#english literary club
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“‘A few trinkets for my sister,’ she said. ‘She’s like Miss Glinda, she loves the fancy outside of things. I found a Vinkus shawl in the bazaar, red roses on a black background, with black and green fringe. I’m sending it to her, and a pair of striped stockings that Ama Clutch knitted for me.’”
“He had brought her a traditional Vinkus fringed scarf--roses on a black background--and he had tied it around her waist, and from then on it was a costume for lovemaking.”
I feel there is some literary significance here. Elphaba buys the shawl for her sister as a gesture of love and then receives the very same one later on from Fiyero (his gesture of love). A rose for a rose (Nessarose) and then a rose as in romance. Black red and green. “Green fringe.” Elphaba on the fringe, never quite “whole,” offbeat, never fully this or that, without a soul (according to her), from both worlds (without even knowing it). On the fringe of her father’s love, never fully receiving it unlike her sister, and later, on the fringe of insanity.
And the red is love, all kinds, sisterly love, passionate love, but also the red of blood--Nessarose’s death, Fiyero’s murder and his blood on Elphaba’s hands and wrists as she finds him. The murder of Dr. Dillamond, the blood she almost choked on when biting the midwife’s finger off after only being alive for a minute or two. The red rubies in Quadling country, the Wizard’s crimson hot air balloon. The “ruby” slippers, what made for her downfall. Love and destruction. Beauty and violence, political items, contention. As Elphie once said, “There was much to hate in this world, and too much to love.”
The black is her, her essence, but I don’t think in the typical, easy, “wicked” way. Her black hat. Her black crows. Her black hair that Galinda found herself spellbound by. Elphaba riding the broom for the first time in the dead of night, feeling like a night angel. Her black dresses and boots. Her murky beliefs, her slipping out of herself when part of the resistance. The way she blends into the woodwork despite being such a standout, how she’s able to do so for survival. Her staring into the night sky at the stars and thinking big thoughts whilst being exhausted by it all. Her spirit dimming, but then coming back. Her grief ultimately swallowing her, ruining her, regardless.
#can you tell i was an english major#lol#wicked#wicked the life and times of the wicked witch of the west#gregory maguire#elphie#elphaba#fiyero#nessarose#bookverse#headcanon#literary analysis#book club#book theory#wicked the musical#wicked the book
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Free MIT online courses that sound interesting
Arts & Literature
Introduction to World Music
Reading Fiction
Literary Interpretation: Virginia Woolf's Shakespeare
Introduction to Photography
Foundations of Western Culture II: Renaissance to Modernity
Studies in Poetry - Briths Poetry and the Sciences of the Mind
Studies in Literary History: Modernism: From Nietzsche to Fellini
Screen Women: Body Narratives in Popular American Film
Studies in Poetry: "What's the Use of Beauty"
Queer Cinema and Visual Culture
Monteverdi to Mozart: 1600 - 1800
Writing and Experience: Reading and Writing Autobiography
Advanced Topics in Hispanic Literature and Film: The Films of Luis Buñel
Major Authors: Rewriting Genesis: "Paradise Lost" and Twentieth-Century Fantasy
Arthurian Literature and Celtic Colonization
Contemporary Literature: Britsh Novel Now
Studies in Poetry: 20th Century Irish Poetry: The Shadow of W. B. Yeats
Writing About Literature: Writing About Love
Introduction to European and Latin American Fiction: Great Books On The Page and On The Screen
Popular Culture and Narrative: Use and Abuse of the Fairy Tale
Victorian Literature and Culture
Reading Poetry
English Renaissance Drama: Theatre and Society in the Age of Shakespeare
Introduction to Fiction
International Woman's Voice
Major Authors: Oscar Wilde and the "90's"
Prizewinners: Nobelistas
American Authors: American Women Authors
Shakespeare, Film and Media
Japanese Literature and Cinema
Woman's Novels: A Weekly Book Club
Classics of Chinese Literature
Major English Novels
Topics in South Asia Literature and Culture
Introduction to Literary Theory
History & Social Studies
American Classics
The Middle East in the 20th Century
Africa and the Politics of Knowledge
The Rise of Modern Science
European Imperialism in the 19th and 20th Century
Philosophy of Love
Human Rights: At Home and Abroad
The Nature of Creativity
Introduction to Comparative Politics
Riots, Rebellions, Revolutions
Introduction to the History of Technology
Ancient Philosophy
Youth Political Participation
#studyblr#study resources#dark academia#light academia#chaotic academia#romantic academia#adhd academia#studyblr brazil#literature#art academia#mit#free courses#study#collegeblr#studyblr college
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Eddie loved to read. He enjoyed immersing himself in books, letting the stories wash over him, and escaping his own reality for the imaginations of another. He adopted new personas and became someone else as he skimmed every word. He put himself in the shoes of people he could only dream of and let their lives replace the problems in his.
On the other hand, Steve hated reading. He sat alone for hours staring at words without meaning with letters that floated through paper and dripped from the pages. He couldn’t derive any knowledge from books nor could he enjoy the lives of the characters or the storylines of novels. As soon as the wretched piece of paper flipped, whatever contents were on it were swiped from his memory. He never understood the literary importance of any book much less hidden meanings somehow woven into the pages that the English teachers talked about.
After escaping the talons of both Vecna and the mob out for blood, the boys were left with too much time and too little to do. No one wanted to hire someone that associated with the town’s not-so-secret-teen-killer and on the off chance that they went into public, they were persecuted by their peers.
To deal with the boredom, loneliness, and restlessness alike, Eddie turned to reading. He would dive right into the words like Steve had dived into Lover’s Lake. He would adopt the lives of the characters and pretend that maybe his life wasn’t so bad after all.
Steve watched Eddie flip each page, a look of innocent wonder on his face and a hopeful smile on his lips. They couldn’t do book club or share notes on what was being read but Steve could still follow the emotion of the story through Eddie’s expressions and the trace of a finger along his jumping pulse. Eventually, Eddie would read aloud. He’d keep Steve entranced in the story with his raspy voice combing through every word. Sometimes he’s stumble, his eyes moving faster than his mouth could speak, but it was still the most satisfying thing Steve had ever heard.
On a random Thursday when they finally finish the book, Steve holds Eddie’s face in his hands and delicately kisses his lips for the first time.
“Maybe now it’s time we start our own story, Eds.”
And so they do.
#their favorite activity is sitting on the couch or laying in bed with Eddie reading and Steve dozing off#(I’m asexual and it shows lol)#the rest of the Party find it disgustingly mushy#however Steve and Eddie ignore them like they always do and make an even bigger effort to read in front of them#Eddie even starts reading the horrific romance books old ladies read to really piss them off#stranger things#steddie#ficlet#steve harrington#eddie munson
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WRITEBLR INTRO xx
hey, all! i’m n.k. :-)
i'm not new to tumblr (have had a few diff accounts since 2011/2012), but i'm new to interacting with writeblr proper.
ABOUT ME
late 20s
black & queer & disabled
lifelong writer/musician/creative (in both professional and hobbyist capacities)
finally finishing my degree in creative writing & english!
ARTISTIC/THEMATIC INTERESTS
literary fiction, horror, camp, kitsch, diversity, introspection, family/friend bonds (especially nontraditional ones), romance, art rock, nostalgia, technology, diy ethos
GOALS
connect with the tumblr writing community at large! for a while i was unable to get excited about my non-work, non-fanfic related writing projects. over the past year or so, my passion’s been renewed, and i just wanna chatter with like-minded folks about my longform WIPs, my short stories, etc – and geek over other people’s work here too <3
WIPS
Dagmar
there’s always something going down in dagmar, an insular coastal community straddling the delaware bay. pragmatic tech geek zeke omezie-fumudoh, 18, prefers to keep her head in her books and projects – deaths and disappearances were common in her parents’ home country, too, after all. when her best friend dodie dies, however, zeke has no choice but to start trying to connect the dots & face the potential supernatural forces at play.
[this is finna be dark fantasy/horror, romance, mystery, and queer as hell! i got a lot of worldbuilding to do, but a few months ago the twist popped into my head 1st and i’ve been working backwards. i'm sooo excited abt figuring out the narrative path(s) i gotta take]
Dave & The Family Davenport
20-year-old twin musicians dorian & daria davenport are a little s club 7, a little sly stone, & a whole lotta spitfire. as the very first act signed to holliday records, 30-something producer & label founder dave levine considers it his duty to take the family davenport under his wing. they become his pet project – and eventually something more to him.
[i’m taking this one in a literary/drama direction! thinking found family and music industry commentary vibes. idea came from revisiting big time rush and thinking ‘what would happen if you mix btr + the carpenters + prince + mtv’s making the band??’ (for the record, dave is 100% NOT meant to be a p. d*ddy analogue re: making the band, i'm mainly thinking of the aesthetics of the young artists of color featured on the show)]
Several fun essays about my personal fandom/shipping history (one is about all the diff sites i've used over 17+ years of reading/writing fanfic, another is an old-school livejournal-style ship manifesto that i plan to make into a video! etc etc)
SHORT FICTION
blank [literary/drama, 300 wds]
fortune teller [literary/drama, 300 wds]
hothouse [horror, 500 wds]
a certain standard of care [horror-comedy/surreal/gross-out, 1k wds]
good bones (or, an exercise in letting go) [literary/dramedy, 1.3k wds]
[writing tag: scorpio the scribe]
hmu if you think we'd get along <3 i need more ppl to follow!
[ETA: i prefer to follow/be mutuals w/ ppl 18+ only, ty!]
#writeblr#writeblr intro#writing community#i was gonna add a banner but i'm too lazy to edit one rn lol#writing#ocs#original fiction#writers on tumblr#wips
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"The knife is a weapon of the Other"
"The emerging martial art of Bartitsu, appearing in middle-class magazines during the Boer War, was the encapsulation of British civilian gallantry. Yet Bartitsu would have slid into obscurity had it not been for its curious appearance in the Sherlock Holmes canon. The final showdown of the ‘duel’ between Holmes and Moriarty is a wrestling match between two Victorian masterminds. When Holmes returns to London he tells Watson that he and Moriarty went to battle at the Reichenbach Falls unarmed. Holmes managed to ‘slip through’ Moriarty’s grip as he possessed ‘some knowledge’ of ‘baritsu, or the Japanese system of wrestling’, adding that the art had on occasion been useful to him.
Founded in the 1890s by an Anglo-Scottish engineer, Edward William Barton-Wright (1860–1951), Bartitsu was a synthesis of British boxing, French la savate (kickboxing) and Japanese jujitsu. Barton-Wright tapped into the need for a bourgeois form of self-defence, something which he could promote as being British and yet was also exotic and refined.
The principal aim of Bartitsu’s promoters was ‘to provide a means whereby the higher classes of society may protect themselves from the attacks of hooligans and their like all over the world’. These urban gangs were a new form of folk devil, descendants of the mid-Victorian-era garotter. While they were armed with clubs, knuckles, iron bars and leather belts, it is doubtful that they carried firearms. Nevertheless, the press did represent the hooligan as a threatening presence.
Perhaps the scares promoted the growth of a burgeoning culture of ‘British’ self-defence which avoided the aggressive and increasingly unmanly action of using a firearm against a ruffianly lower-class opponent equipped only with basic weapons.
Barton-Wright follows a literary tradition when he presents his martial art as a British form of self-defence. Pierce Egan’s well-known self-defence manual was supplemented with a word on the ‘Englishness’ of physical heroism, arguing that ‘Englishmen need no other weapons in personal contests than those which nature has so amply supplied them with’. In 1910 the former lightweight boxing champion Andrew J. Newton said in his manual Boxing that ‘the native of Southern Europe flies to his knife’, whereas the ‘Britisher […] is handy with his fists in an emergency’. Elsewhere it was maintained that the ‘Italian, Greek, Portuguese, or South American’ ‘give preference to the knife’ while the Englishman extols boxing. For Barton-Wright, British boxers ‘scorn taking advantages of another man when he is down’, while a foreigner might ‘use a chair, or a beer bottle, or a knife’ or, ‘when a weapon is available’, he might employ ‘underhanded means’. The views of these articles reappear in a later self-defence manual of 1914, where it is argued that Britons ‘live in a country where knife and revolver are not much in evidence’. This statement about the low number of firearms and edged weapons can be read as an attempt to extol British virtues and is not necessarily representative of reality. The knife is a weapon of the Other. Barton-Wright’s view that English practitioners of Bartitsu are principled men is reflected in the Sherlock Holmes canon, where Holmes never uses a knife, although his enemies, whether foreign or British, do so at times."
— Emelyne Godfrey, Masculinity, Crime and Self-Defence in Victorian Literature (Palgrave Macmillan, 2013) (very abridged)
#Masculinity Crime and Self-Defence in Victorian Literature#Emelyne Godfrey#theory#how to stab#sherlock holmes#arthur conan doyle#bartitsu#rogues in fiction#moral panics#dishonour on your cow
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Between the Lines - pt. I
tbhc!alex x reader
this chapter is bascially a slow burn, fluffy vibe charged w some sexual tension between the reader who is in college n our beloved alix who becomes her editor.
warnings: age gap, alex is 33, reader is in her 20's, cursing, alcohol.
In the heart of the university campus, a quaint café served as a haven for students. Seated at a cozy corner table Y/N and her best friend, Sophie, found comfort in the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the hum of hushed conversations.
The soft glow of pendant lights cast a warm ambiance over mismatched wooden furniture, creating a warm atmosphere. Amidst the rustling of students immersed in textbooks and the distant murmur of espresso machines, Y/N and Sophie navigated the labyrinth of academia.
"Ugh, I suck," you groaned, holding your English lit paper in your hands.
"You don't," said Sophia.
"I got a C, Soph."
"Didn’t you do this on three hours of sleep?" she looked at you.
"Yeah," you grumbled.
"You'll do better next time."
"Ugh. I know. It's just such a blow to my confidence," you said, sipping on your ginger tea.
"I know. But this grade doesn't determine your skills. You're great at writing," she said, swirling her spoon in her iced coffee.
"Well. That's debatable," you replied.
She glared at you.
"Fine, fine. I'll stop talking shit about myself," you rolled your eyes.
"Good." She said pleased with your answer.
You scanned the coffee shop and saw students going about their normal routines. Some of them were hurrying to get to their lectures on time. Others were lazing around in their seats, talking to their friends. Chatter filled the room as you let out a stressed out sigh. You sulked, not knowing how you were gonna recover from this grade.
