#while i liked the flashback from the first one i feel like

[yelenasbraid]

none of the bullshit — joe burrow

summary — you’re an athletic trainer with the bengals. joe’s taken a liking to you.

warnings — fem!reader, fluff, some good ol’ banter, implied smut, language, i sort of know what i’m talking about pls don’t come for me

tags — @wickedfun9 @softburrow @starsinthesky5 @joeburrowshaircurl @joeyfranchise @willowsnook @ebsmind @iosivb9 @blairsworld22 @kazsbrckkers

IT WAS COLD. Earlier, you were begging for the colder weather. The summer heat was no joke, but now, the colder winters were biting. You stood out on the practice field, layered up as best you could, keeping your eye on the players.

You were an athletic trainer for the Bengals, a damn good one you’d add. You had to put up with a lot of bullshit over the past couple of years, especially with a certain quarterback.

flashback to the summer

“This is the third time I’ve done this, Y/N. How is this helping me get anywhere?” Joe was frustrated. You’ve asked him to throw the ball the exact same way, three different times. It was his first time throwing after his injury and you were being cautious.

“You want to get out there and snap your wrist again?” You shot back, the summer heat beating down on the both of you. You didn’t have time for his complaints or his nonsense.

“No, but throwing ten yards isn’t going to do much,”

“You think I’m stupid? I know that. It’s called we’ll get there,” you chirped. His attitude was warranted, only sometimes. He saw the light at the end of the tunnel, but he thought it was closer than it really was. He also hated that you were right. Your wit has kept him sane, if he were to be honest with himself. It’s pushed him to be better, to do better.

“Yeah yeah, whatever,” he shook his head, going to throw the ball again.

End of flashback

You’ve watched Joe excel, watched as his wrist strengthened as he climbed the charts to be one of the best quarterbacks in the league. It was a thrill to see, even from the perspective of a witty athletic trainer.

“Cold?” you turned your head to watch a red-nosed Joe walk up to you.

“No, I’m actually sweating right now,” you sarcastically quipped, “yes I’m cold,”

“Sorry I asked,” Joe quipped, but a smirk painted his lips. He loved messing with you, mainly to see your pink cheeks and your smirk. As much as he messed with you, the feelings he had for you were very real. Having feelings for an athletic trainer wasn’t on his bingo card for the year, but here he was, never being able to pull himself from you. There was just something so magnetic about you.

“And you’re out here in shorts,” you scoffed, seeing the hoodie/jersey combo and the shorts he wore. He looked like he was taking a walk in the park when it was 50 degrees outside. It was below 30.

“It’s the high metabolism,” he came to stand next to you. He was much taller than you, and while he adored the height difference, he was well aware you could kick his ass.

“I think it’s the cockiness getting to you,” you muttered, earning a scoff from Joe.

“Wow,” he laughed, “I’ll make sure to put your name in for most supportive athletic trainer of the year,”

“Thanks, I deserve it,” you chuckled, looking up at him. He would agree with you; you did deserve it. Through his injury, the bullshit he put you through, you deserved some type of award. He wanted to be the one to give it to you, to see your face soften and your eyes widen.

“Yeah, you do,” he admitted, turning his face away from looking at you. There was a buzz between you, and you looked over at him. You watched as his breaths came out in puffs, how his cheeks, ears and nose were painted red. He wasn’t bad to look at, but you to remind yourself that you couldn’t indulge in those feelings. You’d lose your job.

You turned back to the field, feeling your heart slam against your chest. Now you were warm, your palms sweaty and your cheeks red. One of the coaches blew the whistle, signaling the end of the break and the beginning of the second half of practice.

—

Your cheeks were rosy, and you were warmer at the end of practice. You threw with Joe some more, gave him some strengthening techniques, and continued on with the banter that usually came from you both.

You grabbed your things, including a practice bag, and hoisted it on your shoulder. You looked back at Joe, who was standing with Ja’marr and Tee, a laugh spilling from his lips. He looked so cozy, so relaxed, and you couldn’t help but feel your heart flutter.

You looked away, shaking your head. It wasn’t going to happen. You were an athletic trainer and he was a player, not just any player, the star player. You walked off of the field, a pep in your step as you started towards the facility.

“Boo,” you heard a voice in your ear, making you jump. You snapped your head over, and saw the towering quarterback next to you.

“Asshole,” you shoved him, your heart slamming in your chest from his scare and from him.

“Oh come on, you’re just a lil jumpy,” he teased. He liked seeing you all riled up, but he wasn’t stupid. He respected you enough to stop when you asked, or even when your body language betrayed you.

“Whatever,” you rolled your eyes, walking next to him. He kept his pace with yours, even though it was slower due to the height difference.

As he walked next to you, he felt his stomach tie itself into knots. He usually didn’t get nervous; he was confident enough in his abilities to focus. But now? He faltered. You were beautiful, in every way, and the way you handled his antics just made his feelings ten times stronger for you.

“You’re uncharacteristically quiet,” you hummed as you walked with him. The silence that was between you was tense, and it buzzed with unsaid feelings. What those feelings were, you couldn’t tell.

“Just thinking about all the ways to annoy you tomorrow,” he dramatically sighed, but it wasn’t completely true. He thought about you, the way your eyes sparkled in the sun, the way your face blushed under the cool weather. He found himself, at points, thinking about what it would feel like to kiss you, to have you as his.

“I knew it was preplanned,” you teased, giving him a smirk.

“Everything’s preplanned. I don’t do anything without thinking first.”

“That’s a lie,” you laughed, earning a scoff and a gentle shove from him.

“You’re supposed to support me, not break me down,” he pouted, and you mockingly pouted back.

“Aww, poor baby,” you huffed, and he only shook his head. You both neared the facility doors, and as warmth enveloped you both, so did Joe’s feelings intensify. He pursed his lips, flexing his hands as he tried to control the impulse to kiss you, to shove you against the wall and take you.

“Y/N?” he asked, and you turned to face him. It was just you two, standing in the hallway. Everyone else had gone ahead.

“Yeah?” you prompted, watching him. You picked out uncertainty in his eyes, the way his lips were tightly pressed together. Something was weighing heavy on him. But he looked at you, his eyes blank, his face pale. He forgot the words. His tongue was thick, like cotton in his mouth.

“Nothing, I’ll see you later,” he smiled, and brushed past you to the locker room. His heart hammered in his chest and his palms were sweaty. His mind was in a fog, consumed at the thought of you. He chickened out, and he’d beat himself up about it for the rest of the day.

You were left standing, confused and empty. You watched as he left, his form retreating down the hallway before he disappeared. Part of you hoped, based off of the look in his eyes, that he’d tell you that your feelings for him were reciprocated. Part of you hoped that he’d say something, but he didn’t.

You walked back to your office, a smaller room along a hallway. You unlocked your door, walking in to the warmer room. Your desk was in front of you, a window behind it, letting soft light into the room. Two guest chairs stood in front of your desk, and a small table held a coffee maker.

It was the bare minimum, but you were lucky you had an office.

You set the bag down, sitting down at your computer. You needed to write your reports, to check reports that have been submitted, but you couldn’t focus. Your mind drifted to Joe, to his eyes, to how he so easily talked to you, his arms, his thighs.

You dug the heels of your palms into your eyes.

You opened up your emails, trying to distract yourself from the thoughts of Joe. He was your coworker, not someone to become romantically involved with. No matter how he made you feel, no matter how attractive he was.

You didn’t know how much you got done, but your eyes never left your laptop until you heard a knock on your door. Your eyes lifted from your laptop, watching as Joe opened your door. His hair was wet, his skin a warm tan. He was dressed comfortably; sweats and a sweatshirt.

“What’s up?” you asked, pursing your lips.

“I just wanted to stop by before I left,” he said, stepping into your office and softly shutting the door behind him. His heart slammed against his chest. He was only ever nervous around you, except when it came to practice. He was in his element, he knew what he was doing and that distracted him from you. Now, as he stood in your office, he didn’t have his football knowledge to back him up.

“Oh,” you smiled, “is there something bothering you?” you asked him, concern furrowing your brow. You couldn’t think that Joe would come and see you for any other reason than football, or his wrist. He wouldn’t come and see you because he wanted to.

“Yeah, can you check my wrist before I go?” he asked you. He didn’t need his wrist checked. He was totally fine. He’s been fine for weeks.

“Sure, yeah,” you stood up, meeting him in the center of your office, “but I thought you’ve been fine for weeks,” you hummed as you took his extended wrist.

“I was, but it felt really tight after my shower,” he swallowed. Your soft hands against his wrist, the way your fingers gently pressed to see where his supposed pain was, it sent shocks throughout his body.

“Ok,” you hummed, turning over his wrist. You didn’t see any swelling, you didn’t feel any heat, and he didn’t react to your pressure.

“I don’t feel anything,” you told him, meeting his eyes, “there isn’t obvious pain,” you added, but as your eyes met, tension buzzed between you. Your stomach twisted, your heart skipped a beat. You fought the urge to look at his lips.

“That’s good,” he sighed, nodding his head. He could feel the tension, the way you looked at him, the way his heart skipped beats. He inhaled deeply to try and control his breathing. His free hand, with a slight tremble, reached up and caressed your cheek. His light touch sent shivers down your spine, and as much as you should fight it, you didn’t. You stepped closer to him, keeping your eyes on him.

He softly placed his lips on yours, and for a moment you stiffened. You didn’t expect this. You didn’t expect him to kiss you, to do the very thing you’ve wanted to do for a while. He parted from you, feeling you stiffen.

“I’m sorry-” he was interrupted by your hands grabbing the collar of his sweatshirt, pulling his lips to yours with a hunger like no other. He immediately kissed you back, one of his hands cupping the back of your neck, pulling you closer. You tasted sweet and it made his body thrum with his need for you. The need he’s been shoving aside for months.

Your lips danced together with a roughness and passion you’ve never experienced. Your hands looped around his neck, keeping yourself as close as you could be to him. His hunger for you could be felt as his hands moved to grip your hips. He began walking you back, keeping his lips on yours. When your hips hit your desk, you gasped, and it allowed his tongue to slip into your mouth. You moaned as his tongue explored your mouth tasting more of you.

He slowly pulled away, resting his forehead against yours. He panted, his breath fanning your face.

“Is the door locked?” you asked, looking into his eyes.

“I don’t know, why?”

“Because we’re gonna need it to be,” you hummed, the look in your eyes telling him all he needed to know. He’s never locked a door so fast in his life. He came back over, and smashed his lips back to yours with a newfound hunger. His fingers played with the hem of your shirt, and in that moment, you were glad that door was locked. You were also glad you were an athletic trainer; you’d need to be able to do your own stretches later when he took your ability to walk.

[requiemforthepoets]

to be in it with you ⟢ OP81

PAIRING: oscar piastri x female!reader

SUMMARY: as you watch oscar play happily with his nieces and nephews, you’re struck by the overwhelming love you feel for him—deeper than you’ve ever known.

REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WARNINGS: use of y/n, named side character (brother), fluff, and minor typographical errors.

WORD COUNT: 1.7k

AUTHOR’S NOTE: i have an oscar request lined up from last year, and somehow i’m at 40%-ish of completing it. so i’ll dedicate this oscar one shot that i drafted long ago to my ‘osc anon’ who had sent in the request as a compensation for not finishing yet their request 🥹 so i hope you guys will like this one too!

It was a perfect summer afternoon in Australia. The sun shone warmly over the sprawling and perfectly manicured backyard, the sound of laughter and chatter floating through the air as Oscar’s family gathered for the reunion. You sat comfortably in a lawn chair, a cool drink in your hand, condensation dripping down the side of the glass, and a soft smile that played on your lips as you watched Oscar from afar. He was in the middle of the yard, playing tag with his nieces and nephews, their high-pitched giggles filling the spaces as Oscar chased them with exaggerated slowness, his long strides deliberately clumsy.

