#what can you do with a BA in English | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

Kazakhstan’s Minister of Communications and Informatics has blocked the Tumblr site because it contained 60 sites of terrorism, extremism, and pornography in 2015.

#what can you do with a BA in English

gojonanami · 8 months

Text

[ last updated: 4/29/2024 ]

‧ ˚. PROFESSOR GETO SERIES ↳ Professor Suguru Geto is a renown ethics professor, and you're a straight A student whose GPA he's trying to ruin. You're more intent on making him see your brilliance -- but you get more than you bargained for, when the two of you learn about what you owe to each other.

‧ ˚. SATORU GOJO

seeing you tonight, its a bad idea right? | smut, fluff ↳ seeing your ex is always a bad idea, except when its satoru gojo.

bigger than the whole sky | angst, fluff, manga spoilers ↳ before his fight, you and satoru have an honest conversation about the future.

dessert before dinner | smut, fluff ↳ satoru can't wait to have you until you get back from the sister school event, so he plies you with sweet words until you agree to have dessert before dinner.

all's fair (in love and mergers) | long fic, smut, fluff, bffs to enemies to lovers ↳ you're not sure what's worse -- being an arranged marriage or being an arranged marriage with the person who used to be your best friend.

three's a crowd (ft. suguru geto) | long fic, au, smut, fluff ↳ professors satoru gojo and suguru geto rarely wanted the same thing at the same time -- that was until you.

bloodsucker | smut, dark ↳ you had avoided your ex for so long, only to run into him at a halloween party, and he's the same as ever but has his teeth always been that sharp?

got you | smut, dark ↳ satoru finally found you -- and he's not going to let you go this time.

is it over now | angst, fluff, smut ↳ suguru thinks the only way you'll leave him is if he lies to you about cheating on him - and it is. but turns out, you're not so easy to leave - for him and his best friend (ft. satoru gojo). "if you want, i can come inside?" | fluff, crack, domestic ↳ nobara spots gojo with a sorcerer she's never seen before and of course hijinks ensue (aka hearing gojo's english va (kaiji tang) say the above line in apothecary diaries and i lost my mind).

i wanna show you off | sugar daddy au, smut, fluff, slight angst ↳ when you accompany your friends to a bar rich men and women frequent, you catch the eye of a certain white-haired rich man, who is more than willing to spoil you

tastes sweeter on your lips | fluff ↳ on a rare day off, you decide to take care of the strongest sorcerer - with something very sweet.

the doctor is in | smut, fluff, au ↳ when you go to your annual check-up, you didn't think you'd be crushing on your doctor - or that he's conduct such an in-depth examination.

twenty-nine | fluff, angst, crack ↳ it's gojo's birthday, and he can't help but reflect on what birthdays have meant to him over the years, especially the year you decide you don't really want to do anything for his birthday (but it turns out you do).

sit in my lap | fluff, crack, domesticity ↳ you and satoru take your daughter to see santa at the mall, and satoru proves that he's just as much of a match for his daughter, as he is for you.

just a little longer | fluff, angst ↳ after geto defects, you find yourself on a roof of a building wondering where things went wrong - and you're not the only one.

sweet nothing | fluff, angst ↳ satoru always comes running home to your sweet nothings -- except this time.

lower your guard | fluff, smut, au, longfic ↳ after the gojo family receives threats to their lives, you're hired to protect the heir to the company, satoru gojo - you just didn't realize how charming the rich heir would be - and just how hard it would be to resist his advances. don't want any other shade of blue but you | fluff, smut, fake dating, longfic ↳ you can't help but say yes when your longtime crush asks you to be his fake girlfriend for a year to get the gojo clan to stop arranging marriage proposals for him. but little did you know, he would be doing both of you a favor. love means to say goodbye | multi-lives au, fluff, smut, angst, jjk manga spoilers ↳ "would we love each other in every life?" it's the question you asked satoru the night before his battle, and he replied that, of course you would. but did that promise create a curse -- or were you both always cursed to begin with when it came to love? yakuza fiance (ft. suguru geto) | smut, yakuza au, fluff, threesome ↳ you had no patience for the yakuza lifestyle your grandfather had -- you wanted to live a normal life, but when it leaks that your grandfather is in talks to have you engaged to one of two yakuza heirs -- you realize you're in deeper than you thought -- especially when they both fall in love with you.

