of hundreds of people today. I went to church and I wrote Grandma a letter. Now can I have a pen pal?"

"Dear, isn't our daughter swell?"

Quiet and motherly. "Yes Dear, isn't life swell?"

Eddie mimed your mother kissing your father, then father kissing mother, and then your father punching your mother in the face. Suddenly it was not so funny anymore.

Your eyes were wet. You hated how much that hurt. It wasn't his words that hurt you, it was how much you wished it were true.

You bravely stood up. "No, it's more like --"

"Dad? Is it okay if I shoot heroin?"

You lowered your voice, playing your father. You held an imaginary newspaper in your hands, not taking your eyes off it and pretending that you weren't paying attention. "If it'll make you happy, pumpkin."

You extended your fingers and blew on them, doing your mother and her fresh nail polish. "What are you talking about, Frank?! How's she going to wear her Sunday dress with holes in her arms? We are going to church aren't we?

"It's okay. Never mind. I won't be a junkie." You said sadly.

"Now, just wait a minute. If you want to be a junkie--"

"I'm not going to be the only woman at the congregation with a junkie daughter. Now what about church?" Your mother said.

"Go by yourself!" Said your father.

"With pleasure! I'm taking Y/N."

"Over my dead body!"

"I love her more than you do!"

"Go to hell!"

Everyone looks at you with a hint of sympathy. Even Eddie.

"Do you wish they'd get a divorce?" He asked.

"No."

"Why not?"

"I'd have to live with one or the other. And I don't know which one is worse." You laughed, but there was no humour behind it.

"Whose next?" Eddie ask, like he didn't already know he was going to single out Steve. Eddie pointed at him. "You're next."

"Yeah, no thanks."

"You an orphan?"

"I don't need to dump on my parents. Especially when they're not here to defend themselves." Eddie gave him a look like he was being chicken.

"What about your family?" Steve asked Eddie. He wanted him to have a taste of his own medicine.

"Mine? Real simple, pal."

He climbed onto the table, really setting the stage and getting himself into character. His eyelids lowered and his body moved clumsily, like he was drunk. "Stupid, worthless, no good, goddamn freeloading, son of a bitch, big mouth, know-it-all, asshole, jerk!"

He stands up straight, crossing his arms and raising the pitch of his voice. "You forgot ugly, lazy and disrespectful." His mother said.

"Shut up bitch!" He smacked the air, hitting his invisible mother. He yelled it so loud you were worried Higgins was about to storm through the door.

As his father, he threw a punch. Eddie dramatically dropped from the table and fell to the ground. He stood up, brushed himself off and took a bow. The show was over.

"Then they make me work to pay off the dentist for the teeth he busts."

"Is that for real?" Nancy looks like she's going to start crying for him.

"You wanna come over some time?"

She didn't want to believe that something like that could happen to anyone. Even someone as vexing as Eddie. Nancy decided then to never complain about her parents again.

"That's part of your image. I don't believe a word." Steve brushed him off. His re-enactment hadn't moved him at all.

You wondered if he was right. You had been so truthful about yours, you would feel ashamed if he had lied about his.

Eddie actually looked hurt. "You don't believe it, huh?"

He whipped off his red shirt and pulled up the sleeve of his black t-shirt. He shoved his arm in Steve's face, displaying a grotesque purple scar. Steve recoiled away from it, but Eddie forced him to look at it. You subtly tugged at the sleeve of your cardigan. You could feel the bruises of Billy's fingers purpling on your wrist.

"You believe that? It's about the size of a cigar." Eddie spoke through gritted teeth. "That's what you get in my house when you spill paint in the garage."

Eddie was breathless with anger. His muscles were tensed up so tightly he thought he was going to give himself a full-body cramp. He needed something to calm himself down. Luckily, he knew just the thing.

~~~~~

<<<Previous // Next>>>

~~~~~

Taglist: @cruwushes @the-ch0sen-on3 @namelesshumanperson @ali-r3n @cadence73 @munsonssweets @ahoyyharrington @mewchiili @yourdailymemedelivery @httpsunflowers @b-irock @coolglittercornbae @sav12321 @cumslutforaemond @siriuslysmoking @learninglinesintherainn @peaches-roses-sins @lodeddiperrodrick @catherinnn @lilocapoca @minniedreamers @melaninjhs

#eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson smut #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson series #mini series #cheerleader!reader #eddie munson x cheerleader!reader #stranger things #steve harrington #nancy wheeler #robin buckley #the breakfast club #the breakfast club mini series #the breakfast club fanfic #stranger things x the breakfast club #enemies to lovers

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wheezyseeker99 · 4 months ago

Text

Too Sweet

Warnings: body appreciation, pda, teasing, alcohol consumption, swearing, oral (female receiving), soft domination (little bit of daddy kink), hair pulling, unprotected sex (fm)

18+, MDNI

Summary: An entire day where Cam cannot keep his hands to himself.

AN: This picture got posted while I finished editing this so I think that means I need to use it.

Cam has always shown appreciation for my body, but his enthusiasm for my curves surpassed anything I have ever experienced. This morning I woke up and made myself a cup of coffee and brought a cup of chocolate milk to bed for Cam. He’s been sleeping in later now that it’s the off season. I smile to myself as I look at him softly snoring. His messy hair shined brighter from the sun streaming in through the windows.

I climbed back into bed and grabbed my book from the bedside table, and read until Cam woke up. He rolled over and laid his head on my lap while I flipped through the book. Well, that was until his hands started to roam my body.

I looked down at him, and his eyes held on my thighs. I rarely ever bother to put on pants when I go to bed so I’m still just in an oversized old tshirt. It’s nothing special, but Cam loves it. He trails a hand up and down my thigh. I let him get lost in his head for a little while so I could keep reading. It was only when his teeth met my thigh that I slammed the book shut.

“Cameron,” I gasped and looked down at him, “why did you do that?”

He took the book from my hands and sat it on his bedside table. He picked up the glass of chocolate milk, smiling to himself before drinking from the glass. He sat it down and then laid back down.

“Wanted your attention baby,” he sighed before kissing over the red bitten skin on my thigh.

“Yeah?” I say and run my fingers through his hair, “and how did I taste?”

His eyes gleam with excitement and he sits up a little to give me a chaste kiss. “The usual, honey. Way too sweet for me,” he states, grinning ear to ear.

“You say that like you didn’t just drink chocolate milk,” I laugh.

He hummed softly. “You’re sweeter than that, though.”

“If you say so Cameron.”

“I do,” he places another kiss on my thigh before nuzzling his face into the skin. “5 more minutes.”

…

5 more minutes turned into nearly 30, and now we’re both getting ready to leave the house. Today we’re going to a bonfire out near Chesapeake Bay at one of his friend’s houses, and Cam got us an airbnb for the night. I knew he would convince me to go out on a boat in the morning to fish so I packed extra clothes in my overnight bag.

While I’m zipping up my bag, a slap comes down on my ass. I let out a gasp before two arms snake around my waist. I lean back into Cam’s chest and I felt a kiss being placed on the top of my head.

“What was that for?”

“It was right there, calling for me to touch it,” he laughed into my hair. His hands stroked my sides gently.

“I’m sure it did,” I rolled my eyes and played along. “Let’s go before I send you by yourself.”

“Like you could get rid of me,” he pressed a kiss to my shoulder. He grabbed the bag and walked out the door.

…

The entire drive Cam had his hand on my thigh. He hummed to the music playing from the radio, but otherwise, he was quiet. Typically he would want to talk so this is a stark contrast to how he usually is. Silence is just weird in this car. I placed my hand over his to get his attention, and his palm squeezed my inner thigh through my leggings.

“You’re being quiet,” I told him. I traced my fingers over his hand and looked over at him. His gaze is still fixed on the road.

“Just content baby,” he glances over at me. His hand squeezed my thigh again. A bolt of electricity races through me and I clamped my thighs closed around his hand, trapping it between them. I held back a moan by biting down on my lip. “Very, very content.”

“But I want you to talk,” I whine. He arches an eyebrow when he looks at me for a second.

“Nah baby, you can talk about anything and I’ll listen. We have 10 minutes until we arrive at the airbnb.”

Asshole.

I pout in my seat for the remainder of the drive, and I don’t wait for Cam when we pulled into the driveway of the house we’re staying at for the night. I got out of the car and grabbed my bag from the back without sparing him a glance. I punch in the code and walk in through the door. Cam walked up behind me in the entryway and pulled me back into him.

“Is my little brat mad at me?” He cooed before turning me to face him. “Need me to talk and touch you all day long to satisfy you?”

“Ugh, don’t make fun of me,” I chastise him.

Cam slotted his mouth to mine for a moment and he tucked my hair behind my ear. Beaming down at me, he said, “it’s my favorite past time, honey.”

I shoved his chest and grabbed my bag.

“You’re not going to get anywhere if you keep this up Cameron.”

…

At the bonfire Cam and I are sitting on a blanket, watching the fire roar in front of us. He talks to his friends and teammates while I sip the whiskey sour in my glass, listening to him. I guess I’ve finally caught up with Cam with the content feeling soaring through my chest. I lean into him and a press a kiss on his jaw, silently telling him that I’m enjoying this too.

I like being out of the city, even if it’s just for a little while. I can tell he does too. A lot of people treat him as if he’s only a last name and a number on a jersey, but the people here know him as just Cam. It put a smile on my face for him to be normal and comfortable in a space around people. ‘Drunk on life Cam’ is one of my favorite versions of him.

I finished off my glass before standing to refill it at the minibar. From afar, I can still feel his eyes on me. All the sudden I hear the pop of a bottle being opened. I glanced over and it was Tyson pouring wine into Katie’s glass. In my mind it wasn’t the pop of a wine bottle, I heard the smack of Cam’s hand on my ass. A shiver ran through me at the thought. When he had done it earlier I knew I’d end up thinking about it once I drank a little.

Now I feel the horniness settle inside me. I move my eyes back to where he is, loving the way he’s laughing. I go back over to my spot to sit down, but he tugs me down between his spread legs, caging me in with his arms around my waist. I lean back into him and get lost in the haziness he makes me feel. I tuck my face in the crook of his neck. I breathe him in, smelling his cologne, and I feel him laugh as he pressed a kiss to my forehead. I love him and he knows it without me saying a word.

“Honey,” Cam whispered into my ear. I hummed in response. I feel his warm breath against the shell of my ear. “Do you want to head out soon?”

I shake my head while taking a swig of my drink.

“What are you two whispering about over there?” Jamie asked, narrowing his eyes at us.

“Nothing Jameson,” I spoke up. “Just how we need to head out soon. You know I’m an early riser. And I need to have time to get comfortable in bed with Cam.”

From the outside perspective, my words were innocently sweet, but Cam knew what I meant. I tilted my head to connect our eyes and his flared at me. I didn’t miss the way his eyes dropped to my lips. My insides feel warm instantly. Whenever I use the term ‘get comfortable’ that usually meant I would be naked and waiting in bed for Cam. Jamie and the guys probably didn’t know that though.

“Boring,” Jamie snorts. “Are we going out with Tys and Katie in the morning?”

Cam nods his head while licking his lips. He bites down on his bottom lip and I move my eyes away from him. I take a long sip from my glass and focus my gaze back on the fire. It wasn’t long before I felt his lips trail down the back of my neck. I tilt my head to the side so he has more access, and I try to hide the involuntary moan coming out of me by finishing what was left in my glass.

“Cam take your girl home if you’re going to be acting like that bro,” Tyson laughs.

“Gladly,” Cam groans behind me. He lets me go and jumps up to grab my hands, pulling me up with him. “See you guys in the morning.”

…

We barely make it through the door when my back is slammed against it. I felt satisfaction already twisting deep in my stomach when he looks at me like this. His eyes lingered on me for a few seconds before they met mine again. They were a darker shade of blue and they made my chest feel tight. He drags the backs of his fingers down my cheek, “where were we, honey?”

“Kiss me.”

That was all I could say before his lips attack mine confidently, passionately. His hands slide into my hair, slightly tugging my head back. I feel the heat rushing through my body, building between my legs. I need him on top of me, inside me. I need him in a way that’ll screw up my mind forever.

His hands dropped from my hair before gliding down my curves to rest on my hips. Cam pulls his lips away from mine before he pulls me towards the kitchen.

“Hop up on the counter,” he murmurs.

My gaze flicked towards the hallway where our bedroom for the night is, but he steers me to the countertop, pressing me against it. His fingers hook into my leggings and panties, tugging them down my legs.

He straightens his posture before his hand came beneath my chin, tipping my face up, “I've seen and tasted every inch of you. There's no point hiding in a bedroom now. You’re going to get comfortable right here.”

Cam presses a chaste kiss to my lips before pulling away, lifting me by the hips to settle on the counter. He steps between my spread legs, grinning at the sight. He groans while lowering himself to come face to face with my core.

“Please,” I whimper out.

He softly kisses up my inner thigh from my knee to my pussy. His beard scratched against my skin, teasing just enough to make me squirm. He placed a kiss against my clit while dragging his fingers over my folds.

“So wet for me already honey,” he moaned before diving in. His mouth traced shapes on my clit and two of his fingers entered my pussy, knocking all of the air out of me. I gasp and rake my fingers through his hair, holding on. His fingertips increased pressure inside me, and I feel my stomach tense.

“Cam.” His name on my lips is a constant plea for more, moaning it out like it’s a melody. My hips thrust into him, his tongue caressing all of the right places. My body is aching for release when he pulls his mouth away, his fingers still thrusting into me.

“Yeah?” I can hear the cockiness in his voice while he bites down my thigh. “I make you feel good?”

I nod my head, only able to moan at how good he’s making me feel.

“Say it,” he gritted out, sucking my swollen clit back into his mouth.

“You make me feel so good Cam,” I say obliviously. A harsh moan tore from me and he continues to push me closer to the edge. My eyes closed tightly as Cam coaxes me through my orgasm, massaging my sensitive clit with his tongue until I tug a fistful of his hair to bring him to his feet. I can taste myself on his lips, opening my mouth for him.

Cam kissed me for what seemed like forever. His hand slid upward to grab a fistful of my hair, and the other came around my throat. I whimpered at the forceful grip. I’m far beyond aroused at this point. I need him. Now. I need all of him.

I trail my hands down to his shorts, tugging them down to reveal his cock, inch by delectable inch. I need him inside me so bad. His cock taunted me and it only urged me on more. Cam groaned and released his grip on me when I grabbed a hold of his thick, hard length. I stroke him slowly while his eyes watched me, sliding over every part of me that he could see. From my face to my barely covered breasts.

“Why didn’t I take off your tank top earlier?” Cam rasped. His hands settled on either side of me.

I cocked my head to the side and I released his length from my grip, “you were pussy driven, daddy.”

Cam’s eyes flared as his gaze dropped between my legs. If my body wasn’t on fire under his stare before it definitely is now. I drew my legs around his hips, tugging him closer.

“How can I not be honey? Your pussy is fucking sweet.”

My legs tightened around him, urging him forward into my throbbing core. I lift his shirt over his head and toss it away. His cock slid along my wet folds and I moaned at the contact. I clutched the back of his neck, sliding my fingers through the hair at his nape. Cam groaned as he entered me, his hot breath against my skin sent a shudder through me. His hands went to my hips, tugging them towards his, meeting his thrust.

“Fuck baby,” Cam grunted. His beard scratched my lips as I trailed soft pecks down his jawline, knowing that he loves the attention I give his neck in intimate moments like these. The sound of his low groan made me smile against his heated skin. I bit down on his earlobe before pulling my gazed back to his face.

"So fucking good daddy,” I praise him. “Please, don't stop."

His head fell onto my shoulder as he plunged in further, each thrust making me fall apart at his fingertips. His teeth pulled the straps of my bra and tank top from my shoulder and his mouth comes to my nipple. I clench around him and tug at his hair as he sucked the nub. Cam hits the spot inside of me over and over, gripping my throat again. He loses his composure completely as he slams his lips to mine in a bruising kiss.

“I love you,” he moaned as he released my lips.

“I love you,” I whined against him. His thrusts were forceful in the most delicious way, sending me into a powerful orgasm. He kept plunging into me during the aftershocks, leaving me whimpering and clutching onto him. I pulled his lips back to mine and he held my hips to his as he came inside me with a guttural groan. I open my eyes and watch him come undone, mesmerised by his features. His mouth hung open, breathing uneven. I can feel his body relax, his arms came around to hold me to him. I tried to pull back to look at him, but his arms tightened around me.

“Feels too good baby,” Cam shoves his face into my neck. We stay wrapped in each other for a few more minutes until he brings his eyes to meet mine. I feel too sated to move. I gasp and whimper when he slides out of me. I try to tug him back into me by my legs that are still wrapped around him, but he just chuckles, “not cockwarming you tonight, honey. Time for bed.”

He lifts me from the counter and takes me to our bedroom for the night. He cleans me up and tucks me into his chest before we both fall into a deep sleep.