Oscar was radiant under the sun, his easy laughter blending with the children’s laughter, his cheeks flushed from the activity. His hair, slightly damp from exertion, curled at the edges, and he ran a hand through it as he crouched low to let one of the toddlers ‘tag’ him. The sight tugged at your chest, making your heart swell almost painfully.

It hit you then, not for the first time, but in a way that felt newly profound. You love him. You love him so much that it terrifies you. You never knew that it’s possible to love someone so much. The thought was overwhelming, almost suffocating in its intensity. No one had ever made you feel like this before. The relationships that you had in the past now seemed pale and faded photographs in comparison, distant and dull compared to the vibrant, all-encompassing connection you had with Oscar.

You took a slow sip of your drink, trying to steady the whirlwind of emotions coursing through you, but your gaze remained fixed on him. You loved everything about Oscar—the way he interacted so effortlessly with his family, how he was patient, gentle, and kind with the children, how his face lit up with genuine happiness when they pulled him into their little games. He was a mosaic of everything you had ever dreamed of, and yet, somehow more.

With these realizations came a series of flashbacks. You and Oscar go way back, though ‘knowing’ him would be a generous way to describe it. Growing up, you were never more than acquaintances in passing, brought into each other’s orbit because of your older brother, Asher. Asher and Oscar had bonded over karting, spending weekends at the track, their friendship was fueled by shared victories, losses, and countless hours tinkering with karts.

You were always on the sidelines, quieter than most, mostly content to sit with a book or scroll through your phone while Asher raced. Occasionally, your eyes would drift to Oscar—not intentionally at first, but there was something about him that always caught your attention. Maybe it was the way he carried himself, calm and focused, even at such a young age. Or perhaps, it was the easy smile he wore after a win, the way it lit up his whole face. You didn’t actually know when or why it started, but somewhere along the way, you realized you had feelings for him.

It was not a revelation that struck you like lightning. No, it crept up on you, quiet and persistent, until one day, as you unpacked your bag after another weekend spent at a karting competition, you paused, clutching a book in your hands. You loved him. Or, at least, you thought you did. It was kind of innocent, unspoken affection that felt too big to put into words.

But Oscar never knew. You barely spoke to him back then, except for the occasional polite exchange of ‘hi’ or ‘good luck.’ You were not shy by nature, but there’s something about him that always left you tongue-tied. So, when he moved up to F3 and you moved out of Australia to chase your own career abroad, that chapter in your life pretty much quietly closed.

Years passed after that. You had kept tabs on him sporadically, mostly through Asher, who remained in touch with Oscar even after leaving karting behind. When Oscar finally made it to F1, you learned about it through your brother, who called you, his voice buzzing with pride. Though you hadn’t seen Oscar in years, the news stirred something in you—a quiet, enduring happiness for him.

Then, it was months later, on an otherwise unremarkable evening, that your phone rang with a call from an unfamiliar number. You hesitated, your finger hovering over the screen before you finally answered.

“Hello?”

“Hi, uh, is this…y/n?” the voice was hesitant but familiar, a thread of nervousness woven through the words.

“Yes, it is. Who’s this, may I ask?”

There was a brief pause, then, “it’s Oscar. Oscar Piastri.”

You blinked, momentarily stunned into silence. “Oh. Hi. Um…hello, Oscar.”

Oscar’s laugh was soft, almost sheepish. “Sorry, this is kind of random, isn’t it? I wasn’t sure if you’d even remember me.”

“Of course I remember you,” you said quickly—too quickly for your liking, your heart thudding in your chest. “I just…wasn’t really expecting this, that’s all. How did you even get my number?”

“Well, apparently our mums kept in touch all these years,” he explained, tone a little lighter now. “My mum mentioned that she saw you back in Australia not too long ago, and she told me about it. She, uh, also gave me your number.”

You were not sure what to say to that. “Oh,” you managed. “I didn’t know they still talked.”

“Neither did I,” Oscar admitted, you could hear the smile in his voice. “But when she mentioned you, I figured I’d…I don’t know, take a chance? I mean we never really got to know each other back then, did we?”

“No, we didn’t,” you agreed softly, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the nervous flutter in your chest.

“I always thought you were kind of…quiet,” he said, voice teasing but kind. “Like you didn’t really want to be there, but you came anyway because of Asher.”

You laughed, the sound surprising even you. “That’s pretty accurate, actually. I was there for him, but it wasn’t so bad, I liked watching you race.”

“Really?” Oscar sounded genuinely surprised.

“Yeah,” you admitted. “You were good. You still are.”

“Thanks,” he said, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, though it felt like the space between breaths, waiting to be filled.

“So,” he said finally, tone shifting to something more tentative. “Would you…want to catch up sometime? I know it’s been years, but I’d really like to get to know you properly. No more awkward hi-and-hellos this time.”

Your heart leapt at the offer, but you kept your voice steady. “Yes, I’d like that,” you said. “I’d really like that.”

“Great,” Oscar said, and you could hear the smile in his voice again. “I’ll text you, then. We’ll figure something out.”

“Okay,” you said softly, your fingers tightening around the phone.

“Okay,” he echoed.

After that whole conversation with Oscar, for the first time, you realized that maybe, you were not the only one that has been waiting for this moment.

The memory had you smiling crazy, failing to notice how Oscar glanced your way, a smile spreading across his face when he caught you staring and smiling. He stood, brushing the grass off his hands, and made his way over to you, his pace was unhurried but purposeful.

“Having fun watching me make a fool of myself?” he teased, voice warm and tinged with amusement as he dropped into the chair beside you.

You chuckled softly, setting your drink on the small table next to you. “Not at all. You’re doing amazing out there,” you replied, tone playful but sincere.

Oscar leaned back in the chair, his hand quickly finding yours without hesitation, his thumb tracing idle patterns on your skin. “You looked like you were in deep thought,” he said for a moment, his eyes searching for yours. “What’s on your mind?”

You hesitated, not because you did not want to tell him, but because you were not sure how to articulate the depth of what you were feeling. But after a beat, you decided to just let the words flow freely.

“I was just thinking about how much I love you,” you admitted, voice quiet but steady. “And how no one’s ever made me feel the way you do. It’s like I don’t even have the right words for it.”

Oscar’s expression softened, and he squeezed your hand gently. “You don’t have to find the right words,” he said, tone earnest. “I feel it. Every time you look at me, every time you smile like that, I feel it.”

Your chest tightened, and you swallowed the lump that was forming in your throat. “It’s just that sometimes it feels like too much, you know? Like, I want to memorize everything about you—how you speak, move, even how you laugh. I want to soak up every part of you and carry it with me forever.”

He let out a quiet laugh, his thumb still brushing over your hand. “You make it sound like I’m some kind of masterpiece,” he said, tone light but his gaze were serious.

“It’s because you are,” you replied without hesitation, voice unwavering. “You are to me.”

For a moment, Oscar did not say anything, he just looked at you with an intensity that made your heart race. Then he leaned closer, his free hand coming up to cup your face, his touch gentle but grounding.

“You have no idea how much I love you, do you?” he murmured.

“I think I might have some idea,” you whispered back, lips curving into a smile.

Oscar leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a moment before pulling back to meet your gaze. “Good,” he said, voice low and filled with affection. “Because I’m all in with you. Every part of me, every day.”

Your chest felt like it might burst anytime soon from the sheer magnitude of what you felt for him. “Me too,” you whispered, voice trembling slightly. “I’m all in with you, Oscar. Always.”

Everything had also made you realize that you didn’t need the perfect words or grand gestures. Being with Oscar, loving him as deeply as you did, was more than enough.

[ohmybueckers]

Never Strangers: Chapter Two

Word Count: 5.7k

Warnings: drinking, author who is terrible about being consistent with tenses, incredibly down bad main characters (be gentle with Paige and Maya guys, the first love WLW situationship breakup is ROUGH)

Authors note: Not sure exactly how I feel about this chapter, but I feel like it gives a decent amount of context. Prepare for more flashbacks next chapter. Also this is highkey not proofread so … approach with caution there.

August 26, 2023

The drive from Stamford to Storrs is about two hours, traffic permitting. My mom waits approximately 20 minutes before she begins the inevitable interrogation session into the state of my life. More specifically, the train wreck it has become.

“You know, I really think you should consider rejoining mock trial. You loved it for so long, and look how many friends you made.” She rambles, her eyes never leaving I-95. “You probably would have never met Brooke if you hadn’t joined mock trial.”

Brooke and I met as co-counselors at a mock trial summer intensive for high schoolers at Yale the summer after my freshman year of college. Turns out trying to keep track of a bunch of hormonal fifteen year olds is a bonding experience like no other. She quickly became my formerly long-distance best friend and very soon-to-be roommate. 

“I told you, I’ll check it out when I get there.” I say, half telling the truth and half just trying to get her to change the subject. Clearly, my attempt was failing.

“I just want to make sure you’re making the most of college. I know University of Minnesota was not your thing, but I want you to find your why when it comes to Connecticut.”

I sighed. One of the perks of having a therapist as a mother is that you always have someone to listen to your petty problems without judgement. The downside is that she’s always trying to dig deeper, even when I really do not want to. “My why is being close to you. Plus, UConn is close enough to New York.”

“And close to Paige.” This remark nearly makes me choke.

“Mom!”

“Sorry, sorry!” She quickly apologizes, though knowing her she knew damn well what kind of reaction she would receive. I never told her full details of what actually went down between us - maybe because I thought it would be too embarrassing, or maybe because I knew that if she ended up in my mom’s bad graces, there was no coming back from that. All she knew is that at one point we were friends, then we were more than friends, and then things got messed up and we don’t talk anymore. She also knows that I really don’t like talking about it with her. “Does she know you’re coming?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know, I didn’t tell her.” 

The last text I had sent Paige was shortly after the basketball player announced she tore her ACL. Despite the tension between us, it felt wrong to say nothing in these circumstances. Basketball was Paige’s world, and I couldn’t even fathom the grief she must have felt. I received a “thank you maya, i hope you’re doing well. miss u” in return. It took everything in me not to call the blonde after reading the last five letters. 

Thankfully, my moms line of questioning ends there, and she returns to the driving playlist we made together the night before, an eclectic mix of 80’s hits with the occasional R&B ballad. Occasionally I hear her sing along, letting the crack of fresh air from the car window flow through her almost-black hair. Some people say I’m basically her twin: same dark hair, dark eyes, olive skin, and short stature. I just wish I got a fraction of her curves.

The rest of the car ride, I alternate between reading the newest Emily Henry book and messaging Brooke, who has been sending me updates on our new apartment. She moved into a couple of days ago while my mom and I were still on our girls trip to New York City, and her texts ranged from “ill give you the room with the ensuite bathroom if i can have the bigger room” (deal) to “our neighbors are FINE” (knowing her taste in men, doubtful). 

After what feels like too long in the car (maybe I never actually got over my tendency to get carsick), we pull into a lot. there it is: My new apartment, a small building surrounded by others similar to it and tall trees, still wrapped in vibrant green hues untouched by the incoming fall. I hear a yell from across the lot as I step out, but I’m so overwhelmed by the new sensations in Storrs that it takes my brain a moment to process that the tall figure running across the lot with a truly impressive speed was my best friend.

Brooke barrels towards me, wrapping me in a hug that nearly tips me over. “About time you got here!” She grabs my shoulders, her white acrylics a comfortably familiar sensation on my skin, before turning to my mom with her award-winning smile. “It’s so good to finally meet you! I’m Brooke. Wow, you could have convinced me you two were sisters. You’re gonna have to give me your skincare routine before you leave.” She gestures to my mom, who giggles. I can tell that her day has been made.

I will never fail to tell Brooke Jones that she is perhaps the most charismatic person I have ever met. When I’m in Mock Trial, I will fight to make my voice heard. Outside of the courtroom, however, I tend to lean on the more reserved side. On the first day of counselor training, it was as if she could sniff out how nervous I was and made it her personal mission to befriend me. And one thing about Brooke: she will make you talk. Somehow I don’t mind it as much when I’m with her. 