‧ ˚. SUGURU GETO

meant to be | smut, dark ↳ when Suguru defects, he asks you to come with him -- but he's not going to take no for an answer.

three's a crowd (ft. satoru gojo) | long fic, au, smut, fluff ↳ professors satoru gojo and suguru geto rarely wanted the same thing at the same time -- that was until you.

is it over now (ft. satoru gojo) | angst, fluff, smut ↳ suguru thinks the only way you'll leave him is if he lies to you about cheating on him - and it is. but turns out, you're not so easy to leave -- for him and his best friend

might hurt | fluff, crack ↳ suguru's popularity is truly a curse, especially when he gets hit on right in front of you. luckily, you both know how to handle those situations.

i just want to fuck all night | smut, fluff, sex pollen ↳ after swallowing a curse, geto finds his body in an uncontrollable state of arousal, and who better help him cure it than you?

would it be enough if i could never give you peace? | fluff, angst, smut ↳ suguru's birthday spent with you is like a dream -- the perfect day spent in bliss, but what happens when the dream has to come to an end?

yakuza fiance (ft. satoru gojo) | smut, yakuza au, fluff, threesome ↳ you had no patience for the yakuza lifestyle your grandfather had -- you wanted to live a normal life, but when it leaks that your grandfather is in talks to have you engaged to one of two yakuza heirs -- you realize you're in deeper than you thought -- especially when they both fall in love with you.

‧ ˚. KENTO NANAMI

no regrets | hurt/comfort, fluff, angst ↳ when nanami is injured from his fight with mahito, you're sent to pick him up. and both of your careful avoidance of your feelings for each other comes crumbling down.

armed and dangerous | smut ↳ nanami's arms were always so nice around your throat, but you never tried having his arm between your legs before, until.

good girls get backshots | smut ↳ nanami has always been a gentleman, but he finally decides to play rough and mark you up -- at your request.

five times nanami wanted to propose but didn't | angst, fluff, smut ↳ nanami wanted to propose to you so many times - but it was never the right time, and then, there was no time left.

best part of my day | fluff, domesticity ↳ on a bad day, you give nanami just what he needs, and remind him why you are truly the best part of his day.

all the time in the world | fluff, hurt/comfort ↳ after shibuya, nanami lets you tend to his burns and have an honest discussion about what happened there and what it means for your future. but i'm a fire (and i'll keep your brittle heart warm) | fluff, hurt/comfort, smut, au ↳ throughout your years of jujutsu tech, you take care of kento, whether its a wound from a curse or a simple cut his finger -- and when he returns he finds you still ready to take care of him -- even after shibuya.

‧ ˚. YUTA OKKOTSU

↳ coming soon :)

‧ ˚. CHOSO KAMO

it's a need | hurt/comfort, smut, fluff ↳ after you take an attack meant for him, choso can't seem to understand why -- so you show him just how important he is to you.

hey emo boy! | fluff, smut, au ↳ saw this boy at the mall last week. got the kind of look to make me freak. wanna fuck in the back of the hot topic?

best friend's brother is the one for me! | fluff, au, smut, bedsharing ↳ you've been asked whether you and yuji are together a million times - but the truth is his brother is more your type -- so what happens when you end up sharing a bed one night?

‧ ˚. RYOMEN SUKUNA

paint the town red | smut, dark, au ↳ you've always been a goody two shoes -- or so your friends say -- so what happens when you decide to do the first bad thing you've ever attempted and try summoning a demon -- and it actually works?

‧ ˚. YUJI ITADORI

don't want you like a best friend! | best friends to lovers, fluff, fwb, smut, au ↳ yuji itadori has been your best friend since you were kids, and when he offers you to teach you how to fuck, you don't expect him to be able to find his way into your heart too.

jealousy, jealousy | smut

which of the men whimper | smut

spooning the dilfs | fluff

jjk men and if they're good at singing | crack

househusband suguru

househusband nanami househusband gojo (1) (2) (3)

mindreader nanami

geto swallowing a aphrodisiac curse

gojo - maybe in another life

guitarist! suguru x opera singer! reader (1) (2) (3)

frat boy! suguru x nerd! reader (1) (2) (3)

curse! suguru (1) (2) (3) bringing suguru back to life

#sab [mlist]#sab [navi]#note concepts are my use only!