…

The morning after Cam was up before me for once, getting the gear ready to go out on the boat. I shoved my head into his pillow when I realized he left the bed. I’m not sure what time it was when he slid into bed to wake me. He places soft kisses on my shoulder, “wake up, honey. Car is packed so now we need to get you dressed. Jamie is getting breakfast but we need to meet him at the dock before Tys and Katie.”

Cam tugs me out of bed, smacking my ass as he turned me around to attempt to dress me in my bikini. Once he ties the straps on my top and slides the bottoms on, he turns me to face him.

“Baby I’m pretty sure I should be taking clothes off instead of putting them on, but we need to hurry.”

Cam places a soft peck on my lips and lifts my arms and places my flyers hoodie over me. He tugs shorts up my legs and I whine in protest, still half asleep.

“Go brush your teeth. I’ll brush your hair,” he says and steers me towards the bathroom.

…

At the docks 20 minutes later we’re sitting on the boat with Jamie eating breakfast. He eyes us suspiciously.

“I don’t want to know why you both are marked up, just don’t do it in front of me.”

“Don’t tell me that Jim,” Cam snickers and wraps an arm around my waist, tugging me closer to him, “I love my girl.”

“I love you,” I whisper and kiss him.

“That’s enough,” Jamie says before walking to the drivers seat. “Don’t have sex on the boat.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Cam tells Jamie looks down at me, biting his lip. His hand slips under my hoodie and dips his mouth to whisper in my ear, “your sweetness is addicting.”

#cam york #cam york smut #cam york x reader #camyork #cam york fic #nhl imagine #nhl fics #nhl blurb #nhl fanfiction

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llyfrenfys · 1 year ago

Text

"Fascism and Welsh Nationalism", or "Stop Fawning over the FWA you cont"

This is inspired by things I've been noticing around Aberystwyth lately while out and about.

Some mfer is putting up Free Welsh Army (FWA) stickers and I have to keep on pulling them down. Why? You ask.

Fascism.

Because of the not so subtle links between the FWA and fascist movements (of which those links are quite frankly underdiscussed) this post is necessary.

So, starting with the stickers:

This is just one of three identical stickers I've pulled down this last week in Aberystwyth. They appear more to be car stickers than anything else and must have cost a pretty penny to print and/or purchase. They appear to have been bought directly from a website using FWA imagery and slogans - yet does not claim to be the FWA (that I can see, at least). I'm not going to link to it because they don't need any more web traffic. But we will get onto why this is significant in a bit.

Anyway, returning to the stickers - I pulled down the first one off of an electric box on North Road, opposite Vaynor St in late November. I pulled down the second (pictured) also in late November on Penglais Road off the bus stop near the hospital. And in early December I pulled down the third one off of a wall near the Spar at the end of Vaynor Street. Right off the bat we can assume the guy who wasted a lot of money on these stickers lives local to where the stickers I've found so far were. So they're lazy, for one - not venturing much further than their own front door by the looks of it.

Iconography:

I've written about the iconography of the FWA before here but it bears repeating that if fascists approve of your iconography, then that's a sign your movement is already overrun with fascists.

This is the sticker design which I've been noticing about town. Top to bottom we have "Cymru Rydd/Free Wales" which on its own is fine. No qualms with that. But between the Welsh and English text is a symbol. This one:

Now, this was the symbol of the Free Wales Army. Note that I say *was* because the FWA doesn't exist any more. Yet various actors have tried to resurrect its very unsuccessful corpse over the years. These stickers seem to belong to a new organisation which is the latest to try and capitalise on the ghost of the FWA. Now, if you're like me, you'll have already noticed this design is, for lack of a better word, a bit dogwhistley. The angled, blocky, swastika-like stylisation of what is supposedly an eagle, the black and white void of any other features and the very fact it *is* an eagle depicted all seem a bit *too* similar to the iconography of the Third Reich, don't you think?

Their design choice is no accident. It is a design which appeals to fascists while also has enough Welsh cultural reference for apologists to hide behind with a plausibly deniable reason for why their eagle Looks Like That. The white eagle is a reference to the 13th C. poem Mab Darogan, in which Myrddin prophesises that "a king shall come with heroism from among the Welsh people" and that "generous men shall be reborn of the lineage of the eagles of Snowdonia". The eagle could have literally been drawn in any way. But it rather specifically was drawn like this. That choice is not accidental.

Now this new organisation which is trying to reanimate the corpse of the FWA (we'll call them EW) has incorporated the FWA symbol into their sticker. An endorsement of the failed so-called 'paramilitary' organisation on their part, to be sure. EW also have included a different style of white eagle on their sticker as well - which is blatantly stolen from Wikipedia (the copyright is expired, but 0/10 artistic effort on their part even so). Also not to nitpick but the eagle on the sticker is grey not white so that's also a fail.

Artistic criticisms aside, the sticker is loaded with dogwhistley iconography all round. The Celtic knot border isn't necessarily problematic, however, fascists and/or neo-nazis love to slap Celtic knots onto things because they associate Celticity with whiteness. The colour scheme may also be a coincidence, but it does remind me of the fascist symbol which is the 'Flag of Kekistan" which uses the same colour scheme.

Why does this matter and who were the FWA?:

The FWA were a Welsh nationalist (supposedly 'paramilitary') outfit which formed in Lampeter in 1963 and disbanded in 1969 (just 6 years of activity). They took a lot of their cues from the IRA and were effectively fanboys of them. The group was never really considered a threat and mostly consisted of middle-aged men playing paramilitary dress-up. They did claim to be funded by the IRA and that they had dogs trained to carry explosives. Their claims remain unproven.

HOWEVER - and here's where things get sticky. A lot of the issues the FWA were publicly concerned with were and are actually valid issues (e.g. the drowning of Capel Celyn, the Aberfan Disaster etc.). The problem is that fascists or fanboys of fascists love to get their foot in the door by addressing genuine issues. But what happens is that invariably a minoritised group is blamed for the existence of said issue and naturally that leads to discrimination and violence.

The police started to get a bit antsy with the investiture of then-prince Charles as prince of Wales and the possibility of the FWA doing some terrorism. So some of the FWA's leaders were arrested just prior to this. The group officially ended in 1969.

The nationalism advocated for by the FWA was of the 'blood-and-soil' type. Not just your common or garden nationalism (which still has issues but given context is perfectly able to exist in a non-fashy way). And that's why the idolisation of the FWA in years since is sus. It appeals to romanticised nationalist notions of brave men in uniforms helping free Wales - when in reality they did little terrorism and little to actually further the Welsh nationalist cause. In fact, the leadership of the FWA fell apart after they started to disagree on whether their actions were damaging the cause rather than helping it.

Julian Cayo-Evans founded the FWA and ran it with Dennis Coslett and Gethin ap Gruffydd. Gruffydd went on to found other youth nationalist organisations after he left the FWA due to disagreements with its direction - e.g. he founded the Patriotic Front in 1964 which was later outlawed by Plaid Cymru in 1966. It goes without saying names like 'Patriotic Front' are deliberate nods to other, similarly named fascist organisations like National Front.

Legacy and The Present:

FWA's only legacy is the sycophantic fanclub which ressurects the corpse of the FWA every few years to parade it around and relive the 'glory days' of paramilitary cosplay. But aside from functionally being useless, their iconography and politics are still very much under the fash umbrella and that must be resisted at every opportunity (hence why I'm tearing down their stickers - I don't want fascists to feel welcome here). Part of why people may turn a blind eye to the FWA/sympathise is that they may not be aware of the history of the FWA or see the dogwhistles laden in their work and symbols. Some may even just assume without any other context that they're just another Welsh-language preservation group and may even support them without realising the deeper nature of the organisation beyond just preserving the Welsh language.

Which brings me back to EW. I'm going to put the rest of this under a cut, I do encourage reading the rest though and reblogging to get the word out that

It is always morally okay to tear down fascist propaganda

If you see some in your town, don't hesitate to let fash know they aren't welcome here.

EW:

So, onto the latest in a long line of paramilitary wannabes who idolise a long-dead organisation from the 60s.

The EW website seems... sketch. Lots of banners and sections asking to 'donate now' and 'take action' (with money). So right off the bat this looks like a cash-grab.

Secondly, from their own 'About' section they claim that the Welsh Independence movement has "become inundated with authoritarian Marxist entryists who regard Welsh independence as merely a vehicle for furthering their own political agendas". Which is pretty bold stuff coming from an organisation trying to do The Exact Same. There's also a LOT of emphasis on youth involvement and youth nationalism.

There's also a lot of ahistorical claims in the About section too. E.g. on the prophecy of Myrddin "From this legend derives the very name of Cymru’s greatest mountains, with ‘Eryri’ meaning the ‘Seat of the Eagles’ in Cymraeg." - this is contested as there is no one agreed upon etymology of Eryri. To claim that this is The Etymology suggests that they picked this one just because it conveniently fits the version of the mythology they're presenting. They also claim that "Owain ap Gruffydd, would adopt three such eagles as his royal coat of arms" - this is blatantly incorrect as Owain ap Gruffydd lived before the Age of Heraldry and the three eagles are actually later attributed arms.

In EW's FAQ there's a section on supporting their organisation - with one paragraph saying that you can buy stickers instead "If you aren’t eligible or willing to commit to becoming an activist". Lol at 'if you aren't willing to fully commit to our FWA fanboy club you can put up some stickers instead'. Also the button to buy stickers suggests you pay via paypal "We’ll accept quick payments using PayPal and will have them shipped to you First Class" - which *totally* sounds legit (what do you bet they ask people to pay via 'friends and family instead of through business means?).

And... that's it. There's very little else on their website. It *looks* like they're trying to be a movement, but appear to lack substance (and money, judging from how many different Donate Now buttons are plastered all over the site). A hollow organisation blatantly bending history and mythology to fit their narrative, proudly using symbols designed to appeal to fascists while asking people to trust them with the future of Wales?

Dim diolch.

For further reading on why we should guard against fascism in Welsh language revival and independence, see my other post here.

Reblogs welcome for an antifascist independent Wales.

#cymraeg #cymru #free wales army #fwa #eryri #eryr wen #antifascist #annibyniaeth #welsh independence #welsh #fascism cw #neo nazism cw #white nationalism cw #long post

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weareeternalnerds · 1 month ago

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I don't have a big following and I don't expect this to go crazy viral but wanted to get this out there. I'm in western North carolina we are more than 300 miles from the coast above 2000 ft in elevation. Hurricanes don't devestate the mountains like this, The mountains usually get some rain maybe a small bit of flooding, maybe lose power for a day 2 at most. This is unprecedented. Not to mention we had a front go through that dropped between 8-15 inches of rain before Helene even got to us. Places were already flooding and then helene dropped another 8- 15 inches of rain. My local lake rose 14 feet that's 10 foot over max capacity. Evacuation orders came at 3 and 530am morning of, to late to be of use. When we say whole towns have been washed away we aren't exaggerating at all. Whole towns are just gone. So many people are without power, internet and cell reception we still don't know anything really. There are so many missing and dead and no one can give an accurate total because we still don't know the extent of the damage. The news says 166 dead but just 1 city still has over 600 missing. As people get cell service and internet the totals will rise rapidly. You can see bodies washing down the river *multiple rivers*, through parking lots and in tops of trees. They aren't reporting it. They've brought in mobile morgue and are filling them up and not trying to identify bodies at this time. Whole towns are completely gone and many others are completely cut-off due to landslides. Bridges, roads, and driveways are either washed away or damaged so badly they cannot be used. In some places the land where the road was is gone and cannot be rebuilt. Some are covered in trees and mud and just everything to the point it's going to take weeks to clear the road enough for a car to pass through. Driveways and roads are gone and people are stranded with no way to get help, no way to get to the supply drop offs. 911 was down for days. Private citizens and fema are trying to bring in helicopters to help but there is no where for them to land in the mountains. The terrain is just too difficult and unstable. Elevation changes too quickly and nowhere to land for emergency landings. I personally know people who have been told they likely won't get running water again for at least a year. The infrastructure is gone, the reservoir that supplies the area is gone, the pipes that carried water throughout the area have been washed down the mountain and are so damaged it can't be used even if it was recovered. The electric companies can't get out to fix the power because of impassable roads. So many lines and poles are down with trees covering the lines and roads. People are being told they won't get power back on until the end of October, beginning of November. Water treatment facilities are completely underwater and shut down so there is no water either and when it does come back it'll be unusable. Stores are either out of everything or about to be. Looting has started. People are out of medical supplies and can't keep their prescriptions cold even if they had them. People on life saving equipment and oxygen are just watching their batteries run out hopelessly. Fema and military are telling people who come to help to not come and to leave. We still need the help especially in our mountain communities. WE STILL NEED HELP.

#hurricane helene #hurricane #western north carolina #mountains #help helene #help #asheville #mcdowell nc

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deceptive-daydreams · 1 year ago

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Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Ch. 8 | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 | Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 | Ch. 13 | Ch. 14 |

Smoke Signals

Chapter Five - Cold Eggs

W/C: 6K

Eddie x Fem reader - Grumpy!Bartender!Eddie x Shy!Reader

Warnings: Anxiety attack, mentions of drinking

Some early morning honesty on the rocks. Eddie is fucked. In every sense other than literal.

A/N: I'm getting giddy over these two please tell me yall feel the same

Masterlist

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The Munson bachelor pad wasn’t as boyish and messy as you initially thought. You were sober enough to make that observation. It was cozy, much like your own home and was around the same size. The kitchen was probably the messiest part of it however you didn’t get a peek at the bedroom which you assumed could also be very disheveled. There were cereal boxes left open on the counter, Cocoa Pebbles being the one that caught your eye along with a neglected box of Rice Krispies that laid on its side.

A few too many pots and pans cluttered the stove top and some empty cans of soup and Spaghettios were left to collect dust near the sink. His refrigerator held a collection of magnets, some being letters from the alphabet, although quite a few were missing, and others were ads from a pizza place and a few fruits and vegetables with cartoony faces. Among the mess on the counters, you also noted a few empty liters of soda and some crushed beer cans. Budweiser to be specific.

Other than that, the living room you’d been sitting in was tidy. There was a clearly used checkered blanket bunched up on the corner of the couch you’d been occupying for the past several minutes and a few car catalogs littering the coffee table along with a copy of Lord of the Rings, bookmarked with a coupon for ground beef clipped from the local ads. Next to that, an ash tray nearly overflowed.

His wallpaper wasn’t as ugly as yours, which you envied. It was maroon with even darker stripes alternating, creating a dark but homey atmosphere. The wall sconces on the other hand, we’re tacky. They looked more medieval than anything, almost like torches. The light wood floors contrasted with the walls and at your feet was a frayed rug that looked like it had seen better days. Not dirty, just tattered.

In the corner sat an acoustic guitar painted with the words ‘this machine slays dragons’ and next to it was an electric guitar, red with cracks of black. You’d never seen one like it before and it seemed to be well loved from what you’d heard every day, the endless guitar solos bleeding into your eardrums daily. At least he was getting his money's worth out of it.

You continued eyeing your surroundings, taking in the habitat that was Eddie Munson’s home when your gaze lands on a particular object that piqued your interest. It sat atop a shelf near the door, a lonely Garfield mug.

Before you could further examine the mug or even think of reasons as to why it was displayed, if it was even displayed, or perhaps it was abandoned in a hurry out the door, Eddie emerges from the bathroom just off the living room. His curls are now wet ringlets toward the bottom, and instead of wearing your puke, he wears a red sweatshirt that reads ‘Indianapolis, Indiana’ on the front along with some baggy black sweats. Despite his comfy clothes, his face is still decorated with that grouchy frown you’d grown used to. Did this man ever relax his face? His eyebrows were still pinched together either in thought or in irritation.

“I-um, I’ll wash the shirt and um the–the boots.” You stutter, rapidly standing from your perch at the edge of his couch.

Though still a little tipsy, more coherent thoughts flooded your mind. Guilt plagued you as you thought about the blanket of barf that coated his shirt and boots about a half hour earlier, abandoned on the front porch. You were smart enough to avert your gaze when he lifted his shirt off of his torso just to let it wrinkle up on the wood planks to be dealt with later. It wasn’t your fault that you’d caught a glimpse of the tattoos that adorned his body, some kind of dragon if you remember correctly, wound from his waist up to his ribs. The others you didn’t have long enough to distinguish their imagery, though there were several along with what appeared to be some scarring of some kind. You couldn’t be sure, the darkness from the night not allowing you a clear picture along with your hazy mental state.

“Don’t worry about it.” He dismisses while you bashfully sit back down on the edge of the couch.

It was hard to grasp whether he was pissed at you or just at life in general. You would take full responsibility for the vomit but everything before that was on him. Yelling at you over a pile of broken plates seemed far more degrading based on his tone, the way he reprimanded you and painted you as this stupid girl, unable to stand your ground. Maybe it was better that he fired you, you wouldn’t be subject to his obnoxious mood swings where he seemed to take everything out on you when shit hit the fan.