"Anyway, as I was telling you. I asked my dad about Mr. Turner. He said you can give him a call and ask him to check out your novel."
"Oh god,” you groaned. “I mean-thank you so much. I don't wanna seem ungrateful, I just-I don't know. It feels awkward showing someone my short novel. If you can even call it that,” you rambled.
"I get it. I get embarrassed when I show my tutor my paintings. And he always has something to say," she said, rolling her eyes.
"Soph, your paintings are incredible. And your guy is good."
"That's true," she said, a light blush coloring her cheeks.
You smiled at her. You loved your best friend. You met in high school and became close friends senior year. You used to spend hours at each other's places, watching shows and mulling over the characters. She was one of the few people who was there for you through thick and thin and you weren't afraid to show your vulnerable side to her, insecurities and all.
"I'll send you his phone number and you can contact him whenever."
"Okay. Will do." You said, scrunching your face.
"If you don't do it, I will.”
"Ugh, I'll do it, I promise."
"I'll hold you to it."
"I can't wait to go out on Friday. I need to get drunk and forget," you groaned.
"Same. We've been too stressed out lately. We need to let loose," Sophie added.
You and Sophie had a tradition. No matter the circumstances you always went out on the weekend. You often drank alcohol at your favorite bar or club and danced until your feet were numb and your hearts were pounding. Then you stumbled to one of your dorms and ate junk food or watched a shitty movie.
Sophie looked down at her phone, her clock reading 1:47 PM.
"Well, I have to run. I have Literary Criticism soon,” she remarked.
"With Mr. spits when he talks?" you replied.
"That's the one," she said, letting out an exaggerated sigh.
You chuckled. "Good luck."
"I’ll see you later," she leaned down, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek.
You, on the other hand, finished your lectures for the day. Your Mondays weren't as rough, consisting of only two lectures in the morning and god, were you thankful for that.
Your eyes darted to your phone screen, after you received a notification from Sophie.
Alexander Turner
+378 09 998 890
Anxiety gnawed at you. You took a deep breath and told yourself It’s fine. He gets paid for this kind of job. He’s probably seen worse writing.
You decided to be brave and text him as there's no way you were calling him.
Hello Mr. Turner. Peter Herring recommended you as an editor. I am currently working on a short novel and I am interested in hiring you. Would you be interested in that? Thank you in advance.
You typed it out, reading it again. You erased the words ‘short novel’ leaving it blank.
"Ugh." You said out loud. You decided to retype it and send it without thinking too much, letting out a sigh of relief.
As you were scrolling on your phone, it suddenly started vibrating and a number appeared. It read Mr. Turner.
Oh god. Why the hell is he calling me? Doesn’t this guy know how to text?
You answered your phone hesitantly, bringing it to your ear.
"Hello?" you said.
"Hi." a low voice spoke.
"Um. Is this Mr. Turner?"
"Yeah. What's your name, love? You didn't introduce yourself," he said in a thick British accent.
"Oh-um, I'm (Y/N)."
"Alright, (Y/N). You're interested in hiring an editor, is that correct?"
"Yes."
"Great. How's Wednesday evening work for you? 7pm, my office? We can discuss the details then."
"Um, Wednesday evening? Yeah I'm good with that," you said.
"Alright. I'll send you my address then. Don't forget your novel," he added.
"Yes. Thank you," you sputtered.
And with that he hung up the phone. You stood there bewildered at this phone call. You just agreed to go to this random man's office on a Wednesday. You had no idea he was british. Why didn't Soph tell you he was british?
Well I guess you have an editor now.
*
In the sanctuary of your dormitory, you and Sophie nestled on your sofa as you found comfort beneath your favorite blanket.
"I had no idea he was british! His accent was so thick Soph. Like, I had never heard it before."
Sophie was laughing at you. "I thought I mentioned it."
"Well you didn't. Nothing could have prepared me for that. He was so swift and straight to the point. Skipped all the usual bullshit."
"Yep, that's Turner for you," she replied.
"How did your dad meet him again?" you inquired.
"Oh, he was his student in college. Mr. Turner lived in London for a few years and then moved here after my dad recommended him for this sort of writing position," she shrugged.
"Huh. That's interesting," you said. "Hey, what does this guy look like?" you asked, your curiosity peaking.
"Hmm. Let me show you his Facebook," she said.
"His Facebook?" you asked, furrowing your brows in confusion.
"What? He doesn't have Instagram. He's in his 30s." she added.
"Right," you nodded. You got up and sat next to her, both of you staring at her phone. She found his Facebook page and clicked on his photos.
"He's kinda cute," you said, breaking the silence. Sophie chuckled at your reaction. "He’s good looking," she shrugged.
He had big brown eyes and medium length hair that went past his ears, down to the nape of his neck. His beard seemed neat and trimmed.
"Don't get any ideas now," she looked at you, teasing. "I'm not. I want to see how he looks like so I'm not completely blind sided when I get there."
"Anyway," you continued. "Do you wanna sleep over tonight? My roomie's not here."
"Oh my gosh, yes. I'll go grab my stuff," she exclaimed. "Okay," you said in a singsong and slumped down on your sofa, stretching out your legs.
You couldn't help but feel jittery for Wednesday. You let your thoughts wander for a little, wondering what he was like.
*
The week was passing quickly, and it was finally Wednesday. You were preparing to leave and go to Mr. Turner's place. To say you were a little nervous would be an understatement. Your palms were sweaty, and you weren't sure what you were wearing was appropriate.
You questioned if you looked like you were trying too hard as you opted for baggy brown suit pants and a red shirt with long sleeves.
Ugh. I'm sure he doesn't give a rat's ass about what I'm wearing.
As you put on your big leather jacket and wrapped a black scarf around your neck, the words he spoke echoed in your mind. "Don't forget your novel." As you went back to your room, you made sure to grab your novel and quickly stuffed it into your tote bag as well as your dorm keys. You couldn't help but wonder if any of his clients had ever forgotten theirs.
You decided to take the bus to his office and followed the instructions he texted you.
102 Ave Street. Nr. 32. If you have difficulties finding it, call me.
As you strolled around the neighborhood, you spotted a house with the number 32. You walked past his charming little garden and couldn't help but admire how nicely maintained it was.
Now, standing in front of his door, a mix of excitement and nerves crept over you. Unsure of whether to give a knock or press the doorbell, anticipation filled the air. You decided to knock.
As you took a moment to take in your surroundings, the sound of the door being opened reached your ears. Stepping into the view was a figure of a pale man.
"Uh, hello," you said, extending your hand for him to shake. "Good evening," he said, a slight awkward smile on his face. He glanced down at your hand for a few seconds before finally reaching out to shake it.
"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Turner," you said, maintaining the handshake. "Likewise. Please, come inside and feel at home," he invited you.
"Thank you," you quietly replied as you stepped into his house, though a slight feeling of uncertainty lingered. It almost felt like intruding. "This way to my office," he directed, gesturing towards the left.
"Would you like a drink? Coffee or tea?" he asked. "Uh, tea would be fine. Thanks."
As you walked into his office, you settled into one of the inviting chairs positioned near his desk. Your gaze wandered to the oak wood bookcase that adorned the room, its shelves overflowing with a collection of books. Your eyes were drawn to the carefully placed plants that created a warm and inviting atmosphere. You wondered if anyone else lived in this house, although it seemed empty by the looks of it.
"Here you go," he interrupted your thoughts, setting down a mug with hot tea. "I brought you ginger. I don't know if you like it or not," he said with a serious tone. "Oh, that's my favorite actually," you said, smiling awkwardly.
"Great. Careful, it's hot," he looked at you and gave you a half smile. You blushed a little and brought the mug to your mouth, taking a sip. "So, did you bring your novel?" he said, staring at you.
You tried to speak and swallow at the same time and ended up choking on your drink. You coughed for a few minutes as Alex stared at you, his face laced with concern.
"Erm.." he shifted so he could tap your back. "Try to look up. It should help," he said.
You followed his instructions and looked up at the ceiling, coughing. Your throat seemed to calm down.
"S-sorry," you barely managed to say. "No worries. You alright?"
"Yes," you exhaled and took out the novel, handing it to him, trying to move past the awkward situation. "Thank you," he muttered.
He took your novel and opened it, setting it down on the desk. Your legs were only a few centimeters away from each other. You shifted slightly, not wanting to invade his personal space.
You realized he hadn't asked you to send him your novel and wondered if you had made a mistake. Perhaps you should have asked him about it.
"Um... should I have sent a digital copy of it to you?" you questioned. "No, it's quite alright. I prefer reading it in front of my clients," he said, his gaze not leaving the book.
You felt awkward, to say the least. It wasn’t pleasant having someone read your work right in front of you. Especially when you thought editors usually familiarize themselves with your work beforehand.
You fumbled with your fingers, unsure what to do with yourself. Bringing the hot mug to your lips, you took a few sips. Your eyes wandered around the room and settled on Alex. He looked like he was studying your work, wearing a serious expression on his face, his eyebrows furrowed.
He looked handsome. When a few strands of hair fell on his face, he tucked them behind his ear. You felt your cheeks heat up and looked away before he could catch you staring.
As you anxiously awaited his response, doubts clouded your mind about whether any of the sentences you wrote were coherent. You nervously retrieved your phone from your bag, feeling the clamminess on your palms. However, before you could reach out to a friend, he abruptly spoke up.
“S’good,” he looked up at you nodding. “Really? But you didn’t read that much.." you weren't sure what to say.
“I don’t need to. I can see that it’s straightforward and has a clear direction. It’s a bit wordy though and needs some work.” He added.
“Oh, okay,” you nodded. He noticed you slumped a little and found it endearing. He had to remind himself of your age and sensitivity.
“But don’t fret. It’s nothing we can’t fix,” he said, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “Right,” you smiled politely. You looked at him for a split-second and then glanced down at your hands.
“Well. I need to read the rest of your novel now. I only wanted to give you a clear picture of what we were gonna do in the upcoming weeks and how this works,” you nodded.
“For now we can meet once every two weeks and then see how your work progresses. Does Wednesday work for you, around this time?” “Uh-yes. I can do that.”
“Perfect. I want to recommend two books for you to read that could help you with your writing. Could you grab “On Writing”, by Stephen King from the bookshelf there?” he pointed to a book with a brown hardcover.
You stood up and spotted the book he was talking about. “This one?” you asked. “Yes. And also the “Bird by Bird” on your left.” You looked around but didn’t see the book he was talking about.
He stood up, approaching you, his chest pressing lightly against your back. His hand reached out just above your head, and a tantalizing scent reached your nose. The subtle blend of cigarette smoke and lavender emerged from his clothing.
“That’s your right,” he said behind you, amused. “Oh, right,” you chuckled awkwardly.
He got back to his desk and handed you the book, your fingers grazing his.
“You don’t need to read these in over a week. This isn’t school,” he chuckled. “But they should help you improve and explore different methods of writing.”
“Thank you, Mr. Turner,” you mumbled. “Oh, feel free to call me Alex,” he said. “Okay. Alex,” you replied.
You felt strange saying his name in such a casual manner. It felt like you were talking to a friend your age, not a 30 something year old accomplished editor and god knows what else.
“Oh uh, how do I pay for this?” “My secretary will contact you for that. The first session was meant for us to get acquainted and make sure that we are a good fit."
“Great,” you said. “Alright.” He looked at you. “Right. Then I’ll be going. Thank you, again. It was nice meeting you,” you mumbled.
“It was nice meeting you too,” he smiled and guided you to the door. You waved goodbye, and exited his house, the cold autumn air surrounding you. Well, now you really have an editor.
*
Alex didn't expect, well, you. He knew you were younger but god, were you a pretty little thing. His usual clients were a lot older and well, half of them were men.
He tried not to get carried away as his mind swirled with different thoughts about you. He didn't want to be creepy and he never wanted to give you that impression. So he tried his best to be professional.
But you were making it so hard. With your pouty lips and your fumbling hands every time you waited for a response from him. You wore these perfectly fitting tops that hugged your body. Occasionally when you moved around, the fabric would subtly reveal a glimpse of your midriff, making it impossible not to gawk at you. He thought you were simply adorable.
"So, how are your classes going? Anyone giving you trouble?" He asked, genuinely interested. "They're going well," you trailed off, sighing.
"It's one of my professors. I don't think he likes me," you murmured. "Who?" he asked.
"Professor Miller," you slumped a little. "Oh. Well I don't think he likes anyone if that makes you feel any better," you laughed. "No but seriously, what’s the problem?" he asked.
"I have the lowest grade in his class," you said, rolling your eyes, a little embarrassed to admit. "Grades aren't everything (Y/N). I've had my fair share of shitty grades too."
"What if I just suck though?" you asked, finding it unbelievable how comfortable you felt talking to him after knowing him only for a few weeks. "Nah. I would have dropped you by now," he teased you.
You gasped. “I’m only joking. You have a lot of potential,” he said, softly gazing into your eyes.
You smiled, feeling at ease.
"If you want I can help you with your assignments. Give you tips and such. Free of charge," he joked.
Both of you couldn't help but notice that your knees were touching but you felt comfortable staying close.
"Are you sure?" you asked. "Yeah. What else am I gonna do with my time?" he said. "Thanks," you said, feeling like this is beginning to border on inappropriate. But you didn't care.
"How about tomorrow, after your classes, you come by and we can see what we can do."
You nodded. "Okay. Sounds great."
*
You had entranced him. He knew it was inappropriate. He was your editor, after all. And much older than you. But he couldn't help it. He couldn't stand the idea of any of these college guys having you. You were too good. Too sweet.
He wanted to be the one who owned you. He often imagined what it would be like to graze your delicate skin with his fingers. Make you shiver under his touch. Or how you mouth would feel around his coc-
"I hate writing!" you exclaimed, getting up from his couch and pacing around. You guys had moved from his office to his living room. He wanted you to feel comfortable.
He listened to you intently as you explained what you meant to convey in your latest pages. He could have easily done this over an email, but no, he had to see you. Your low voice, sweet like honey, reached his ears.
You sighed. "I don't know. I feel like I'm losing sight of my story. I have no idea what to do next." You said, biting your lip.
"Maybe you should leave it be," Alex replied.
"Huh?" you questioned.
"Well you've been working really hard at it lately. When was the last time you did something else you were passionate about?"
"I-," you paused, "I don't know," you mumbled, sitting down next to him again.
"See? You need to forget about it for a while. Create some distance."
You mulled over his words. "Is that what you do?"
"Course. Every artist does."
You looked at him like the world hung on his lips.