2K notes · View notes

maryleclerc · 1 year

Text

𝐫𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐥 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐲 — charles leclerc

pairing: prince!charles leclerc x reader

summary: in which prince charles and princess y/n of monte carlo announce their pregnancy of their first royal baby

vote for the royal baby name here ❤️

warning: english is not my native language and i did use google translation also i did not know much about the royal rule so please don’t take it serious, i’ll be grateful if you leave comment to let me know about my writing if i needed to fix anything

read previous part: 𝐫𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐥 𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 > 𝐫𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐥 𝐰𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠

charles_leclerc with y/n_leclerc

Liked by y/n_leclerc, lorenzotl and 174,730,461 others

charles_leclerc We are really happy to announce that we are expecting our first child. Y/n and i decided to not appear in any public event until the birth of our child for safety of my wife and baby. And we also receive lots and lots of congrat and with all the best wishes for both of us and baby

View all comments

y/n_leclerc ❤️❤️

sofiagraace Love you both

heismydreamman She will join the Christmas Night ceremony with the royal and we’ll see her bump show

princessy/nmyheart Am i the only one here thinks she’s going to name her child Anne?

jessicalauree So freaking adorable!!!!

y/n_leclerc

Liked by charles_leclerc and others

y/n_leclerc Throwback to our wedding day and honeymoon ❤️ @charles_leclerc

Comment are limited

theroyalnews

126,822,163 Likes

theroyalnews

The Prince and Princess of Monte Carlo first public appearence since the announcement of Princess Y/n pregnancy. Princess Y/n appeared in public today with a long, flowing black velvet dress to hide her pregnant belly, it seems that Prince Charles has become a protective husband to his pregnant wife when he repeatedly refused to stand for too long at today's ceremony. Towards the end of the session, we had a chance to ask a few questions with Prince Charles and Princess Y/n.

"Prince Charles, how do you feel about today's ceremony?" “Well I feel very happy and excited at the ceremony today, it is a very important ceremony for my mother Queen Pascale” Prince Charles said, and I ask Princess Y/n “And Princess Y/n, how do you feel?” She answered “Since I'm pregnant right now, it's natural to feel tired but this is only a side effect and the main part is that we can enjoy this happy time together with the Royal Family”, “I have Just a few short questions, can the Prince and Princess answer a few questions for me?" “Of course” They both replied at the same time. “First question, surely you also know that the announcement of the pregnancy has shaken all the people with joy, right? So a few people emailed us asking us to ask you about the baby's gender was? Is this information that is allowed to be revealed?” Prince Charles nodded his head and answered my question “I know this is information that everyone is curious about, although we are the Prince and Princess of Monte Carlo, we must always adhere to the principles given by the royal family", Princess Y/n replied, "But of course we'll let everyone know as soon as we have the baby." She laughed, then I continued to ask the last question "Then Prince Charles and Princess Y/n have come up with any name for the royal baby yet?”, Princess Y/n replied, “Charles and I haven't come up with any name yet but we plan to name the baby with our traditional royal name", "Because she likes traditional names, I like more modern names, but I love her and the baby so the name will be decided by her" Charles said then both of them laughed.

What do think the Prince and Princess will name their baby? Leave us a comment about what you are thinking!

tag charles leclerc , y/n_leclerc

View all comments

diwkjd_ I guess they will name it Charlotte or Carlotta, easily Charlotte is a tradition name and its also Charlotte is female version of the name Charles… isn’t it cute

unclejamees I don’t know what they’ll name him/her but i just love the fact Princess Y/n chose to name their baby with royal tradition name

penelopejanes It’s definitly gonna be named Charlotte

⤷ jaada How are you so sure?

⤷ penelopejanes Idk, just so easy to guess, i mean Charlotte also royal tradition name tho

beaniw I got the opportunity today to talk with Prince Charles and Princess Y/n and they’re super nice and Charles is super protective of his wife lately

#charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x y/n #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc blurb #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fanfiction #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc instagram au #f1 instagram au #f1 driver imagine #f1 x reader #royal!charles leclerc #prince!charles leclerc

1K notes · View notes

nikachansstuff · 21 days

Text

“I know I’m right, because I have a BA in English Literature.”

Yes, me too. And one in the way in Creative Writing. I can only imagine that a lot of people reading SJM work is in Eng Lit circle.