You continued watching Eddie move about his surroundings, taking in how he interacted with his day to day environment. What did he look like fully relaxed? Lounging around, playing his guitar without a care in the world. It was difficult to picture; the image of a moody man with a tensed facial expression the only one you could seem to conjure up every time rather than the vision of him with his feet kicked up on the coffee table, enjoying coffee out of that stupid Garfield mug. You wonder if takes his coffee with cream and sugar. Maybe just cream? Or just sugar? Maybe he drinks it black, that would be the most sensible option if you were going by his grouchy nature.

“Gonna find my keys, then we’ll go back to the bar to get yours.” Eddie decides, shuffling through some items on the kitchen counter.

The irony.

Agreeing with a hum, you allow yourself to lean further into the couch while trailing your finger over the faded plaid pattern, lines of beige crossing over white that temporarily held your focus. The clinking of empty beer cans against the linoleum counter can be heard, and then footsteps into the bedroom just off the living room to your left. Two idiots with misplaced keys under the same roof.

It feels as if the couch begins to mold around you, welcoming you into its springy cushions that otherwise wouldn’t be very comfortable but considering the night you had and the state you were in, you felt like you were on a cloud. Your thoughts drift back to curious visions of Eddie. What did his hair look like first thing in the morning? Was it as wild as you imagined? Curls sticking up every which way, frizzy and matted? Or was it somehow still perfectly messy? Boyishly messy.

Did he take those chunky rings off every night, leaving them on his nightstand until the morning? How many more tattoos did he have? What movies did he watch? What did he do for fun? You suppose plucking at his guitars was a main contender with the way it would constantly invade your ears. Obviously he read, your eyes catching that copy of Lord of the Rings on the coffee table again. Maybe he worked on cars too, based on those car part catalogs.

The image of him working under the hood of a car, all sweaty in some kind of tank top occupied your brain, his usually tense face hard at work with grease smeared along his cheek. And his hands. His hands would be coated in oil and he’d pull a rag out from his back pocket to wipe them off. Then he’d smile and reveal those deep dimples framing his face so perfectly. And then you would–

“Uh, Bambi?”

Eddie’s voice doesn’t do much other than cause you to stir in your sleep, snuggling a pillow while curling into yourself. You were nearly drooling, completely content. He couldn’t help but stare a little longer than necessary before realizing what a creep he was being. Was he supposed to wake you? If he was, he felt wrong doing so with how peaceful you looked. He rolled his eyes but truthfully, he didn’t mind having a guest for the night.

Maybe he’d be able to get some sleep for once.

–

Tossing around as the springs beneath you squeak, your mouth feels like it had previously been filled with sand. Not an ounce of saliva coated your tongue, you were severely dehydrated. You flung the knitted blanket that had rested on top of you off–when did that get there? You don’t remember grabbing a blanket before drifting off into a deep slumber.

This wasn’t even your house.

Collecting your thoughts, you recall that you had been sitting on Eddie Munson’s couch before apparently falling asleep. It was still dark outside, signifying that it had to be early in the morning which meant you’d only slept for maybe two or so hours. A lamp set atop a beat up side table in the corner was the only thing illuminating the room now. Sitting up and stretching, your bones ached from the way they were piled on top of each other in the position you had been sleeping in. Your right arm had pins and needles running up and down it from being cut off from circulation for so long.

The groan that threatened to escape you was held in your throat as you scooted forward, only to find a full glass of water right there on the coffee table. This was beyond embarrassing, this was humiliating. If you could scurry out the door and across the yard back to your place you would, but you were in this predicament due to your own negligence.

With no other options available to you, you gulp down the lukewarm water, just grateful that your tongue was no longer dryer than the Sahara desert. But it still wasn’t enough. Your thirst seemed unquenchable, at this rate you’d need approximately five more glasses. So you stood yourself up, legs shaky and stomach a tiny bit queasy, and wobbled over to the kitchen. You’d have to pace yourself to avoid throwing up a bunch of water since your stomach was so sensitive right now. Food was out of the question but water was a necessity.

Twisting the sink handle with a small screech of the metal, you fill the glass with a shaky and weak arm before sipping away.

Slowly. You remind yourself.

It must have taken around eight minutes to finish that second glass of water, coaching yourself through it the entire time. You grew tired of drinking it but persisted anyway. As you reach to fill a third glass, you’re startled by a figure in the doorway to Eddie’s room, unable to make out any features in the dim lighting. With a yelp, you manage to drop the glass in the sink, it clanking around noisily but thankfully, not breaking.

“Shit, why are you awake?” Eddie asks, hands raised in surrender as he emerges from the shadows.

“Why are you awake?” You counter.

He raises a brow, clearly wide awake. He didn’t even have that gravelly, sleepy voice. Maybe he hadn’t even gone to sleep at all. There was no evidence that his hair was any frizzier than before and his face didn’t have that puffiness to it when you wake up. It’s also possible that he just looked perfect when he woke up but if you’re being honest, no one really woke up perfect.

“I, uh, I was reading.” He admits, scratching the back of his head.

“Oh.”

An awkward silence trickles in, causing you to cross your arms as a means to close in on yourself, steadily backing up until you hit the counter behind you. Eddie maintains eye contact with you as he retrieves his own cup from one of the cabinets, filling it up and chugging it down with ease. You suddenly feel so out of place, like you were supposed to leave but there was nowhere else to go.

“I, um, I’m sorry for…for the puke. A-and for falling asleep. I didn’t mean to intrude.” You tell him honestly.

He only nods.

“I can go…sit on my porch until you go into the bar. And I’ll get my keys and be out of your hair.”

A few drops of water roll down his chin as he continues drinking, the back of his hand coming up to swipe the liquid away. He appears to be lost in thought, eyes concentrated on the counter in front of him where a few rogue Rice Krispies live. You let your legs carry you a few feet away, your goal being the front door until he speaks up again.

“I’m not gonna be responsible if you get eaten out there.” He grumbles.

“Eaten?”

Eddie looks you up and down as if to say ‘are you serious?’. To be completely honest, you hadn’t taken into account the wildlife that thrived throughout the area before you moved in. Now you were looking more and more dumb by the minute.

“Bears?” He offers an anxious head tilt. “We have fucking bears here, Bambi. You can’t just wander around in the middle of the night.”

“I wouldn’t be wandering.” Why were you trying to make an argument? Out of all the things you could fight him on, why were you choosing whether or not you’d get eaten by a bear? “I would be sitting on my porch.”

You felt like the dumbest woman on the planet and you knew you should’ve stopped talking but the words just…came out.

“Bears can reach your fucking porch, you know that, right?”

His large eyes bored into you in disbelief, his mouth slightly hung open as he awaited your answer.

“Y-yeah.” You gulp.

“God.” He scoffs, turning away from you, perplexed before muttering something under his breath that you happened to also catch. “Christ, they shoulda turned you away.”

“Who?” You pipe up, feeling a bit daring.

For a moment, he turns to stare at you blankly. It’s almost as if you’re the only two people awake and if either of you happened to raise your voice in the slightest, it would awaken the town.

“The assholes that sold you that house.” He just about whines, his voice an octave higher, frustration obvious in his tone.

The refrigerator light briefly appears over the blue and green tiled floor as Eddie opens it, reaching for something before turning around toward the stove and kicking the door shut.

“What–what do you mean? Turn me away? What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask in offense.

“I mean…” He cracks an egg into a pan, followed by another. “They shouldn’t have sold it to someone so clueless.” Another egg.

The shells are discarded in the sink, further cracking into smaller pieces at the impact he’d thrown them.

“What? Were they just supposed to reject me until someone more ‘qualified’ came along?” You try to catch his gaze, ducking your head as he reaches for the salt and pepper. “And–are you seriously making eggs right now?”

You earn a scowl from him as his pan begins to sizzle, his hand quick to grab a spatula from one of the pots on the stove to flip the eggs. This had to have been some weird dream or manifestation. And there they were again, those three numbers falling from his lips in a whisper as his eyes shut temporarily while his eggs simmered.

“I was already qualified before you came along!” He raises his voice, not quite to a yell but not very quiet either.

Silence.

Your eyes must have bulged out of your head, Eddie’s features softening by the second. Regret settled in his eyes, your face the vision of pure horror and all because of him.

He got impatient.

His therapist would be disappointed in him. And so would Wayne.

“I-I just…I was going to, um…” He starts calmly. “I was gonna buy it. And, and I was—” His breathing is now shallow, his eyes wet and pleading. “It–it was–I don’t–”

“Eddie.” You whisper, trying to break through whatever trance he was in.

He seemed stuck in his own head, eyes darting back and forth while he struggled to find words. The eggs were on the verge of burning which prompted you to reach over him and turn the stove off. The spatula he previously held clung against the tile.

“I-I–um, I was–”

It’s as if he isn’t even in the room, totally removed as the same few syllables fell from his tongue.

“I’m–I-I–”

“Eddie, it’s okay.” You attempt to soothe him. “Do you wanna sit down?” You ask, trying to catch his eyes but failing as he squeezes them shut.

Again with the counting.

One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three.

All under his shaky breath.

“I-I’m fine. ‘M fine.” His voice cracks, eyes opening timidly.

When you go to rest a comforting hand on his shoulder, he flinches, a gasp leaving his lungs. Forcing yourself a few steps backward in order to provide him the space he needs, you recognize a hint of fear within him. It’s not of you, it’s something else yanking at his thoughts.

“Sit down, let’s sit down, okay?” You instruct, gradually lower yourself, waiting for him to follow your actions.

Nodding, he slowly slides his back down the side of the counter, falling into a position where his knees were to his chest, hands resting against the floor. You join him, still keeping your distance but wanting him to know that despite the previous tension, you were being supportive through his episode. Whatever it may be.

“Breathe.” You tell him, just as he had done with you back at the bar. “In…and out.” You encourage him.

He follows, his breathing still labored but improving. Continuing for a minute or so, his shoulders finally loosen up, his face relaxing. You let him guide the situation from here, if he wanted to talk or remain mute. Either was okay.

Moments pass, the hard kitchen floor causing you discomfort that you willingly take, not daring to shift around too much as to keep the tranquility finally falling over the two of you. Instead, you take interest in the wood grain of the cabinets, eyes wandering around each curve like a maze, sometimes identifying shapes along the way. A dog’s face, a ghost, and occasionally the haunting silhouette of a human.

Sneaking a glance at Eddie, you find that his eyes are shut as he rests his head against the cabinet behind him, his hands fidgeting with the strings on his hoodie, tying little knots and then undoing them just to repeat the process. Your watch indicates that it’s 4:03 AM. You would usually be sleeping however you can’t really offer yourself much sympathy when it seems this is the norm for Eddie. He always had tired eyes though you’d never put much thought into it until now. He must not be sleeping. Which could also be a contribution to his moodiness.

“I’m gonna lose the bar.” Eddie speaks up from beside you, eyes still shut as he continues to fidget.

“Hm?” You turn your full attention to him.

There’s a pause, a moment of thinking. You can tell as he opens his eyes and side-eyes you, not with malice but more so to collect his thoughts. Lips pinched in between his teeth roughly, you could almost wince at the way blood surfaces from the poor abused skin. Not too obvious, but obvious enough as you await clarification, the tiniest bit of crimson seeping out from behind his teeth only to be left to dry out on his perfectly shaped lips. Then he breaks the silence with a heavy exhale.

“I, uh, I’m pretty close to losing it. Can barely pay the bills on the damn place. Been going downhill for a few months now.” He elaborates, spinning a ring around his finger repeatedly . “I was gonna use the rest of my savings that my grandpa left me to buy that house. Rent it out. I talked to a friend who’s really good with all that financial shit and he said I could get a steady income and most likely keep the bar running and profiting again.”

“Oh.” You whisper, a huge sensation of guilt overtaking you.

“Not your fault.” He sighs. “Guess I’ve been kinda taking it out on you.”

Now he avoids your gaze, far more interested in the cracked tile beneath him. A curse can be made out from just under his breath while he buries his head in his hands, running them up and down his face, almost as if to relieve some of his stress but having no such luck. His admission catches you off guard, not at all suspecting that this morning would turn into honesty hour.

“No.” You reply quickly. “I mean…yes. But I-I didn’t know. If I knew–”

“Don’t give yourself a stroke, Bambi.” He cuts you off, turning to look at you. “I’m not proud of how dick-ish I’ve been. It’s nothing personal though.” Eddie confesses, seemingly annoyed with himself.

Sincerity floods his eyes, a cry for help. But how were you supposed to help him? Before you can muster up some kind of response to his almost-apology, he continues.

“I-uh, I just can’t lose this bar. I inherited it from my grandpa and he had been running it for…years.” Behind his persistence, there’s hints of defeat. A bitterness that you’d come to recognize in the last few weeks. “And, uh, I didn’t know ‘im for very long but, I kinda feel like it’s my responsibility.”

“Didn’t know him for very long?” You asked before even calculating the consequences. You had no right to pry into his personal life.

His hands begin to move up and down his shins, a self-soothing gesture from what you can tell. Eddie was very fidgety, and you’d only just started noticing.

“Yeah.” He whispers. “I moved here like four years ago. Some bad shit happened back home and I–” There’s a moment of hesitation, a sudden panic lurking behind his gaze. “I can’t go back.”

You want so badly to ask him where ‘home’ used to be but decide against it. He had already willingly offered you more information than you would have originally been brave enough to ask for.

“Anyway, I never really knew my grandpa until I came here to live with him. He died last year. I’ve been trying to keep things afloat since then.” He explains, pinching the bridge of his nose with a shaky hand.

“I’m so sorry. I-I didn’t know.”

Genuine sympathy drips from your voice, the kind that felt like hot honey running down a sore throat during flu season. During the moment it feels…good. Comforting. In the way that only his mother ever was in the brief time they had together. And then the sting returns.

“I don’t even know why I’m telling you this.” The walls are rapidly raised once again and god knows when you would get to peek through the cracks again. “We should, uh, we should get to the bar so you can get your keys. And your car.” He suggests, pulling himself up from the floor with a groan.

“Wait–what about your eggs?” You mention, gripping the edge of the counter for leverage as you stand.

The eggs were long forgotten about, now all sad and cold in the pan. Unappetizing. One of the yolks had somehow broken among the commotion of Eddie’s panic and left a disgusting coating around the gaps, that eggy-wet-dog smell nauseating you. They were trash in all honesty but Eddie didn’t seem to mind, quickly lifting the pan and grabbing a fork to shovel them into his mouth.

You can’t fight the urge to stare, cold eggs and runny yolks being tossed into his mouth without a second thought.

“What?” He glances at you in irritation.

“You could’ve at least heated them up.” You complain, nose crinkled in revolt.

He rolls his eyes but his annoyance quickly melts away, a fraction of a playful smirk pulling at his lips, eyes gleaming with something captivating.

–

The scent of tobacco and motor oil invades your nose, the smells of Eddie’s truck, much different than the little pine tree air freshener in the car he’d driven you in last night. The engine rumbles down the road, startling the birds as he drives by. Some kind of guitar riff blares through the radio, his ringed fingers tapping along against the steering wheel. Instead of his sweatshirt and sweatpants, he now wears a long sleeve covered with his leather jacket along with some ripped up blue jeans. As far as you’re concerned, he’s way underdressed for the brisk morning air, only getting colder and colder by the day. Though, he may run hot and the drop in temperature just doesn’t faze him. Even so, it’d make you feel better if he at least put on a heavier coat.

Regardless, you can’t seem to control the shivers that rattle your body, your teeth nearly chattering, jaw clenched tightly. You were mentally scolding drunk-you for forgetting your jacket at the bar and though you were on your way there now, it didn’t do you any good with the way you were practically an ice cube. It was apparent that the heater of Eddie’s truck wasn’t very efficient as the air coming out was slightly warm but not warm enough to relieve the cold nipping at the exposed skin of your arms. You could see your breath, only further reminding you of how cold you truly were.

Attention was the last thing you wanted as you subtly moved your hands that rested politely in your lap, up your arms to offer the tiniest bit of skin-on-skin warmth. Any kind of relief would do. You only hoped he wouldn’t notice as you began to move your hands back and forth as a means to create some friction, more heat.

Buy a large, fuzzy, soft coat, ASAP. You note to yourself.

As a distraction, you begin to identify objects within the truck, a solo game of ‘I spy’ if you will. At your feet, there’s a small crate of cassette tapes. An impressive collection, mainly metal and rock from what you can see. Maybe a few folksy ones behind those based on the labels, John Denver being the one that stood out to you. Then, another car parts catalog on top of the dash. An empty can of Dr. Pepper in the cup holder. Or what you assume to be empty. A definitely empty cigarette carton abandoned in the other cup holder–

“Shit, here.” Eddie says, reaching behind into the back seat only to magically pull out a denim jacket covered in several patches and pins.