"Yeah. I can try that," you said, a worried expression on your face.
"No," he laughed. "Don't take this as another assignment. I mean really forget about it. Do something that doesn't make you think about writing."
You thought about it for a while and asked "Like what?"
He hesitated. "Well." Fuck it, he thought. "I have two tickets to the theater tonight," he raised his eyebrows slightly. "One of my friends canceled on me and you can join me if you want.”
His gaze met yours as you registered what he asked you. He looked at you, biting his lip, worrying if he had been too forward.
"What's the play about?" you asked, caving in. He tried to contain his smile and continued "It's ballet. The last swan lake."
"Oh, I've always wanted to see that," you said. "Great. We can meet in front of the theater at 7:30. That alright?" he asked.
"Yeah. Sounds good," you replied, trying to contain your enthusiasm. "I'll see you later then."
*
As you were getting ready in your small bathroom, you couldn't help but feel nervous about tonight, butterflies swirling in your stomach. We can meet for a drink beforehand, if you want. My treat. He told you a few hours ago, wearing a shy smile.
You had reluctantly agreed. You wanted to spend time with him so badly but you felt like you were doing something wrong. You hadn’t even told Sophie yet.
You got dressed, slipping on your silky tights past your legs. You decided to wear a delicate black dress with long sleeves that exposed your plush thighs. Pairing it with your leather jacket and your red scarf, you slung your small handbag over your shoulder, getting ready to leave.
You decided to take your earphones with you and listen to music to calm your nerves.
When you arrived at the charming bar he had picked, you flung the door open and entered. lThe cozy ambience enveloped you as you stepped inside, a welcoming contrast to the crisp evening air outside.
Alex, already seated at a secluded corner table, looked up from his menu, a genuine smile spreading across his face as he caught sight of you entering.
As you made your way towards him, the gentle flicker of candlelight played on the edges of his features. "You made it," he said, rising from his seat and pulling your chair out for you.
“Thanks,” you mumbled, your cheeks rosy from the cold. You sat down, not knowing what to do with your hands or where to look. This felt strangely intimate.
“What do you want to drink?” he asked you.
“Uh. What are you getting?” you replied.
“Probably a beer.” He said.
“I guess I’ll get a glass of white wine then,” you replied, feeling somewhat awkward. You didn’t expect in a million years to have drinks with your editor.
“You sure? You can get anything you want. Like I said, it’s my treat.” He smiled.
“Thank you. Yeah I’m good,” you replied bashfully.
After the waiter brought your drinks you started delving into conversation.
"So, um, tell me more about yourself," Alex prompted, his gaze lingering on you.
You giggled, sipping your drink. "Well, there's not much to tell. Just a struggling student trying to make it out alive."
He chuckled, taking a sip of his drink. "From what I've seen, there's more than meets the eye."
You met his gaze, and the air shifted, charged with an unspoken tension. "You know, I never expected my editor to be someone who could make me forget about writer's block."
He raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eyes. "Maybe I'm just that good at my job."
The conversation flowed effortlessly, weaving between discussions of literature, shared interests, and personal anecdotes. As the night progressed, the topics ventured into more intimate territories, the subtle dance of words revealing layers beneath the surface.
"You have this way of making the mundane sound interesting," you remarked, now both on your second drink. You could feel your face heat up from the alcohol.
Alex leaned in, his gaze intense yet inviting. "Maybe it's the company that makes it interesting."
The words lingered in the air, a palpable tension settling between you. Unspoken desires sparked beneath the surface.
"Well, I find the company interesting too," you replied.
A hint of a smirk crossed Alex's face as he took a sip of his drink. "Careful now," he said. "Interesting company can be quite... distracting."
A subtle blush crept onto your cheeks. "Distracting can be a good thing." you replied.
"What are you distracting yourself from?" he asked, his gaze lingering on yours.
“I’m not sure. Everyone has problems, I guess,” you looked down at your hands.
“Anything you want to share?” he asked.
“Wouldn’t want to bore you,” you chuckled.
“You could never,” he replied, his tender eyes meeting yours. You stared at each other for a few seconds before you cleared your throat and looked at the time. “Oh, I think we should get going,” you said.
“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” Alex said and he gestured to the waiter for the bill. You thanked him for the drinks and promised you would return the favor next time you saw him. He agreed but knew he wouldn’t let you pay for anything, especially since you were just a student.
You had an amazing time seeing "Black Swan" at the theater. The ballet was captivating, and the music was incredible. You also noticed Alex glancing at you a few times throughout the show.
After the show, Alex walked you to your cab. Under the streetlights, there was a quiet moment filled with something more than words. You exchanged a look that said it all, a shared understanding between you. As you got into the cab, Alex stood on the sidewalk with a thoughtful smile and waved goodbye.
When you arrived at your dorm, your phone vibrated.
Did you get home safely? - Mr Turner.
Your heart fluttered.
Yes.
Great. Good night.
Night.
After washing your face and brushing your teeth, you huddled into your bed and drifted off to sleep, embracing your pillow. The night ushered you into a world of dreams.
#next chapter will be angsty and smutty smut smut i got yall#arctic monkeys#alex turner#alex turner x reader#alex turner fanfic#alex turner fic#tbhc#tbhc alex turner#alex turner x y/n#idk if there r any mistakes but fuq it i guess ive been looking at it for so long
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Hello and Welcome!
This is a blog dedicated to Journey to the West, where anyone interested may join in and follow along in a journey through Wu Cheng’en’s classic. This reading group will be focused on the Anthony C. Yu English translation, which the ever-interesting @journeytothewestresearch has helped provide completely free to download and read as pdfs! The link can be found below:
https://journeytothewestresearch.com/2019/06/07/archive-10-journey-to-the-west-2012-revised-edition/
In full awareness that everyone has their own busy lives and differing schedules, this reading group is working off of a “do-as-you-want” model. Everyone is welcome to submit their analysis, art, reactions, memes, criticisms, additions of context, etc. as we make our way through the journey, but there is no pressure but to have fun with the work!
That said, there is a reading schedule. This reading group has now made it through Volume 1 of this classic, and will start up Volume 2 on February 11, 2024. The reading schedule encourages all interested to read one JTTW chapter per week. This group then "meets" every Sunday, which is be the day participants are encouraged to finish that week's chapter and/or submit their creative/analytical pieces about it. Sunday will also be the day where I will give a quick recap of that week's chapter, and will mass reblog anything participants submitted to have that work in the archive. Again, this blog has now made it through Volume 1, and will start keeping to the reading schedule for Volume 2 starting February 11, so please have read “Chapter 26: Amid the Three Islands Sun Wukong seeks a cure; With sweet dew Guanshiyin revives a tree,” by then. You’ll find the reading schedule for Volume 2 below, and while not necessary I do encourage everyone to give a look at Yu’s introduction to this text in Volume 1 as well.
I want to end by stressing that it is completely understandable that new members would be concerned about joining after the reading schedule has officially started, and indeed after we have made it through the first volume. As such, I want to confirm that while this group encourages people to send in their submissions on Sunday for the chapter covered that week, you should feel completely free to both submit your stuff on any day of the week that’s best for you, as well as to send in art, memes, analysis, commentary, etc. for every chapter that has already been covered according to the reading schedule. In other words, all I’m going to ask is that your “late” submissions are in line with what happens in Volume 1 and/or chapters in Volume 2 that the group has already read as laid out in the reading schedule below. So for example you should feel free to submit the sketches you made about Chapters 26, 27, 28, and 29 on the Monday-Saturday of the week following the Sunday this book club finished Chapter 29, but please save your meme about Chapter 30 for the Sunday that chapter was scheduled to be read. So start, read, and submit as you can!
Thank you and thank you again to anyone who wants to participate and to everyone who has already expressed so much enthusiasm and contributed so much to this reading group! I’m very happy and excited to continue this literary pilgrimage with you all.
---
Journey to the West Volume 2 Reading Schedule
February 11-Chapter 26: Amid the Three Islands Sun Wukong seeks a cure; With sweet dew Guanshiyin revives a tree
February 18-Chapter 27: The cadaver demon three times mocks Tripitaka Tang; The holy monk in spite banishes Handsome Monkey King
February 25-Chapter 28: At Flower-Fruit Mountain a pack of fiends hold assembly; At the Black Pine Forest Tripitaka meets demons
March 03-Chapter 29: Free of his peril, River Float arrives at the kingdom; Receiving favor, Eight Rules invades the forest
March 10-Chapter 30: A deviant demon attacks the true Dharma; The Horse of the Will recalls Mind Monkey.
March 17-Chapter 31: Zhu Eight Rules provokes the Monkey King to chivalry; Pilgrim Sun with wisdom defeats the monster
March 24-Chapter 32: On Level-Top Mountain the sentinel brings a message; At Lotus-Flower Cave Wood Mother meets disaster
March 31-Chapter 33: Heresy deludes the True Nature; Primal Spirit helps the Native Mind
April 07-Chapter 34: The demon king's plotting entraps Mind Monkey; The Great Sage, ever adroit, wangles the treasures
April 14-Chapter 35: Heresy uses power to oppress the proper Nature; Mind Monkey, bagging treasures, conquers deviate demons
April 21-Chapter 36: When Mind Monkey is rectified, the nidanas cease; Smash through the side door to view the bright moon
April 28-Chapter 37: The ghost king visits Tripitaka Tang at night; Wukong, through wondrous transformation, leads the child
May 05-Chapter 38: The child queries his mother to learn of deviancy and truth; metal and wood, reaching the deep, see the false and the real
May 12-Chapter 39: One pellet of cinnabar elixir found in Heaven; a king, dead three years, lives again on Earth
May 19-Chapter 40: The child's playful transformations confuse the Chan Mind; Ape, horse, Spatula gone, Wood Mother, too, is lost
May 26-Chapter 41: Mind Monkey is defeated by fire; Wood Mother is captured by demons
June 02-Chapter 42: The Great Sage diligently calls at South Sea; Guanyin with compassion binds the Red Boy
June 09-Chapter 43: An evil demon at Black River captures the monk; The Western Ocean's dragon prince catches the iguana
June 16-Chapter 44: The Dharma-body in primal cycle meets the force of the cart; the mind, righting monstrous deviates, crosses the spine-ridge pass
June 23-Chapter 45: At the Three Pure Ones Abbey the Great Sage leaves his name; At the Cart Slow Kingdom the Monkey King shows his power
June 30-Chapter 46: Heresy flaunts its strength to mock orthodoxy; Mind Monkey in epiphany slays the deviates
July 07-Chapter 47: The holy monk's blocked at night at Heaven-Reaching River; Metal and Wood, in compassion, rescue little children
July 14-Chapter 48: The demon, raising a cold wind, sends a great snow fall; The monk, intent on seeing Buddha, walks on layered ice
July 21-Chapter 49: Tripitaka meets disaster and sinks to a water home; To bring salvation, Guanyin reveals a fish basket
July 28-Chapter 50: Nature follows confused feelings through lust and desire; Faint spirit and moved mind meet a demon chief
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It's Fine Press Friday!
This 1932 Limited Editions Club (LEC) publication of the ancient Roman novel The Golden Ass, (also known as the Metamorphoses of Apuleius), was one of the many artist-illustrated classics produced under the direction of American publisher and LEC founder George Macy (1900–1956). It tells the extraordinary and oft unsavory tale of Lucius, a young man experimenting with ancient religious magic who accidentally transforms himself into a donkey instead of a bird- a condition he is able to reverse only after a wild journey of misadventure which concludes with his induction into the cult of Isis.
The novel, originally composed in Latin in the 2nd century by philosopher and scholar Lucius Apuleius (c. 124 CE-c. 170 CE), was translated into English for this edition by writer and social activist Jack Lindsay (1900-1990) and features reproductions of pen and ink illustrations from Percival Goodman (1904-1989), a progressive urban theorist and architect more widely known for his postmodernist architectural renderings and contributions to modern synagogue design.
The book was printed in a limited edition of 1500 copies by John S. Fass (1890-1973) at the Harbor Press in New York, a fine-press printing house founded by Fass and Roland & Elizabeth Wood in 1925, and features type designer Thomas Maitland Cleland’s (1880-1964) elegant Della Robbia typeface in black and red ink on Worthy special paper, illustrated endpapers, and gilding on the top edge of the text block. Goodman’s signature is inscribed in red ink beneath the colophon. The publisher’s announcement included with our copy describes the edition as bound in “full natural ass’s hide”, a characterization critically described by Claire Badaracco in her 1995 book Trading Words: Poetry, Typography, and Illustrated Books in the Modern Literary Economy as “stretching the boundaries of good taste”, but we think that the smooth, gold-stamped cover is quite lovely and understated in person!
View more Limited Edition Club posts.
View more Fine Press Friday posts.
-- Ana, Special Collections Graduate Fieldworker
#Fine Press Friday#fine press fridays#Apuleius#The Golden Ass#Limited Editions Club#LEC#Percival Goodman#Jack Lindsay#John S. Fass#Harbor Press#Thomas Maitland Cleland#Della Robbia type#Worthy Paper#fine press books#fine press publishing#Ana
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Melanin in YA
Imagine a space where you can easily find the next YA book written by a Black author to add to your TBR list. Best of all, amongst that book are an endless amount of other YA books waiting to be discovered by you, all written by Black authors. In that same space, you can find out if any of these authors have a book event near you or will be attending a festival / convention near you. In that same space, you can find out their NYT bestseller stats, book to screen adaptation details, a list of Black audiobook narrators to listen to, a detailed list of Black literary agents to query, Black bookish social media influencers to follow, Black led bookish podcasts to subscribe to, Black owned bookstores to visit and so much more.
That space is Melanin in Y.A. A database for all things Black in traditional young adult publishing. It acts as a no excuses cross-referencing tool for industry professionals, press, readers, writers, students, educators, librarians, program administrators and more. It’s available to you 24/7 for free.
I, Melody Simpson, created Melanin in YA in August 2020 and have been running it entirely by myself from day one. I really want to hire an intern to help me out because maintaining and promoting this is a lot but I’m tapped out on funds and cannot afford an intern right now. Though I am in desperate need of one and would never ask anyone to do the amount of work that I need done without paying them. If you’d like to help in that regard, you can do so here (gofundme) and no donation is too small, thank you so much. If you’d like to help out in other ways, can you please do any of the following below to help amplify this invaluable resource?