But you will not see me using my degree to reinforce my interpretation of a book. Because during college, you learn that your interpretation of a text is exactly that: only your interpretation, based mostly in your experiences and personal views. And everybody’s perception is equally as valid as yours, degree or no degree.

We learn to never assume what is the writer’s intention, cause guess what? That’s intentional fallacy. You will never know what are the intentions of the author, unless they tell you. You can only again, and I can’t express this enough, make assumptions based on your individual interpretation.

There’s a theses by Roland Barthes called “The death of the author.” Meaning, when you are evaluating/analyzing any piece of literature, you should forget the author and focus on the piece itself. The art itself is alive and tells a story on its own, and when the artist creates and gives it to the world, this beautiful thing is alive for us to take it and interpret as we all see it individually. The birth of a reader must be at the cost of the death of the author. We should not use the presumed intentions of an author to explain some ultimate meaning of a text (I’m looking at you, SJM’s Pinterest account from 2015 screenshot that circulates every couple of weeks)

So please, don’t use your degree as a certificate to weight your personal opinion of a text like is some universal truth. Specially in a book about fairies doing the nasty.

(If you read all this, thank you! Here’s a cookie and a hug)

#acotar #sjm books #a court of thorns and roses #acosf #acomaf

131 notes · View notes

vanitaslvr · 2 months

Text

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ⁞ I already knew ❤︎

Kenma x gn! Reader

↳ ꒰ content ꒱ fluff, jealousy, friends to lovers, reader is Nekoma’s manager, jealous kenma

꒰ note ꒱ i sadly cant find the anon who requested it anymore BUT i had much fun writing it! I really hope this goes after what you expected ^^

꒰ tw ꒱ english isn’t my first language!, Bad grammar!

─── ─── ─── ───

Kenma was nervous .. right now he was standing in front of your shoe locker with an envelope in his hands

“Yo kenma come on just do it, the worst they can do is say no” Kuroo says after taking the letter and putting it into your locker and then dragging kenma to class not giving him any time to take it out again.

flashback to last year when kenma was a first year, after you joined the volleyball club as a manager (you were also a first year), kenma catched on quickly on some of your hobbies. after he found out you also liked playing video games like him he became very Interested in you and after a few months he finally realized he had feelings for you he of course told kuroo first. kuroo obviously told him to confess... which he did second year.

Anyways a little later after class kenma, kuroo, yaku and lev leave for the cafeteria, little did kenma know… he would meet you while walking and he indeed did He sees you talking with a boy, kenma knows him! He was the captain of the basketball club. Kenma felt his jealousy build up so he quickly walked away “whats up with him?” Yaku asks, kuroo looks around and quickly catches on what was happening “well his crush is talking to the basketball club captai-“ he stops talking after hearing the words that came out of the basketball captains mouth “so you wanna go out with me?” “Haha no im sorry im already interested in someone” you say “ oh come on y/n don’t be like that i know you want me” he said flexing with his arm muscles. You look at him with bored eyes as you walk past him. “Well i really hope y/n is interested in kenma or else were gonna have a problem” yaku says “why? Is it bad that y/n likes someone else?” After hearing these words from lev yaku kicked him yelling “obviously its bad because then kenma would be sad! We can’t have our poor kenma sad!” “Well for now that doesnt matter im hungry lets go ready” kuroo says making his way up to the cafeteria

After school you arrive at the gym seeing the boys already fully concentrated on their training As you went inside you can already hear Yamamoto yell “ Y/N OUR BELOVED MANAGER I MISSED YOU SO MUCH” as he starts sprinting at you but quickly gets snatched on his shirt by kuroo “well well yamamoto don’t scare our y/n like that” You feel eyes staring at you and you know exactly who they blong to

A few seconds after coach Nekomata came in and the training officially starts. as training went on you quickly came to realize that kenma was avoiding you, you knew exactly why and yet you were to shy to go up to him and ask him why he was avoiding you .