Evidently, you weren’t playing it as cool as you thought, clearly somehow exposing that you were in fact freezing. He showed no emotion as he urged the jacket into your reach, eyes still focused on the road. Your hesitation only had him pushing the denim into your hand, wordlessly cautioning you that he wouldn’t have your modesty or insistence that you were fine. Clutching the rough fabric in your hand, you pause to stare at him, as if he was going to change his mind any second. He doesn’t. Only keeps his eyes forward, brows furrowed in that grumpy manner.

His nose is pink again and you were willing to bet that the tips of his ears matched if they hadn’t been hidden by his wild hair. Even his cheeks were dusted with the lightest rosy shade. Fall looked good on him. You couldn’t even imagine how amazing Summer would look on him.

Quickly, you undo your seatbelt and shrug the jacket on. It’s cold from living in the truck all night but warms you up regardless, much cozier than your bare arms out in the open. And it smells like Eddie, a smell you can’t quite pinpoint to one specific thing. A little bit like cigarettes, maybe a hint of cologne, spicy but not overpowering, and a whiff of rubber. It almost smelled like a garage.

The sun was just rising on the horizon, the lake coming into view perfectly as if to put on a show. Hues of orange painted the sky, birds chirping and squawking as they announced the arrival of a new day. An apricot dream accompanied by peachy tones.

–

The Bourbon was a shell of itself at 5:00 AM. The morning was bright and early though the bar wasn’t ready to awaken just yet, not until the evening when it thrived. Until then, it slept peacefully throughout the day, forgotten about until Happy Hour. Ribbons of light snuck in through the blinds, illuminating the smallest sections of the tables and the floorboards.

The lights quickly took over that magical early morning feel as Eddie emerged next to you, hands tucked into his pockets while you scanned the room. And there they were, your keys. Sat right on top of the bar just as you had remembered. Your jacket, however, was nowhere to be seen.

Bummer.

You could’ve sworn you grabbed it from the back lockers before you declared war on Eddie last night. It wasn’t there either, your locker devoid of your belongings other than a pad of paper and a pen.

“Have you seen my jacket?” You ask Eddie, checking the barstools just to be safe. Nothing.

He had slipped right back into work mode, even at the crack of dawn. You suppose it's fair though, the information he had shared with you in the quietest hours of the morning resonating in your mind. Work never stopped for him.

“Hm? No, I haven’t seen it.” He answers, collecting the dirty rags from their designated bin behind the bar to start them up in the wash.

With a soft pout, you trace your steps in your head but can’t seem to recall where you’d left it, your brain failing you. Maybe it would eventually pop up again, it wasn’t anything special anyway. It just happened to be one of the heaviest jackets you owned so you would have to remember to stop by one of the shops to search for something equivalent. Beginning to pull your arm out of the sleeve of the jacket you currently wore, Eddie’s voice stops you.

“Just–keep it ‘til you find yours.” He says. Like he knew.

Were you that obvious? Girl moves to a random town miles and miles away from home only to be unprepared for the weather conditions in which you would think she would be aware of before committing.

“No, it’s–”

You immediately shut up when you see his expression, something that says ‘for the love of god, just listen’ with glaring eyes and furrowed brows. Instead of fighting him on it, you offer your gratitude in the form of labor.

“Um, I could stick around…and help. If you need.”

Your words float in the air, so delicate it makes him want to vomit; not out of disgust but out of confusion for whatever feeling was swirling around in his head, making him dizzy. Each word was too sweet, cavity inducing sweetness that he wanted to lick up like icing. He wasn’t used to being presented with such regard, a candied offer delivered right from your pretty lips to his ears.

“If I still have a job.” You add. Sugary syllables pouring from your lips unintentionally. He may have a heart attack from the amount of sugar.

Eddie collects himself, clears his throat as if to also clear his conscience, not succeeding. You’re so unlike everything that he knows. He knows of friendly conversation and boyish banter, endless nights followed by endless days without sleep, he knows of his shitty attitude that comes around more often than not, but he’s never been one to know pure kindness, a certain tenderness radiating from you and seeping into him. Sure people are kind to him, especially here. But you’re something else.

“Yeah. Yeah, ‘course you have a job.” He affirms.

The small smile you grace him with makes him want to jump off of a bridge. Because he is such a cruel being, such a monstrous man awaiting further punishment from the universe for being much less than gentle with such a sweet-tempered, sympathetic human that may even be a gift from god himself if Eddie believed in all that.

And then Chrissy crossed his mind. He could not endure another loss. Chrissy was never even his but he used to mourn what could have been had she lived. Perhaps she was his first love. A miserable little middle schooler pining after Hawkin’s Sweetheart all the way up until highschool. And the moment he got close enough, she was gone, right in front of his poor traumatized eyes. It was enough for him to swear off love for good.

For some reason he was finding himself wanting to dial back on that promise. He had only known you for around two weeks and was going back on his own word. It was freaking him out, making him want to yank his hair out from the roots and collapse onto the floor. He felt like a teenage boy again, going through puberty and trying to work out all of his jumbled feelings and hormones.

You were staring at him expectantly and it was only then that he realized he had been lost in thought. A pool of thoughts actually. Maybe even having a revelation?

“You can uh…” He clears his throat, nearly hacking up a lung. “You haven’t…you haven’t eaten, have you?”

Internally, he’s scolding himself.

You’re gonna get hurt before you can even get close. People are not meant to love you, Munson. It’s been proven time and time again. Quit while you’re ahead.

He was too far ahead anyway. Would he ever learn his lesson?

People are not meant to love you.

“No.” You answer sheepishly. “But I-I’m fine!” You try to say convincingly. The reality was that your stomach was swallowing itself, the fact that your dinner had been four tequila shots was not favoring you.

“Bambi.” Eddie says sternly.

God she’s gorgeous.

He was fucked.

“Okay…fine. I haven’t eaten.” You admit. “But I can help out a little and then–”

“C’mon.” He demands, abandoning the bin of dirty rags to head for the kitchen.

And on the way, he reasons with himself as you follow.

Just be friendly. There’s nothing wrong with being friendly. We can be friends. Stop scaring the shit out of yourself. She wouldn’t even like you beyond that. No one would.

“So, what are you feelin’?” He asks, knocking his knuckles against the metal worktop.

“Oh, I-I don’t know. Whatever is easiest. You know what, I can just go get something from one of the shops, I’m sure that little pancake place is open by now.”

“You don’t trust my cooking?” He jokes, amusement written all over his face.

To be fair, he hadn’t given you much reason to trust him since you arrived. But somehow, layers were starting to peel back and you were getting the tiniest glimpses of his true self. And you’d be stupid not to indulge when he had practically propped the door to his mind right open. At least for the time being.

“Should I?” There’s a huge grin on your face, a stupid grin that you try to conceal but can’t. “I dunno, you kind of have me wondering if you’re gonna spit in my food or something.” You quip.

“Ouch.” Eddie feigns hurt by bringing a hand to his chest. “You think I’m that scummy?” He asks, raising his brow playfully.

“Oh, the scummiest.” You banter back.

“You’re breakin’ my heart Bambi.” He frowns before disappearing into the walk-in freezer, discarding his leather jacket on a hook on his way.

Truth be told he was breaking yours too, with his handsome face and his dumb smile, deep dimples you could think about for hours, and those eyes. They told a story, a tragic story that maybe he would never care to share. And that’s what broke your heart. Suffering in silence. You knew that feeling all too well.

“By the way…” Eddie shouts from the freezer before appearing once again. “I’m Eddie.” He sticks his hand out toward you, two eggs held in his free hand.

You look up at him, bewildered.

“I never asked for your name.” He reminds you with a shit-eating grin.

The Eddie you met weeks ago was gone as far as you were concerned. All within a few hours, he seemed to warm up to you.

The scary dog was rolling over…for you.

~end~

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tags - @gravedigginbbydoll @ohauggieo @spicysix @lunatictardis @ali-r3n @batkin028 @mrsjellymunson @witchwolflea @emma77645 @emxxblog @eddiemunson95 @angietherose @lottie-90 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @pullingattheroots @avalon-wolf @vintagehellfire @cryingglightningg @foreveranexpatsposts @winchester-angel @mmunson86 @witchwolflea @kurdtbean @micheledawn1975 @tlclick73 @erinekc @hazydespair @whenshelanded @corrodedcoffincumslut @ms1oftheboys @lma1986 @uglypastels

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fic #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson series #eddie munson angst #eddie munson au #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things au #stranger things fic

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jordisblogg · 10 months ago

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wanna say something, let the whole world hear it.

producer!shuri.u x female rapper!reader

warnings: heavily inspired by megan’s song and empire (just got finished rewatching it!!)

a/n: kinda pt.2 to my producer shuri head cannons, maybe like one of your studio sessions before you both started dating. (don’t know what be going thru my head fr but enjoy!)

you threw your empty glass at the wall in frustration, your breathing heavy, adrenaline rushing.

blood rushed through your veins as your body boiled with rage, you had just found your girlfriend cheating on you with some slut she found from the strip club. you didn’t cause a fuss, you didn’t scream, but you did kick both their asses out.

with all the bullshit you had been going through the past couple weeks, this was the last straw for you. you couldn’t take anymore, you didn’t know what to do.

you leaned back against the wall, tears threatening to fall down your cheeks. your chest started to get tight, you needed to calm down. you closed your eyes, inhaling and exhaling to regulate your breathing as you counted down from 10.

your tense shoulders fell, and your fists unclenched. you opened your eyes, the tears were gone.

you pulled out your phone to call one of your best friends, but before you even hit her contact name you remembered, she was in miami right now and you certainly didn’t want to bother her with your mess, she probably had enough going on already.

you pondered on who you could talk to, scrolling down your contact list, until you reach a familiar name.

shuri.

you and shuri had became good friends after a while and you felt as if you could trust her. but were you really that close to where you could vent to her? you were going to test that theory as you hit her contact.

the phone rung three times before you heard a raspy, “hello?”

“shit! shuri, i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to wake you, i can call back another ti—“

“what happened.” she cut you off, how’d she know?

“i..uh—i just.. wanted someone to talk to..” you replied shyly.

“what happened, y/n, who hurt you?” your stomach fluttered at shuri’s overprotectiveness. you’ve never heard her voice change from the chill tone your used to every time you see her.

“can i.. come to your place?”

“of course.”

after you both had hung up you hopped in your car and drove down to shuri’s apartment.

you let a couple knocks on her door and she answered immediately, almost like she waiting at the door for you.

she let you in and shut the door behind you. you took a seat at her island and placed your head in your hands. she sat to the right of you and waited until you were ready to spill.

“my girlfriend cheated on me.” shuri’s eyes widened a little.

“damn, for real?” you nodded and gave a shaky sigh.

“i don’t know what to do right now, i mean— it’s like every time i feel like i’m getting ahead and doing good for myself, some stupid shit come and mess it up, i can’t catch a damn break.”

shuri knew what had been going on with you, but she didn’t like the ways she was finding it out. the last place she would want to see stuff about her friends personal life is on social media. she had heard all about you getting taken advantage of from your managers and other people you considered ‘friends’, and now this.

shuri glanced over at something in her hallway, then back at you.

“you know what you need?” you lifted your face from your palms, and looking over at the young royal.

“—to let your anger out..” she grabbed your hand and led to her built in studio room she had in her apartment. she flicked on the lights and plopped in her chair.

“you wanna say something, let the whole world hear it.” she pointed to the mic with a pair of headphones set on top of it. she didn’t have to say anything else.

you shut the door behind you, now enclosed in the live room.

“i got the perfect sound for you..” she smiled and tapped a button on her sound booth.

suddenly the sound of electric guitar and keys filled your ears, it filled your soul and it boosted your energy. you closed your eyes, your head subtly bobbing to the beat.

“you need to release that stress, y/n. that’s the only way you’re gonna feel better.”

you placed the headphones over your ears. you breathed, and let it all go.

everything was all flooding out of you, as you spewed lyrics left and right. shuri’s face scrunched up as she turned your mic up.

all of that pain, hurt, regret, everything that you had let slide in the past, it was all coming out, you needed to exercise those demons inside of you, and shuri was letting you do just that.

she wanted you to let everyone know that you weren’t taking anymore shit from anybody and she watched you in admiration, as you let the music engulf you.

you drowned out everything on the outside, and the more you thought about what had happened to you, the harder you spit.

all shuri could do was shake her head with a smirk on her face. you were truly something to behold. she just wanted to hold you up in the spotlight and give you the recognition you deserved, she wanted you to be treated with the respect you deserved, and this was her first step in to getting you that.

as soon as your last lyric ended, you ripped to headphones off your head, breathing heavily, surprised from what you had just done.

“yesss!!!” shuri yelled from the other side of the glass.

“i knew you were special!” you smiled and you felt your cheeks start to burn. “you did good, pretty girl!”

“thank you..” you couldn’t help but smile like a fucking idiot.

“bet you feel better now, huh?” you looked down at the mic then back up at her.

“yeah.. i do.”

#shuri udaku #shuri x reader #shuri x y/n #mcu shuri #shuri x black! fem! reader #bpwf #shuri fic #shuri #letitia wright

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ididit-allofit-foryou · 2 years ago

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Chronic Illness Products: Tried and Tested by a Fellow Spoonie

Hey! I’m Rain, and I have various chronic illnesses and disabilities, including: POTS, chronic migraine, chronic pain, and chronic fatigue. The following products are some that have helped me with my symptoms!

Migraine Ice Head Wrap

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09BN7TV6N/?coliid=I2CB88I8424KRB&colid=OPCCR26R0SR4&psc=1&ref_=list_c_wl_lv_ov_lig_dp_it

This is great because it can be either heated in the microwave or cooled in the freezer. It has gel in it and it is heavy so it puts a little pressure on your head. It also has velcro closure so it can be adjusted for head size and pressure. You don’t even have to put it in the freezer if you like it cold, because if you keep it at room temperature (my house is usually between 68-71 degrees F) it will get cold by itself and it can help for a while, about 10 minutes before it gets warmed by your body heat.

Monthly Pill Organizer

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09V53JTM6/?coliid=I2IBUBXDTRNU36&colid=OPCCR26R0SR4&psc=1&ref_=list_c_wl_lv_ov_lig_dp_it

I hated having to refill my pill box every week, so I got 2 monthly organizers and use one for morning and one for night, and I only have to fill it once a month! I like this band because it is easy to open and each week comes out by itself so if you travel you can take just one week with you. I also like that they are all in a case and it closes for safe keeping.

Bed Tent

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07T4JV6ZT/?coliid=I33UE149JTQBTG&colid=OPCCR26R0SR4&psc=1&ref_=list_c_wl_lv_ov_lig_dp_it

This is more expensive, but it is absolutely worth it if you have migraines. It has 6 zippers: one on each side, one on each end, and the top part of each end flap has a second zipper that opens a mesh area if you want air or light. You can close it entirely, and it makes it dark even in daylight, but it is still breathable and not stifling. There is also a pocket at one end that can hold a TON of stuff. I keep snacks and things in there for easy access. Finally, there is a little circle hook on the top where you can hang a camping fan or light if you want!

Cooling Neck and Head Towel

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00JH4H5AS/?coliid=I3L6Z4MFFV2IK1&colid=OPCCR26R0SR4&psc=1&ref_=list_c_wl_lv_ov_lig_dp_it

There’s a few different brands of these, and I couldn’t find the exact one I have, but any will work! My brother used this brand for when he played sports–I use mine to cool my neck when I’m nauseous lol. It stays cold for longer than just a regular rag and the water doesn't get everywhere.

Neck Pillow

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09MQ416CR/?coliid=I34LO7QKQ5H4Z&colid=OPCCR26R0SR4&psc=1&ref_=list_c_wl_lv_ov_lig_dp_it

Simple, yet effective. If you have POTS or any other condition that makes it hard to sit up for long periods of time, or a condition where you have neck weakness/pain, then this is for you. Riding in a car? Recline that seat a bit and put on a neck pillow. 10/10 much better car experience.

Cane With Seat

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00DPOOCC0/?coliid=I133WRLIWPH40D&colid=OPCCR26R0SR4&psc=1&ref_=list_c_wl_lv_ov_lig_dp_it

I have POTS, and I use a wheelchair for most places that require walking, but a lot of areas where I live are not wheelchair-accessible. So, I use this! If I feel dizzy, I can just open the seat and sit down for a bit until by body chills the fuck out.

Electric Toothbrush

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08LJNZW3Y/?coliid=I189MT1VEIKUTZ&colid=OPCCR26R0SR4&psc=1&ref_=list_c_wl_lv_ov_lig_dp_it

It doesn’t have to be this kind, but since I can’t stand long enough to brush my teeth very long (or at all some days), I use an electric toothbrush to get a better clean in a shorter amount of time. They cost a bit more, but less than a cavity filling.

Shower Chair

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07NM77DJ2/?coliid=I1SRRBS7ISI3E1&colid=OPCCR26R0SR4&psc=1&ref_=list_c_wl_lv_ov_lig_dp_it

If you feel dizzy in the shower, or can’t stand very long due to pain, or for whatever reason, and are considering getting a shower chair, this is your sign to do it!! It has helped me so much and makes showering SO much easier and way less daunting.