1) Follow and/or repost/retweet Melanin in YA content on Instagram or Twitter
2) Shop merch at Shop Melanin in YA
3) Send the melanininya.com link to your English teachers / professors, librarians, favorite booksellers, colleagues, fellow book club members, anyone you know who loves books, anyone you know who values diversity, equity and inclusion, and everyone you think could use this resource.
Full transparency, when Melanin in YA first launched, there was lots of excitement around it. But it’s been quite the struggle to get people to talk about this resource and share this resource outside of moments in time, say other than Black History Month or when something tragic doesn’t happen to Black people and makes it to mainstream news. I appreciate your support 365 days a year. Especially during a time when Black YA books are being banned more than ever before. This resource is so necessary. Your support is so necessary. It means so, so much.
Thank you.
#books#yalit#melanin#blackgirlmagic#blackcreatives#blacktumblr#reading#writing#literature#publishing#blackcommunity#fortheculture#blackisbeautiful#library
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Jim Morrison at the finale of The Doors performance at Remerberg Square in Frankfurt am Main. The Federal Republic of Germany. September 13, 1968
Born in Florida into a military family, the future rear admiral, he did not have a stable social circle all his childhood, endlessly moving from school to school. The desire to stand out and be a leader was sometimes combined with shyness and even timidity in him. It seemed that fate itself had prepared for him a military career in the future, his father even took him to sea a couple of times for exercises, but the service only disgusted Jim. His range of interests was quite different, as a teenager he read Plutarch's Comparative Biographies and many other books not typical of children's literary hobbies, later he was interested in philosophy, psychology, theater, cinema, music, especially poetry. One of the English teachers remembered him like this: “Jim was reading a lot then, probably more than anyone else in the class. But everything he read was so unusual that I asked another teacher who used the Library of Congress to check if the books Jim was talking about actually existed. I suspected that he had invented them himself, since they were seventeenth- and eighteenth-century English books on demonology. I've never heard of them, but they existed...”
Steve, Jim and Clara Morrison. Bethesda, Maryland, USA. 1944
Jim Morrison in a cowboy suit riding a pony. USA. 1948
Jim Morrison in an Indian costume (left) with his brother Andy are preparing to celebrate the Eve of All Saints' Day (Halloween). USA. October 31, 1951
Andy, Jim and Ann Morrison. Alameda, California, USA. November 1957
Arrested for disorderly conduct while intoxicated at a football match and petty theft, student Jim Morrison at the police station. Tallahassee, FL. USA. September 28, 1963
Andy and Jim Morrison with an unknown young young lady (possibly Mary Werbellow). Coronado, California, USA. 1964
Jim Morrison at one of The Doors' early concerts at The London Fog Club, with Ray Manzarek in the background. Sunset Strip (now West Hollywood), Los Angeles, California, USA. 1966
Jim Morrison during The Doors concert at the Town Hall in Philadelphia, PA. USA. June 18, 1967. Photographer Jack Rosen
Jim Morrison at The Doors concert at the Crosstown Bus Club, Brighton, Massachusetts. The band's performance was accompanied by a demonstration of psychedelic film footage. USA. on August 10, 1967. Photographer Peter Simon
Morrison became a legend during his lifetime, he invariably attracted great attention, thousands and thousands of his photographs have been preserved
#jim morrison#the doors#rare photos#vintage photography#black and white photography#photography#music#my music#music love#musica#history music#rock music#spotify#rock#rock photography#my spotify#music story#hustory photography#hustory music#Los Angeles#California#psychedelic rock#blues rock#acid rock#Everything you need to know about Rock
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please note: my fics on AO3 are locked, so you will need an account to read them. if you need an invite please feel free to DM me! I also have a handful of non-Dreamling fics posted there :)
~the polished stuff~
[actual edited fics, posted to AO3]
what's in a name? (E, 9300 words)
photographer Hob is on a road trip in California when he meets a mysterious stranger (Dream) in a diner | human AU, strangers to lovers
A Love Story (T, 23000 words)
Hob is a voiceover actor, struggling to make ends meet; Morpheus is a literary novelist with a secret | Centennial Husbands Big Bang, human AU, getting together, rom com
Stormy Weather, or: Outside, the Wind (Inside, the Light) (T, 1600 words)
Hob and Dream are having a movie night when the power goes out | first kiss, gratuitous use of archaic English
A Close Shave (G, 2150 words)
retired and newly human, Dream needs a shave. Hob helps him and has a lot of feelings about it | gen, tooth-rotting fluff
would you go along with someone like me? (T, 1500 words)
the 'omg they were roommates' college AU; Hob is a history major, Morpheus is studying poetry, and it's a very tiny dorm room | WIP, getting together, rating will go up
'cause every Dreamlord's crazy 'bout a sharp-dressed man (E, 4400 words)
chapter two now up! | Dream enjoys Hob in formalwear at a fundraising gala, and Hob out of formalwear after the gala | established relationship, lovingly described tuxedo
it's warm, the skin I'm living in (E, 2400 words)
the one with shapeshifting sex and emotional conversations about Dream's insecurities | established relationship, brief tentacle sex, Dream can have a vulva if he wants
Among the Stars We are Reborn (T, 5400 words)
the one where Hob goes to space to look for a phoenix | sci fi, canon divergent, established relationship
First Time (E, 6000 words)
after another bad breakup, Johanna encourages Morpheus to hook up with some dudes. Hob is only too happy to help with that | human AU, strangers to lovers
I'm stuck on you (I'm mighty glad you stayed) (M, 8700 words)
Hob and Morpheus are stuck on an elevator | human AU, strangers to lovers
Headache (T, 3700 words)
the one where Hob has a migraine and Dream ogles him in the bath | first kiss, getting together
Bleach (G, 1000 words)
the one where Hob gets bleach on Dream's favorite sweater | established relationship, retired!Dream
it's the perfect time of year (E, 2500 words)
spicy beach episode | established relationship
In the February Sun (T, 2600 words)
Dream accidentally visits on Valentine's Day and has some feelings about being mistaken for a couple | first kiss, getting together
uneasy is the head that wears the crown (G, 1600 words)
the one where Hob was secretly a prince on rumspringa when they met in 1389 | established relationship
let your heart be light (E, 2600 words)
Hob and Dream spend Christmas morning together | established relationship, declarations of love
Kind of Blue, a kind of fire (E, 2900 words)
the one where they drink whiskey and dance to Miles Davis in Hob's living room | first kiss, getting together
Fridays (T, 3000 words)
Hob throughout history | gen, partly epistolary
~the rough stuff~
[little ficlets, extensive headcanons]
all my Fluffbruary 2024 fills
AU idea: The Blue Castle by L.M. Montgomery
Hob and Dream meet ugly over a laundry argument (human AU)
Dreamling Bingo snippet: preview of would you go along with someone like me? chapter five
Dreamling Bingo snippet: excerpt from The Trenches Have Vanished Under the Plough (shellshocked WWI veterans AU)
at a Shakespeare in the Park performance, Hob misses Original Pronunciation
AU idea: Dream is a famous author with a secret career as a romance novelist and Hob is the voiceover actor who reads his audiobooks
assorted Smurch fills
the coffeeshop AU
hot and heavy in da club
retired!Dream's birthday
retired!Dream likes jewelry and piercings
small follow-up to In the February Sun
what if Dream retired and he and Hob didn't immediately jump into bed and a relationship?
AU idea: Dream runs a famous haunted house and Hob is a famous wuss
AU idea: Roman Holiday (Dream is a prince and Hob is a handsome reporter)
the unabashedly, purposefully bad sex scene (click at your own risk. but make sure you read through all the additions in the notes.)
Rose takes a picture at a family picnic and Hob has a realization
Hob WILL fight Night and Time
acts of service as Hob's love language (which has art!)
please give me more sci fi in this fandom
~the I-guess-this-counts stuff~
[idk bro it's just random]
compilation of "and they lived happily ever after" (ie fairy tale endings) in different languages
how I would write a Jane Eyre AU if I ever wrote one, which I'm not going to do
what if Hob was actually in a relationship when Dream came back?
actually Hob should be a preschool/primary school teacher: part one, part two
actually Hob doesn't hate Shakespeare and I'm a little tired of that trope
and if you're looking for a real firehose, my writing tag contains pretty much all of the above, plus tag game replies, snippets from WIPs, and other little bits and bobs!
thanks for reading! I love you!
last updated 5/28/24
#about me#I'll link this in my pinned post and do my best to keep it updated!#dreamling#dreamlingweek2023#dreamlingweek2024#dreamling week 2024
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Good Omens Book Club
So I have, in other fandoms, talked about the importance of what an audience can actually see on the screen. Specifically: When a constrained format (like, say, between 45 to 56 minutes of a single visual/audio input) is telling a constrained story (like, say, something that must start, climax, and resolve within some kind of structure), it's useful for the audience to pay attention to what gets given the valuable real estate of camera/story time.
So when time is given and effort made to show the actual titles of actual books... well.
Figure 1. Local bookshelf weighted down by an over-abundance of literary allusions.
This is a screenshot from episode 3 of Good Omens's second season, as Jim is reshelving all the books in Aziraphale's book shop by the first letter of their first sentences. He's about to shelve Jane Austens's Pride and Prejudice ("It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.") and the red sideways book, that he is about to pick up, is Good Omens itself ("It was a nice day.").
But, unusually, we can see the title of almost every other book on the shelf. Several of them appeared in the advertising poster, too, as I outlined previously (if you click that link, be advised that I am very proud of several bits of that essay and also let's not talk about how my go-to for musical references is Middle English folk rather than, say, Buddy Holly). Anyway-- with this in mind, and the understanding that time, effort, and celluloid have been spent on getting this shot to the audience, it would behoove us, I think, to actually look at these books.
Figure 2. A pair of showrunners providing not-so-subtle ancillary notation suggesting the same thing, so really, this is a no-brainer in terms of meta fodder.
Okay, Trifles, so what about the book club
Technically, this isn't my idea. It's Neil's and Douglas's, so jot that down.
What I figure is, I can provide a list of the books shown, their first lines, and a VERY brief summary of each. Those are below. And as I rewatch the show, I may reblog this post with additions, but also...
I've read some of these, but not all of them, and not recently -- with at least one of them, though, I remember enough to know that the first line and summary do nothing to showcase the heartrending possibilities the book may be alluding to for the overall Good Omens narrative.
And further-- as I collected these summaries and first lines, I started noticing some compelling commonalities. Which I, for one, would like to confirm and dig into more deeply.
So while I'm going to start reading these, it might be a Nice Idea for other folks to do so as well. The more write-ups we can get, the greater the concordance of Interesting Insights might be available. (And if you tag me in your write up, or otherwise draw my attention, I will gladly link your essay up here for the edification of others omfg.)
ANYWAY
The "Jim Shelving" Book List
From right to left (which feels odd, but it's the actual alphabetical-by-letter arrangement), and summaries from various internet sources:
Herzog, by Saul Bellows
"If I am out of my mind, it's all right with me, thought Moses Herzog."
"Herzog is a 1964 novel by Saul Bellow, composed in part of letters from the protagonist [...] The novel follows five days in the life of Moses E. Herzog who, at the age of forty-seven, is having a midlife crisis following his second divorce."
A Series of Unfortunate Events, (series) by Lemony Snicket
"If you are interested in happy endings, you would be better off reading some other book."
The first book in the series, The Bad Beginning, "tells the story of three children, Violet, Klaus, and Sunny Baudelaire, who become orphans following a fire and are sent to live with Count Olaf, who attempts to steal their inheritance."
The Catcher in the Rye, by J. D. Salinger
"If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you’ll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don’t feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth."
"The novel details two days in the life of 16-year-old Holden Caulfield after he has been expelled from prep school. [...] From what is implied to be a sanatorium, Holden, the narrator and protagonist, tells the story of his adventures before the previous Christmas."
The Great Gatsby, by F. Scott Fitzgerald
"In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I’ve been turning over in my mind ever since."
"Set in the Jazz Age on Long Island, near New York City, the novel depicts first-person narrator Nick Carraway's interactions with mysterious millionaire Jay Gatsby and Gatsby's obsession to reunite with his former lover, Daisy Buchanan."
The Bible, (anthology) by God et al.
"In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth."
"25 And the Lord spake unto the Angel that guarded the eastern gate, saying 'Where is the flaming sword that was given unto thee?'
26 And the Angel said, 'I had it here only a moment ago, I must have put it down some where, forget my own head next.'
27 And the Lord did not ask him again."
The Big Sleep, by Raymond Chandler
"It was about eleven o’clock in the morning, mid October, with the sun not shining and a look of hard wet rain in the clearness of the foothills."
"Private investigator Philip Marlowe is hired by wealthy General Sternwood to stop a blackmailer. Marlowe suspects that the old General is merely testing his caliber before trusting him with a bigger job, one involving Sternwood's two amoral daughters."
Nineteen Eighty-Four, by George Orwell
"It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen."
"In George Orwell's iconic and prophetic masterpiece, 1984, a haunting vision of a dystopian future unfolds. Set in a world dominated by the all-seeing eye of Big Brother, the story follows Winston Smith, a lowly Party member whose very thoughts are scrutinized. As the Party manipulates history and suppresses truth, Winston's yearning for individuality and connection pushes him into a daring dance on the edge of rebellion."
[A title I cannot, unfortunately, read-- if anyone who HAPPENS to be familiar with the show and HAPPENS to perhaps also be on tumblr just HAPPENS to say what this book might be, that would be Very Much Appreciated]
"????"
[WOW I WISH I WAS A SUMMARY OH WELL]
Catch-22, by Joseph Heller
"It was love at first sight."
"Set in the closing months of World War II in an American bomber squadron off the coast of Italy, Catch-22 is the story of a bombardier named Yossarian who is frantic and furious because thousands of people he has never even met keep trying to kill him. Joseph Heller's bestselling novel is a hilarious and tragic satire on military madness, and the tale of one man's efforts to survive it."
Love in the Time of Cholera, by Gabriel García Márquez
"It was inevitable: the scent of bitter almonds always reminded him of the fate of unrequited love."
"The story, which treats the themes of love, aging, and death, takes place between the late 1870s and the early 1930s in a South American community troubled by wars and outbreaks of cholera. It is a tale of two lovers, artistic Florentino Ariza and wealthy Fermina Daza, who reunite after a lifetime apart."
The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, by Mark Haddon
"It was seven minutes after midnight."
"The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time is a 2003 mystery novel by British writer Mark Haddon. [...] The novel is narrated in the first-person perspective by Christopher John Francis Boone, a 15-year-old boy who is described as "a mathematician with some behavioural difficulties" living in Swindon, Wiltshire. [...] Christopher sets out to solve the murder [of a neighbor's dog] in the style of his favourite (logical) detective, Sherlock Holmes."