After the training it was already dark outside “yo y/n walk with us” kuroo yells “YEAH COME ON WE CAN’T HAVE YOU WALK ALONE AT NIGHT” yamamoto yells. 10 minutes after walking with the small group kuroo decides to poke into kenmas side then pointing right to you, kenma just shakes his head but kuroo had other plans

“Yo y/n kenma wants to talk to you he has something important to say” he said before walking away with yaku dragging yamamoto with them. you turn to look at kenma who was looking very nervous “y/n i-“ “you like me, i know.. i already knew you liked me for a bit now i always felt someone staring at me and i knew it was you” you smile at him “i never knew you’d catch on that quickly to be honest” “well kenma now that you kind of confessed may i confess something too?” You ask, he looked at you nodding his head “i like you too.. i actually have been for a very long time” you stated. Kenma looked at you in shock poor boy doesn’t know how to react to that well yeah he is happy that you like him back but he wouldn’t know what to do next..that is until you kiss him. As you pulled away you both were a blushing mess.. ''sooo.. you wanna play some overwatch at my place?'' you just nod as you both walk to the bus stop hand in hand

''THEY GROW UP SO FAST'' yamamoto cries yaku just looks at yamamoto with a small smile agreeing before looking over to kuroo just just stares at you and kenma ''im really happy kenma finally found another person he can spend some equally time with'' he said while yaku nodding in agreement -------------------------------- authors note : FINALLY DONE.... SO i never actually wrote for a jealous! person before so it was kind hard for me to do and took me some time -i know this is definetly not the best and i would really appreciate some tipps and advice for writing (especially since this is my FIRST fanfic i actually publish)

anyways stay healthy yall! drink and eat enough!

#Spotify #haikyuu x reader #kozume kenma #kenma x reader #nekoma #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu angst

148 notes · View notes

saelique · 4 months

Text

DAZAI OSAMU AS A FATHER

✦ — ft. the agency + chuuya ! ✦ — cw : fluffy fluff with a tinge of angst :0 uh- broken humour and bad writing :( english is not my first language ! uh. dazai gets beat up by chuuya, feminine pet names so reader is female :3 NOT PROOFREAD !

feel like he would wanna have one girl and one boy :0 [s/n] -> son’s name [d/n] -> daughter’s name! they’ll be twins cause why not? :V

he’s kinda of a 50/50. not the best but he’s definitely trying so that’s a point !

he would most likely would be the fun parent. always taking your kids out to play, letting them play with his hair and tying them up in silly hairstyles, or maybe just plain causes chaos with them.

he would sooo take them to the agency to bother kunikida (failed) and to also take them to visit the rest of the agency members and staff of course!

atsushi absolutely adores them! so that’s why you usually drop off [s/n] and [d/n] at his place. kyouka also helps with taking care the two of them which is the sweetest thing ever !

ranpo and yosano are like the fun uncle and aunts ! basically they take your kids out to everywhere. even missions. so that’s why they do get scolded by you quite often. but as long as they have fun and with the fact that they’re most definitely safe, why not just let them do it? (no one can get hurt with yosano’s ability soo no casualties!)

mmm kunikida is the so very strict uncle that secretly cares for them. it’s super heartwarming to see him interacting with [s/n] since apparently your son likes him the most for some weird reason. and of course, dazai always complains and whines about it. which is hilarious to you. considering [s/n]’s personality was very similar to dazai’s.

kenji is like a older brother figure to them! he even teaches [s/n] and [d/n] how to plant crops, etc. etc. but unfortunately they don’t really 100% listen to him. But kenji doesn’t mind at all! In fact, he even takes them out to the fields to have fun.

naomi and tanizaki…well…your kids definitely think they’re weird. no offense! they just…tend to…y’know..

fukuzawa and your daughter are super close! sometimes you think you would get diabetes from seeing them together. he would always teach her how to play chess, and in turn [d/n] tells him about what she learned recently in school!

and of course, chuuya knows all about them! despite not even meeting them! all thanks to dazai! of course, he’s happy for his ex partner. but sometimes it just gets too annoying so don’t mind it when your husband comes back home bruised and beaten, yeah?

“ouch- ouch-ow! lets just- ow!” Dazai repeatedly winces dramatically when you try and clean his wounds with a wet cloth, dabbing it on his skin as gently as possible. “you wouldn’t have to go through this if you just didn’t bother nakahara y’know?” you chuckle, “awww..but I wanted to tell him how [s/n] beat the living daylights out of a classmate that was annoying him :(“ you pause your movements, obviously in shock at what dazai just said. “[s/n] did what?” you asked, widening yours eyes before hitting your (stupidly loveable) husband in the head with the wet cloth, water splattered onto his clothes and hair. “ouch!” “I can’t believe you never told me! how could you?!” “dont worry! i took him out for ice cream!” “that’s not what I meant!”

ahem. anyways!

please please please don’t let dazai and your kids in the kitchen. they’ll practically burn it down to ashes without your supervision. and if they didn’t burn it down, the food would most likely taste horrendous. with horrible food combos.

but alas, you’re already used to their shenanigans. what could you do?