So it’s a great sight when Brooke and my mom trail ahead of me, hands filled with various decor items and chatting (I think I hear one of them mention bringing out photos of me in seventh grade, an action I know I will have to intercept later for my own sanity).  

About three hours later, with the hard work of the three of us supplemented by SZA’s discography, my space is set up just enough to where I can sleep comfortably for the next few nights. Brooke pulls my mom in first, after getting her phone number “for emergencies”. Next, it’s my turn. 

“Alright, you know what I’m about to say.”

“We’re not going to throw a party, I know you’re worried about the security deposit.” Behind my mom’s shoulder, I could see Brooke’s brows furrow as she mouthed don’t promise that. 

“No, I meant have fun. Take risks. Find your why,” She grabs my shoulders at the last word for emphasis, and it’s hard to believe that this is my real life and not some after school motivational special. 

We embrace one last time. Despite her cheesy moments, I am reminded just how much I’m going to miss seeing my mom every day. After three years of being in closer proximity to my dad, it was nice to spend the summer in Stamford, my days filled with NYT crossword games by the water and day trips into New York City. This summer solidified that it didn’t even need to be Boston - I was just happier on the east coast. 

“I like your mom, she’s sweet.” I hear Brooke say as we watch the white Toyota leave the parking lot from our third floor window. Our view is perfect, and I picture what it will be like to watch the leaves change from it as the semester goes on. It makes the last few hours of lugging furniture and suitcases up flights of stairs worth it.

“I love her when she’s not trying to psychoanalyze every decision I make,” I chuckle, moving to continue unpacking some miscellaneous items in the kitchen.

Brooke follows me. “Is that what that whole ‘find your why’ thing was about?” 

“Got a whole interrogation in the car. Everyone in my family thinks I’m having some sort of crisis,” I place a stack of plates (a gift from my mom’s boyfriend) in a cabinet. “She even suggested I came here for Paige.”

Brooke stands there, her lips falling into a flat line. She is taking far too long to respond for my preference. My jaw falls, eyes widening. “Stop.”

Brooke lifts her hands in surrender. “Ok, I would be lying if I said it hasn’t crossed my mind.”

My head falls into my hand, fingers pinching the bridge of my nose as my eyes shut. “I swear to god, why does everyone think I chose to go to UConn because of Paige?”

“Maybe because other people definitely have.” Ok, Brooke does have a point. While I have done everything in my power to not think about the blonde, everyone else has been increasingly trying to get in her orbit. I’ve even seen a handful of edits made for her in the past few months as people anticipate her first season back from her injury.

I shake my head. “I’m not that dumb. I’m here for-“

“In-state tuition and to be closer to me and your mom, I know.” Brooke finishes, coming around to wrap one arm around me. It’s her way to both apologize and check in on me. While I appreciate the gesture, a small part of me feels guilty - like I have gotten use to people extending pity to me for one reason or another: my parent’s divorce, the move to Minnesota, Paige, transferring schools. It gets to a point where I just want to win at something.

I lean into her embrace, smelling the citrus in her hair product. “I know I was down bad for a while, but I promise I’m fine.”

I feel Brooke nod above me. “Good, because she’s kinda everywhere on campus. Even if you don’t run into her, people don’t shut up about her.” This was to be expected, a fact I have been preparing myself for months for. I decided it’s just something I’m going to have to get used to, like many things in life.

“Well, why don’t we shut up about Paige and order some food. I’m starving,” I exclaim, moving towards my phone to pull up Doordash. Perhaps my first win can be proving to people that I can thrive at UConn and absolutely not fixate on Paige Bueckers. 

“Okay, okay. You good if we invite my cousin Adria to come over too? She’s chill I swear.” I remember Brooke telling me about Adria last summer, how she was entering her freshman year at `UConn at the time. I nod in agreement, excited to host my first get together in my new space. 

////

Just an hour and a half later, the three of us are sat in the sparsely furnished living room, eating pad thai surrounded by a large collection of boxes. Upon one look at Adria when she stepped through our front door, I could tell her and Brooke were related: both had the same long legs, clear deep complexion and white smiles that looked like they belonged on billboards. Where they differed was in dress: while Brooke wore the same blue sweat set that she helped me unpack in, Adria was dressed in a simple pair of jeans and a boho white tank top, a cascade of black and blonde braids down her back and an “A” necklace around her neck. 

Adria is only a sophomore, and yet from the first hour I have known her she appears far more put together than I was at this time last year. It’s evident in the way she talks about her pre-professional sorority, or in the way she talks about getting ahead of internship applications for the next summer. It would almost be irritating if she wasn’t also so charming.

“So what brought you to UConn?” Adria asks me from the other end of the couch. 

“Well, I tried U of M. My dad and his new girlfri… new wife,” The correction felt bitter on my tongue in a way that made me feel guilty. “They live out there, so I got in-state. It just wasn’t for me. I decided to transfer here just in case I still want to go to law school, since my mom lives in-state and I don’t want to go further in debt than I need to.”

“What do you mean if you still want to go to law school?” Brooke questions, her face incredulous. “Wasn’t that your whole plan since you were in, like, fourth grade?”

I love Brooke with everything in me, on the deepest platonic soulmate level there is. I tell her everything - except for the fact that I don’t know if I still want to practice law outside of college. I guess if I said it out loud to her, the girl who I once dreamed of going to law school with, practicing in the same city with before opening a shared practice, it would become more real: that I was seemingly blowing up all I’ve known with no plan B. She already thinks me dropping mock trial is some sign of an incoming mental breakdown.

“I’m just… exploring all of my options.” I muster, though from the furrow in Adria’s brow it must not be as believable as I would have hoped. Judging by the way Brooke’s shoulders appeared to relax, however, it at least worked on her. Eager to switch the attention off of myself, I turn to the younger girl once more. “Adria, what are you studying?”

“I’m kinesiology, trying to become a physical therapist. Maybe do some athletic training?”

Brooke chokes back a laugh, waving her hand. “She’s just saying that because she’s fucking someone on the basketball team.”

If there’s one similarity between Adria and I, it’s the way both of our jaws drop at Brooke’s candor. Her cousin seems particularly taken off guard, throwing her hands up with a, “Jesus Christ, Brooke!”

I can’t help but laugh at the dynamic. “Who is he?”

“She’s on the women’s team.” The word she rings in my ears as my cheeks get hot with embarrassment. I’m literally a lesbian, I thought she was above assuming sexuality based on looks after having it done to me throughout the summer by daddy’s money frat guys in Stamford.  Adria scratched the back of her neck, her cheeks flushing. “Um, KK Arnold?” 

I’ve only seen the name in passing, during a late night scan of the women’s basketball roster that I would never admit to. KK was the new recruit from Wisconsin to my memory … or was it Indiana? 

“She got a job with athletics over the summer. Somehow her and KK crossed paths and they’ve been hooking up since.” Brooke took a bite of her noodles between sentences, filling in the gaps that Adria left. 

“We haven’t even had sex, chill.” Adria held a hand up to her sister, but the shy look never left her face. “KK’s nice though. I think I could really like her, which totally sucks because basketball players aren’t exactly the relationship type.”

“Looks like you both have the same type.” Brooke says through another bite.

Silence falls on the room, followed by a confused “What?” from Adria. 

A part of me wants to be frustrated with Brooke for bringing it up - the last thing I want is to be known at UConn as just a girl who got with the basketball star. However, Adria seems like a kind person, and she did just confide in me about KK. Part of me feels like I owe her an explanation in some sick way. With a sigh, I give her the context. “Brooke is giving me shit because a long time ago, in high school, I kinda had a thing with Paige Bueckers.”

The younger girl looks at me for a beat as if she can’t believe the words that just came out of my mouth. Once she gets a minute to reboot, she explodes “Like Paige Bueckers Paige Bueckers?Holy shit!”

“Don’t say anything, it was a really, really long time ago,” I plea, recognizing that she was acquainted to one of her teammates. Oh god, the last thing I need is KK telling Paige that her … whatever Adria was … told her that her sister’s friend is still hung up on her or something.

“I won’t, I promise.” Adria holds both hands up, a move that must be genetic. “You’re not gonna hit her up now that you’re on her campus?”

“Yeah, I’ll pass,” I say, taking a bite of my own food. I try to ignore the way my stomach flips at how Adria claimed the entirety of University of Connecticut as belonging to Paige somehow. As if there was no room for me. “She may be great at basketball, but that girl does not do emotions.”

“Well, I’m not exactly surprised.” Adria shrugs. My head snaps back up, and Brooke shoots her cousin a pointed look.

“What do you mean?”

Adria continues, “I mean, its not a secret Paige kinda has a reputation here.”

So much for not fixating on Paige Bueckers. My mind races as I ask, “What kind of reputation?” although based on her tone and the context, I can make my own educated guesses. 

“She just gets with a lot of girls on campus.” Adria speaks slowly, her expression somehow guilty. “My freshman year roommates friend got with her. Said she slept with her one night and never talked to her again.”

It’s not like I had no clue that Paige had no issue moving on from me once she got to Storrs. For one, she didn’t seem to have an issue doing such a thing when we were together in the first place. She had also heard rumors through the grapevine at school during her senior year, with people saying that they knew someone whose sister was friends with someone who got with Paige or some outlandish connection like that. Hearing confirmation from someone in Storrs somehow made it more confirmed in my mind. That all Paige wants is to kiss as many girls as possible, touch as many girls as possible, fuck as many girls as possible. Maybe that’s why she started acting so cold and things fell apart. Maybe that’s why I wasn’t enough for her, I can’t help my mind from thinking bitterly. 

“Can’t say I’m surprised.” I force myself to breeze past the conversation, knowing that I cannot dwell on the past again. After a year or two of trying to figure out where everything went wrong, I have long since realized that there is nothing else to decode. I preferred to think of Paige as a painful memory that I’ve locked far, far away - it was just easier that way. “Who wants to watch a show?”

“You good, Maya?” Brooke asks, a small smile on her face. I know she feels guilty for bringing it up in the first place. But really, I have no reason to be mad: I was the one who ended things, and years ago at that. Being hung up over Paige Bueckers was ridiculous at this point.

“Yeah.” I answer, my voice more sharp than I intended. Fuck. Shaking my head as if to shake off any sort of doubts in their mind, I smile as I stand and walk towards the kitchen. “Believe me when I say I do not care what that girl does. She can do what she wants, and so can I. And what I want right now is to drink some prosecco and watch the Bachelorette.”

The sight of me pulling out the bottle of wine seems to strip Brooke of her doubts, because she agrees with a “Hell yeah, lets do it.”

Thankfully, once the TV is on we all settle into a groove of gossiping about strangers on our TV, not the very real people in our lives. Brooke in particular is enthralled, even though I had to beg her for weeks last summer to give the show a try. Even Adria chimes in as the two contestants cry over these men with a yell of “stand the fuck up!” I am quickly reminded in this moment that these two girls are, in fact, related. At one point in the night, Adria whips out her phone and snaps a photo of Brooke and I, grinning under a pile of throw blankets with our wine glasses in hand, an act I fail to question. After all, she had been checking her phone sporadically throughout the night.

Soon enough, we catch up on the past two episodes, our heads buzzing with the wine we consumed and our eyes struggling to stay awake as we say our goodbyes for the night. Adria pulls me into a hug, my head surrounded by the scent of her vanilla perfume as she whispers, “I’m so sorry about saying that stuff about Paige. You should know you… you absolutely did not deserve that shit, whatever she did. For the record, I think you’re awesome and that its completely her loss.”

I smile, happy to hear her words even if this is just a wine happy trail of thought. “It’s okay, Adria, I promise. It was so good to finally meet you.”

Brooke walks her out, and I can barely make it through brushing my teeth and washing my face before collapsing on my bed. The mattress is not the best quality and Amazon still says my mattress topper won’t be here for a few days, but I drift off easily, my thoughts filled with nothing except gratitude for my first night in Storrs and eager for my new start.