Bath Pillow

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0B9WG925R/?coliid=I1C4T2MUPR33WU&colid=OPCCR26R0SR4&psc=1&ref_=list_c_wl_lv_ov_lig_dp_it

I have chronic pain and laying in the bathtub in warm water can help with it, but it also hurt my neck to lay on the hard surface. Not anymore! I’ve also seen full-body bath pillows that would be GREAT but I don’t have anywhere to store it. For this one, I just keep it in the tub all the time.

That’s all I could think of at the moment, but I will reblog this with more items if I think of any! Feel free to add to this list yourselves!

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eyeofnewtblog · 1 year ago

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Things that happen at home:

So, my mom had her first symphony concert this weekend, and I’m happy to report that it was a smashing success.

What I personally thought was really cool is that the whole symphony is mostly older women. Most of the brass section was older men though, and you could tell that the trumpet and trombone players were having a great time with the music (lots of jamming out head and shoulders movement) and WOW that tuba player has A Set Of Lungs.

Honestly kinda makes me miss the days when Middle Sister would stand just outside my bedroom door and just BLAST through her practice session as fast as possible. Yes, she was a tuba player. Yes, she was in marching band and orchestra. Yes, I absolutely ran out screaming “MOOOOOOMMMMMM!!!!!” Every. Single. Time. No, that did not stop her in anyway whatsoever.

Anyway, there was also a cello soloist that performed with violin and viola accompaniment, and he was legitimately fantastic. I told my mom during intermission that she was better and she did her scrunch up face of You’re Full Of Shit But I Like The Support which was cute.

I was sitting next to my one of my cousins for the concert and we both kept side eyeing each other and giggling about how he was bobbing along and jamming out…for those of you that don’t know, it’s very easy to jam out and look cool when you have either a very small instrument or a very large instrument.

When you have a medium instrument, like a cello or French horn, you just look silly if you’re jamming out (saxophone is the exception) and my mom has this very…contained way of playing that looks intense but graceful and determined. So to see someone looking like they’re jamming out on an electric guitar while playing a cello was just…hilarious to us, because we’ve been watching my mom jam out for decades and never seen anyone look so goofy while sounding so good.

One of my moms work friends showed up, and she was an absolute delight. Complete sweetheart; it’s also really fucking funny to tease government contractors about their top secret clearances and joke about their projects or basically anything that they aren’t allowed to talk about. (I teased her specifically about being in the CIA because she does intelligence analysis; my husband and I have a long standing “argument” about if my mom works on quantum computers or making targeted ai satellite systems talk to each other, because honestly her PhD could easily allow for both) the goal is to make relatively small jokes and then drop it quickly because you don’t actually want them to violate their security protocols…but fucking hell if it isn’t fun to toe the line.

My mechanic husband had the dubious joy of teaching me how to jump start a car in the parking lot without jumper cables. (My car battery is in the fritz and needs replacement but we honestly thought it could wait another month or so…)

But basically you put the car in neutral, push it into a position that it can roll naturally downhill, then put it in either first gear or reverse (which ever way is down hill, basically) and release the clutch. I’m pretty sure this only works on automatic transmission vehicles, but I could be wrong and didn’t ask for clarification.

I’d like to point out that we were in a crowded parking lot with a perfectly functioning set of jumper cables. We could have absolutely asked any of the ten people walking by if we could get a jump. We could have waited for my cousin to come out, because we were parked right next to each other. But no. “What if you’re stuck by yourself? You pride yourself on being able to get out of anything.”

That man knows me too well.

Overall, great night. Fantastic concert, great learning experience, got to be an absolute little shit. 10/10, would do again.

#humans are space orcs #my mom is amazing as always #cello is the best instrument I’ll die on this hill #car trouble #marry a mechanic #trust me it works #but also #marry a plumber #either way you will never be helpless again

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haphazardlyannotated · 2 years ago

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Steven Universe Weapons Graded by Practicality in Actual Combat

Garnet:

There's a reason gauntlets aren't a standard weapon of warfare, and that reason is range. If you want to hit someone with your gauntlets, you have to let them get pretty close. Which might easily be closer than they even need to get to hit you, if their weapon gives them any range at all. Just remember how Jasper got Garnet with the Gem Destabiliser in The Return before Garnet had a chance to get a hit in.

That being said, Garnet's gauntlets have two points in their favour that I wanted to talk about: 1.) They protect her gems, which would otherwise be extremely vulnerable. When in combat, you'll all but certainly have to use your hands to attack, deflect or even just catch yourself when you fall. Garnet's gems would be at a constant risk of cracking without her gauntlets. And 2.) Garnet's gauntlets can be launched like rockets, which at least partially negates the range problem.

Overall assessment: 5/10, saved by the special features

Amethyst:

Like gauntlets, real life whips don't fare too well as implements of war. Unless you can get it around your enemy's neck, the best thing you can hope for is that you'll be able to hit them hard enough to make them drop their weapons. Also, it would be pretty difficult not to hit your allies with it by accident.

However, the way Amethyst's whip works negates all of these problems. Not only can Amethyst get her whip wrapped around her enemy and then squeeze them until they poof, she is also strong enough to either slam a wrapped up enemy into the floor or walls hard enough to take them out, we see her grab a boulder several times her size and use it as a flail in Steven vs Amethyst. Her weapon also has the additional perk of being useful to restrain an enemy, and just as a little cherry on top, can apparently also produce electric(?) shocks.

Overall a ridiculously good weapon, easy 10/10.

Pearl:

Spear: Spears are (well, were) the most commonly used real life weapon for a reason. They can be used both one- and two handed, both to stab at mid range and to throw at long range, and Pearl's seems to be suitable to all four. She also uses it to slash at her opponents like a glaive, and can shoot energy balls(?). However, Amethyst's whip is still more versatile, so I'm going to rate Pearl's spear 9/10.

Trident: I'm sorry, Bismuth, but the two extra stabs per attack aren't worth losing the slashing and making the throws more difficult in my eyes. 7/10, one point deduced for each.

Swords: Also popular for a reason. I don't think I need to explain why swords are good, so I'm just going to say that since Pearl's swords don't have any magical properties, I'm going to give them a simple 7/10 and move on.

Steven:

A real life shield is not really a weapon, but we've seen Steven's shield be thrown like a boomerang, and it seems to be pretty effective. That being said, this attack is at the very least much more difficult in mêlée, by which I mean if you're holding something off with it, you have to wait and pray that someone else will help you out, because you're not getting off any attacks now.

4/10 with the caveat that I'm unsure if this should have been rated here in the first place.

Connie:

We already did swords. 7/10.

Peridot:

Limb Enhancers: They're not solely weapons, but they have weapon functions, so I decided they count. Mainly, I think her blaster should be rated 8/10, as it seems to be much more destructive than Pearl's energy balls, but can only be used to either directly hurt your opponent, or collapse structures on them.

Metal Spike: Well, it worked, I guess? In all seriousness, if she got good at impaling people with it, that'd be a 7/10 for a regular spear equivalent.

Soda Cans: Look, Peri, if you were going to throw human metal objects, you should have picked the cars. 1/10 for comic relief.

Lapis:

I'm pretty sure "The Ocean" doesn't generally count as a weapon, but if it did, it'd be a 1000/10. There's a reason Lapis had to be kept away from the main plot.

Bismuth:

I don't know how to evaluate the shapeshift weapons, but the Breaking Point has hilariously low ratings. It's very short range, can not be used to block or parry, and needs to hit one exact tiny bullseye on a moving target. 2/10, and we don't even need to debate the ethics of war.

Jasper:

Helmet: Congratulations, we've found a weapon that requires you to get even closer to the target than gauntlets! In all seriousness, Jasper's helmet is a very impractical weapon. Not only does it have a small range, Jasper also has to lower her head and thus limit her field of vision when attacking. It does protect her gem, but not as well as Garnet's gauntlets protect hers, seeing how the visor thing is broken in Jailbreak, but Garnet's gauntlets never have been.

0/10, I honestly believe she'd be better off fighting with her bare hands

Destabilizer: This basically comes down to how many times you can use one of those. If it's unlimited, your opponents' only chance is to fire at you from a distance, and I'd rate it 11/10. If it's a one or two uses and then you need to recharge or get a new one, it's still an 8/10, but you'll want to have another weapon on hand.

Opal:

Opals bow is ridiculously good. It can hit a bazillion targets at a time and auto bubble them! And it satisfies my inherent bias for long distance weapons! What more could you want? Basically, Opal took a bow, which is already a great weapon, and then buffed it by a thousand.

12/10, the real reason we see so little of Opal is that she's too powerful.

Sugilite:

Flails were pretty rare weapons historically, probably because a weapon that will hit either you or your ally like a cartoon boomerang if you miss is too much of a liability. Also, momentum makes swinging it slower than everything we've seen before. Overall, I agree with the historical judgment. 3/10.

Sardonyx:

War hammers are much better documented as historical weapons than flails, and much more effective than I initially assumed. Apparently they were useful because they can knock you out through a metal helmet. If Sardonyx' hammer had a pointy end instead of two flat ones, it could also be used for grappling, but as it is, I'm afraid the lack of versatility will keep the score at 6/10.

Smoky Quartz:

I can't reasonably use real life yoyos as a comparison for Smoky's yoyo, so I'll treat it like a more controlled flail: A weapon that can hit around obstacles up to the longer end of mid distance and be recalled easily. Also, it can grapple and create tornadoes. Overall, it's to Sugilite's flail what Amethyst's whip is to, well, real life whips.

10/10 weapon, no notes

Rainbow 2.0

We never see Rainbow fight with their umbrella, but we do see him use some sort of telekinesis with it. If we assume that the umbrella can be used to stab an opponent (if it can't, I don't think it can be classified as a weapon), I'd give it a reluctant 4/10, since it's still not very good at taking anyone out, but the telekinesis could be pretty useful defensively.

Sunstone:

I have no earthly, or indeed alien idea as to how one would go about fighting with suction cups. I'll grade this one not applicable.

Obsidian:

All the advantages of a regular sword, but it can also easily cut through metal, and, if the lava is to be taken seriously, stone, so it can also be used to dismantle your enemies' fortifications. 10/10

Ruby:

Basically the same points as Garnet's gauntlets, except she's more limited due to having even shorter range and only one gauntlet. We don't have proof as to whether she can launch hers, but I decided to assume she can, on the basis that it has to originate somewhere.

3/10

Rose and Stevonnie:

I'm going to guess that the sword and shield combo is probably better than just a sword, and definitely better than just a shield, but I don't want to give it a 10/10, because it can't compare to the versatility of my other 10/10s, so I'll give it an 8/10 and call it good.

Eyeball:

A handheld knife strikes the lowest step on the weapons ladder. It heavily skews the odds in your favour if your opponent is unarmed, but doesn't have the range or damage output to do much against anything on this list(except Peridot's soda cans, and technically Jasper's helmet, but 1.) Jasper could beat Eyeball barehanded and 2.) Eyeball would never attack Jasper).

2/10

Topaz:

A fairly common weapon for a while, but it can't do anything other than smash things. I'll give it the same rating as Sardonyx' war hammer for the same reasons. 6/10.

Aquamarine:

Look, I know it's kind of a grey area whether this counts as a weapon, but that little staff was scary. It can freeze any number of opponents? Of seemingly any power level? With no apparent time limit? 20/10, how are you supposed to fight this?

Bluebird:

A cutlass is a sword. 7/10. 9/10 if I count the barrage of ice cutlasses. Very good weapons, it's just that Steven and Alexandrite are vastly more powerful, so the quality of her weapon didn't end up mattering.

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astoundingbeyondbelief · 8 months ago

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Kaiju Week in Review (March 10-16, 2024)

"It looks as though its Japanese producers, assisted by a stray American—fellow named Terry Morse, who is an alumnus of Hollywood's Poverty Row—made a close study of the old film, "King Kong," then tried to do substantially the same thing with a miniature of a dinosaur made of gum-shoes and about $20 worth of toy buildings and electric trains." —Bosley Crowther, reviewing Godzilla, King of the Monsters! for The New York Times

"The special effects are hardly special, but hey, what do you expect in a Japanese monster movie?" —Tony Kiss, reviewing Godzilla 1985 for the Asheville Citizen-Times

"Sure it's bad filmmaking. Sure it's a guy—actor Tsutomu Kitagawa—clad in a nearly vintage latex Godzilla getup and stomping through Tokyo, knocking down cardboard mini-buildings and upending toy-sized cars with his gnarly feet. But that's the point." —Bob Longino, reviewing Godzilla 2000 for The Palm Beach Post

Godzilla Minus One won the Oscar for Best Visual Effects at the 96th Academy Awards, sending a stunned Takashi Yamazaki (VFX supervisor), Kiyoko Shibuya (VFX director), Masaki Takahashi (3D CG director), and Tatsuji Nojima (VFX artist/compositor) to the Dolby Theatre stage. Said Yamazaki, reading from prepared comments in English, "To someone so far from Hollywood, the possibility of standing on this stage seemed out of reach." I could scarcely believe what I was watching myself, despite having given a presentation for a Wikizilla stream mere hours before on Minus One's very real chances of beating more expensive American contenders. Everything I said about its nomination goes triple for its victory; we'll be talking about this one forever. To those of us who remember when Godzilla was basically a joke in the American consciousness (including my Wikizilla colleague Darthlord1997, who had a speech of his own prepared), it's the ultimate vindication.

youtube

Never one to rest on his laurels, Takashi Yamazaki directed an ad for Ajinomoto about food waste which released this week. It features the unsubtly-named Foodlosslla attacking Tokyo and facing an Ultraman-esque defense team. As with Minus One, the ad's visuals are a clever combination of high-end (a detailed CG monster) and low-end (dropping plastic fruit on top of fleeing extras).

youtube

Last year, the 4Kids Flashback podcast interviewed Mike Pecoriello, producer and writer for the company's renditions of Yu-Gi-Oh! and Ultraman Tiga, and he delivered some major news about the latter. Although only 23 episodes of Tiga aired in the U.S., 4Kids dubbed the whole thing. At the time of the podcast's recording, he thought he made copies of all the episodes, but while that doesn't seem to be the case, he did provide 4Kids Flashback with the series finale. It's a good deal more serious than the episodes which aired, with the quips kept to a minimum. Let the hunt for the rest commence!

SciFi Japan has details on Kaiju Yarrow, a Japanese comedy doubling as a tourism ad for the city of Seki. The premise is very self-aware:

KAIJU YARROW! is set in Seki City, Gifu Prefecture. One day, 30 year old Ichiro Yamada, who works in the tourism department of a government office, is ordered by the mayor to produce a "local film.'' However, Yamada, didn't want to produce the typical "mediocre local movies'' that are everywhere nowadays, so he comes up with the idea of making a "monster movie'', which has been his life-long dream. However, his dreams develops into a major incident involving the city government...! Will Yamada be able to complete his life goal of making a monster movie??

Junichiro Yagi will direct; YouTuber Gunpee will star. Unknown quantities both when it comes to kaiju, so how this will turn out is anyone's guess.

Tickets for Godzilla x Kong: The New Empire have gone on sale in the U.S.—and as a reminder, the brief GKIDS theatrical release of The End of Evangelion wraps tomorrow.

#godzilla minus one #oscars #ultraman tiga #kaiju yarrow #takashi yamazaki #godzilla x kong the new empire #kaiju week in review #godzilla #kaiju

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somejazzinthemorning · 2 years ago

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tightrope. 04

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x Original Female Character Warnings: Language, I guess? Word Count: ~12K

As soon as we arrived in Verona, regret and shame hit me right in the gut. Seeing my grandpa's unsteady gait as he rushed to meet Rio, the tears in his eyes, and the quivering voice with which he whispered "my grandson works at Ferrari" made me realise the magnitude of his achievement.

"My grandson works at Ferrari." My brother works at Ferrari .

The words rang like a church bell in my head the whole week. Mixed feelings fighting inside— the fear of being alone, the disappointment to have it all hidden from me and the regret of having said such harsh things to the person I love and admire most in the world.

It didn’t matter how many times I’d tried to apologize, Rio would refuse to talk with me outside any mandatory meeting.

I’d messed up. There was no doubt about it. And I needed to do something about it.

But there were two races left to win and a championship to grab and if I wanted my name on that trophy, I needed to completely focus on racing. So, no matter how much shame and guilt weighed on my lungs, I needed to ignore everything going on outside the track.

That included my brother. That included Carlos, who had tried to call me twice during the week. That also included my dad and his constant talks about contracts and the promises for next season.

I forced myself to put a tampon over these feelings, stopping myself from even talking about them. And the worse thing about the roof of an empty hotel room is the fact that late at night it can become a mirror; Each night I was faced with myself, and the effects of all that had happened in the last weeks.

Regret and anxiety. Pressure and fear;

The weight of all these emotions and the expectations people around me held for that weekend weighed heavily on me. When I stepped onto the track on that Saturday for the first race of the weekend, the air was heavy and I felt like I couldn't breathe.