”I’m ba-what is this?” you froze at the sight of a black gooey looking dish, you had just returned from the agency to do something important and what you came home to was two children and a grown adult man stained with eggs, flour, etc. and a plate of suspicious food. “we made it for you mama!” your son exclaims happily while your daughter and husband nods. “…I’m not hungry right now.” you laugh awkwardly, trying to escape from eating whatever that was. “come on honey, it wouldn’t hurt by having a taste right? aaahh…” your husband takes a spoon, scoops some up and raises it to your mouth, seemingly enjoying the petrified face on you. “…fine..” you slightly wince when you say that, regretting for agreeing to eat what they made and without warning, dazai shoves the whole spoonful of food into your mouth as you splutter. after you somehow manage to swallow it all, clasping your hand over your mouth, you look up to see the trio very very…happy somehow. imaginary flowers and sparkles seem to shine about them. dazai was especially happy…goodness. he was the mastermind wasnt he? “mama! how did it taste?” [s/n] rushes towards you and looks up at you, a puppy expression on his face as you gulp. “v-very nice sweetheart.” you smile at him, still fighting against the urge to throw up all the contents. “Yay!” he cheered, running around the room “we did it!“ “haha.. no wonder ranpo told me to not go home yet..” you mumbled the last bit. “what was that, belladonna?” “nothing!”

…you got food poisoning in the end. not suprising at all. but whnever dazai offered to cook, you promptly tell him that you already ordered takeout.

and dazai would be so so so so so sweet with the twins when it’s their bedtime. like- he would literally hum a melody or read a story, whatever they like. and it just usually makes you chuckle at the sight of how gentle he was with them.

he definitely is really cautious with them since he’s always scared that they’ll slip away. same with you though, that’s why he likes to hug you like a koala when the two of you are asleep.

and when [s/n] or [d/n] has nightmares? he would try his best to soothe them, sometimes ending up falling asleep in their room on the floor.

but in the end, everything is peaceful and happy.

even though dazai may be far, far from perfect, there’s no one else you’d rather to be the father of your children ♡

it’s done ! :D yay! ‘m rlly srry for all the grammar + my English since it’s bad aaahhh T^T *sobs* but I hope u liked it <3 thank u for reading !! (tried my best to not make this too long) I suck at endings :(

#౨ৎ⋆˚｡⋆ 📔 : novels !#bsd x reader fluff #bsd #bsd x reader #x reader #Dazai bsd #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #bungo stray dogs x reader fluff #Dazai x reader fluff #X reader fluff #fluff #x f! Reader #x afab reader #bsd x female reader #୧ ‧₊˚ 🎐 ⋅ : osamu !

200 notes · View notes

mask131 · 4 months

Text

The gods of Gaul: Introduction, or why it is so hard to find anything

As I announced, I open today a series of post covering what some can call the "Gaulish mythology": the gods and deities of Ancient Gaul. (Personal decision, I will try avoiding using the English adjective "Gaulish" because... I just do not like it. It sounds wrong. In French we have the adjectif "Gaulois" but "Gaulish"... sounds like ghoulish or garrish, no thank you. I'll use "of Gaul", much more poetic)

[EDIT: I have just found out one can use "Gallic" as a legitimate adjective in English and I am so happy because I much prefer this word to "Gaulish", so I'll be using Gallic from now on!]

If you are French, you are bound to have heard of them one way or another. Sure, we got the Greek and Roman gods coming from the South and covering up the land in temples and statues ; and sure we had some Germanic deities walking over the rivers and mountains from the North-East to leave holiday traditions and folk-beliefs... But the oldest gods of France, the true Antiquity of France, was Gaul. And then the Roman Gaul, and that's already where the problems start.

The mythology of Gaul is one of the various branches of the wide group known as Celtic mythology or Celtic gods. When it comes to Celtic deities, the most famous are those of the British Isles, due to being much more preserved (though heavily Christianized) - the gods of Ireland and the Welsh gods are typically the gods every know about when talking about Celtic deities. But there were Celts on the mainland, continental Celts - and Gaul was one of the most important group of continental Celts. So were their gods.