It’s safe to say this feeling does not extend in the morning, when I am awoken by the sun blazing through my window. My mouth is dry as I reach for my phone, eager to check the time and groaning when I see it is only 7AM. My groan is not audible for long, though, as I am quickly silenced by my most recent notification. One that has been awaiting me since 12:37AM.

Paige (DO NOT CALL): You go to UConn now???

August 26, 2023

“Go, go, go… Let’s fucking go Dorka!” I yell, watching as my old teammate scored in a game against the Liberty. It’s the Saturday night before the start of classes, and while the streets of Storrs are filled with people on their first night out of the semester, my teammates and I have all been moved into our current apartments for a little over two months. When your summer breaks are filled with workouts on campus mixed with brief vacations or visits home, that first night out doesn’t exactly carry the same novelty.

Which is why some of us were sat in Nika and Azzi’s living room, game on the TV as the two hosts prepare whatever alcoholic beverage they are subjecting us to from the kitchen separated by a counter. Three of our freshmen sit in the room with us: Ashlynn is on the floor, Ice is right above her on the couch with Aaliyah and Aubrey, and KK is next to me, typing hurriedly on her phone. Being one of the oldest players this year, I feel it’s especially important for me to get to know them - not just how they play, but who they actually are off the court.

“If UConn gets me playing like that,” Ice gestures to the TV, “I’ll know I made the right decision.”

“No turning back now.” Aubrey clapped her on the back, an over exaggerated grin on her face, which Ice responded to by shoving her off playfully. Ashlynn giggles, but doesn’t respond beyond that. It’s not abnormal for her to be quiet - what is abnormal is how silent KK is, her phone apparently more interesting than any of us. Aubrey seems to notice too, because she calls over to her.

“Hey KK, what did you think of that play?” No response. The typically extroverted girl has her chin in her hand, still staring at the screen in her other hand. Ice grabs the nearest pillow to her and throws it at the girl, prompting a jolt and a startled “What?” from KK and a “Ay, cut it out!” from Nika across the counter as she stirs a pitcher of God knows what.

“Bruh, KK, you’re not even watching,” I roll my eyes.

“Probably busy texting her girl,” Aaliyah mutters, although clearly she wasn’t trying that hard to be quiet. Hold up … her girl? Now the entire room quickly turns away from the game and to the freshman, who sits up from her slouched position with a death glare.

“I told you that in private.”

“Yo what? KK, you’ve been on campus for, like, five seconds,” Nika pops in the room.

“Clearly that’s all she needs,” Ice shrugs, earning her the same pillow thrown right back at her.

“Y’all suck,” KK slumps back into the couch, crossing her arms with a slight pout. I feel bad, wondering if we’ve been too hard on the teasing.

“Ok c’mon, we’ll stop. Let’s see her.” I gesture her to bring her phone closer to me, an act that she ignores for now.

“She’s not even my girl,” she mumbles.

“Do you want her to be?” Nika asks, eyebrows raised as she steps closer. All of us watch as KK bites her bottom lip, looking down at her sneakers. Hold on… she’s blushing. I may have only known the girl for two months, but i’ve never seen her do that before.

“Holy shit,” Nika exclaims. “KK’s a lover girl.”

“Nothing to be ashamed of, just surprising is all,” Aaliyah clarifies, “not many freshmen are too into settling down.”

I notice Aaliyah, Nika, and Aubrey turn to face me, their stares deadpan. “What are you lookin’ at me for?” I exclaim, pointing at my chest. The heat rising to my face reveals that it’s no secret, even to me.

“What do you think?” Azzi calls from the next room. I sigh.

It’s no secret among the team (or anyone, really) that I had a pretty… entertaining first two years at UConn. Once COVID restrictions began lifting and the team was able to see other people outside of other players, some of the older players made it their mission to show the younger ones what they had been missing, one of those things being who they were missing. Honestly, it’s what I thought I needed at the time: being trapped in my dorm the majority of the time I wasn’t in practice gave me a lot of time to think, and with thinking came regret. More than once I jolted up in my bed in the middle of the night, dreams of dark hair, tanned skin, and that laugh replaying in my mind. It was torture.

Being in a different girl’s bed every weekend silenced it, just momentarily. Some people viewed me as a player who got off on getting any girl she wanted. The guilt of it finally caught up to me at the beginning of my sophomore year, when I thought about all of the girls I hurt, the ones who thought I wanted more than just one or two nights. It just reinforced my worst fear about myself: I was a womanizer who was incapable of caring about anything aside from basketball. 

“Aight aight,” I surrender, shifting my attention back to KK. “We not talking about me right now. Let’s see her.”

KK unlocked her phone, typing a username into the search bar before handing the phone off to me. Nika and Ice were quickly at my side, craning their necks to see a peek. The girl (Adria Taylor, I discover from her bio) is tall, with deep skin and long braids going down her back.

“She’s so pretty!” Nika gushes, and I would have to agree.

Ice, unable to resist the pink circle surrounding Adria’s profile photo, taps on the waiting story before KK can protest. The phone illuminates with a photo of two girls smiling on a couch, captioned “first night back” with a heart and a couple of mentions, presumably her friends handles. I don’t even need to take a look at what is written, however, because my eyes seem to have zeroed in on the girl further from the camera, and my mouth seems to go dry. It can’t be, but it is.

Because the girl in the photo is Maya. 

“Holy fuck.”

I don’t even realize I’ve said it until the three girls turn to look at me, confusion laced in their faces. “What?” Nika asks, concern evident. My heart is racing at a million miles an hour and my hands suddenly feel impossibly sweaty, but I refuse to reveal myself to them. 

I fake a cough, covering it with one hand while the other goes to scratch the back of my neck. “Uh, nothing. Thought I saw something but um,” Suddenly the sight of my lap clad in Nike tech sweats is the most interesting sight in the world. “She’s cute, KK.”

Almost like some sort of angel sent to save me, Azzi appears with a tray full of drinks that are a bright pink color and look entirely too sweet. “Drink it slowly guys, I’m not really sure I measured correctly.” She looks embarrassed at the admission, passing them around the room. Upon my first sip, I wince. Yep, definitely not too sweet. Will I still drink it? Yes. It would be a shame to let a perfectly good drink go to waste, and I now have something to run from tonight.

We continue watching the game, or at least I am. During commercials I spark conversations with anyone who will listen, including asking Ashlynn about some country concert she went to with her parents over the summer. I don’t even really listen to country, but it was nice to see the typically shy girl light up over something. Plus, it gave me an excuse not to think too hard.

Truthfully by the end of the night I was fucking hammered, not bothering to keep track of how many shots I chased down after whatever concoction Nika and Azzi made. Everyone in the room knew it too, to the point where Nika took it upon herself to walk me back to my apartment once the game ended, even though I only lived one floor down and KK and Aubrey were both still at her apartment. 

After I promised her I would chug some water before bed and take the pain reliever she laid out for me in the morning, she agreed to leave and let me go rest. I collapsed in my bed, which suddenly felt like the most comfortable place I had ever been. My brain, on the other hand, was providing anything but comfort running at around 100 miles an hour. Unable to resist, I look up Adria’s profile on my account, clicking the story. Sober me probably would have thought about how it would look if I showed up in her profile views, but drunk me clearly didn’t care enough. 

Sure enough, she’s sat there with a glass of wine in her hands. My heart jumps as I realize that she’s still just as beautiful as she was when I first met her, just more grown up this time. Her face is all defined cheekbones, glistening eyes, and a smile - God, that smile, that never failed to brighten my day if it was directed at me. It’s been a while since I’ve glanced at her profile - though we still follow each other, she barely ever posts and I don’t remember the last time she’s interacted with anything I’ve posted. Viewing her profile is reserved for nights where I’m filled with just enough delusion to convince myself it’s a good idea. Nope, never is. 

The girl next to her (Brooke, I assume from the tag) is leaning into her slightly in a way that makes my stomach flip. She’s not entirely unfamiliar to me - I’ve definitely seen her in a photo dump by Maya last summer. A part of me wonders if that’s the next girl that gets to treat her the way I should have. What if she came to UConn for her, I think. Nope. Can’t do that. Maya hasn’t been mine, not for a while.

The urge to reach out has died down through the years, going from entirely unbearable at times to more of a constant dull itch that I feel as though I can’t ever scratch. Her texting me after my ACL tear last summer provided temporary relief. I mean, it had to say something that she cared enough to show that she cared. A person that hates me wouldn’t do that.

But then, she never responded to my reply. A person that hates me would do that.

So yeah, there is nothing I want more in this world than to text Maya one last time, just to tell her I’m sorry. That I still think about the way I treated her, and how I’ve been too afraid to be with another girl since I’m worried I’ll do the same thing. That I know I don’t deserve her, not even platonically, but feelings aside I miss being around her. I wish we could be friends again, or acquaintances who occasionally text each other on birthdays and holidays, or something. At the very least, I want her to know I’m sorry.

But beyond everything, I want her to be happy. And if me not talking to her makes her happy, as stated the last time I saw her physically where she stated she “just needed time”, I was willing to suffer through that.

Somehow knowing she could be anywhere right now, even just a short walk away, made the suffering unbearable right now, in a way that I hadn’t felt since freshman year. 

Blame it on the alcohol, or the picture, or whatever you like. Doesn’t change the fact that I opened my contacts in search for one particular one. Doesn’t change the five word text I sent that took an embarrassingly long time to think of. And it doesn’t change how my fingers pressed send before any other doubts could enter my brain. Putting my phone on do not disturb, I plug it in and turn off my lights, deciding that chugging water can wait until tomorrow. For now, I need to sleep off everything I’ve seen tonight and the memory of what I just did. 

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Hi! Do you have any advice for switching pov in the middle of a scene without it feeling just...wrong?

Like, yeah, this scene will be in character A's point of view but in one particular moment of the scene B's perspective is also important. How could I do that swiftly, without confusing the readers?

Thanks xx

Hi, here's an excerpt from this post and another reference linked below:

Tips for Writing From Multiple Points of View

Switching between characters’ perspectives can be a great tool in novel writing, but it can also confuse your reader. Here are some tips from various writers:

Clearly define perspective shifts. Each time you change perspectives, make it abundantly clear to your reader. If your reader is busy trying to figure out which character’s head they’re in, they won’t be paying as much attention to what’s going on in the story. All that head-hopping can make your reader feel frustrated. You can make this clear to the reader by giving each character a distinct voice, repeating a character’s name, or having one character narrate from the present tense and another from the past tense. Another strategy is to give your perspective changes a regular pattern, so your reader can anticipate those shifts.

Give each character a unique perspective and voice. Each character should have something unique to contribute to the story that only they can share. You don’t necessarily have to change the point of view, but you should give your characters individualized personalities and opinions. If your characters all have the same voice, your reader will get confused about who is speaking. Plus, characters won’t seem as real or believable.

Beat sheets and outlines for multiple POVs. Use outlining tools if it works for you. Some writers find them helpful to keep track of the multiple characters, and even timelines.

Pay attention to point of view and tense. In nonlinear storytelling, it often makes sense to inhabit different perspectives by changing point of view and tense. Maybe the bulk of your story is written in the present tense from the first-person POV of your main character, while flashbacks are written in the past tense and in third-person. Or, you may want to include multiple points of view from different characters existing in different time periods. All of that is possible, but make sure you’re keeping track of point of view and tense changes to avoid confusing your reader. Avoid changing POV or tense in the middle of a scene, and consider making a chapter break every time you change point of view.

Additional Reference ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

Choose which of these tips would work best for your story. Hope this helps!

[menofprogress]

Not to be mean, but sometimes i am surprised by how many ppl need stuff to be EXPLICITLY spelled out for them to get it.