The Crow Road, by Iain Banks
"It was the day my grandmother exploded."
A Scottish family drama about a perfect murder against the backdrop of the 1990s Gulf War. "This Bildungsroman is set in the fictional Argyll town of Gallanach, the real village of Lochgair, and in Glasgow, where the adult Prentice McHoan lives. Prentice's uncle Rory disappeared eight years previously while writing a book called The Crow Road. Prentice becomes obsessed with papers his uncle left behind and sets out to solve the mystery. Along the way he must cope with estrangement from his father, unrequited love, sibling rivalry, and failure at his studies."
No Woman No Cry: My Life with Bob Marley, by Rita Marley with Hettie James
"I was an ambitious girl child."
"Fans of reggae legend Bob Marley will welcome this no-nonsense biography from his wife, Rita, who was also his band member, business partner, musical collaborator and the only person to have witnessed firsthand his development from local Jamaican singer to international superstar."
I Capture the Castle, by Dodie Smith
"I write this sitting in the kitchen sink."
"I Capture the Castle tells the story of seventeen-year-old Cassandra and her family, who live in not-so-genteel poverty in a ramshackle old English castle. Here she strives, over six turbulent months, to hone her writing skills. She fills three notebooks with sharply funny yet poignant entries. Her journals candidly chronicle the great changes that take place within the castle's walls, and her own first descent into love."
...and because I happen to know and love this book, I'm aware of the devastating last lines...
"Only the margin left to write on now. I love you, I love you, I love you."
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Teenage Dirtbag
Pairing: Eddie Munson x short, plus-sized, girly-ish, female reader.
WC: ~9K
Warnings: cursing, eddie being a lil bit of a horndog, unrequited but not unrequited love
A/N: This song screamed Eddie Munson to me and I had to write it, I don't know what to say for myself lmao I thought it was going to be 1K at most. Welp.
Masterlist || AO3
Eddie Munson knew he wasn’t the smartest person in town. He was far from the dumbest, Jason Carver took that title by a landslide.
In fact, Eddie would dare to say he was actually pretty intelligent. He wasn’t book smart, not with subjects he didn’t give a shit about, but he had common sense. Which, clearly, wasn’t so common – especially in Hawkins.
However, even Eddie had to admit that he was the dumbest son of a bitch on this planet sometimes.
The primary example was when he managed to fall in love with you, his English tutor.
After Eddie had bombed the first major test – on his second go at his senior year – his teacher had assigned him a mandatory tutor.
“I know you think I don’t like you,” Ms. O'Donnell said, her sharp eyes softening when Eddie snorted, “but I want you to succeed. You’re smarter than you let on and I can see that.”
“Don’t feel bad. All teachers hate me,” Eddie joked, a thread of truth to it.
“Well not me,” she said, “and to prove it to you – I’m going to assign you a tutor.”
What? “Aw, come on,” Eddie groaned, “I’ll do better on the next one!”
Ms. O’Donnell rolled her eyes. “That’s what you said all last year. I was the one who signed off on you using my classroom for Hellfire Club you know. It’s been four years and I’ve seen some of the things you come up with. You’re good at writing, Mr. Munson. You just need to apply yourself.”
Wait, she knew about some of his campaigns? “Which I’ll do from now on!” The comical expression on her face indicated that Eddie was not getting through to her.
“Trust me,” she said, “she took my advanced placement course as a sophomore. She’s a senior, like you, and she’s willing to do it as a favor to me.”
“Is this mandatory?” Eddie winced when his teacher’s sharp gaze returned.
“Yes,” she said, her expression softening when Eddie slumped. “I’ll make you a deal, just let her tutor you for the next quiz. If you get higher than a C, with genuine effort, you can opt out.”
“Deal,” Eddie sighed.
And now here he was, four months later and definitely more than one aced quiz later, with you in your first sundress of the season. Eddie had been waiting for you at the library, the same table in the back – hidden behind the cookbook shelves – when you walked in. The thin straps drew his attention first, his eyes trailing down to the neckline which exposed the swell of your breasts in a way that had Eddie shifting nervously in his seat.
You’d apologized, sitting down hastily, your breath coming out in quick pants. Your car hadn’t started this morning so you had to ask Dustin, your neighbor, to borrow his bike to get here.
The image of you biking in that dress was something that he didn’t know he needed.
Like always, you pulled out your battered copy of The Great Gatsby and got to work. Eddie had read the book, you’d been right – he did like it – but spent most of the first hour watching you explain the chapters he’d been assigned.
There was just something about the way your eyes lit up when you started rambling about literary terms and characterization. You tended to speak with your hands, cherry-colored nails flying as you waved a hand in the air.
Oh, you were saying his name. “Are you listening Eddie?” You asked, eyes shooting him a knowing look.
“Shortcake, I always listen to every word you say,” Eddie joked, winking. A flustered expression overtook your face and Eddie watched your fingers come up to your hair, a sure sign that his comment had hit. He hated the rush of serotonin that gave him.
See? Complete dumbass behavior.
“Pay attention, you have a quiz next week and then we start working on your final paper,” you said, tapping his hand softly. The warmth of your skin sent an electric current up his arm and straight to his chest. “Here, I brought an outline of what I thought would be good topics for you to choose from. I’m partial to Shakespeare – oh don’t give me that look – but I listed other options too. Let me see if they finally got that book that I was looking for.”
Eddie nodded and failed to avert his eyes as you walked away. Your hips swayed as the black patterned dress rippled with your movement.
It wasn’t his fault, not really. Eddie glanced at the paper you’d handed him, your handwriting neat and precise. He’d been dreading meeting you when Ms. O’Donnell had mentioned your name. You weren’t a cheerleader but you basically friends with the whole squad. He’d seen you at parties when he was selling, you always seemed nice but Eddie knew from experience that the popular crowd were just vultures waiting for a sign of weakness. Eddie wasn’t going to be stupid enough to expose any.
“Oh, hey, Lucas!” Your voice carried from a few shelves away. Eddie straightened. “I haven’t seen you since the last campaign!”
Eddie couldn’t hear what Lucas answered but your quiet laughter sent the equally stupid butterflies in his ribcage into chaos. Eddie fought a groan and pinched the bridge of his nose. Honestly, he could hardly be at fault when you had the audacity to have a laugh as cute as that.
“Did you look over the outline? Oh, are you okay?” You asked, eyes pinched in concern. Eddie shook his head, his hair settling around his shoulders.
“I’m fine, just a little tired,” he lied. “Was that Sinclair I heard?”
You beamed at him and Eddie swore he felt his heart stop in his chest. Jesus H. Christ, he was going to send you the bill when you sent him to the ER. “It was! I can’t believe he’s taller than me now,” you said, wrinkling your nose when Eddie laughed, “oh shut up. I meant, I used to babysit them. They were all little munchkins a few minutes ago. Now they’re freshman. That’s wild.”
“Calm down there, grandma,” Eddie retorted as you rolled your eyes, “besides, it’s not exactly hard to be taller than you nowadays shortcake.”
Eddie could tell you were trying your best to bite back a grin. “You know, I’m the one who brought your grade up from a F to a B minus, you should be nicer to me.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, did I offend you your highness?” Eddie swooned, hands on chest, as he leaned back in his chair. “How can I ever thank you for saving me?”
“By passing your last quiz of the year,” you said dryly, eyes lighting up, “and maybe picking Macbeth for your final essay.”
Eddie snorted. “Not likely.”
“And that’s how you treat your hero?” You asked him, batting your eyelashes.
Fuck, those should come with a goddamn warning.
“How about I make you a mixtape?” Eddie joked, chewing at the end of his pen and giving your outline another look.
Your face, however, completely lit up. “Deal!”
“What?” Eddie stammered, dropping the pen from his mouth.
“No take-backs Munson!” You laughed, shrinking when the librarian shot you a look. Eddie huffed a laugh at your contrite expression and watched you turn back to him. “You get a passing grade on these last two assignments and you make me a mixtape as a physical form of your eternal gratitude.”
“Shortcake, I don’t think we have the same music tastes,” he said, eyeing the Walkman you’d left at the corner of the table with your bag.
A haughty look cross your face and the stupid butterflies slammed into his small intestine painfully. “How would you know?” You asked. “You barely ask me anything outside of English.” The second part was quieter, almost involuntary and Eddie was suddenly struck by something.
Eddie had never pushed for anything more than you had freely given. He tried not to ask about what you were doing, what you liked, or what your weekend plans were. You’d smile to him in the hallways at school but you had completely different schedules so you rarely saw each other. Besides, Eddie had an ingrained self-preservation intuition and vehemently avoided any contact with the popular crowd.
While Eddie was not a betting man, he took calculated risks. You were – beyond the ability to analyze. But…the way your face had twisted, maybe he’d gotten his signals wrong? Had you wanted him to be your friend? He’d always assumed you were doing this to fulfill some extracurricular activity. Wouldn’t you be…embarrassed to be seen with him?
“Alright sweetheart,” Eddie said eventually, “educate me then.”
You stuck out your tongue, breaking the tension and tucked your Walkman into your bag. “Too late. You snooze you lose Munson,” you said, packing up your stuff. Eddie glanced at his watch and was once again astounded to realize two hours had flown by.
“I’ll see you next week at the same time?” You asked. “Drop your paper outline in my locker and I’ll take a look at it so we have something to cover.”
“Ma’am, yes, ma’am,” Eddie saluted.
“Oh,” you said, hand elbow deep in your bag, “you see Mike tomorrow, right? At Hellfire?”’
Eddie frowned, unsure. “Yeah?”
“Can you give him these?” You asked, dropping a set of die in his hands. “He wanted to borrow my old set.”
Glancing at the well cared for set in his hand, Eddie gaped. “Are these holographic?”
You grinned and pulled your backpack onto your shoulders. “Yeah! Dustin got them for me for my birthday a while ago. They’re custom! He painted them for me.”
Eddie felt his throat dry up and was almost positive he’d floated up into the stratosphere. Seriously, a semitruck could’ve trampled him and he would’ve been less surprised.
“You coming?” You asked, totally unaware of how close Eddie was to offering you his heart on a platter.
Spurred into action, Eddie pocketed the set carefully and grabbed his bag. “Yeah, I- I’m coming.” He took in your carefully stacked bracelets and dainty necklace. Your pink sandals echoed in the hallway as you made your way to the familiar bike chained outside. How did someone like you play dnd?
“Dustin taught me,” you said as you walked the bike next to his van.
“What?”
You laughed, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and squinting a little at the sun in your eyes. The air in his lungs caught at the sight of your skin in the light. Were you holographic? “Dustin and the other kids I babysat taught me how to play. I’m not very good,” you admitted sheepishly, “that’s why I never told you.”
“Oh,” he said, because his brain still wasn’t totally back from its trip into space.
“I’m an elf rogue,” you said, shrugging, “Will said it suits me since I used to practice archery.”
Eddie bit down on his cheek hard enough to almost draw blood. He fought every nerve in his body to not glare at the sky. Really universe? Really? Was his daily pining not enough?
“You’re a box of surprises, aren’t you, shortcake?” Eddie said, rocking on his heels.
You grinned. “I’m rusty at that too. My aunt lives in Indianapolis and she’s won a few competitions in archery. I’d stay with her over the summer breaks and she taught me. It was fun to run around thinking I was some kind of mini-Hawkeye or something.”
At that, he couldn’t hide his surprise. “Marvel?”
“I told you,” you said, looking incredibly flustered, as your eyes went down to your feet, “I babysat Dustin. For years. Some of it stuck.”
Say something, he urged, voice stuck in his throat.
“Uh, so I’m going to go,” you said, bright smile back on your face.
Eddie scratched the back of his neck. “Do you want a ride?” He asked, gesturing to his van. Great, that’s the best he could come up with?
You turned your smile in his direction and Eddie almost stumbled at the power of it. Jesus, he really needed to get a grip on himself. This couldn’t be healthy.
Nodding, you’d taken a step towards him when a loud honk popped the bubble you both were tucked into. Eddie glanced over your shoulder and felt reality sucker punch him in the throat.
“Hey baby!” Nick shouted, torso almost hanging out that stupid Camaro window. “I’ve been looking for you. Your sister said you’d be here.”
Aaaand that was the second reason he was a complete dumbass.
“Sorry,” you mumbled, looking embarrassed. “Thanks for the offer.”
“Mhmm, see ya,” Eddie said, darting towards his van and completely missing your look.
Eddie started his van and shot out of the parking lot. He risked a glance in his rearview mirror and immediately regretted it. You were tucked into the quarterback’s arms, his face ducking down to yours, and Eddie tightened his hold on the steering wheel.
You had a boyfriend – a jock no less – because of course you did, since when did life ever like to be fair to him? Why would it ever start now? Eddie scrambled for the cigarette carton in his passenger’s seat and lit one up. Nick Jackson had been the one who almost broke Gareth’s nose last year in gym class. Nick Jackson would absolutely kick his ass if he knew how gone he was on his girlfriend.
What type of asshole had two first names anyway? And how the hell had he managed to land someone like you?
He knew the answer, obviously, but he was still in shock despite the fact that Eddie had seen you two together for the past month.
Whatever. Fuck high school. The second he had that diploma in his hands he was driving out of here and not looking back.
Eddie was over school. He’d finally gotten the news that he’d been given the green light to graduate and the first person he wanted to tell was you.
So, to mediate that, he decided to skip his last two classes and gone out to the picnic table in the woods behind the school to smoke. Taking another drag, Eddie leaned back onto the rough wood table and snorted. Who would’ve thought? He’d known ’86 was going to be his year.
Although it was in no small part thanks to you. Eddie had seen you this morning – dressed in a blue ruffled skirt, with a cardigan and a shirt that hid absolutely none of your curves. He’d felt like someone had slammed a locker door in his face, blood rushing to the bottom half of his body.
The sound of a branch snapping had Eddie jumping up, instinctively flinging the joint off towards the trees. He turned towards the sound, excuse on the tip of his tongue, when his throat closed. You stood there, shy smile on your face, hands gripping your bags strap tightly.
“Hey Munson,” you said, motioning to the table. “Can I join you?”
“Uh, yeah shortcake, please,” he gestured grandly to the old, rusted table like it was worth a million bucks. “Welcome to my hide out. Uh, sorry for the smell and the smoke.”