Then... why does nobody know anything about them?

This is what this introduction is about: how hard it actually is to reconstruct the religion of Gaul and understand its gods. Heck we can't ACTUALLY speak of a Gaulish mythology because... we have no myth! We have not preserved any full myth or complete legend from Ancient Gaul. The pantheon of Gaul is the Celtic pantheon we probably know the least about...

Why? A few reasons.

Reason number one, and the most important: We have no record of what the Gauls believed. Or almost none. Because the people of Gaul did not write their religion.

This is the biggest obstacle in the research for the gods of Gaul. It was known that the art of writing was, in the society of Gaul, an elite art that was not for the common folks and used only for very important occasions. The druids were the ones who knew how to read and write, and they kept this prerogative - it was something the upper-class (nobility, rulers) could know, but not always. Writing was considered something powerful, sacred and magical not to be used recklessly or carelessly. As a result, the culture of Gaul was a heavily oral one, and their religion and myths were preserved in an oral fashion. Resulting in a great lack of written sources comng directly from the Gallic tribes... We do have written and engraved fragments, but they are pieces of a puzzle we need to reconstruct. We have votive offerings with prayers and demands inscribed on it - and while they can give us the names of some deities, they don't explain much about them. We have sculptures and visual representations of the deities on pillars and cups and jewels and cauldrons - but they are just visuals and symbols without names. We have calendars - but again, these are just fragments. We have names and images, and we need to make sense out of it all.

To try to find the explanations behind these fragments, comparisons to other Celtic religions and mythologies are of course needed - since they are all branches of a same tree. The same way Germanic mythology can be understood by looking at the Norse one, the same way Etruscan, Greek and Roman mythologies answer each other, the mythology and religion of Gaul has echoes with the Celtic deities of the Isles (though staying quite different from each other). The other comparison needed to put things back into context is reason number 2...

Reason number two: The Romans were there.

Everybody knows that the death of Ancient Gaul was the Roman Empire. Every French student learns the date of Alesia, the battle that symbolized the Roman victory over the Gallic forces. Gaul was conquered by the Romans and became one of the most famous and important provinces of the Roman Empire: it was the Gallo-Roman era.

The Romans were FASCINATED by Gaul. Really. They couldn't stop writing about them, in either admiration or hate. As a result, since we lack direct Gallic sources, most of what we know about Ancient Gaul comes from the Romans. And you can guess why it is a problem. Some records of their religion were written in hatred - after all, they were the barbarian ennemies that Romans were fighting against and needed to dominate. As such, they contain several elements that can be put in doubt (notably numerous references to brutal and violent human sacrifices - real depictions of blood-cults, or exaggeratons and inventions to depict the gods of Gaul as demonic monstrosities?) But even the positive and admirative, or neutral, records are biased because Romans kept comparing the religion of the Gauls to their own, and using the names of Roman deities to designate the gods of Gaul...

Leading to the other big problem when studying the gods of Gaul: the Roman syncretism. The Gallo-Roman era saw a boom in the depictions and representations of the Gallic gods... But in their syncretized form, fused with and assimilated to the Roman gods. As such we have lots of representations and descriptions of the "Jupiter of Gaul", of the "Mercury of Gaul", of the "Gallic Mars" or "Gallic Minerva". But it is extremely hard to identify what was imported Roman elements, what was a pure Gallic element under a Roman name, and what was born of the fusion of Gallic and Roman traditions...

Finally, reason number three: Gaul itself had a very complicated approach to its own gods.

We know there are "pan-gallic" gods, as in gods that were respected and honored by ALL the people of Gaul, forming the cohesion of the nation. But... Gaul wasn't actually a nation. It was very much like the many city-states of Greece: Ancient Gaul was unified by common traditions, a common society, a common religion and a common language... But Gaul was a tribal area divided into tribes, clans and villages, each with their own variations on the laws, each with their own customs and each with their own spin on religion. As a result, while there are a handful of "great gods" common to all the communities of Gaul, there are hundreds and hundreds of local gods that only existed in a specific area or around a specific town ; and given there were also many local twists and spins on the "great gods", it becomes extremely hard to know which divine name is a local deity, a great-common god, a local variation on a deity, or just a common nickname shared by different deities... If you find a local god, it can be indeed a local, unique deity ; or it can be an alternate identity of a shared divine archetype ; or it can be a god we know elsewhere but that goes by a different name here.