Specific example: saw a tiktok of the scene where Jayce prevents Viktor from killing himself (something which, apparently, ALSO wasnt clear to everyone) and he starts talking about the competition and about how he was afraid a cog would take someones eye out and viktor is like "at least you didnt throw up" and someone was in the comments like "wait, do yall think that means viktor threw up???". Yes. Yes that is what that means, why else would he even mention that. And then multiple comments "why did he throw up?? Did he drink too much?" No?! What? Its obviously because he was nervous because they were both very inexperienced and its implied that this was one of the first times they had to present their work, is that not obvious??

Also the AMOUNT of ppl who didnt get that huck was the guy who got saved by vander in one of the first eps and then later betrayed vi is astounding, they even make a reference to that in the show 😭😭

Also so many ppl not knowing that the girl from viktors flashback is sky? THEY ARE CALLING HER NAME.

And GOD why did so many ppl think vander and silco were actual, blood-related brothers and then got really angry and insulting when ppl ship them?? Buddy, YOU misunderstood something and immediately jumped to aggression, chill out.

Im fully convinced that this is bc so many ppl are using like 3 other devices while watching shows, which, you do you, but then PLEASE dont complain that a show was hard to follow or a twist was unbelievable or that the plot was incoherent, youre deadass just not paying attention and its making shows worse bc now executives feel like they need to be more "second screen friendly". Please dont make your fried attention span everyone elses problem.

[lemotmo]

I agree with all of this, "hope this helps" 🤣🤣. It would not be cheating at all and even if it was cheating I still wouldn't care 😅. Where do you sit on this topic?

Q. Let me start by saying I desperately want Buddie together but I have a growing suspicion that they're going to insinuate or outright show that they kissed at the bachelor party and that would taint them from go for me because putting them together through cheating, especially on a character the show established had turned into a really good guy, is so unnecessary and disgusting and ruins them right off the bat.

A. I wasn't going to reply to this ask but I have several similar asks currently sitting in my inbox so I'm going to respond even though this person is clearly a tommy trying to pretend to be a Buddie. How are you all still so bad at all of this nearly a year on? Your ask is a completely disingenuous take. If having them kiss at the bachelor party ruins them from the start for you then you don't 'desperately' want them together. You don't want them together at all and I don't know why you feel the need to pretend that you do. When the bachelor party takes place Buck and Tommy had been on ONE very bad date. Yes, they had a conversation where Buck said he wanted to try again but they were not a couple. You can't cheat on someone you've had one date with. Furthermore the show definitely didn't establish that Tommy had become some stand up remarkable human being, that is laughable. He was a sexist racist when they needed him the first time around for Chim and Hen, and he was a gay man the second time around when they needed someone for the coming out storyline. That's it. The show didn't care to establish anything else about him. The fact he left Buck standing on a curb after he understandably panicked a bit during their first date and then told Buck Abby went crazy when he dumped her pretty much illustrates though that he wasn't a great guy.

Forcing real life moral codes onto fictional characters is always a recipe for pain though. You can't do that. The very nature of the media they exist in doesn't allow for real life moral rules to always be followed. Real life people don't always do the right thing. Expecting fictional character to do so is ridiculous. Drama comes from their mistakes so television shows will always have them screw up and make bad decisions every now and again. I don't want them to have kissed at the bachelor party because I don't want their first kiss to be a flashback, but I won't be terribly bothered if that is the route they take because it's not that big of a leap to make. They made a point of making both of them drunk, Oliver mentioned in an interview while talking about filming the karaoke scene that everyone needs a little liquid courage now and then. They made a point of releasing the deleted scene with Eddie telling Chris about how he met Shannon and what he liked so much about her when they first met. The show then intentionally had the bachelor party mirror that story with Buck talking all night long and showing how close and intertwined they both were all night long. The karaoke song even fit the callback of that story from Eddie. We also cannot ignore the fact that Eddie basically blew up his life following the bachelor party so going back and showing that something did indeed happen between the two of them that night would not be some astronomical story leap. I have said from the beginning they filmed way too much content and spent way too much money for those scenes to just never come up again or be shown. I don't think we're getting the actual karaoke scene but I do think we might get some of the other scenes in a flashback of some kind but we don't know that for sure. That New Year's Day post was definitely an intentional choice and it was certainly an interesting choice, but it doesn't necessarily indicate anything bachelor party related is coming. It could just be one more thing to add to the growing belief that Buddie is very much coming though.

Lastly, even if Buck and tommy had been in a full blown years long relationship and the show had Buck and Eddie get together by cheating on him I still wouldn't care or be angry. They could murder him, chop him up and dispose of the body and I would call it the most romantic thing ever. I genuinely don't care about him at all. Hope this helps ☺️

Thank you Nonny! 🤗

As for where I stand on this topic?

Listen, I grew up on soap operas where everyone cheated on everyone.😋 It never bothered me. In fact, it brought some extra tension and I love that in a show. So I don't really care one way or the other.

But also, Tommy wasn't his boyfriend at that time. They were trying things out and so far Tommy had proven himself to be a bit of an ass. So no, if we find out that Buck and Eddie kissed or made out during that bachelor's party? I will cheer.🙌🙌🙌

I've been here since te beginning. They need to get this show on the road and if this is the way they have chosen to go? I'm fine with it.

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

IMPORTANT! Please don't repost this ask and/or a link that leads straight to my Tumblr account on Twitter or any other social media. Thank you!

Heads up! For anyone who is giving me the shifty eyes for reposting Ali's updates instead of reblogging. Read this.

Remember, no hate in comments, reblogs or inboxes. Let's keep it civil and respectful. Thank you.

If you are interested in more of Ali’s posts, you can find all of her posts so far under the tag: anonymous blog I love.

[eddiemunson-reader-shame]

A Freak and A Basket Case: The Seven Inches of Satanic Panic Edition

Chapter 3: Here Comes The Feeling

“ Oh God, where were you when I needed you?

I know that you, no,

You would never have betrayed me… ”

A/N: I’m back, bitches.

I took a break between Gladiator fics to pretty up chapter 3 of my OC fic. This was a really fun one to gussy up, especially during the rewriting of the Dune flashback. I don’t know what kind of hold Dune has on me, but it’s very much still there. However I’m more hung up on the 1984 version, Kyle MacLachlan has me in a chokehold.

Hope you all enjoy. Thanks so much for sticking with me so far.

Masterlist | Previous

Credits: Dividers by @strangergraphics-archive

Tag List: @melodymunson @writhingg @jozstankovich @rxqueenotd @trashmouth-richie @i-trash-about-things @ali-r3n @somnambulic-thing @mothmans-left-buttcheek @theold-ultraviolence

Warnings: Direct reference to specific instances of period typical racism, references to drug use, some smutty themes

“You ever read Clan of the Cave Bear?” Alejandra asked.

It was such a non sequitur. She heard an obnoxious snort threaten to turn into laughter.

“No, what… what the hell is that?” Eddie was red faced. Giggling.

“Prehistoric science fiction, bro.” She said in a low voice, “Caveman shit.”

“Cavemen?!”

Eddie guffawed. Covering his face with his hands as his giggles threatened again.

“It’s not funny!” She whined, unable to control her own cackling.

The distinctly pungent, acrid odor of Eddie’s own stash of what he called “longbottom leaf” (really, just a bad code name for his own recreational reefer) had already gone stale in the enclosed space they found themselves in. The shared smoke had gone stale in her baby lungs, and Alejandra coughed as she laughed.

“I’m so… ha! I… I’m sorry…” Eddie insisted, taking a deep breath and exhaling through pursed lips. “I’m sorry. But you said… you said it’s about cavemen?”

It took Alejandra a while to maintain herself. Spittle had shot down the wrong pipe and made her nearly gag. Holding up a finger, she made sure it all hacked out, inhaled deeply, then nodded with a grin.

“Yeah like, a girl from the Cro-Magnon people gets adopted by a group of Neanderthals and she becomes this hunter who’s all bad, right?” She said, moving her hands as though she was holding a spear, “Then she gets kicked out of her cave after giving up her son to start her own path, and the second book opens up with her in this valley where she tames a horse and a lion cub. Real girl power shit. But it’s crap.”

“Why crap?”

“Because the girl then turns into this air headed romance novel heroine, and she meets her perfect jock caveman boyfriend.” Alejandra said. “And the book gets all torcido in the second novel. You wanna know what her boyfriend Jondalar’s biggest flaw is?”

Eddie raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained by Alejandra’s retelling of the best selling prehistoric fiction novel.

"Lay it on me. What's the great character flaw of Jondalar, the Flintstone-era Mr. Perfect?"

“He’s sad because no girl on earth can handle his huge fucking wiener.”

Eddie screamed.

Honest to god screamed.

Screamed like a banshee being gutted, and then dissolved into the worst fit of laughter she had ever seen. Eddie collapsed against the van door, laughing so hard Alejandra could have sworn she saw his butt cheeks clenching in his worn Wrangler Jeans. The kind of clenching that comes from trying not to laugh so hard you accidentally fart.

Eddie took a deep breath, trying to compose himself, but the idea of a sad, dimwitted caveman crying over his mammoth dick was too much.

"I swea… I… I swear… Oh Jesus H. Christ!” he paused, wheezing before he finally inhaled and managed to speak, “God dammit. What the fuck is this… How in hell did edgy caveman sex even get the go ahead from a publisher?!"

“Evidently Jean M. Auel had a lot of money and a lot of free time to be traveling to sites where they dug up remains. So the first one was just creative enough to get published, then the second sold purely on sex.”

Alejandra sat up straight on the leather seats of Eddie’s 1979 GMC Gaucho. Her fingers danced along the leather of the back bench seat, silently enjoying the tactile wonderland where the top grain of the leather had begun to disintegrate.

“Like… imagine though?” She said, voice lowering to a conspiratory whisper, as if Jean M. Auel herself was squatting outside of the windows listening in, “You spend all kinds of money to actually learn how to make stone tools and a lean to, and then you go and fuck it all up writing about sad peepee man over here.”

Eddie laughed even harder, his shoulders shaking and his face now burning red as a tomato.

"Peepee man, oh my fucking God... all that free time and money to learn about the Stone Age, just to turn it into a cringe-fest with Jondalar and his mammoth-size... oh shit!"

There was a frantic scrambling to prevent disaster after Eddie’s muddy Reeboks knocked over a full ashtray— a yellowed glass relic perched haphazardly on the front seat’s armrest. A few old roaches flew with the stubby blunt in a sea of ashes onto the already filthy floor. Eddie looked at Alejandra, looked at the mess, then began howling again with laughter. She burst into laughter too, a delayed reaction when she realized what happened.

When they both finally looked up at one another after a moment of calm, she noticed Eddie was staring directly at her, smiling widely.

“Damn… you're a bundle of laughs when you're stoned, aren't you? I’ve never met a dork like you who was so captivated by prehistoric wiener.”

“What?! No! I don’t want Jondalar’s unwashed dong!”

“Oh you totally do. What, you like ‘em big like a third leg?”

Pressing his lips together in a firm line, Eddie made a buzzing elephant-like sound, sticking his forearm near his crotch and flapping upwards for emphasis.

“Stop it…” Alejandra threatened, shoulders shaking with barely contained laughter, “Don’t make me laugh… I… I’m gonna pee…!”

He was about five seconds away from laughter himself. Biting his lower lip to stop the sound.

“Oh? You want me to stop? Because believe it or not, I’ve got a whole arsenal of stupid shit I can whip out to see how bad you really need to pee… I just don’t have the mammoth trunk package you want me to whip out—…”

A loud yelp erupted from his throat, followed by laughter when Alejandra began swatting him with her Carhartt jacket. The fabric made a snapping sound as it connected with his skin. Eddie wasted no time to hit her back with his denim vest.

They looked like two jocks in the midst of a locker room towel brawl, the jackets making a solid thwack against bare skin amidst their howling and animalistic grunting noises that started up after Eddie started screeching like a capuchin.