Passion fighting head to head with the anxiety. The emotions inside burst with the same intensity as the ones on the grandstands.

Imola’s grid was full, but my eyes couldn’t focus on the dozens of cars aligned on the track, not even on the black and red Ferrari parked in front of me, at the first mark of the grid.

The atmosphere was something I’d never experienced before.

The noise was constant, a low rumble that rose and fell with the action on the track. And now, they were silent, observing us. I had watched them the day before, I’d felt their passion at the end of the qualifying session in the morning, from where I’d gotten my sixth pole position of the season. Each time a car drove by, the crowd erupted in joy, a sea of red and yellow taking over the grandstands. It was an incredible sight and sound, either standing on the track or inside the car.

I had never felt that kind of energy; such an electric atmosphere, the crowd burning with anticipation.

The passion .

To this day, I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything like it.

“10 minutes.” Rocco’s voice snapped me back to reality. He was standing next to me, headphones over his head. “They need you back in the car.”

Right . I just nodded. My mind was focused on just one goal: to be the first car to reach the finish line, whatever the cost. And, by starting in pole position, it didn’t seem like a hard challenge.

It was a hot day in northern Italy. The tarmac was hot under my feet and the air was hard to breathe in. I could feel the sweat forming in my temples and my chest, even before having my suit on. I had it hanging down my waist, a cold vest around my torso, trying to stay cool amid the heat wave happening throughout Europe.

As I approached the car, I felt the adrenaline taking over.

Rio was standing next to the door, already opened to welcome me. My helmet, mainly black with red and yellow stripes framing the vizor, was resting on top of the Ferrari 488 EVO. I got my balaclava and suit on, feeling his gaze burning on my skin. Before entering the car, I dared to look at him.

My eyes travelled up and looked into his.

A dreamer's gaze. Hopeful smile and deep green eyes, always looking beyond the horizon that lay ahead of him. The gleam. A deep, calming voice that inspires confidence. He had always been like this. Strong-willed, driven by ambition, by the paths he waves for himself, by the paths he chooses for himself; never turning back, never giving into somebody else’s dreams, no matter what obstacle he encountered along the way.

A dreamer, not a planner.

And there I was, blaming him and someone else for making it real.

Carlos’ meddling was more about not postponing the step Rio was meant to take, rather than coming up with one for him.

We were doing well in the Challenge, but as I looked around where I was standing, I knew we had done everything we had and could do here. We both knew it was time for a new future, time to take the step. And even if I was not ready for it, he was. I knew he was. He knew it too. And his apologetic look, as I got ready for what would be, possibly, the first of our last races together, told me everything I was trying to ignore.

There was a lot at stake. Even more than just a championship.

This was for Rio, too. For his future.

“You’ve done it loads of times,” he straightened my suit, tucking my braided hair snugly between the black and red suit and the dark fireproofs. “You’ve got this.”

Rio left me after a short hug. I looked around at the dozens of people walking around the grid, their hurried footsteps and the voices that overlapped each other creating a murmur that screamed louder than my thoughts. I remained silent, straightening the balaclava lines around my eyes and nose as I watched the other pilots.

“Ready?” Pietro’s voice made me turn to the car. The old mechanic stood with my helmet in his hand. “You seem tired, Evita.”

“Tough weekend,” I said, taking the helmet he extended in my direction.

He scrunched his nose. “Not ideal,” he said before patting my shoulder. “But I know you’ll get around when you get inside.��

I nodded, sliding the helmet over my head. “We won’t disappoint you today, don’t worry,” I reassured the old man, before completely lowering the helmet around my head.

The second I slid into the cockpit, I felt my heart rate picking up and the heat becoming almost unbearable, as the height of the expectations slowly took over my mind and manifested themselves on my body. While the mechanic made sure I was secure and all the seat belts were adjusted, I focused on the track ahead. No car in sight.

Yet.

They would come.

I waited for the sign, my hands resting on the wheel. My door was still open.

Silence fell on the track.

The calm before the storm.

Pietro leaned inside and my hand left the wheel to hold his. The old man squished it, looking into my eyes. He was a bit older than my father; he carried his age on his grey hair and moustache, and around the lines near his eyes, where the skin wrinkled when he smiled. I closed my vizor with one hand and squished his with the other.

“Ti aspetto al traguardo, donnina ,” he said, still holding my hand in his. It was a promise he always made and one he always fulfilled. I’ll wait for you at the finish line.

And then the door was closed.

Looking at my rearview mirror, I could see the last of the personnel leaving the track with urgency as the engines started to roar. Pietro was among them, now joining Rocco, waiting on the other side of the pit wall.

The storm was arriving.

Gradually, the grunt of the engines took over the circuit. My car awakened around me, vibrating, singing in my ears. A perfect melody. My lips were taken over by a smile as my hands settled on the steering wheel.

The race began on the formation lap, with Pulcini’s not-so-subtle taunts. I could see the black and yellow car appear in the peripheral field at every turn, remembering he was there. He would be there at the start, posing a threat to my much-envied position.

Besides my car and the nineteen turns ahead, Andreas Pulcini was my only worry. My direct competitor for the championship. We had a comfortable margin between us but I knew a bad race could switch things around. If he knew how to push my nerves on and off track, I knew how to retribute.

Each time he tried to poke at me and threaten my position, I returned the favour by playing my part in that mental game that began even before the lights went off. I was the one who held the power. The one in control. And that fed my ego.

As always in the Ferrari Challenge, it was a rolling start. I had the power to control the rhythm. I stepped on the brake as I entered the last turn. The Safety Car was no longer in sight. My eyes were focused on the lights. The cars were slowing down around me. Slow, slow, slow.

At any moment those lights would go off. The red would cease.

And then, the whole grid would step on the accelerator.

And at that moment, it was only me and the car, the embodiment of power and speed. The second the lights went off, I pressed the accelerator. My car lurched forward easily, cutting through the main straight, side to side with the blue car.

First turn, Pulcini was closing in dangerously, Fox just tenths behind him.

The car was handling them beautifully. I was flying. As I got to Tamburello, I had them behind, fighting each other. I could see them in my rearview mirror, but my focus was on the road ahead.

Each turn, each straight, a dance.

Grande macchina! Adrenaline was taking over. My blood was rushing through me quickly, energy building up in my body. My eyes followed the curves, the car drawing the correct lines. A comfortable margin grew between me and Pulcini. I was in the right headspace, my car was behaving beautifully. Everything seemed to be working as planned.

“Car stopped at turn 12.” I heard it on the radio. “Be careful.”

“Safety Car?”

“Yes,” the answer came quickly. “You know what to do.”

As I went through Aqua Minarelli, I saw a purple and yellow car over the grass; no signs of impact.

“Is she okay?” I asked after not seeing the driver next to the Ferrari.

“Driver’s okay.”

A Safety Car could be both salvation and doom and at that moment, it was a threat to my lead. I had to stay calm. The distance that had grown between me and Pulcinni was beginning to shrink. The three laps we spent behind the Safety Car were enough to turn the seconds I had managed to win over both Pulcini and Fox into tenths.

“Safety car in this lap.” I heard and looking in my mirror I could see them at my heels, so close.

As the green flags were waved and the race restarted, the engines roared louder. As I got to the main straight, while trying to keep away from my two competitors, I felt the car struggling.

“Something’s off. Losing power.”

“We’ll take a look after the race,” the answer came quickly.

Pulcini was right behind me, taking advantage of my power loss. If you can’t be fast, be smart. I remembered my Sainz Sr’s old advice. I took a deep breath. Turn by turn, that’s the plan. Despite the power loss, the car was behaving beautifully. As we got to Tamburello, I could feel Pulcini’s car close to mine but I held my line and came out ahead.

“Brava, Eva!” I heard on the radio. “Keep going.”

I couldn’t pull away from him.

He was smart and fast. I kept defending as best as I could, but it became harder every time he tried to get past me. The second time we went through the main straight we were side to side. My heart was in my throat as I saw the other car right behind him.

Fuck no .

“I don’t know how much longer I can hold him off.”

As we entered Turn 1, he was still there. I refused to give up the fight. There was no way I would let him go away and take the lead from me. I knew him, I knew exactly how he would try to overtake and all I could do it take it difficult for him. Block his moves and think ahead. I braked as late as I possibly could and, as expected, he did the same. What I didn’t expect was to be pushed off track.

“Stronzo! Imbelice!” I yelled to the silence, feeling the car spin on the grass, after a strong impact on my rear.

There was no friction as the car turned on the grass. I prayed to not make contact with the barrier or another car. My head was bobbing in my seat, preventing me from having a clear view of the circuit. The cars passing by me just looked like blurs.

My chances would be gone if I didn't finish that race.

“Are you okay?”

As soon as I regained control, I accelerated. The car was back on track. Pulcini was not behind me, I couldn’t see him in the mirrors.

“Fine. Position?”

“P4. Fox is P1. Pulcini next.” No. Fuck, no. These men won’t take the win away from me. “Just bring it home, Eva. We have tomorrow.”

Andreas was ahead? Fuck no.

“That fuc— Ah!” I stopped myself from cursing in my engineer's ears. I repeatedly slammed my clenched fist into the steering wheel, immediately grunting in pain. What a fucking disaster.

“Pulcini is 0.7 ahead,” I heard Dante’s voice on the radio, a few laps later. “Fox, 3.5.”

“Copy that,” I just said, my focus on the car ahead. He was faster, I knew it, but he was losing time just like me. Although my car wasn’t okay, neither was his. We were in the same position. It was a fair fight.

“Krogen behind,” a pause, “she’s faster than you.”

No, no, no.

I was shaking my head, even though he couldn’t see me. I could see the pink car in my rearview window. I was ahead, the margin was not too short but it was enough to make me worry.

I knew what I had to do, I was trying to do it but the car was not responding.

Besides, I had Pulcini less than a second away. I needed to focus on him, attack him and move forward and not let him escape while I was busy defending from Krogen. The main straight was the longest part of the track and the perfect place to regain my position but when I got there Pulcini was too far ahead to reach. I needed another lap.

“Time left?” I asked on the radio.

“Five minutes, plus one lap.”

Okay. That could be three laps, four maybe. I could do it.

I had absolutely no chance to overtake him that lap. My car didn't cooperate and I felt like I was fighting the tide. I felt my blood boiling with frustration, especially seeing Pulcini so easily evade my attempts to overtake him.

“Krogen is half a second behind,” I heard again. “Pulcini, 1.3”

Fucking hell.

I was trying, really fucking trying, but the car was unresponsive. I was pushing to the limit, but it just wouldn’t go any faster. I was shaking my head, trying to get rid of the thoughts, fears and doubts. I was trying to focus, but it was impossible. Everything was happening too fast.

I had been so focused on Pulcini and Fox that I had neglected Krogen. And she was taking full advantage of it. She was right there. She was coming too fast.

“What is happening with the car? Do I have damage?”

“We believe so,” Fuck . What a shitshow. “Bring it home. The fight’s tomorrow.”

Fuck that.

My eyes were on the mirrors. Krogen was close, way too close for comfort. And Gostner, in the blue and white car, was right behind. I needed to defend like hell if I wanted a chance at winning the championship that day, in front of that amazing crowd.

But as we got to the last turn and faced the straight ahead, I came to the realization: there was nothing else to do.

Even though I exited the corner better, my car just couldn’t keep up with her speed. She overtook me in the straight. Gostner was very close to doing the same.

“Last lap.”

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” I screamed in the silence of the car, my screams being muffled by the helmet and the roar of the engine.

Gostner became my challenge. He was young, with little experience. That was my salvation. The lack of experience and confidence made it easier for me to hold him behind in the last lap remaining.

I crossed the finish line in P4, 0.4 seconds behind Krogen. 0.4 seconds away from my championship. It was not lost, but, at that moment, the disappointment rushed over me, taking me whole.

There was a dark haze floating around my mind when I parked the car on the pit lane, vision blurred by tick tears, weighted by anger. Pietro was there to unleash me from the seatbelts, as he promised. I didn’t take off my helmet or even raised my vizor.

“I’m sorry, donnina ,” he put a hand on my shoulder. “We’ll do better tomorrow.”

I just nodded, not trusting myself to say anything. Behind the tick layer of tears, I could see Fox celebrating his win. I would congratulate him on it, but right now I felt as like being crushed by the weight of the world. I raised my vizor to clean the tears and the sweat forming around my eyes. And then, feeling like I would explode if I continued sitting there, I got out of the car.

My helmet shielded me from the chaotic atmosphere that had settled in the pit lane. People would move out of the way as I crossed through the crowd, walking towards the garage. I left my helmet on one of the counters and desperately tried to get rid of the balaclava. Lungs aching for a breath of fresh hair. Pressure grew on my chest. A cloud blinded me.

I grabbed a bottle of water and left.

Some strands of hair were sticking to my face as I walked aimlessly around the paddock, the sweat pooling on my temples and cheeks, as I tried to find a safe place to be left alone with the ticking bomb my mind had become.

I ended up sitting on the floor, my back against the wall of a truck, hiding from the curious looks that shamelessly followed me. I was still shaking when I sat down, feeling like I was going to vomit. So much was happening inside. I willed myself to take deep breaths.

Each second of the desired silence and quietness was making me overthink every lap of the race and each decision that led me to my result. The voice of the inner impostor was taking control of my own mind. I felt powerless. The pressure in my chest increased as my rib cage seemed to shrink around my heart and lungs, working faster and faster.

My arms were shaking.

I felt my muscles tense and darkness took over my vision.

Without feeling it, I was rocking my body back and forth, with the palms of my hands resting on my chest. Trembling, I brought my fingers to the zipper of the suit, opening it up, and then to the collar of the fireproof, pulling the fabric down. I wasn’t breathing. I was slipping into some sort of deep panic.

I was crumbling under the pressure and frustration, the fear and insecurity. I had been reckless and immature. I didn’t read the race well. I underestimated a driver and suffered the consequences. I ignored my team, which was waiting for me at the pit lane.

I opened the water bottle. My dry lips, relentlessly wrapped along the bottle, drinking the cool water with desperation, trying to escape that living nightmare. I poured water into my hands and splashed the cold liquid over my face. I leaned my head against the wall, my hands at the side of my body, touching the hot tar where I was sitting.

I can smell burnt rubber. I can see the flag that the wind waves. I can hear the crowd. I can feel the heat of the tar on my fingertips. I can feel the cold drops of water running down my neck. I can see the pigeon crossing the sky. I can smell the fuel. I can feel the texture of my suit. I can hear the giggle of a child. I can hear the engines. I can smell the sweat. I can taste it on my lips.

I don't know how much time it took until I felt grounded enough to get back to the garage. Head down, suit secured around my waist, and my hair up in a ponytail, I made my way back under the curious eyes of a couple of people in the paddock. A couple of feet ahead, Pulcini stood next to Krogen. His lips turned into a small smile, and his hand went up in the air, waving in my direction. His long dark hair was still wet from the champagne. I waved back at him and before he could catch me to exchange some words (and probably apologize for whatever had happened in the race), I rushed to the garage.

Rio was in the middle of the mechanics, all of them hunched over the hood of the car. Their heads turned to me when I entered, and slowly each one of them went back to work, except for my brother, whose eyes lingered on mine for one more second.

“Is it too bad?” I asked, and like my voice was a trigger to his action, his head went back down.

The air in the garage grew tense. Immature. I just turned my head to Pietro, standing next to him, whose eyes were shifting between the two of us.

“We can fix it, don’t worry,” Pietro said, patting my brother’s back as he stood up straight. I walked over to them, stopping on the other side of the car. In between us, the car, Rio had his hands dirty with dust and oil.

“Sure we can. What can I do?”

“Nothing, Eva. Go back to the hotel and get some rest,” replied my brother.

Pietro brought his heavy hand to my shoulder. “You can help me once we start working in the rear, donninna .” I nodded. “Now, go eat something. Rest.”

Once again, I nodded before walking to the back of the garage where a small workbench and a couple of tools were. I sat down, my attention on my brother and the group of mechanics. Their hands moved with the precision of a machine. A couple of movements, a couple of voices and sounds echoed throughout the garage as if it would be the one thing that would guide me out of the miasma.

“She’s okay,” I heard my father’s voice. My head turned to the door, watching him walk through, with the phone glued to his cheek. “I’ll go check on her.” He was talking to my mother, perhaps.

Pietro was back with the group, my dad was still on the phone. My head dropped down, tired and disappointed. I was tired. So tired. My body and mind. My hands were still shaking, and I felt like they were feeding on the last bit of energy my body still retained. I had been doing just fine up until this week. In a week, my mind had collapsed. I’d failed.

“Good job out there,” my dad’s voice pulled my attention, as he sat down next to me. “You did your best. It was not enough today, but it’s your best. I’m proud.”

I simply nodded. My rib cage tightened around my chest again, with all the restlessness coming back around to hit me as my eyes met my father’s. The dark haze floating around us prevented me from seeing the pride in his eyes. There was none. He handed me a protein bar and went back to his phone.