You laughed, eyes wrinkling and mouth turning up like he was hilarious. “I actually wanted to ask if I could buy some off of you,” you scrunched your nose and Eddie felt his heart stop. “Don’t make fun of me.”
“What?” Eddie smacked his hand to his chest exaggeratedly. “Me? Make fun? Of you? I’m insulted.”
“Ah yes, because you’re so friendly,” you joked. “I’ve never smoked before so could you sell me something already rolled?”
Eddie grinned. “You’re in luck shortcake,” he said, patting his denim vest for the bag he knew was keeping for later, “I’ve got some for you right here.”
“How much?” You asked, searching for your wallet.
Waving off your offer, Eddie dropped it onto your bag. “Consider it a thank you for helping me get to graduation.”
You froze, eyes darting up to his and Eddie couldn’t help the grin that grew on his face. “Oh my God, Eddie, don’t joke with me about this.”
“I’m not!” He laughed, opening his arms and throwing his head back. “I’m finally fucking out of here!”
Without warning, you threw your arms around him. Eddie stumbled, more than a little surprised, and stilled for a second. His arms, however, were much smarter and quicker than the rest of him because they settled immediately on the curves of your hips. You squeezed him tightly, your fingers scratching almost subconsciously at his back in soothing circles. “I’m so proud of you! I knew you could do it Eddie, I knew it.”
Eddie leaned back to see that you were beaming, eyes bright and smile so wide it looked like it could crack your face in two. The sun pierced through the shade of the trees, landing on you like a natural spotlight – because of course it did. “Well, it’s mostly thanks to you. I couldn’t have done it without you,” he said. Which, was a hundred percent true.
He watched your eyes drift down his face, and for a millisecond he could’ve sworn they landed on his lips, but before he could confirm – you’d darted away. Hands fluttering down your pink cardigan, you soothed out the non-existent wrinkles and frowned.
“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, “I didn’t mean – I know people hate when I – I’m sorry.”
“When you what?” Eddie furrowed his brows, confused. “Don’t be sorry.”
You wrung your hands together and Eddie hated how small you tried to become. “I – uh, Nick hated when I just hugged him out of nowhere,” you sighed, “I’m sorry.”
Reason number one that jock was a dumbass. If Eddie had the chance, he’d cling to you like a goddamn koala.
“Hey, what’d I say? We’re friends, right?” Eddie asked, ducking to try and catch your eyes.
“Are we?” You said, surprised.
Eddie clutched his heart, looking down at his hands as if there were blood, and blinked at you. “I didn’t know you came here to shoot me straight through the heart.”
A beat of silence echoed in the clearing before you laughed, delighted by his antics. Eddie smiled at your joy; you were one of the only people in his life that never complained about his general over the top flair. “I’m sorry,” you said, tone adorably earnest. “I didn’t mean it like that – I thought, well, I thought you didn’t want to be friends with me.”
He couldn’t help it, he really couldn’t but he let out an unattractive laugh and shot you a look. “Shortcake, if anyone was embarrassed to be seen with the other it’s definitely not me.”
An indignant sort of expression settled in your entire body. Eddie watched you, fascinated. He’d never seen you be anything but a human personification of a sunbeam.
“I’m not embarrassed to be seen with you,” you huffed, crossing your arms and Eddie’s eyes darted to the top of your head. Jesus Christ. He was not going to stare at your chest like a fucking pervert. He was not. Completely oblivious to his plight, you continued huffing. “I’ve tried to say hi to you like three times since I started tutoring you. You always looked like I was a lion who’d caught a mouse.”
“Because popular kids don’t talk to the outcasts, sweetheart. Don’t take it personally,” he sighed, “it’s a self-preservation tactic.”
You blinked at him. Eddie cringed internally – of course he fucked this up not even two minutes in. He scrambled to think of a way to rectify it when you sighed.
“Nick said he didn’t want me tutoring you anymore,” you said quietly.
Eddie didn’t know he could hear a heart shatter but he was positive that his just fell to the floor beneath him. That asshole. Didn’t he have enough? Thanks a lot universe.
“He said it wasn’t becoming of me to keep doing this so he wanted me to stop. I knew it was because he didn’t like you though,” you admitted.
Sighing, Eddie sat back down onto the table and pulled out another joint. Lighting it up he took a drag and blew the smoke towards his left. “So, I guess this is goodbye?”
A bird nearby sang, as if knowing he needed a soundtrack for this car crash waiting to happen. “No, you idiot,” you snapped, “I broke up with him.”
Everything tilted sideways and Eddie was sure someone had smacked him in the head with something. Maybe his hearing was off? “I’m sorry, I think I had a small seizure. Did you say you broke up with him?”
You nodded, coming over to sit across from him. “I never really liked him that much anyway. Chrissy thought we’d be cute together but I’m pretty sure I’m not his ideal type.”
“What, why is perfect too intimidating for him?” Eddie asked, the words out of his mouth before he could stop them. Jesus fucking – just take him out. Universe? You can take me out now! He screamed internally.
“Shut up,” you mumbled, ducking your head. Eddie saw the pleased smile on your face before you hid it away and it sent a stupidly happy pang through his body. “I meant, well – you know.”
“I really don’t.”
Sighing, you motioned to your body. “You know, someone skinny enough to be a flier on the cheerleading team.”
Eddie felt his spine solidify. “Did he…did he say that to you?” He asked, his vision darkening. “That absolute fucking shithead.” What an asshole. Not only did he have the hottest girl in the entire fucking town but he was taking jabs at you? Eddie wanted to punch something.
“Wait!” Your cool hand wrapped around his wrist and Eddie hadn’t even realized he’d stood and walked in the direction of the school. “Munson! It’s okay – he didn’t say it out loud! Holy shit you’re a lot stronger than you look.”
Eddie felt you wrap your torso around his arm in an attempt to stop him. Your chest pressed against his bicep and Eddie had to close his eyes and think of his great-aunt. A soft poke to his cheek had him looking down at you, amused. You looked like a squirrel clinging to a tree. With a slow nod, he let you walk him to the bench.
“Was that a dig at my body?” He asked. “Do I look weak?”
A mortified expression settled on your face and you immediately shook your head. “That’s not what I meant at all! I just – I meant, I’m – oh, you’re teasing me,” you said, exhaling a loud breath. “I hate you.”
Smiling, Eddie bumped your shoulder with his. “No, you don’t.”
“There’s no hurt feelings, I promise,” you told him, referring to Nick, “I wasn’t what he wanted and he wasn’t what I wanted.”
“Yeah?” Eddie took another drag of his discarded joint. “What’s your type? Swim team? Basketball team? Wait, soccer player.”
You rolled your eyes and bumped his shoulder again. “No,” you said, crossly. “I don’t know. For starters maybe someone who doesn’t think Metallica is just random noise.”
Eddie sighed. He looked up at the sky, a common occurrence at this point, and wondered if whoever was up there was having fun torturing him. You played dnd and you liked Metallica. Sure. Why not? He hoped Mother Nature or God, or whoever, was having a great laugh at his expense.
“I had you pinned for a Madonna girl,” he said eventually, reeling in the affection that seemed to be pouring off him in waves.
“I am, I like a ton of music,” you said, “I’m not condescending with my music tastes.”
Gaping, Eddie shot you a look and fought his smile at your mischievous look. You were going to be the death of him.
“Hi Wayne!” Your voice floated through the front door. Eddie straightened, eyes darting around the room to make sure anything embarrassing was hidden away.
“Hi honey. You know you don’t have to bring me something every time you come over,” he said, sounding pleased. Eddie rolled his eyes. In the past two months, you and Eddie had become fast friends. In fact, Eddie didn’t know how he’d gone almost the entire second half of the school year without bombarding you with questions.
He wanted to know everything about you – he’d take any crumble you’d give him. You’d shown up to Hellfire a few times, went to movies together, and religiously showed up to the Hideout to see him play. Eddie wasn’t sure he remembered his life before you. So, obviously, like nephew like uncle and Wayne had instantly loved you the way Eddie had.
“Munson, you better be decent,” you said, not waiting for an answer and kicking the door down.
“If you really want to see me in a state of undress so badly, all you have to do is ask shortcake,” he said, loving the flustered expression he could draw out of you so quickly.
“I hate you,” you said, daintily sitting on his bed and handing him a napkin full of cookies. You’d made it a habit of baking on the days you were coming over and while Eddie definitely appreciated it – he knew you were bringing them to Wayne. Who, like Eddie, completely fell for your sincerity.
“Whatever you need to tell yourself to get to sleep at night is fine with me,” Eddie said, eagerly throwing half the cookie into his mouth. “Denial isn’t healthy though.” He winked.
“Jesus, does this have an off button?” You grumbled, flopping down onto his bed.
Eddie gave himself five seconds to appreciate the way your skirt hitched up higher on your thighs as you laid down, the bright purple material easily the most colorful thing in his room. He felt his eyes glaze over a little, imagining his teeth sinking into the meaty part of your inner thigh, the noises you’d made. Suddenly, you shot up, and Eddie tried his best to look like he wasn’t just being a goddamn pervert.
“Oh, I love this song!” You said, eyes lighting up.
His heart tripped over itself at the sight but he tilted his head and realized he’d left his stereo on as he was stitching a new patch, one you’d gotten him last week onto his vest.
When you know that your time is close at hand
Maybe then you'll begin to understand
Life down here is just a strange illusion
“That’s Iron Maiden,” Eddie said, stupidly.
You rolled your eyes. “I know, shithead,” you joked and Eddie blinked – he didn’t know why the way you cursed like a sailor was still so strange to him. Someone who wore pastels, bright colors, was in track to be valedictorian, and had a smile that rivaled the sun wasn’t someone who he’d thought would be ready to swing at the first sight of conflict. “We’ve been over your music superiority complex already, remember? I’m a woman of many interests.”
Eddie grumbled. You were right – you’d been the one who had bought him Metallica’s new album at the record store downtown when it’d just released. He thought he’d have to fight his way into getting his hands on it but, like always, you were there.
“So, do you remember how much you love me?” You asked, teasing. Eddie’s pathetic heart thumped against his ribcage and he glanced up at you.
“Why does that sound like the prelude to something I’m going to hate?”
You smiled, batting your eyelashes, and pressing your folded hands under your chin. “I need someone to go to the mall with me on Saturday. Pretty, pretty, please? I’ll do anything you want!”
Eddie’s brain short circuited for brief moment, imagining the list of things he’d both dreamed and would trade his soul to be able to do to you before he realized you were waiting for an answer. “Shortcake, I treasure our friendship but there are some things my fading sanity can’t take.”
You quirked a brow and Eddie had to fight not to visible react to your pout. He often wondered how it’d feel if he bit down on it. “Eddie?”
“Sorry, what?” He shook his head, returning back to the present.
“I said, and the mall would zap the last bit of sanity you had?”
Eddie nodded emphatically. “I’m not that strong.”
“Well, despite your complete betrayal,” Eddie rolled his eyes, “Nancy said she’d go with me and helped me find a dress. I just wanted to see if you’d come with.”
“A dress?” Eddie asked. “You going somewhere fancy?”
Laughing, you shot him an incredulous look. “Wait, are you serious?”
“Yeah, where are you going?”
“Prom, Eddie,” you said with a weird look on your face, “aren’t you going?”
At that, Eddie snorted. “Me? At prom?”
“I mean, I’ll be there – so will Robin and Nancy. Gareth and Jeff told me they’re going too,” you mumbled.
“I – do you want me to go?” Eddie asked, confused. “I can drop you off and pick you up if you want. My chariot is your chariot.”
Something flashed across your face but it was gone before Eddie could decipher it.
“Oh, no, thanks. I think Robin’s getting a ride from Harrington and they’ll give me a lift,” you said.
Eddie hated how well you and Steve got along. He shouldn’t have been surprised, considering he ran in the circle you did, but when he introduced you to his friends, he hadn’t expected how quickly you bonded. It’d taken him four and half months to hurl himself out of the acquaintance zone and Steve did it in five minutes.
“Sure,” Eddie said, going back to sewing a new patch onto his vest and trying not to stab himself.
“Would you go if I asked?” You said after a beat of silence.
He was almost sure he’d snapped something important in his neck with the speed in which he turned to you. At his expression, you straightened. “I mean, like would you go to prom and hang out with us? You don’t need to go with me.”
Deflating, Eddie tried not to let it show. Of course, you hadn’t asked him to go with you. You probably had a date or at the very least someone interested. Even then, he didn’t want to lie to you.
“Yeah, shortcake, I’d go if you asked me to.”
The smile on your face was small and grew gradually into something blinding. His heart flipped, the butterflies yawned awake, and Eddie sighed. He was pathetic.
Eddie knew his strengths and weaknesses. Thanks to Wayne, he was pretty decent at fixing cars. He knew more about music than most people he’d come across. And when it came to guitar? He wasn’t humble enough to deny how good he was. However, he was blatantly aware that math and science were subjects from the depth of hell. His driving had been criticized once or twice, and, he wasn’t that great at sounding particularly eloquent.
He'd never been more aware of that than in this exact moment. Eddie was leaning against Steve’s car. His red BMW was recently cleaned and Steve was hanging out the driver’s window, telling him about his most recent date. The tie around his neck felt like it was choking him but he wasn’t entirely sure it wasn’t due to the anticipation.
Wheeler and Byers stood by their car, fumbling with her corsage and his tie. Robin’s front door opened and she came bounding out, her suit a bright blue that fit her perfectly. Her hair had been curled and she only seemed to wobble once on her heels as she made her way to the car.
“Man, if I don’t break my ankle before the end of the night,” she muttered, leaning on Eddie for support. He helped her catch her balance and smiled when she flushed at the compliments from everyone.
“You look good Buckley,” he told her, nudging her with his elbow.
Robin beamed. “You clean up well too,” she said, pulling at the suit he’d borrowed from Wayne. It was a little too big but Nancy had assured him no one would be able to tell. “I see you couldn’t resist,” she said bumping his converse with her pointy heel. “Why do you get to wear comfy shoes? She wouldn’t let me go in mine!”
“Because it ruins the look, Rob!” Your voice said from the front steps. Eddie glanced up and immediately felt the world freeze. Your dress was…molded onto your body. It was a long, lavender, flowy thing. It dipped low in the back and Eddie sighed. If the neckline was enough to give him a stroke, the back was going to have him flatlining. Your heels clicked against the stone as you hugged Robin’s parents goodbye.
“For fuck’s sake,” Eddie said under his breath, “that’s just not fair.”