Before the van, before the two of them shared the reefer, Eddie had still been holding Alejandra by the waist back at Hawkins High. The two of them were hellbent on basking in the presence of one another, interrupted only when the bell rang to dismiss first period, and Alejandra had honest to god pouted when she heard the obnoxiously loud clanging.

“Don’t make that face.” Eddie had grinned, “Who says we’re going to second period?”

“Huh?!”

“You really think I’m going to let you go to class? Away from me? Hell no, we’ve got better things to do. You’re sticking with me today, lamb chop.”

His voice dropped down into a conspirator’s whisper, hot breath ghosting along her ear as he spoke again.

“Unless…” he teased, “You wanna… you know, be a good girl and go to second period…?”

“Hell no.”

“Didn’t think so.” He grinned. “After all, we only just started getting properly acquainted. What say you to us having a little alone time in my rather… unorthodox school hang out spots?”

He gave a light squeeze. A promise of an exciting adventure.

Alejandra scowled.

“… Bro, I don’t even wanna be at school.” she murmured. “I hate it here.”

His expression softened.

Maybe it was the hint of vulnerability in her voice, or the fact that she looked wilted and drained from her attempts at biting back at the masses. Whatever the reason, it didn’t matter. Lamb chop said she didn’t want to be here, and Eddie seemed determined to make it happen. Desperately trying to please her, from the looks of things.

“Yeah, okay… no, I feel you. This dump was never designed for us cool cats. Let’s face it, we’re too cool for school, lamb chop.”

For a moment Alejandra looked around. Confused as to who Eddie was talking to. Who the hell around here was cool besides him? Certainly not her.

“New game plan: let’s ditch class and go on an adventure. Just you and me.” He said, holding firm to her waist.

“Okay but like… What’s there to do here?”

“Hawkins is our oyster. There’s a lot we can do. We could go cruising, drive to the park, or the lake. There’s even an abandoned scary house on Denfield we can break into. Perfect place to get chased by ghosts, while accompanied by a psychedelic synth number. Hell, sky’s the limit. Anywhere’s more exciting than this shithole.”

“… there’s a lake?”

Alejandra knew lakes. Liked them even. Abiquiu back home was a particular favorite. With the outcropping of mountains in caramel and umber surrounding the blue water in summer, it was a perfect wilderness retreat. Surely, this Hawkins lake would at least be as picturesque with its midwestern greenery and lush forest.

“Yeah. Lover’s Lake. It’s quiet there on a school day. Especially now in the morning. Perfect for an adventure. You in?” Eddie asked.

“I wanna go!”

She sounded like a damn kid. So eager…

No one had ever invited her anywhere before like this. Plenty of her classmates back home ditched class and never faced consequence. One girl back in Pojoaque took off during a pizza party in Geometry— simply because she didn’t bring any cash to chip in— instead she just walked out of the room like nothing while Alejandra sat there watching at her desk, gaping like a fish.

She always wished she had the balls and audacity that girl had. Now she had the opportunity to grow a pair.

Eddie was grinning at her attitude.

“Atta girl! We’d better be sneaky about it, though. I don’t feel like catching hell from dirty old Higgs for a joyride.”

He didn’t wait for her to put out her hand. Eddie grabbed her sweaty palm and began walking to the front doors, dragging her along to follow.

Alejandra laced her fingers with his, eventually grabbing onto his arm as they weaved through throngs of students. Every now and then they looked behind them to see if anyone noticed their flight from Hawkins High. For the most part students and faculty alike avoided Eddie like the plague. Especially now that they saw him coming; with his features set in a resting bitch-faced scowl. A mousy stage five clinger like Alejandra wasn’t even a blip on their radar.

Once outside, the humid summer air punched them both in the face. By the time Eddie led her over to his van, parked all the way in the far corner of the lot, Alejandra was sweating and dying to get in it. She wiped the back of her neck with her hand, letting the cotton duck fabric of her jacket soak up the sweat like a thirsty wick.

Eddie finally parked the two of them in front of the vehicle, holding out his hand. The “ta-dah” was silent, but implied heavily.

“Allow me to introduce my valiant steed: Large Marge.” He said in a deep voice, “Your white-… well, uh, green horse for the day.”

“Large Marge?!”

They both burst out laughing. Eddie even did the Paul Reubens laugh— the one that sounded like a drunk version of The Road Runner, and Alejandra doubled over wheezing.

“A la ve, eres muy pendejo, bro.” Alex laughed.

Immediately she tried the door handle. Just gave it a yank without even making sure the door was unlocked (it was) and hopped into the passenger’s side. Eddie didn’t hesitate either, he just did the Peewee laugh again before he hopped in, slamming the door behind him and making the engine sputter to life when he stuck the key in the ignition.

Without looking in the rearview mirror to make sure anyone was behind him, Eddie peeled out of the lot the second he put the gear in reverse. Alejandra hadn’t even buckled in her belt before he was doing fifty in the school zone lane, hitting every speed bump and pothole on the way out.

"Jesus H., all it took was a Peewee Herman reference to get you in my van?! You're either fearless, oblivious, or just damn crazy," he laughed, rolling down the driver’s side window. “Did McGruff the Crime Dog teach you nothing? I’m pretty sure the first lesson was: don’t get in a strange man’s big ass van.”

“At this point I wouldn’t even care if you were Baron Harkonnen himself.” she said, re-adjusting her belt so it wasn’t strangling her, “I’d still go with you.”

"Well, I promise I'm nothing as sinister as Baron Harkonnen. Just a humble dork who appreciates good humor. Although, I do sometimes dabble in the melange trade." He winked at her as he steered the van.

The ever turning record of thought in Alejandra’s brain scratched to a halt.

Hold on…

“Hold the fucking phone… you… you actually know who the Baron is?” Alejandra asked, looking incredulous.

No one had ever been familiar with her references to Dune, and here was Eddie just casually dropping lines about the Siridar-Baron, and spice melange…

"Of course. Who doesn't know who Baron Vladimir Harkonnen is?" he replied casually, one hand steady on the steering wheel while the other fumbled for a cigarette in the pocket of his denim battle vest.

He must have done it a thousand times. Mesmerized, she watched as— with practiced ease— Eddie steered with one knee, lit his cigarette with one hand using a dented Zippo lighter, sucked in the sweet tobacco of filtered Camels, and blew the smoke out of the window he was cranking down with his remaining free hand.

"Dune's pretty much one of the major foundations for like, every science fiction world out there.” He said nonchalantly, one hand returning to the steering wheel, “It’s got everything. Space, politics, giant sandworms... Without Dune, they’d have Han Solo pushing either booger sugar or disco biscuits instead of spice, considering it was what shaped the sci-fi genre of the 70’s."

“Yeah but…” she protested, unsure how to voice what she was thinking.

"But what? You seem surprised I know of Dune's existence," Eddie said, scratching his chin as he turned onto Mulberry.

“I kind of am.” Alejandra admitted, chewing on her jacket cuff, “I never met no one who could really keep up with my weirding ways…”

She had been buried deep in the desert sands of Arrakis ever since second grade; ever since her father had been tasked with reading her a bedtime story.

Sick with pneumonia and bronchitis, the doctor told her parents that she had to be kept home at least a week, possibly two if the antibiotics did not work. And they hadn’t worked all that well.

Alejandra was inconsolable.

Second grade was so fun because Mrs. Viola made it fun, and at recess Alejandra always played Candy Candy with her best friend Yesenia— and this week it was Alejandra’s turn to be Candy. Yesenia had even promised to let her hold her stuffed raccoon toy.

Instead, her parents kept her home, and force fed Alejandra this disgusting bubblegum pink antibiotic syrup that made her gag. Dad wasn’t working at the time, it would be another month before he started back up with hauling. So instead of dealing with just mom and Jaime, Dad was there to make caldito and read to her from one of his hardcovers from the Waldenbooks in Dallas that he’d bought two summers ago.

The way Dad played the characters was magical. Alejandra loved the gentle intonations of his voice as he read in the Voice of the Kwisatz Haderac: Paul Usul Muad’Dib Atreides, his very birth orchestrated by one of the fearless women of the Bene Gesserit space witches.

Arrakis was Alejandra’s second home. An escape from the world that did not understand her. When she grew into adolescence and longed to be accepted, she filled her lonely days with yearning to ride through burning sand dunes atop Shai-Hulud. She wanted to hold the Gom Jabbar with Alia Atreides as she killed the evil Baron Harkonnen, and to drink the water of life with Lady Jessica to become the next Reverend Mother of Arrakis, the cunning harbinger of an abomination.

She even wanted to join Stilgar and Chani in their holy war, feeling like a Fremen child herself as she had been born and raised in the desert dunes just as they were… Alejandra knew the sacred importance of water, of self sufficiency among the burning sands, and of a culture that often dealt with the realities of the drug trade and the higher powers that orchestrated them.

Six novels and eleven years later, on all levels except physical, she was still very much buried under the spice tinged sands of Dune. If one bothered to look closely, she fancied they might have seen the way the sclera of her eyes had begun to tinge just the slightest hint of blue…

"I've read the first book and seen the David Lynch movie, I went with one of my friends last year." Eddie smiled, glancing over at her briefly before returning to the road, taking a long pull on his cigarette.

“You’re not the only person in Hawkins who's been tainted by the Weirding Way. So I’ll be privy to any little Bene Gesserit mind tricks you try on me, you little space witch.”

"You know, you're really different from anyone I've ever met before. I mean that in a good way."

It took her a second to remember that she was in Hawkins, not on a desert planet or even a desert state. Instead she was laying back on a leather bench seat, in the back of a green 1979 GMC Gaucho named Large Marge, smoking pot with a guy that looked exactly like Eddie Van Halen.

“I’m different?”

She was shocked. Almost offended. What? Was it not normal to get philosophical about prehistoric caveman fiction?

“That’s… that’s kinda cliche, don’t you think…?” She groused.

Eddie shrugged, his smirk turning into a lighthearted grin.

"Maybe it is cliche, but I mean it. You're not afraid to speak your mind, even if it's about some fictional dude's wiener."

Alejandra couldn’t help the giggle that came out, covering her face.

“… I guess so…” she finally admitted bashfully. “I guess I just didn’t realize people don’t talk about book characters like it’s some hot school gossip. I… I don’t really talk to a lot of other girls.”

It sounded shitty. Even she could admit that.

“I… I don’t really have friends.” She whispered, her face red.

It sounded selfish and shitty, like she hated other women for simply existing. When in reality, she wanted another girl to talk to. Above all else, Alejandra really was just like any other young woman. She craved affection, and attention, perhaps even more than was normal.

At times, she wanted to be part of the cliques she was always excluded from. Cliquey friends came with so many benefits: at any given time, you had an entourage with which to laugh and look cool with. Someone always was free to go with you to the bathroom, sometimes everyone all at once.

Cliquey groupies giggled and gushed over cute boys, and fixed each other’s curls in the mirror before class started. They traded gum, scrunchies, and various fads that circulated in and out of the school halls. Last year, friendship bracelets were the big thing that everyone got into, and girls would have hundreds of them layered on their wrists. It was a caste system of the teenaged-mind’s creation; whosoever did not fit in was not always publicly humiliated, but rather silently shunned.

Alejandra had shamefully made her own to wear on her wrist, but it was awkward getting asked who she was matching with— or, god forbid, getting confronted for copying another girl’s “colors”— so she stopped wearing them altogether.

"Hey… hey, lamb chop."

Eddie’s warm hand brushed against her bare shoulder, raising the goose flesh against her skin. She looked at his hand, refusing to make eye contact directly.

"You shouldn't say that.” Eddie said gently, “I'm sure there's plenty people in Hawkins who want to be your friend. You just... you need to find your people.”

The hurt of his words stung in her heart.

Find your people?

All she had done that first day was piss people off, and look where she ended up. Shoved into a locker for it. Screamed at. Got called a “wetback Elvira”. Got tripped, and caught her jacket on a doorknob. With the way small town rumor mills ran, she knew any attempts she made here on out to make a friend would be FUBAR— Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition.