“I am sorry, papa, ” I muttered, as I took a bite. He looked back at me. “The way I acted at the end of the race, on the radio, and…” I sighed. “The dinner, the other night. The way things have been these last days too.”

“Eva,” my dad said as he shook his head. “It’s passion. You’re passionate. I would be worried if you didn’t get frustrated.” A faint smile. “We have tomorrow.”

He was avoiding it, as he always did with all the sensitive aspects within our family. It was what frustrated me the most about him: his neutral and always perfect facade. I had never watched him cry, or be actually angry. At that moment, I wanted him to correspond to my feelings, to feel the same emotions in their enormity as I did. I wanted to see a bit of me in him, to feel understood.

That could possibly make it easier to understand his vision for me.

“I just…” I just can’t trust myself to take another step and this just proved it. I can’t do it alone. I just know I’ll fail. I know I’m not capable. I need you. I need Rio. I can’t do it alone. I can't be alone . My mind was still racing, leading me down agonizing paths. “I’m just so frustrated,” I said.

That wasn’t half of what I was thinking.

“I know,” he said. That wasn’t half of what he was thinking too. His hand caressed my hair; my mind eased at his touch. “Nothing is lost.”

I spent the final hours of the afternoon in the garage.

The race ended around 4 pm, and from there until sunset we stayed working, completely oblivious to the reality outside our garage, only the roar of the engines reminding us of the other races happening just a few meters away.

With the garage doors down, with only the too-bright white lights coming from the ceiling and some lanterns scattered around us, we joined forces to understand what was wrong with the car and get it ready for qualifying, happening at 9 am of the next day.

There was a problem with the engine, alongside the damage in the rear, caused by the impact with Andreas. The team divided itself into two groups; I stayed with Pietro and Eddie, his son. The boy, three years younger than me, was sitting on the floor next to his dad, lying under the car. At Pietro’s command, he would pass him the tools.

The scenery took me back to my early years as a driver.

Everything I had learned, I had learned like this - kneeling on the floor of the garage, or leaning over the hood of a car, with Pietro’s voice narrating whatever he was doing. We had met years ago when Rio joined the team. At that time, he was meant to be the driver. He gave up the wheel when he decided to go to college, after a year of competing in the Challenge as an amateur.

I was still wearing the racing suit. My red knee pads had oil stains on them and my suit probably had them too, but I couldn’t perceive the stains on the dark fabric. The fireproof was sticking to my skin, leaving me uncomfortable. I needed a shower and a good night of sleep.

The old man’s head slid from under the car.

“You can go now,” he said, cleaning his thin and agile fingers from the black substance, with a yellow cloth that was beginning to take on the same hue as his fingers. “It’s done. I just need the guys to check a few values and we’ll be done for the day.”

“I won’t leave until you do,” I insisted. If they were working to fix my car, especially because of damage coming from an impact, it was my duty to be there with them.

"You're not going to sleep here, are you?" the old man raised one of his thick grey eyebrows.

"I said what I said,” I shrugged as I stood up, my legs and back struggling to fight gravity.

"Eva, go. We won't be here for much longer and you need to rest." Rest, a shower, a meal , I thought. "You've had a tough day. Rest. You need it for tomorrow."

Tomorrow . I wanted to postpone tomorrow. Delay as much as possible the night, and consequently the morning.

I went around the car, wiping my hands on my tights. The car was looking good. No visible damage in the back, at least. Over my shoulder, the old man watched me, with an arched eyebrow.

“Eva…”

"Okay, I'll go," I gave in. "But please, call me as soon as you're done."

Pietro called me not even an hour later. I heard the muffled ringing coming from the bedroom as I was leaving the shower. The phone was still inside my backpack. I hadn’t paid attention to it the whole day.

Our brief talk didn’t take more than three minutes. Everything was okay.

I sat on the bed in front of the window. A tiny breeze entered the room to kiss my skin, not yet totally dry. A dusty orange lustre was breaching in through the curtain. I looked over at the clock on the nightstand. Almost 9.30 pm. Dinner would be served in half an hour.

Looking down at the phone in my hand, a wall of notifications stared back at me. They were mainly messages from friends and family, especially from Marjorie, who had to stay in Spain with the twins. I read them without much care, just taking the time to hear the audio message she had sent last: the delicious confusing mumble of my nieces, wishing me good luck for the next day.

And then, messages from Carlos. Plural.

“I’m so sorry.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Call me if you need.”

And a couple of hours later:

“I know you are winning this tomorrow. Can’t wait for it.”

And half an hour later:

“I was serious. Call me if you need.”

"Anytime you need.”

I couldn't help but crack a smile. This was what I had been missing for so long, what I had silently asked for and never received. These seconds that he never managed to dedicate to me. But at the same time, so many questions, and so little trust.

“disappointed. stupid mistakes."

"i could have avoided all of this.”

“It happens. Don’t be too harsh on yourself.”

“You are still leading the championship. You still have tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow.

Looking at the mirror at the side of the bed, I barely recognized the reflection. The image in the mirror looked back at me with a tiredness that matched my own. My eyes, usually so full of life and light, were now dull and sunken in, the skin around them darker than usual. The long blonde hair on my back was still wet. My face was free of makeup, revealing the cracks of my so imperfect facade.

I let out a deep breath, feeling my shoulders drop as the tension left my body. So, so many mistakes that could have been avoided.

Looking at the messages one more time, I felt a warmth in my chest.

“not that easy. you know that.”

“I do. I’ve been there. What’s done is done. You can’t change it.”

“Amaze us tomorrow. Read the race. See the lines. You have it in yourself.”

At least he understood.

I put on a black tank top and some washed boyfriend jeans and left the room with my hair still wet since I was feeling so tired I couldn't bother to style it. I felt like I was in a daze — tired, emotionally and physically. I was still trying to make sense of what had happened in the race.

The phone vibrated in my hand when I stepped outside the elevator.

“Maybe I can call you later?”

“please do.”

I felt the void in my chest deflating. I looked at the phone for a second longer, taking in a small victory, before taking the last steps to reach the dining hall. Tables and chairs were scattered around the dimly lit room. Groups of people, some of them familiar faces, were chatting and enjoying their meals. It wasn't until I saw the food that I understood how famished I was.

My mom and dad chose a table in one of the corners of the room beside a large painting of a 248 F1 crossing the finish line at Imola. On the corner of the painting it was written “Michael Schumacher, 2006”. I greeted them with a small nod of my head and a tired smile as I took my seat. Rio was not at the table.

“Where’s Rio?” I asked as I reached for the napkin.

“He’s already eaten,” my mom answered with a tone that I knew meant she disapproved of his decision.

“Did you watch the race?” my dad asked. Eyes on his plate.

“I didn’t have the chance yet,” neither I wanted to , I desired to add. My mom filled my cup with water and raised a hand to call the waitress. “I just got back from the track. I was helping with the car.”

“I see,” he looked at me over the rim of his glasses. I knew that look. “Make sure to watch it before bed.”

He was not asking anything wrong of me, but there was nothing to learn from the race. I knew exactly where my mistakes were made and why I had made them. Figuring out the reasons behind my bad judgements was something I had to reflect on, but I wouldn’t solve this by watching the race.

I resorted to nodding in silence and playing with the cutlery. For my dinner, I picked the first option from the menu and ate in complete silence. My parents seemed to be lost in their thoughts, just sharing casual words about the food trying to make the dinner less uncomfortable. It didn’t work. I couldn’t stop thinking about the race and the awful things I had felt right after that were making me doubt my capacity to battle the next day.

“I’m going to bed,” I announced as I got up from the table. I kissed the top of my mom’s head and lightly stroked her shoulder. “See you tomorrow at the track.”

“Get some rest, my love,” she said. My dad didn’t speak a word.

Walking away from the dining hall and looking outside to the big golf course extending past the back of the hotel, I felt tempted to go for a walk. Just the thought of it made me feel even more tired than before.

Bed it is , I thought.

The light from the laptop screen was too bright for my eyes. The roar of the engines and the fast voice of the commentator were too much for my head. I felt it implode as I tried to focus on the race. I turned off the volume. There was nothing but the hum of my breath and the laptop fan whirling.

I kept reviewing the same moment. The impact at Turn 1. The car spinning in the grass. I watched the slow-motion replays and the onboard cam and I went back to the restart to watch it over again. And again.

Anger swelled up inside of me. I was frozen in front of my screen, sitting in bed, watching my own race over and over again, looking for answers that weren’t there. I was torturing myself with the thoughts of what could have happened if I didn’t regain control of the car.

Where would I be if the car had ended up in the barrier? Or at the middle of the track? How many drivers would I take with me?

And I felt it again. That pressure on my chest, the void in my lungs, as if those thoughts were taking the life out of me. My mind was racing as fast as my heart, weaving horrible scenarios, and poisoning me with a reality that was just another mistake away.

Before completely losing control of my own body and emotions, I got up from bed and walked to the window. The feeling of the carpet under my feet was enough to ground me in my current reality and as I parted the curtain to look outside, I felt peace taking over.

The empty golf course stretched across my vision until it was taken over by darkness. I looked through the darkness at the tiny dots in the clear sky, way more numerous than the ones I could see in Madrid.

“Breathe,” I whispered to myself. “Just breathe.”

As I inhaled deeply, I felt the pressure on my chest release its grip. The darkness in front of me started to take shape. The golf course, the trees and an artificial lake in the distance. The moon was bright enough to cast a pale light over everything.

My phone vibrated on the nightstand, startling me. Carlos. Our photo.

“Hi,” I walked back to the window.

“I’m glad you picked up,” a tired voice emerged on the other side. “I tried calling you a couple of times.”

“Sorry, I was…,” I looked for the right words; anything else than almost having a panic attack for the second time today would work. “Watching the race.”

“How are you feeling?”

His voice was clear. I pictured him in his room, about to go to bed, with the same worries as me, not knowing what to expect from the race he would have to battle in.

“To be honest,” a sigh. I sat on the floor, my bare tights touching the comfortable creme carpet. “I’m tired of being asked the same thing over and over again.”

“Sorry, just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I am,” a lie. I could still feel my restless fingers shaking from the anxiety. “I’m just— you know, getting ready for tomorrow.”

“How many times have you watched it?”

“Three, I guess?”

“Don’t you already know what you did wrong?” a pause, my eyebrows frowning as confusion took over me. “I’ve watched you race before; You’re methodical. I know you are fully aware of the reasons behind the incident today,” another pause, not big enough to make me feel the need to fill the silence. “Don’t make yourself go through it again. Sometimes it’s not worth it to watch a race.”

“That surprises me,” actually, a lot of what he said surprised me.

I didn’t want to mention Rio’s new job or the fact that my heart had skipped a beat when he said that he had watched me race. Hearing it from his mouth was way different from hearing it from his mother’s.

“I would think an F1 driver would encourage me to watch and rewatch it,” I continued.

“I want you to win and to be better, but not at the price of your mental health. You need to be in a good headspace tomorrow.”

Tomorrow . I closed my eyes for a second. Focused on the deep tone of his voice in my ear, the warmth of his words, loaded with genuine care and understanding. He understood. He had his fair share of bad races and disappointments.

“How did quali go?” I asked, remembering that I didn’t have the chance to look at his results. For a second, I felt bad.

“George snatched pole within a very tiny margin, at the very last second,” Oh . His tone had said more than his words. He was pissed .

“Ouch,” he chuckled on the other side. “Did you get frustrated?”

“Of course,” a chuckle again, this one way more sarcastic than the previous. “I still am.”

“And how do you overcome that?”

“By remembering that there is always tomorrow,” a brief moment of silence. “Just focus on the next one. That's what life taught me. That’s how I do it.”

His words resonated with me. There’s always tomorrow. I repeated them in my mind.

“Thank you, Carlos.”

“For what?”

“Texting me. Calling me,” I looked over at my reflection in the dark window, the shadow of a lonely girl. “Even before everything the other day. For being here,” sometimes it feels lonely, I wanted to add.

“That’s what friends are for.” Friends . A brief moment of silence. I couldn’t find the right words, I couldn’t feel the right feelings either. “Will you watch it again or are you ready to get some sleep?”

“Just once more, I think.”

“I can do it with you. I know Imola and it wasn’t very kind to me this year as well.”

“I think that could help.”

“Alright,” I heard some noise, “Give me five minutes. I need to grab my laptop. Should we do this over the phone or… video?”

I looked at the window again. The messy bun, the tired eyes, the oversized t-shirt. Then I thought of him and the way his gaze grows more powerful when he’s focused on something or the very unique way the corners of his mouth twitch when he speaks. I didn’t want to have him as a distraction.

“Phone, if you don’t mind.”

And he hung up, just to call me again a few minutes later when I was sitting in bed with my laptop open in front of me. The recording was paused on the frame of my back as I walked away from the car at the end of the race. We analysed the race lap by lap and we also talked about the track, examining the curves I wasn’t taking so perfectly. Carlos explained to me his methods, tricks and tips to defend and attack in particular corners. Time flew by.

“Any questions before going to bed?”

I laughed at his tone, leaning against the headboard. “You’re taking this way too seriously, professor .”

“Well, I want you to win.”

“I know, I know.” I closed the laptop and put it on the nightstand. “Do you feel ready for tomorrow?”

“No,” he said, softly. “I’ll need to get ready tomorrow. There’s no such thing as just being ready.”

"I know," I replied. “Do you… fear it, sometimes? Racing?”

The flames from Austria came to my mind. I would fear it. I would hate the thought of having to be back in the car a few days after and race like nothing had happened. Perhaps he thought about that too, because he stayed silent for a few seconds.

“Racing itself, or the results? Or the danger?”

"Everything," I replied after a few seconds. "The unpredictability of it all. There’s this thing my mind does,” I admitted. “I think about the worst-case scenarios, all it takes is a single thing to go wrong and my mind and confidence just crumble.”

“I think we all do it sometimes.”

“And how do you enter the car when you’re not sure about anything?”

“I don’t,” he said, with a small laugh. “I go in with the same headspace I have every time, I put my helmet on and I try to concentrate on the race. In the car, it’s just me and the machine. My mind is blank. If my car is not my safe space, I know something is wrong and I need to do something about it.” A pause. “You can think about the race in your mind, imagine the most important corners and how you’d attack them. Beforehand, you can think about it all the time, but at the moment, while you’re racing, you can’t think too much. It’s a matter of removing unnecessary things from your mind and trying to focus on what you need to do. If you’re second doubting yourself, things won’t go well.”

“How are you so confident in the car? In life.”

“I guess it’s just experience,” he replied. “Seeing the amount of times that things went wrong and being able to learn from them. We are constantly learning, every time we drive. I know you learned something new today.”

“I did.”

“What was on your mind?”

“So many things I can’t tell you what they were,” I dragged my hand over my face. “Rio moving, this incredible pressure, the talks about next year… you .”

“Me?”

“Yeah. You,” I replied, a little absent. “The issue is not with racing. I’m happy when I’m in the car. It’s just… everything happening around me right now. I need a break.”

“I’m sorry if I’ve…” he paused, probably unsure of his words.

“Don’t be sorry.”

“I didn’t want to disrupt you. At all.” He paused again. “And here I am, calling on the night before a race, once again.”

“Well, I won the race last time, let’s see if the same happens again tomorrow.”

“That’s all I can wish for,” a laugh against the phone. “Go sleep, now. Goodnight, Eva.”

“Goodnight,” I said almost in a murmur. “Good luck out there too, Sainz.”

“We talk tomorrow,” he said before hanging up.

Rio joined me and Rocco for a workout the next morning. Just like in the previous days, we didn’t exchange more words than the ones the activity obliged. The cold air of the morning invigorated me and by the time we had finished, I felt ready to take on the world.

Qualifying went smoothly. Another pole position. Andreas would start the race in fourth place, which gave me an advantage that I gladly welcomed.

By the time the race start procedure began, the sun was high in the sky and the air was still and dry. The asphalt was sizzling under my boots. There was no breeze entering the car when Pietro leaned in to say his goodbyes.

“Ti aspetto al traguardo, donnina. ” This time I squished his hand with more strength. It was all or nothing.

I had a chance to redeem myself and make history for this sport. That could be a greedy way of thinking, but I wanted that trophy as much as I wanted to have my name connected to the Challenge and Ferrari for years to come. That could be the last chance if I was to part with the category and chase other aims.

The start of the race was uneventful. Lap after lap, I kept my position. I was in control, completely dominating the race. I had them at my back during the whole race. In front of me were just the support of the crown, the red and yellow flags, and the prancing horse; all weaving in the grandstands.

A hard-fought victory, but a victory nonetheless.

The noise of the machines and the ecstasy of the crown echoed around the circuit as I left the car. I climbed to the top, my arms raised in the air, my clenched fist pointing to the sky, as my team celebrated around me. What a beautiful feeling.

No mistakes, no fears. No doubts. No more uncertainties.