Robin and Harrington, clearly heard him, snorted. “Careful there Munson, you’ll drop too much of a hint of how deeply in love with her you are if you keep that up.”
Eddie’s jaw snapped and he turned to glare at Robin. “What?” She said after Harrington snorted. “It’s true. They’re idiots.”
“Let them figure it out themselves,” Steve said. “We promised.”
“It’s infuriating,” Robin said, narrowing her eyes. “You’re both infuriating.”
“Alright, I’m all set,” you said, leaning forward to squeeze Steve’s hand. “Thanks for the ride, Steve.”
“No problem, you wanna ride with me or Byers?” Steve asked, settling into the seat.
Turning to him, he saw the question in your eyes and he cleared his throat. “Uh, wherever you want to,” he croaked.
Robin snickered and headed towards the passenger seat. Eddie shot her a glare but was interrupted by your hand on his arm. “You look great,” you said quietly as you waved to Jonathan. They honked at you as they took off down the street. “Thank you for coming.”
“For you? Anything,” he said, his tone a little too sincere than what he meant it to be. The blinding smile on your face after though, made it worth it. “You look…incredible,” he finished lamely. He heard hushed laughter from the car and fought the urge to scratch the back of his neck.
“Thanks,” you said, picking up the bottom of your dress in one hand. “I was worried I’d look dumb but Nancy was adamant this was my dress.”
Eddie needed to get Wheeler a gift. “Remind me to thank her because, shortcake?” You glanced up at him. “That dress was made for you.”
With a shy and pleased smile, you slid into the backseat and settled close to Eddie. Holy shit, you smelled amazing. Eddie barely managed to keep from dropping his nose to the crook of your neck. He slowly dropped his arm over your shoulders and grinned when you leaned into him.
Grabbing a parking spot near the entrance, Steve pulled into the school. Hopping out, he offered his arm to Robin who took it gladly.
“Are you guys ready for the last night of your high school career?” Steve asked, eyes on the doors.
“Yeah,” Robin said, “fuck this place.”
Eddie bumped her fist and you grinned. “After party at your house, Harrington?” You asked.
He knew you had to have been invited to a few afterparties – Robin had promised to make an appearance at the house of some kid from band. He’d heard you tell Nancy that you’d be going with Robin. Steve had assured him that they’d tag along too.
“More like the after after party when you two are drunk off shitty vodka,” Steve said motioning to Robin, who rolled her eyes and made a silly face.
“It happens one time…”
Nancy waved a hand in the air before disappearing through the doors. “Come on!” She shouted over her shoulder. You huffed a laugh and linked your arm through his.
“Ready?”
“Not really, but I’ll follow you into hell apparently.”
“You say the sweetest things,” you told him, deadpan. He snorted, other hand coming to squeeze the one you were resting on his forearm.
Eddie immediately squinted in the cloak of darkness that was the gym – he had to give it to the committee, he hardly recognized the place. A ridiculous pop song came on just as you waved to a few of your friends. “Look, Nancy found a table. Want to drop off our stuff and dance?” You asked the group. Robin nodded, already making her way towards the table and Eddie had to admit he felt a little out of place.
The itch under his skin yelled at him to run but the happy smile on your face when you patted the empty seat next to you kept him tethered to you – because how could it not? Eddie was sure you could ask for the disco ball and he’d risk his diploma to get it for you.
“Drinks?” Eddie asked, overwhelmed by the five nodding heads. Byers, with a small smile, got up and offered his help.
While Eddie had grown, no matter how reluctantly, close to Robin and her sidekick Harrington. Jonathan had only recently become a new addition. His family had just moved back and he seemed too quiet to really like the chaos that Eddie knew he tended to attract. His kid brother however, Will, was one of his favorites. Not that he’d ever tell Dustin that. The kid had a jealousy streak a mile long.
They had both just settled into their seats, everyone with a drink in hand, when another pop mess song came on. Robin and you straightened, eyes going to each other before you scrambled to your feet. “I’ll be right back,” you said, dropping a kiss to his cheek that had him stunned for a moment. Robin grabbed your hand and you both ran towards the dance floor.
“It’s their favorite song,” Steve explained, watching them wave over a reluctant Nancy. You both bounced around, heads shaking, and zero care that a few people were shooting you looks. “You gonna ask her to dance tonight?”
Eddie shot Steve a look and hated that Steve felt comfortable enough now to ignore him.
“Don’t give me that look man,” Steve laughed, “you came together! You can’t not ask her to dance.”
“We didn’t come together,” Eddie muttered, taking a sip of the disgustingly sweet punch, “she made that pretty clear.”
“Or you heard what you wanted to,” Nancy said, finally standing with Jonathan’s and in hers. “Because from what I know, she thinks you’re here together.”
“Wait, what?” Eddie shouted at Nancy’s retreating back. He turned to Steve, who looked like he was hiding a laugh, “What the hell does that mean?”
“That you both have your heads stuck in the grass,” Steve sighed. “I promised Dustin that I’d let you two figure this shit out on your own but I’m giving you a needed shove. Come on Munson, we’re going to dance.”
He opened his mouth to protest but Steve put a hand under his arm and all but shoved him in your direction. Robin cheered when she saw him, her head bobbling wildly. You beamed, hands coming up to his and twirling prettily around him. His eyes were drawn to you like magnets, he couldn’t help it. You danced with abandon, graceful but chaotically at the same time. Eddie shouldn’t have been surprised but, he really wasn’t sure how much more in love with you he could get.
“I’m thirsty!” Robin shouted, pointing back to the table. Steve let her take his hand and dragged him off towards the sides.
You turned to Eddie, smile wide, and he watched it falter when the faintly familiar pop song turned slow. His feet froze and he glanced towards Wheeler – finding her arms around Jonathan’s as they swayed slowly. She widened her eyes and looked pointedly towards you.
Alright, he could take a hint. He wasn’t that stupid.
With a flourish, he bowed deeply and outstretched his hand. “Can I have this dance milady?”
Your laugh was muffled by the music but the electricity across his skin crackled as you took his warm hand with your cool one. How were you always so cold? He pulled your hands between his and tried to let some of his heat sink in. You grinned up at him, eyes soft, and he placed his own at your waist. “Okay?” He asked.
“More than,” you said, leaning your head onto his chest. He was worried you’d hear how fast his heart was racing but by the small, happy, sigh you let out – he didn’t think you’d mind.
“If you would’ve told me last year that I’d end up graduating this year, with a grade higher than a C, and that I’d be at prom with you – I would’ve laughed,” Eddie said.
You wrinkled your nose at him. “Am I that bad of a date?”
Date? Holy shit, was Wheeler being honest?
“Shortcake, you’re the best date. I just didn’t think you’d want to hang out with the likes of me,” he clarified, “I’m either invisible or a cult leader. Take your pick.” He tried to play it off as a joke but he knew you’d hear it.
“I’ve always noticed you, Eddie. You’re not invisible to me,” you said quietly, your big eyes looking up at him beneath your lashes. Jesus Christ, how much more of this could he take? For once, you seemed to share his sentiment because you took a step back, out of his arms and excused yourself. He watched you dart across the gym, grab a bewildered Robin, and pulled her into a solitary corner.
Mystified, Eddie walked back to the table and Steve raised one of his brows. “What’s happening? We’ve only been here for like an hour.”
“I have no idea,” Eddie admitted. He started to worry when he saw your purple nails from the distance flailing left and right as Robin’s hands came down on your shoulders. She said something that clearly stunned you. After a beat both of you turned towards him and he darted his eyes away to act like he wasn’t being nosey.
“Uh, that doesn’t look good,” Steve muttered. Eddie glanced back up and watched as you made your way quickly over to him. A determined expression was etched onto your face and Robin followed at a slower pace, a smug look on hers.
Without a word, you grabbed his sleeve and pulled him into the hallway when a teacher had their back turned. “Uh, shortcake?”
“Shh!” You admonished, still leading him down the hall. You don’t stop until you find an empty classroom, the lights were on and door unlocked but it was clearly deserted.
He watched your chest rise and fall quickly, like you’d run a mile, and before Eddie could ask you what was wrong – you all but chucked an envelope at him. He’d almost ducked instinctively but he managed to catch it in his hands. Where the hell had that even come from?
“What’s happening right now?” He asked, holding the envelope in his right hand. “What’s wrong?”
“Open it,” you said, your fingers went up to tug at a lock of your hair – a telltale sign that you were nervous.
“Sweetheart-”
“Eddie, open the envelope,” you stressed.
With a wary glance towards you, Eddie flipped the hastily taped tab and slid out a pair of tickets.
IRON MAIDEN, JULY 1ST INDIANNAPOLIS, IN.
“Holy shit, are these floor tickets?” He squawked, hands shaking. You had Iron Maiden tickets! How the hell had you managed that? “Shortcake, where did you get these? I thought they were all sold out.”
“My dad knows someone,” you said waving a hand like it wasn’t important. Like you hadn’t just handed him a priceless gift. “I got VIP passes too.”
Eddie’s soul was gone. That’s it, it was back up on the moon, throwing a party.
“It’s not my birthday, you know,” he said, barely containing his excitement. He rocked back and forth on his heels. Holy shit, he was going to see Iron Maiden! With you!
“I know,” you said, biting your bottom lip. Eddie’s soul slammed back into his body and he realized you were wringing your hands again.
“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”
“These are for us,” you said, pointing at the tickets.
“I assumed so,” he joked.
You closed your eyes, shoulders tense. “No, like… a date.”
Eddie snorted and immediately regretted it when he saw your head duck down. Shit, you’d been serious? You couldn’t have been serious. He knew Steve and Robin gave you both shit for it these past few months but there was no way in hell that you’d ever want to go on a date with him. He would’ve noticed. He absolutely would’ve noticed the signs.
“Oh,” you said, you voice incredibly sad, and Eddie wanted to slap himself. Okay, maybe he wouldn’t have noticed.
Eddie scrambled forward; tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. “No, wait – I didn’t mean it like that,” he said quickly, words jumbling together. “I didn’t realize you were serious. I thought – I thought you were joking.”
You winced. “I get it. I’m not…your type, we’re friends, it’s fine. You can take both tickets and take one of the guys.” The expression on your face was enough to make him want to face plant. You turned on your heel and walked to the door.
Eddie’s heart dropped to his feet and he lurched forward, hands reaching for you. “Wait, wait, that’s not what – please. Shortcake, let me speak. I just need a moment to process.” You tried to wrestle your wrist out his grip but Eddie clung on for his life. You were not just going to turn and run after dropping a bomb like that on him.
“It’s fine, Eddie. I promise I’m not – I’ll get over it.”
“I didn’t even know you liked me!” You shot him a contemptuous look and he refused to cower back. You were scary when cornered but he knew you had a soft, gooey center. Whatever he said now was important. He had to get this right.
“Sweetheart. Look at me,” he said, pulling you away from the door. “I swear, I didn’t think you felt like that towards me.”
Your hardened look softened a little when he ducked down to catch your gaze. Blinking, you frowned a little and straightened. “You’re not joking?”
“I have never in my life been more serious,” he huffed, “and I really mean that.”
Exploding, you waved your animated hands in the air and Eddie jerked back to avoid being smacked by one. “How the hell did you not notice? Everyone noticed! Even the cheer squad knew. I asked you to go with me to prom!”
“What?” Eddie’s voice cracked. “You said not with you – to hang out or something!”
“Yeah, I only said that after you looked like I had smacked you over the head!”
Eddie groaned. “Because I didn’t think you’d ever want to go with me!”
You crossed your arms and rubbed one of your temples. “It’s against school policy to tutor a student for longer than a month or two. It’s not fair to the program so we swap consistently. It’s a way to make sure everyone gets the coverage they need from the different tutors. Didn’t you question why we went from meeting at the school to the public library?”
“Uh, no?”
“Well,” you huffed, looking a little embarrassed, “I liked you from like the first session. You, obviously, looked more interested in watching paint dry so I thought I could win you over. After the month I told Ms. O’Donnell that you just needed some guidance and I’d sign off on your paperwork. I told you that we needed to start meeting at the public library instead.”
“But, what about Nick?” Eddie was so confused. Had he entered an alternate dimension again? He glanced around for any sight of the dust. “You had a boyfriend up until like three months ago!”
“Because I thought it would make you jealous!” You huffed, exasperated.
What.
“Well, it did!” Eddie shouted back, the words falling before he could stop them. “I wanted to punch his goddamn face in.”
You blinked. “But…you didn’t seem all that eager to be my friend. You barely asked me about my weekend plans. I couldn’t have dropped more hints!”
“Shortcake, you’re not only out of my league – you’re in a different dimension. I didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable!”
“Well, you didn’t!”
“Great!”
“Perfect!”
“Amazing.”
“Stupendous.”
“Are you going to keep trying to have the last word?” Eddie snorted.
You rolled your eyes but he saw your hands reach up for your hair. “I know I don’t dress like those girls at the hideout and wear too much yellow and pink and you think I’m popular and that my taste in music is overrated – which really proves my point that you’re pretentious – but –”
Eddie barely heard a word you were saying, his eyes watched your hands dance in the air, and your eyes dimming the more you spoke. How the fuck could you have ever believed that he wouldn’t like you? You still believed that, his mind supplied helpfully, anxiety evident in the rigid set of your shoulders. He knew from experience that if he let you keep going, you’d go on for hours. So, he grabbed your arms and pulled you into his chest. Startled, you stumbled and glared up at him.
“Shortcake?”
“What?”
“Please stop talking,” he said and dropped his lips to yours. Without hesitation, you wrapped your arms the best you could around his neck and pressed your body against his. Your cool fingers tangled themselves in his hair and he shuddered when your nails dragged along his scalp. Eddie, finally, bit down on your bottom lip and the low groan you let out shot straight to his dick.
Shit, even after imagining this moment for months – it really couldn’t compare. You tasted like punch, strawberries, and faintly of candy. He pulled back for air, your breath coming out in quick huffs. Eddie smiled, his heart racing at the sight of your dazed look. He did that. You liked him. He’d shared his life with you and you still liked him. Did shit like this really happen?
“So, you want to go to the concert with me?” You asked lightly, smile twisting your mouth.
Eddie threw his head back and laughed. “I want to go everywhere with you, shortcake.”
“Everywhere is good, I like everywhere,” you babbled, “...well, Steve’s house has a lot of rooms. Maybe everywhere can include that at the end of the night?”