“I don’t know… I don’t… I don’t think there’s really anyone on earth, let alone here in Hawkins, who wants to be my friend.”

Eddie paused for a moment, the deafening silence making Alejandra’s heart clench.

"I'd be your friend." He said after a moment.

Alejandra tensed up. Gulping. Not wanting to look him in the eyes.

“Really?” She whispered.

"Yeah. You're smart, you're funny, and you've got a love for fantasy. Those are all… that’s badass, dude."

She turned away. Looked at the bucket seat in front of her, thence to the parking break, thence to the floor and the scattered ashes infused with butts and roaches.

“Are you serious to me right now?”

Her voice was so small, so helpless. As if she couldn’t believe it. She said this as if she couldn’t even imagine Eddie, for all his laughter at her antics and his handsy nature, even wanted to consider being her friend. The idea was laughable. There was no way he liked her like that. Maybe she was just a fun time? Something silly to do on a Monday morning instead of school.

Maybe, she thought, maybe he was just secretly some deadbeat dude who wanted dirty sex and was promising friendship in exchange. Using promises of companionship and understanding as legal tender to exchange for her “goods and services”. Playing up acting like a good person, just so he could stick his smelly cock in some panocha, as her brother would often so eloquently warn her about.

For all she knew, Eddie could be just a typical pig. Wanting a warm hole in between looking for someone better looking, more conventionally attractive, to show off on his arm.

But Alejandra wasn’t sure what was more sad: the fact that she was making a judgement based on unfounded allegations, or the fact that she was so desperate for attention, that she was actually considering giving it up just so Eddie would speak kindness to her.

Eddie's grip on her shoulder tightened. After avoiding him so long, she couldn’t anymore when he turned her around to face him. Red rimmed, watery brown eyes bored holes into hers, curtained by black brown, wild curls.

"Yeah, really.” He murmured, “I'm serious. I'd be honored to have a friend like you."

He gave a soft, genuine smile, with his laugh lines cutting deep divots in his cheeks. Alejandra let out a breath she wasn’t aware she’d been holding.

“Well that’s real cool because I really like you and-…” she immediately slapped a hand over her mouth, a squeak erupting from the throat when she realized she had just admitted the quiet part out loud.

The reefer had made her tongue loose. Ordinarily she would have kept the affection she felt for Eddie under wraps until the day she died. Old Alejandra would have made an ass of herself agonizing over shooting her shot. Probably would have gone to her grave regretting never telling Eddie that she was starting to feel the dreaded “like” feelings.

Eddie's smirk faded into a look of surprise as he heard the words come vomiting out.

"Alejandra..."

He said her name softly, his eyes searching her face and taking in the flushed expression.

"You... you really like me?"

She didn’t look at him, just kept her mouth covered as she looked down shamefully. Slowly, she nodded her head yes.

“You know… I like you too.” Eddie murmured.

“You do…?”

“Yeah, I do. I like you a lot.”

“… even if I’m the weird kid you just met…?”

“Especially because you’re the weird kid I just met.” He scooted closer, cupping her face in his hands.

“You think you’re the only one in this van that does weird, out there shit? We’re both weird. We’re both freaks. I don't care if you're weird. I like it. I like you."

Her hands hesitantly reached up, palms over his as she stroked his fingers. Every little sensation was like magic. From the worn feel of his callouses, to the jewelry adorning his fingers, it was all so uniquely him. So very much Eddie, that her fingertips finally moved of their own accord and ran along the grooves and ridges of his many rings, finding comfort in the shapes and feel of the metal designs.

“… really warm…”

Eddie's breath hitched as he felt her hands on his. He let out a low, soft laugh.

"What’s warm? My hands?"

“Yeah…” Alejandra nodded. “And your rings too… People… people say that rings are cold but… yours… the metal band is warm…”

She looked up at Eddie, and noticed something magical happening.

When the morning sun hit just right, his iris glowed a warm amber, like cognac. And when the cognac of his eyes illuminated his face, she could see all the beautiful little lines he possessed: the eye bags, the early signs of crow's feet in the corners of his eyes when he smiled, those goddamn dimple divots on either side of his mouth… Even the way he smiled was mischievous.

She couldn’t help herself. Brown eyes darted down to his rosy lips, chapped and a little dry, but plump. Kissable lips.

Did he taste like cigarettes? Weed? Maybe minty, like toothpaste?

Slowly, Alejandra’s hands left Eddie’s and cupped his cheeks, and she found herself pressing lips against his. Eager to find out.

At first he stiffened, totally caught off guard by the movements. It took a second or two, but at last he began to reciprocate, immediately wrapping his arms around her and pressing her further into his chest.

This didn’t feel real. Alejandra couldn’t believe she was really doing this… A moment ago the two were having the time of their lives. Nearly pissing themselves with laughter, enjoying the bantering back and forth and being real friends.

His lips were chapped. Bitten perhaps during a bout of nervous habit, but… oh, so warm…

His fingers tangled in her curly hair, a wet lathing at her bottom lip as his tongue gently stroked across. Eddie was pulling desperately at her too, as if trying to get her to hop onto his lap, and Alejandra responded by eagerly scrambling onto him. She frowned when she realized he was licking at her bottom lip sloppily, rapidly, as if he was an eager Saint Bernard looking for peanut butter.

“What are you doing…?” Alejandra asked.

Eddie blinked, pulled out of his momentary stupor by the question. He quickly tried to explain himself, a hint of guilt in his voice.

"Fuck... I didn't mean to! I just... I thought... Oh shit, I'm sorry-..."

“No like… what are you doing with your tongue?” She asked, genuinely confused.

Eddie shook his head and blinked at the same time. As if resetting.

"It's... I’m kissing you? Y’know, like, Frenching? You stick your tongue out and... and kind of…”

What the fuck was he talking about?

It took her a hot minute. A really hot minute to figure it out, and just before Eddie made like he was going to push her off him, she clung to his arms.

“Like wait no, hold on… is that… is that what they’re doing on tv…?” Alejandra asked softly.

Eddie nodded awkwardly. Unsure of what to say.

"Yeah... yeah, it is. When you kiss and... then you kinda slip the tongue. It's called... making out…"

“I mean I know what making out is called but like… I didn’t know that’s what was happening… inside.” She said, feeling a little stupid.

"Are you telling me you've never kissed someone with tongue before?"

“… I’ve never kissed anyone in my life… let alone done that tongue thing.”

“Jesus H. Christ, you’re a fucking virgin!” Eddie laughed loudly and obnoxiously, as though reveling in the revelation of the awkward secret.

Now it was her turn to huff indignantly, only staying because Eddie had put his arms around her and held her in place.

“I’m sorr… sorry!” He wheezed. “I’m sorry! No… no that’s not funny.”

“Pinche mamon!” She hissed.

He shook his head, wiping a tear from his eye as he smiled at you gently. His hands began rubbing at her bare shoulders, enjoying the sight of her in a sleeveless, linen summer dress.

"Would you like to try it again...?” He asked softly, “The tongue thing?"

She curled soft legs around his thin waist, Chuck Taylors pressing into the armrest of the leather bench seats of the van. His body responded automatically, intimates standing to attention in a single fluid contraction of throbbing hot flesh through denim…

When she felt him get hard, how could she stay mad at him?

“Yeah… teach me, how do you do the tongue thing…?” She asked.

He gently pressed his forehead to hers, faces mere inches apart.

"Well, it's pretty simple."

He paused for a moment, leaning in slightly closer as he spoke in a soft, low voice.

"Gimme the Gene Simmons, like this..."

He slowly stuck his tongue out, the tip brushing against Alejandra’s lips. She giggled, mimicking him and laughing when his long tongue flicked against hers.

“Then what?” She asked. Words were a bit garbled because her tongue was still lolled out.

"Well, lamb chop, once our tongues are out, we... we kind of… You know…”

He paused, his eyes locked on her lips before leaning in a little closer.

"Start licking each other..."

“O-oh…”

Eddie smiled at the quiet, accepting response.

"Don't worry, we'll go slow. We don’t have anywhere to be." He said, eyes never quite leaving her lips.

"Close your eyes, lamb chop. You don’t keep them open when you kiss."

She obediently closed them, lips parted slightly as she felt Eddie’s warm breath caress her face. He evidently decided he would skip the gentle pecks and go for the tongue thing right away, so she kept her mouth a little open this time.

"Good girl.” He whispered, leaning in towards her, “You keep your mouth just like that…”

It was then she realized that not only did he taste like the Camels he smoked, but he also tasted like cheap beer, chocolate, and some kind of cereal she couldn’t quite place. All a myriad and fucked up mishmash of different flavors and scents that either complemented, or contradicted one another.

And Alejandra loved every single minute of it.

“ The flesh surrenders itself, he thought. Eternity takes back its own. Our bodies stirred these waters briefly, danced with a certain intoxication before the love of life and self, dealt with a few strange ideas, then submitted to the instruments of Time. What can we say of this? I occurred. I am not... yet, I occurred. ”

- Frank Herbert

[lunaticalove2]

Okay! I actually wrote the first one! I am waiting for ao3 to send me an invitation, and I'm going to caopy the story there. For now, I'm publishing it here (Story under the cut). Enjoy!

Blitzø's POV

After reuniting with Octavia, Stolas stopped being Stolas. He wouldn't eat, wouldn't speak, wouldn't get up, and I often found him gasping for air in the middle of a panic attack. I feel really bad for him, and I'm doing the best I can to help him through this tough time. He didn't even have the strenght to come to work, so now I leave him to sleep on the couch while I'm in the office or on a mission, and when I come back I make something to eat for the three of us. My biggest fear is him doing stupid things to himself while at work. I try to call him when I'm not there with him just to know he's okay. He doesn't speak much, tho. I told him he just has to pick up the phone and if he doesn't feel like saying something he can just make noises like hoots or something like that. This morning was really tough for him. Stolas tried to call Via again, cause he never gave up with that, and he finally got a response. But it wasn't what he was hoping for. The scene was something like this:

*flashback*

Blitzø:"you sure you wanna call her again? You can try tomorrow"

Stolas just nods, and Blitzø sighs softly, he can't say no to him. The phone rings and someone picks up

Stolas:"Via?!"

Octavia:"Stop calling to this number! If I ever want to talk to you again, I'll be the one to call. So stop looking for me. Bye"

And she hangs up. Stolas looks at the phone, too stunned to speak or even move. Blitzø notices and immediately runs by him.

Blitzø:"Hey, breathe. She's just going through a tough time. Just like you"

Stolas stays silent. Everything starts spinning and his vision is blurring with tears. His breath caught in his throath. Blitzø embraces him and Stolas returns the hug, and soon enough he's hyperventilating and crying in the other's shoulder

*end of flashback*

So now I'm esitant to go to work, I'm scared he's going to do something stupid. And these days he's also refusing to take his anti-depressant. I'm so worried, but I also can't leave everything to Loona and M&M. Today we have many clients, and they can't handle it alone. I decide to approach him. "hey Stols" he looks at me "I have to go to work. Are you gonna be fine on your own for a few hours?" he waits a moment and then nods "alright, I trust you. But if something, ANYTHING, happens, don't hesitate to call me" I kiss him on the forehead "see you later, big bird". And I leave the house.

Stolas's POV

I feel so useless. Blitzø just left for work and I didn't even say anything. And this morning Octavia, my sweet Via, rejected me. When I called her she literally said she didn't want to see me nor talk to me. My mind is full of thoughts, I can't think straight. Withouth noticing, I get up and suddenly I'm in the bathroom. I open the drawer and I take a blade. I deserve it, I tell myself. I starts cutting... 1, 2, 3 cuts. It feels good, and I can't stop. At one point, I don't even know how much time passed, I cut too deep and start panicking, only now realizing what I had done. I immediately get up and put my arms under the water. A few cuts stop bleeding too much after a while, but a few of them are still losing too much blood. I feel myslef on the verge of passing out, I'm so lightheaded. I need to call Blitzø. Even if I'm ashamed to do so. I grab my phone and dial his number. I wait for him to pick up doing my best to stay concious. He picks up almost immediately: "Stols? Are you ok? Something happened" I only manage to croack out a few words with the tears that were now running down my cheeks "B-Blitzø. I'm sorry" he sounds worried as he responds "I'm coming now" and he hangs up. I just need to atay concious.