I had done it.

My chest got lighter and lighter as the ecstasy took over my body and mind and the chants of my team set the rhythm of the celebrations. I jumped down and immediately was taken in a hug. I could feel the patting on the helmet. I could hear and feel them singing and jumping around me. I lifted my vizor to look clearly at their faces.

My dad took me into his arms the second I got rid of my helmet and balaclava. He kissed my warm cheeks, over the tears running down my face, which I didn’t even notice I had shed.

“I’m so proud of you, Evita,” he whispered in my ear, lifting me from the ground. His heart was beating as strong as my own. “So, so proud,” he cupped my face in his hands. I never saw him smile that hard. “Never doubt that. Never doubt yourself.”

Rio pulled me in a tight hug. His arms wrapped around me with a strength I had never felt before from him. It was a goodbye. He stepped back. His teary eyes, the big smile, the messy hair, the undone shirt from all the jumping.

I felt my lips tremble and I made an effort not to cry. He was an extension of me. I had never spent more than two weeks without seeing him. He embraced me again. Even tighter. Even more meaningfully.

“You’ll be great,” I muttered while he sniffled next to my neck. I stroked his back gently as I spoke. I could feel his hands clinging to my suit. “You’ll be one of the best.”

His words mingled with the cacophony, making it hard to understand what he was saying. I sat down on one of the benches, of the outside garden. Dinner and the prize-giving ceremony were happening inside.

“Where are you?” I asked.

“In a bathroom,” he replied. “I had to hide from the team. I wanted to talk to you before this dinner. How are you feeling?”

“I don’t know…” I said, almost in a mumble. Hours had passed since the moment I crossed the finish line and I couldn’t seem to put some sense into what I was feeling. Utter happiness and disbelief and, at the same time, fear and uncertainty of what the future was saving for me. "Hard to put it into words," I said, a short giggle coming out with my words.

"I can imagine." The smile in his voice was easy to perceive. Instantly, my mind pictured him leaning against the wall, with his phone pressed to his ear. "You were great out there."

“I don’t think I could’ve done it without your help.”

“This race didn’t win you the championship,” he paused for a second. “You were amazing all season.”

“That doesn’t mean that I don’t need to thank you for what you did yesterday,” I insisted. My fingers were restless in the fabric of my dress, gripped by my inability to discern what last night had awakened in me. “And I need to say sorry. For the other day.”

For the first time, I could feel that we were going through the same thing. After years of parallel lives and not being able to understand his world, or even trying to, I finally felt like I could relate to him. That we weren't that far apart. I felt him close. Closer .

“You’re welcome,” he said after a short silence. I could hear the smile in his voice, even if I couldn’t see it. “And don’t worry about it.”

I didn’t really know what to say. The words were building up in my throat as quickly as they were disappearing. I didn't know how to deal with him. To be fair, I don’t think I ever knew. It was impossible to resist the sensations he ignited in me, which so easily took me back to the times when just the sight of his face made me blush.

"I should probably go," I said, seeing Nicola and Lina calling me inside.

"Save some champagne for me.”

“Of course,” I said. “Enjoy that dinner.”

“Enjoy that win. You deserve this.”

I mumbled a thank you and a fast goodbye and the line went dead shortly after.

As I walked down the red carpet flanked by several Ferraris from various eras and categories, my attention was locked on the trophy weighing heavily in my arms. Striding through the aisle with confidence, teary-eyed but donning the biggest smile my lips had ever formed, my gaze dropped to the silver plate, with a thick gold rim and a yellow medal in the centre, on which the prancing horse was drawn in black. Around the rim, the title I had just conquered was imprinted on the golden metal.

I couldn’t help but smile as the flashes of the cameras lit up in my face. I had done it. Against all odds, I had become the first woman to win the Ferrari Challenge. At the end of the aisle, around the long rectangular table, my team was applauding me. Around the huge room, hundreds of people clapped.

I raised the trophy over my head, my arms reaching for the higher aims I always wanted for myself. I had finally conquered them. I did it under the weight of the stares and the pressure of expectations. And if there was a day where it weighed me down, this day it inflated my glory.

I had been living under a magnifying glass that whole year, but this time it was different. I had won it, despite all the scepticism. I looked around, still with my arms outstretched. In between intervals of blindness caused by the intermittent flashes, I watched the faces of the crowd clustered at the tables on either side of the aisle. Among them, I saw the sceptical faces that once told me that it was too late to turn pro, that I could continue as an amateur in lower categories and not waste my father’s money in racing. Those who, years before, had tried to convince my father to invest in other teams when Rio decided to stop racing and I proposed to take his place, were now applauding me as I walked back to my table, carrying the most important trophy of the room in my hands.

I reached the table in a few steps. The familiar faces smiling back at me, their eyes as teary as mine. Every single one of them was happy for me. Proud of me.

Rio looked at me with pain in his eyes, an uncertain smile, a duality that took over his expression. My chest ached to feel such an antithesis in his features, aching to feel him so restless, overwhelmed by scattered feelings. I set the trophy down on the table.

"Go hug your sister, Fabrizio," I heard my father say, pushing him towards me. The second I opened my arms to hold him in a hug, he was already there. Holding me in return.

"I'm so sorry. I’m so so sorry." I murmured as I caressed his back, hands open.

I pulled away and looked at him. He was wearing a tuxedo, but no tie. The top buttons were left unbuttoned and his face was perfectly shaved. His hair was slicked back, leaving his green eyes uncovered. The deep green stared at me, a tiny smile that barely reached his eyes. I had changed, Carlos had changed, but I had forgotten Rio had changed too.

He had always been my older brother, that unshakable figure who resisted everything and gave up nothing. The ambitious Rio, objective and analytical, with dreams and ambitions. The guy who taught me how to drive, how to make donuts and how to rollerskate. He was all that, but he had also grown to be a father and a husband, he had cultivated in him a huge sense of responsibility to care for and think of others, sometimes putting others ahead of himself.

“I want to make sure you understand my choices,” he took me by the arm and walked with me to the other side of the table, where we were previously sitting. “Don’t want to leave anything left unsaid.”

“I do. It may have taken me a while, but I do,” I sat down and Rio occupied the seat by my side.

I looked over at my parents, still standing near the rest of the team. They were beaming with pride. My father had his arm around my mother's waist and she was resting her head on his shoulder. I felt a lump in my throat and turned my gaze back to Rio.

“I won this for us ,” I whispered. “It has our name on it, not just mine.”

My body leaned over the table to pick up the trophy, which I then placed on my lap, over the silky red fabric of my dress. Around the trim, “DiMaggio” was imprinted in the space just before the title. I showed him the detail.

"I asked them to do it this way," I explained. "I wanted to share it with you."

"Eva," he looked deep into my eyes. His voice cracked and he had to pause to compose himself. "This is yours. You won it. You did an amazing job this season."

" We did an amazing job," I insisted. “I don’t care where you’re going next. Why you’re going, even. We deserve this.”

"Yes," he conceded. His finger traced the outline of the brim. "We do."

We looked at each other for a few seconds, in silence.

"I'm going to miss you," I said finally.

"I'm going to miss you too." He took my hand and squeezed it. "Maybe for just one day or two.”

I turned my head down and laughed again. When I turned to him again, his eyes were now locked on the golden band on his finger, “Marjorie told me I should talk to you first. I didn’t listen. I don’t know why. Do you think I’m ungrateful?”

“Rio…” I laid my hand on top of his and did a gesture with my head as I got up. I felt the weight of the stranger’s eyes on us. He got up after me and walked by my side until we reached the outside.

The icy night air seeped through the slits in my dress, touching my skin everywhere and making me shiver with cold. There were a few people scattered around the terrace - some were alone, drinking or smoking, and some were accompanied. I walked to one of the corners of the terrace. The cigarette butt in the ashtray, still scattering a line of smoke, told me that until a few minutes ago someone had been there. I sat on the wooden bench, positioned under a still small and fragile tree and looking out over the golf court, from which the terrace offered a beautiful view.

"I said it out of fear," I began to speak as soon as the background noise of the ceremony died down. "I never believed you were really ungrateful. I saw the things you’ve done for me and the team. There’s nothing ungrateful in this. But you made the decision by yourself, spent weeks keeping this away from me and I admit that hurt me.” That was no lie. Looking at him, his painful expression and the look on his face throughout the whole weekend, I could see he was going through a lot. “Perhaps you were being a bit unfair, but not ungrateful.” I paused.

Rio leaned against the glass railing that surrounded the terrace, facing me. His body blocked the view, making the darkness disappear and filling my field of vision with the image of his tired and remarkably upset face. Now, maybe, even a little confused.

“Unfair?”

“Yes… To yourself and to me too. It was a tough decision to make alone,” I explained my point. “And it saddens me that you didn’t feel you could share the burden with me. I’m not a teenager anymore. I could have helped.”

He nodded. Just that. No words, no dry smiles or sarcastic remarks. Silence took over, which was not common between us. We would fall into disagreements and arguments every time we had a tough matter to handle. That’s how it had been the last week. The gut-wrenching silence that fell whenever we weren’t obligated to talk over any work-related subject.

He had his lip caught between his teeth and his gaze focused on the perfectly polished sailing shoes he was wearing. And if I knew him, I knew that hard-to-decipher gaze was a sign that his mind was full. I wondered what words he was saving and what was the reason to do so.

“I didn't want to approach you and simply say I was bored at the Challenge,” he raised his eyes to find mine. “At one point, I felt like I was doing nothing, that I had barely any service to the team. You were doing all the job.” He paused quickly. “And you did it amazingly! But there was nothing more for me to do than gather data and pass it on to you. I was not being challenged .”

A dry chortle from his part, noticing the play on words.

“So you decided to send out resumes?”

"Not only that," he shrugged and leaned away from the fence. He took a few steps, hiding his hands in the pockets of his pants. The night was unusually cold for July. I warmed my arms with my hands. "But yeah, essentially that was it. I started to send them out until the day I was talking about the season with Carlos and he decided to act on it.”

Carlos. His name didn’t take long to surface in the conversation.

“How involved was he in this?”

“Not much.” He sounded honest. “I didn’t want it to be any other way. I just needed him to tell me if there was a chance for me or not.” He paused. I raised an eyebrow and gestured with my hand, encouraging him to continue. "Two, three, weeks later I got a call. They asked me for some reports. And a few days later, when I travelled to Silverstone, they surprised me with an interview."

“What did Carlos do, exactly?”

I wasn't sure where I was going, there wasn't much thought behind my questions. I knew Rio had gotten the job on his own merits. All the work my brother had done with the team, the way his insights managed to unify a set of strangers and turn them into a winning team was remarkable. It was more than enough to promote him to any category above the Challenge.

So my question wasn't what Carlos had done to get him a job. And I think he knew it.

“He mentioned my name? I think. I don’t know.” A pause. “I didn’t talk to him about the job until after I got an offer. Why so many questions?”

I shook my head. There was no reason for so many questions, other than the lack of trust I had in myself and Carlos. With each barrier he broke down, another one rose.

I hadn't been naive enough to think that it was really the longing that made him take a step towards me, but I had let myself bathe in the happiness that thought brought me. However, it was one thing to allow me to think about it and use such excuses as a justification for not trusting him, and it was another thing for Rio to confirm to me that he had indeed encouraged Carlos' action.

“This might sound dumb, but,” a dense exhale left my lips, taking with it the restlessness of my ideas. The answer Rio would give me wouldn't be black and white, but maybe it would be the ideal shade of grey. “Did you ask him to talk to me?”

He didn’t take long to answer, nor did he hesitate with his words.

Rio had no reason to be careful with his words and spare me the answer. It was a yes. Simple as that.

"Asking you would be a dead end," he completed.

That was a certainty. I was too stubborn to deign to talk to him, even if my brother asked me to. Rio had leaned back against the fence again, his hands now in his pockets, one leg crossed in front of the other. The night accentuated the expressions on his face, especially the frown lines on his brows and his clenched jaw as he tried to read my face.

I didn't realize that I was silent.

That was one hard shade of grey to decipher. Only then I realised I was grabbing onto the hope of a different answer. That maybe, even if Carlos’ motivation had been Rio’s well-being, at least he acted by himself, without any interference from my brother. Once again, my hopeless romantic streak jumping ahead of me.

"I'm guessing you two have talked by now.” I nodded without saying a word. I needed a few seconds to think. "Things didn't go right, did they?"

My torso heaved with the dry laugh that had escaped. I couldn't say things were worse, but they weren't right. They would be if desperation and longing hadn't clouded our minds and had put us in that position . Literal and figurative. If only he had never gotten so close like that, or if I had retreated at once instead of allowing us to levitate so close to each other, harvesting feelings I thought had long since withered and disappeared.

"Didn't he say something about it?"

"Not really," he said. "Until now, I had no idea if he decided to try to talk with you after his failed attempt in Mugello."

I looked into his eyes, my mind trying to think of some way to put my feelings into words. I was confused, upset, angry… Everything I felt was too tangled up to be able to answer in one go. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

"Eva,” he sat down by my side and clapped his hands on his tights, “I just need you two to get along well. I don’t need you to become best friends, I just want you to be able to share a room, or a table, without any of you feeling uncomfortable with each other’s presence.”

He had a good point. Avoiding us sitting close together at the same table will be the least of his worries the moment they start to work together. Until now, it was Rio who occasionally visited Carlos wherever he was racing. In a couple of months, it would be me who would have to go to Rio. And Carlos would be there.

Imagining a future where everything stayed as it was, Rio would be destined to live a nightmare, running through a complicated labyrinth whenever he needed me.

“You two were really good before,” he continued. “I don’t see why things won’t get better.”

I sought comfort in him. I laid my head on his shoulder and stared into the darkness, imagining lines between the points of light that marked the paths through the grass a few feet away from us.

“I don’t think things will go as well as you deserve them to go.”

"No worries," he answered with a tender smile, looking at me. "I just need them to go a little bit better."

We stayed silent for a bit, my mind finding the rest it needed on the good memories of the three of us, especially the weeks in winter we would spend in the snow with our parents, or the long summer days we used to spend by the pool.

“Don’t be mad at him for only speaking to you now,” he continued and I moved my head to be able to capture his face. “I'm sure I'm not the only reason he decided to finally do something about it. If what I asked him to do had any impact, it was just so he could blame me if things didn't go well,” his lips turned into a funny smile and I chuckled. “You two,” he paused, “have a problem with empathy. Not the lack of it. The total opposite. And both of you are so stubborn… It was difficult to see you drifting apart and not being able to stop it.”

His words brought the restlessness back. I got up, pacing around between the bench and the fence, trying to settle my unquiet mind. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That each step he takes to reach you is way heavier than you could ever imagine,” he explained. “He has a way to deal with his feelings, a way to show them… he talks, he acts, he…”, Rio stopped for a second, thinking, “he doesn’t let himself be vulnerable. He uses his tough guy attitude to hide it, but you know he’s not all that.”

My mind pictured the beautiful sight of his face so close to mine - the perfectly shaped brown eyes, the thick lips parted, ready to take mine. I could hear his laughter in my mind and the murmur of his breath. He had been vulnerable with me.

“I would pay to know what you’re thinking about, Eva,” he disrupted my thoughts. “Don’t use this to create a glass box around you, thinking it will protect you from him while giving him the illusion he’s getting close.”

“I’m not like that,” I interrupted him.

“He protects your feelings more than his own, Eva. That’s why he let you go,” my brother's countenance changed as his patience wore thin. “I was there to witness the way he looked at you, the way he used to get jealous when you talked to someone else. He was crazy about you. But he…” Rio hesitated, “ respected you so much he was not capable to stop you from living your life to live by his.”

From this moment on, my mind was blank to anything but his words.

"You were way too careful with each other," he continued. "You take a step forward, or a step back, but never to each other’s pages. Because you are too afraid to let yourselves do it. You’ll find every excuse to not do it. Just like you’re doing now.

“You’re waiting for me to say something that will either make you trust him or verify every excuse your mind has been weaving since the last time you talked. And he’s probably doing the same. He doesn't have faith in his feelings. And he definitely does not have faith in himself, to the point where he thinks it’s acceptable to jeopardize his relationship with me or our family if he takes the step."

"I want it to go well," I said.

"I'm sure you do," Rio took my hand and smiled. “But if you're waiting for me to make you feel comfortable, you'll have to wait a little more." I nodded at his words, a fragile smile taking my lips as I saw the corner of his curling. “I can’t tell you to follow your heart, or whatever saying you or anyone else would say,” I chortled and he continued, “especially because I don't know what the hell is going on in your head, but I can just tell you to admit to yourself that you miss him and that you want him around.”

His words reached me and if it hadn't been for his usual sunny disposition that was being brought back by the smile emerging on his face, I would have probably started crying at that moment.

Next chapter: 05.

Next chapter we'll have Carlos in a suit roaming around Eva's backyard. Keep that in your mind, eheh. Hope the race narration wasn't too boring. Thank you so much, see you all around! <3

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