Shutting his eyes, he valiantly tried to exercise self-control and not imagine you naked on a bed squirming beneath him. Failing, just a little, he nodded enthusiastically. “Should we go right now? Because I’ll grab Steve if we need to.”
You laughed, the sound warming him even further. “We still need to go with Robin to that afterparty.”
Eddie let his head loll as he groaned. “Conformity is so much work.”
“I’m sure you’ll be okay,” you teased, kissing him again. “Come on, someone’s going to catch us if we stay away too long.” Honestly, Eddie was willing to risk it but he knew you didn’t want to miss this.
As you both crept back towards the gym, your hand tucked in his, Eddie wondered if he was dreaming. He passed one of the wide windows in the hallway, the gym only a few yards away, and he pulled you to a stop.
“What?” You asked, peeking out through it.
Eddie ducked to look out the glass and caught sight of the dark sky and the full moon. He winked and pointed up at it. “You had me going there for a while, but this makes up for it. We’re even!”
“Who are you talking to?” You asked, glancing around.
“The moon. Or God. Maybe the universe?”
You nodded. “Okay,” you said, shrugging like it was completely normal.
Jesus Christ, he loved you.
The familiar chords of Kiss floated out of the open doors to the gym and Eddie perked up. “Is that…”
Tonight, I want to give it all to you
In the darkness, there's so much I want to do
“Kiss?” You asked, grinning. “Yeah, I promised the DJ half a gram from you if he’d play a few songs you like.”
Yeah, he was gone for you. Totally gone. If he had any dignity or pride left, he’d be a little embarrassed but he really couldn’t work up the energy.
“Come on!” You said, tugging him back into the gym and onto the dance floor. A few jocks looked disgruntled at the change of music but Robin and Nancy were out on the dance floor, so were a few others. You immediately jumped around, eyes bright, hips swaying, and Eddie’s heart felt like it’d jump out his chest at any moment.
“And I can't get enough of you, baby. Can you get enough of me?” You sang, turning to wink at him. Steve and Robin waggled their eyebrows, shooting him knowing looks and he shook his head. Nancy laughed, offering up her fist and Eddie couldn’t help but bump it.
Alright universe, he thought, you win, you totally win. I owe you for the rest of my life.
Eddie wrapped an arm around your waist and beamed when you leaned into his touch. Your lips came up to his jaw and he sighed. Maybe the shit show that was the entirety of high school was worth it if you were waiting for him at the end.
I was made for lovin' you, baby
You were made for lovin' me
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Shown seated in a high-backed chair behind the administrator’s paper-strewn desk, Mr. Shapiro captured the spirit of a moment, casually smoking one of Mr. Kirk’s cigars while wearing sunglasses and a defiant smirk.
The photograph ultimately ran in Life magazine and publications around the world. Although it became an enduring symbol of the student protests that roiled universities across the nation in the late 1960s, Mr. Shapiro preferred over the years to focus on his literary achievements, not his cameo as a campus rebel.
Mr. Shapiro was a nimble-minded, voluble and gregarious polymath who demonstrated, in both his life and his work, an almost gymnastic ability to bound between intellectual topics, the writer Lucy Sante, a friend and a former student of Mr. Shapiro’s at Columbia, said in an interview.
[...] David Shapiro, a cerebral yet deeply personal poet aligned with the so-called New York School, whose highly lyrical work balanced copious literary allusions with dreamlike imagery and intimate reflections drawn from family life, died on Saturday in the Bronx. He was 77.
Mr. Shapiro published 11 volumes of poetry during his six-decade career. [...] He was also an art historian, producing monographs on Piet Mondrian, Jasper Johns, Jim Dine and other painters. And he maintained a career in academia that included decades as an art history professor at William Paterson University in Wayne, N.J. In the 1970s, he taught English and comparative literature at his alma mater, Columbia University.
[...] “Although often described as a member of the New York School of poets, David Shapiro wrote poems that sound like no one else’s,” Mr. Padgett wrote in an email, “poems full of mystery, lyricism, and agile leaps of an eternally fresh spirit, with surprising humor in the music of his unearthly melancholy.”
[...] Mr. Shapiro came to regret the[photo], in part because it made him seem like a leader of the protests although he was only a participant.
The photograph also caused him plenty of other problems. “He was clubbed by police and suspended by Columbia — he almost didn’t graduate,” his wife said in an interview. “He had been given a five-year fellowship to Harvard, and that was rescinded. Even going through customs, he was on the F.B.I. lookout list.”
In a 2018 interview with the New Jersey newspaper The Record, Mr. Shapiro issued a mea culpa of sorts. “I’d like to apologize for the rudeness of my youth,” he said. “That’s not a picture. That’s a parody.”
(x)
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It's that time of month again, friends! And for June, we're doing something special: Queer-themed books, both a fiction and non-fiction selection! We'll be reading both over the course of five weeks. Tumblr will vote, and the book club will then vote among the top three in Discord. If you'd like to join the book club, send me a message and I'll send you a link to the discord! Keep an eye out for the other poll, and check out the books' summaries under the cut!
(Note: Moby Dyke's full title was too long for the poll option. The full title is Moby Dyke: An Obsessive Quest to Track Down the Last Remaining Lesbian Bars in America by Krista Burton.)
Before We Were Trans: A New History of Gender by Kit Heyam
A groundbreaking global history of gender nonconformity
Today’s narratives about trans people tend to feature individuals with stable gender identities that fit nearly into the categories of male or female. Those stories, while important, fail to account for the complex realities of many trans people’s lives.
Before We Were Trans illuminates the stories of people across the globe, from antiquity to the present, whose experiences of gender have defied binary categories. Blending historical analysis with sharp cultural criticism, trans historian and activist Kit Heyam offers a new, radically inclusive trans history, chronicling expressions of tans experience that are often overlooked, like gender-nonconforming fashion and wartime stage performance. Before We Were Trans transports us from Renaissance Venice to seventeenth-century Angola, from Edo Japan to early America, and looks to the past to uncover new horizons for possible trans futures.
Fun Home: A Family Tragicomic by Alison Bechdel
Distant and exacting, Bruce Bechdel was an English teacher and director of the town funeral home, which Alison and her family referred to as the “Fun Home.” It was not until college that Alison, who had recently come out as a lesbian, discovered that her father was also gay. A few weeks after this revelation, he was dead, leaving a legacy of mystery for his daughter to resolve.
In her hands, personal history becomes a work of amazing subtlety and power, written with controlled force and enlivened with humor, rich literary allusion, and heartbreaking detail.
Dinner on Monster Island: Essays by Tania de Rozario
In this unusual, engaging, and intimate collection of personal essays, Lambda Literary Award finalist Tania De Rozario recalls growing up as a queer, brown, fat girl in Singapore, blending memoir with elements of history, pop culture, and horror films, and current events to explore the nature of monsters and what it means to be different.
Tania De Rozario was just twelve years old when she was gay-exorcised. Convinced that her boyish style and demeanor were a sign of something wicked, her mother and a pair of her church friends tried to “banish the evil” from Tania. That day, the young girl realized that monsters weren’t just found in horror tales. They could lurk anywhere—including in your own family and community—and look just like you. Dinner on Monster Island is Tania’s memoir of her life and childhood in Singapore—where she discovered how difference is often perceived as deviant, damaged, disobedient, and sometimes, demonic. As she pulls back the veil on life on the small island, she reveals that sometimes kind, sometimes monstrous side of all of us. Intertwined with her experiences is an analysis of the role of women in horror. Tania looks at films and popular culture such as Carrie, The Witch, and The Ring to illuminate the ways in which women are often portrayed as monsters, and how in real life, monsters are not what we think.
Moving and lyrical, written with earnest candor, and leavened with moments of humor and optimism, Dinner on Monster Island is a deeply personal examination of one woman's experience grappling with her identity and a fantastic analysis of monsters, monstrous women, and the worlds in which they live.
Moby Dyke: An Obsessive Quest to Track Down the Last Remaining Lesbian Bars in America by Krista Burton
A former Rookie contributor and creator of the popular blog Effing Dykes investigates the disappearance of America’s lesbian bars by visiting the last few in existence.
Lesbian bars have always been treasured safe spaces for their customers, providing not only a good time but a shelter from societal alienation and outright persecution. In 1987, there were 206 of them in America. Today, only a couple dozen remain. How and why did this happen? What has been lost—or possibly gained—by such a decline? What transpires when marginalized communities become more accepted and mainstream?
In Moby Dyke, Krista attempts to answer these questions firsthand, venturing on an epic cross-country pilgrimage to the last few remaining dyke bars. Her pilgrimage includes taking in her first drag show since the onset of the pandemic at The Back Door in Bloomington, Indiana; competing in dildo races at Houston’s Pearl Bar; and, despite her deep-seated hatred of karaoke, joining a group serenade at Nashville’s Lipstick Lounge and enjoying the dreaded pastime for the first time in her life.
While Burton sets out on the excursion to assess the current state of lesbian bars, she also winds up examining her own personal journey, from coming out to her Mormon parents to recently marrying her husband, a trans man whose presence on the trip underscores the important conversation about who precisely is welcome in certain queer spaces—and how they and their occupants continue to evolve.
Moby Dyke is an insightful and hilarious travelogue that celebrates the kind of community that can only be found in windowless rooms soundtracked by Britney Spears-heavy playlists and illuminated by overhead holiday lights no matter the time of year.
Gender Queer: A Memoir by Maia Kobabe
In 2014, Maia Kobabe, who uses e/em/eir pronouns, thought that a comic of reading statistics would be the last autobiographical comic e would ever write. And the time, it was the only thing e felt comfortable with strangers knowing about em. Now, Gender Queer is here. Maia’s intensely cathartic autobiography charts eir journey of self-identity, which includes the mortification and confusion of adolescent crushes, grappling with how to come out to family and society, bonding with friends over erotic gay fanfiction, and facing the trauma and fundamental violation of pap smears.
Started as a way to explain to eir family what it means to be nonbinary and asexual, Gender Queer is more than a personal story: it is a useful and touching guide on gender identity—what it means and how to think about it—for advocates, friends, and humans everywhere.
How Far the Light Reaches: A Life in Ten Sea Creatures by Sabrina Imbler
A queer, mixed race writer in a largely white, male field, science and conservation journalist Sabrina Imbler has always been drawn to the mystery of life in the sea, and particularly to creatures living in hostile or remote environments. Each essay in their debut collection profiles one such creature, including:
-the mother octopus who starves herself while watching over her eggs,
-the Chinese sturgeon whose migration route has been decimated by pollution and dams,
-the bizarre, predatory Bobbitt worm (named after Lorena),
-the common goldfish that flourishes in the wild,
-and more.
Imbler discovers that some of the most radical models of family, community, and care can be found in the sea, from gelatinous chains that are both individual organisms and colonies of clones to deep-sea crabs that have no need for the sun, nourished instead by the chemicals and heat throbbing from the core of the Earth. Exploring themes of adaption, survival, sexuality, and care, and weaving the wonders of marine biology with stories of their own family, relationships, and coming of age, How Far the Light Reaches is a shimmering, otherworldly debut that attunes us to new visions of our world and its miracles.
Gay Bar: Why We Went Out by Jeremy Atherton Lin
As gay bars continue to close at an alarming rate, a writer looks back to find out what’s being lost in this intimate, stylish, and indispensable celebration of queer history.
Strobing lights and dark rooms; throbbing house and drag queens on counters; first kisses, last call: the gay bar has long been a place of solidarity and sexual expression—whatever your scene, whoever you’re seeking. But in urban centers around the world, they are closing, a cultural demolition that has Jeremy Atherton Lin wondering: What was the gay bar? How have they shaped him? And could this spell the end of gay identity as we know it?
In Gay Bar, the author embarks upon a transatlantic tour of the hangouts that marked his life, with each club, pub, and dive revealing itself to be a palimpsest of queer history. In prose as exuberant as a hit of poppers and dazzling as a disco ball, he time-travels from Hollywood nights in the 1970s to a warren of cruising tunnels built beneath London in the 1770s; from chichi bars in the aftermath of AIDS to today’s fluid queer spaces; through glory holes, into Crisco-slicked dungeons and down San Fransisco alleys. He charts police raids and riots, posing and passing out—and a chance to encounter one restless night that would change his life forever. The journey that emerges is a stylish and nuanced inquiry into the connection between place and identity—a tale of liberation, but one that invites us to go beyond the simplified Stonewall mythology and enter lesser-known battlefields in the struggle to carve out a territory. Elegiac, randy, and sparkling with wry wit, Gay Bar is at once a serious critical inquiry, a love story and an epic night out to remember.
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Wilde & Earnest
https://ift.tt/67WysZb
by dominiqueeden2001
Trent Crimm is a Drag Queen. Ted sees him perform and can't get over it. This is my excuse to force my music taste on you all and make yet another set of playlists. See end notes for details.
***
If you ever find yourself in East London - at night and unencumbered with other plans - you should make your way to Bethnal Green Road in Shoreditch. There on the corner between ‘The Common Press Bookshop' and ‘Hunky Dory Vintage’ there is a hole-in-the-wall Drag club called ‘Wilde & Earnest’ and to put it simply there is no better place to spend your evening in all the world (or at least all of E1 and 2).
***
Words: 10336, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English
Fandoms: Ted Lasso (TV)
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Categories: M/M
Characters: Trent Crimm, Trent Crimm's Daughter, Ted Lasso, Rebecca Welton, Keeley Jones, Flo "Sassy" Collins, Jamie Tartt, Roy Kent, Isaac McAdoo, Sam Obisanya, Colin Hughes, Michael (Ted Lasso), Simi (Ted Lasso), Moe Bumbercatch, Coach Beard (Ted Lasso), Jane Payne, OCs
Relationships: Trent Crimm & Ted Lasso, Trent Crimm/Ted Lasso
Additional Tags: Drag Queens, Literary Puns, Trent is a London Boy and a Southern Belle, Jazz Music, Rock'n'Roll Music, Folk Music, Country Music, Pop music, mention of alcoholism, mention of post partum depression, Mention of anxiety and depression, but it's not that sad I promise, It is super Queer though, Pre-Relationship Keeley Jones/Roy Kent/Jamie Tartt, Gay Colin Hughes, Trent Crimm & Colin Hughes Friendship, Original Characters - Freeform, Kissing in the Rain, Tea Drinking, Heavy Flirting from Everyone with Everyone, Ted is Dorothy and also a friend of Dorothy, Crushes, Crimmlet Musings, Mention of Su!cide
source https://archiveofourown.org/works/54340939
March 09, 2024 at 06:43AM
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