Blitzø's POV

I just received the call from Stolas. I'm driving as fast as I can, maybe I even killed some people that were crossing the road, but I just need to be there for him. I arrive and burst into the door. "STOLAS!!" I yell from the kitchen. But then I hear some crying from the bathroom and I immediately run in there. I can't believe what i'm looking at right now. Stolas, my Stolas, crying in the bathroom with a blade next to him, and his arms are full of blood. I rush to his side and kick the blade out of his reach. I hug him tight, not caring if my clothes are getting wet with his blood. "I-I-I'm so sorry. I-" I shush him and tell him that it's okay as I let go and look at his arms. This is worse that I thought. Some of the cuts are very deep. I notice that he is breathing heavily, and maybe struggling to stay concious. "Stols, looks at me. Try to focus on me and don't pass out". He nods. I help him off the floor and to the sink, where I remove most of the blood. While doing this, I say "Why would you do that? It's dangerous" he is still crying, probably can't bring himself to stop, and I don't blame him for that "I-I don't know. I-I don't know what's gotten into me. I'm so sorry" I look at him and say "It's okay. Don't apologize. You're going through a tough time". When I finish washing away most of the blood, I take him on the bed, disinfect and bandage his cuts. When I'm done, I give him a cup of water, since he's still shaken and he lost much blood. "Wanna talk about it?" I ask. He shakes his head no. "Can you just... Hold me? For a bit. I'm still kinda dizzy" he says. My expressions softens and i immediately embrace him and rub his back comfortingly. After a moment, I decide to speak again: "When you feel like hurting yourself again, call me right away. I'll help you" he just nods and falls asleep 2 minutes later. I sigh as I continue holding him. It makes me really sad thinking that Stolas, the once always smiling and silly prince, just thought that he deserved to self harm. I once though he was annoying, I though he was just a horny bird that was using me as his toy. But I got to know him, and the most important of all, I learned to love him. And I'm going to do everything in my power to make sure he's safe and happy

Fic Ideas I don't feel like writing, and if someone does, tag me.

Some are a bit angsty (especially this first one. Sorry, i have a dark mind. In fact, that's my favourite)

1- Stolas, after seeing Via like we've seen in sinsmas, is in a really bad mental place, worse than before. So he just stops eating, doesn't talk much, has panic attacks often, and self harms. Blitzø knows of his relationship with food and panic attacks, but doesn't know about his self harm. One day, Stolas locks himself in the bathroom and does THAT. He accidently does a cut too deep and he starts loosing too much blood and feels himslef passing out. The only thing he brings himself to do is call out Blitzø's name. And things escalate from there, with Blitzø cleaning his cuts and helping him calm down and cope with it

2- (this one is a bit comic) after the little dance they had on sinsmas, Loona, Millie and Moxxie, since they saw and registered everything, are rubbing it in their faces and jokingly making fun of them about it

3-Just Stolitz cuddling and joking on the sofa, playing with each other

If I have any other, I'll write them down

[taiistired]

widowed

(redraw of this 4 month old piece)

[zarnzarn]

(check the tags for more and also the tag for other fics in the story!)

athena, scowling as she gets bullied into marrying the people she pined over for the last 1000 years, suddenly realising something: wait a minute

odysseus: what?

athena, frozen: wait a damn minute you know what this gives me rights to do

penelope, also realising: oh fuck yes

odysseus: I don't like the sound of whatever's happening here what are you two fucking talking about?

athena, grabbing the marriage wine and tossing it back, then kissing her new wife and husband and handing penelope a spear as she picks up a mace: we'll be back shortly, you can start celebrations without us.

penelope: do u have anything that can start a fire

athena, pulling out an old contract and scanning it before throwing it over her shoulder: yes. are you scared of heights or can we fly.

penelope: fucking bring it I've waited years for this moment

zeus: where are they going

hermes, picking up the contract: they're going to... Ogygia? Oh fucking shit they're going to fucking kill Calypso- hey, hello, WAIT-

[slowlyfoggydestiny]

You can say anything you want about speed racer (2008) but the family aspect of it? Amazing 10/10 they are so supportive of speed like genuinely like the fact they very well could have banned everything related to cars and races after Rex’s death but no they instead decided to still support like the mom tells him she is scared but loves to watch him race because his talent takes her breath away, his dad admits and learns from his mistakes and they never let speed doubt that they support him and care about him even when they are mad and scared about his safety ,the fact he puts himself through the same rally that killed his brother to protect his family is just!! Is beautiful is amazing I love it I love this movie so much is far from perfect from the cinematic aspect but is perfect and I can’t wait to see the video of cinema therapy that I saw they made to fall in love more with it

[thats-my-passion-right-there]

I finally saw the mean girls musical (the movie one) I have so many fucking thoughts oh my god

[arolesbianism]

Thinks oh so hard abt the spiraling upwards clan founders, especially the birchclan founders. Silly lil kitties who's pasts are drenched in blood with the primary regret of not drawing it sooner

[waitineedaname]

inquiring minds want to know... where are u watching mzds

my propaganda is WORKING....

the live action drama is called The Untamed, and you can find it on Netflix but also free on YouTube! I'm sure there are other places to watch it, but those are the two that were easiest for me to access

fair warning: the first two episodes are. rather confusing. they kinda just throw you in the deep end. however, if your experience is anything like mine, it really picks up by episode three, which is the point at which this show gripped me by the brain stem and then didn't let go. if you need any help understanding the first couple episodes/the timeline/all the names of the characters, do not hesitate to hit me up!

[multishipper-baby]

Having more AU and eakwynn brainrot, as expected.

[ambrosiagourmet]

I want to talk about why I think this is the one of the most important Falin panels:

So, Falin is really nice, right? It's one of the first things we really learn about her. She's kind even to the monsters of the dungeon - choosing to ward the party rather than fight spirits and cause them needless harm.

In the above early flashback in chapter 11, we see Marcille fawning over Falin's kindness, calling her an angel. Namari calls her soft-hearted. We see Falin choose not to fight even when a zombie attacks - instead she resolves the confrontation with a hug. After the flashback, the first thing Senshi says is that Falin "sounds like quite the person," which Marcille strongly affirms.

At this point in the story, all we have seen of Falin are these impressions; she is a healer, an angel, a caretaker with an infinite well of kindness towards everyone she meets - both friend and foe.

And honestly, that remains most of what we have to go by to understand her. The only times we get to see Falin on the page, alive and just herself, are in the opening and closing pages of the story and in the brief period of time after she is resurrected.

Nonetheless, we do have some more details to work with. For one, there is the scene that The Panel is from - a short memory in chapter 75, when Marcille flashes back to while she's dying. In that scene, Falin prepares to teleport them all out, and says that she's sorry "if there is a person at [their] destination." And that's when we get The Panel.

If you teleport someone or something into another person, the person teleported into is likely to be, at minimum, severely injured. They could die.

We can see a lovely little horrifying example of exactly why in one of the Daydream Hour doodles:

So, hmm. That's not... that's not SUPER nice. Certainly not displaying the same "kindness to all, friend and foe included" we saw represented earlier. On a basic level, this adds some nuance to Falin's kindness. We see it break a little, when pushed to the limit. We see her chose to protect the people she loves above all else.

Which makes sense! As Laios says when the Winged Lion accuses him of similarly being motivated more by his friends' safety than everyone else in the dungeon, "...most people, aside from virtuous do-gooders, would feel the same way."

So, we can take The Panel as simply showing a moment of weakness for Falin. A time when she was pushed to her limits, and that "most people" selfish side of her shone through.

However... I think there's a little more going on with Falin than just her being an angel 99% of the time, except just that once. I love The Panel because I think it helps us understand that Falin isn't just motivated by kindness - she also has a desire to avoid seeing people in pain.

Isn't that the same thing?

No, no it very much is not.

Let's look at a short comic from the Falin section of the Adventurer's Bible, because I think it illustrates this point perfectly. The group is complaining about how much Marcille's healing hurts, and comparing it to Falin's, which "doesn't hurt a bit." Marcille retorts with the following:

Now, the punchline of this comic is that, despite Marcille's sentimental assertion that she's "thinking of [them]" by letting her healing magic hurt, they all still prefer to be healed by Falin.

But hey, this wouldn't be the first time that Dungeon Meshi hides a very real character beat or insight in a gag, so let's think about this somewhat seriously.

If Marcille is right (and she knows a fair bit about magic, so we can assume that she has at least somewhat of a point), then what Falin is doing isn't kind. I suppose if someone specifically requested to not feel the pain, it could be kind, but that's not really what happened here. She is the one who felt badly about the others being in pain, and she is the one who decided, without telling them or giving them a choice in the matter, to take away that pain.

Both Marcille and Falin are healing the party, but Marcille is doing it in a way that accomplishes the task in the most straight forward way, without any additional interference. Falin is going out of her way to perform the healing in a way she is more comfortable with. A way that avoids pain.

Going back the The Panel, I don't think its a coincidence that the only time we see Falin (well, non-chimera Falin) willing to do something that could hurt someone is when any potential pain will be far away from her. If she got someone hurt or killed by teleporting the party to the surface? Not only would it be far out of her sight, but she'd be dead before she had to deal with any consequences of that action.

Falin is not a confrontational person. She doesn't push when Marcille won't tell her the truth about the resurrection, and she comforts Laios about her own death - both of those things happening in the only full chapter she is alive and conscious in the whole story.

We also know that she considered accepting Shuro's proposal, despite not having any special feelings towards him, and that Falin never explained to Marcille that she wanted them to share a meal together. When she brought Marcille various foods at the academy, she just accepted Marcille's confused rejection and gave up.

And lastly, we know that she is still in contact with her parents, despite the neglect and abuse she suffered at their hands. Although the way someone chooses to handle contact with abusive or bad family is a complicated topic, which I don't want to overly simplify, I do I think this fact gets at the heart of how she handles conflict.

So many people that Falin loves have hurt her. There are understandable hurts, like Laios leaving the village, or Marcille not understanding the food. And there are bigger, far less justifiable hurts - like her parents neglecting her throughout her childhood, and sending her away to be alone at the magic academy.

It doesn't seem like Falin has ever confronted any of it directly.

And the unhealthy aspects of this kind of avoidance of pain and confrontation is one of the things that the story of Dungeon Meshi is all about. We see Laios grapple with it before he goes to kill Falin, and we see Marcille acknowledge it at the end of the story, when she tells Laios that she has come to terms with Falin's death:

Eating is a part of life. Consuming other living things is a part of life. It isn't really possible to avoid that pain - you can only hide from the truth of it. You have to be selfish everyday. You have to eat - to choose to live. To choose to take up space.

And this is something Falin embraces, too. She comes back to life, after all.

We see her choose to come back to life.

And how does she make that choice? She eats. She consumes, and then she is asked a question by the manifestation of hunger itself:

Do you want to eat more?

There is a double meaning in the Winged Lion's final words on the next page.

When I first read this, I took it as him saying: life is cruel. You will suffer. You will feel more pain.

But perhaps, especially for Falin, this also means: you are choosing a path where you must cause pain. Where you must consume. Where you must take, and must be selfish. Because eating is the special privilege of the living, and it is their burden, too. In order to stay alive, she will need to keep eating.

And she chooses that. Chooses to be selfish. It's why her resurrection scene is so important, and it's why The Panel is so important. Because Falin coming back isn't the ultimate reward for all of the party's hard work.

It's her choice. Just like it was her choice that started everything in the first place. But this time, she doesn't choose to accept causing pain for the sake of Marcille and Laios. She does it for her own sake.