To tell you how fragmented Gaul was: Gaul was never a unified nation with one king or ruler. The greatest and largest division you can make identifies three Gauls. Cisalpine Gaul, the Gaul located in Northern Italy, conquered by the Romans in the second century BCE, and thus known as "the Gaul in toga" for being the most Roman of the three. Then there was the "Gaul in breeches" (la Gaule en braies), which borders the Mediterranean sea, spanning between the Alps and the Pyrenean mountains, and which was conquered in the 117 BCE (becoming the province of Narbonne). And finally the "Hairy Gaul", which stayed an independant territory until Cesar conquered it. And the Hairy Gaul itself was divided into three great areas each very different from each other: the Aquitaine Gaul, located south of the Garonne ; the Celtic Gaul located between the Garonne and the Marne (became the Gaul of Lyon after the Roman conquest) ; and finally the Belgian Gaul, located between the Marne and the Rhine. And this all is the largest division you can make, not counting all the smaller clans and tribes in which each area was divided. And all offering just as many local gods or local facets of a god...

And if it wasn't hard enough: given all the sculptures and visuals depictions of the gods of Gaul are very "late" in the context of the history of Gaul... It seems that the gods of Gaul were originally "abstract" or at least not depicted in any concrete form, and that it was only in a late development, shortly before the Roman invasions, that people of Gaul decided to offer engravings and statues to their gods, alternating between humanoid and animal forms.

All of this put together explains why the gods of Gaul are so mysterious today.

#gods of gaul #ancient gaul #mythology of gaul #gallic mythology #gallic religion #gallic gods

178 notes · View notes

steddieas-shegoes · 6 months

Text

stumbling into you

for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt 'meet-cute at work' rated: M wc: 999 cw: sexual innuendo, semi-public handsy making out tags: making out, getting together, rock star Eddie Munson, modern au

a/n: let me just say getting this under 1000 words took longer than it took to write the original 1484 words it was 🙁

🏢🏢🏢🏢🏢🏢🏢🏢🏢🏢🏢🏢🏢🏢

Steve's first day was going better than expected.

He'd admittedly lied about his skills to get this job, but how hard could it be to run errands?

A metal band in need of throat lozenges and hot tea was in the studio now.

Easy enough task to do.

When he walked into the control room, it seemed empty.

He looked back and checked the room number on the door.

"Let me help."

Steve turned to see the hottest guy he'd ever seen standing by the mixing board starting to walk over to him.

"Oh. Okay," Steve stuttered out.

"Let me grab the teas," the man said, his hand brushing against Steve's.

"I can just-" Steve let him, flushing when he smiled at him. "I could have set them on the table."

"It's okay, you've got your hands full..." he looked at the badge hanging off his lanyard. "Steve?"

"Yeah, sorry. First day."

"Really?" The man took the pack of throat lozenges from him, opening the bag and popping one in his mouth. "Welcome then. I'm sure we'll see a lot of each other over the next month or so."

"Do you record here a lot?"

"Yeah. We've got this studio booked solid for the next three weeks. Album needs to be perfect and we always get the best quality here."

"So do you sing?"

"I sing. Lead guitar, too."

"Is it a band I know?"

The man looked him over, taking in his business casual appearance, glasses slipping down his nose.

"I don't think we play anything you've listened to. Corroded Coffin?"

"My little brother listens to you! His mom never let him go to a concert though, said it would be too rough on him. He's kinda small for his age and she worries." Steve bit his lip. "Sorry, rambling."

"Cute, Stevie."

Steve blushed.

"I'm Eddie."

"Steve."

"Yeah, Stevie, I got that. You like any metal?" Eddie was clearly trying to have a real conversation with him, but Steve was drawing a blank on what the English language was.

"Never listened to any."

"You wanna listen? Something's off, but I can't put my finger on what. Maybe you could give me an idea."

"M-me?" Steve's eyes went wide.

"Yes, you," Eddie nudged him and tipped his head towards the mixing board. "C'mon, honest opinion."

"I-"

"Pleeeease?" Eddie pouted.

"Okay, but I don't really know what good is supposed to sound like," Steve agreed, walking to the board.

"Good is relative. If you think it sounds like metal music should, that's at least on the right track," Eddie pushed a couple of buttons and flipped a switch.

A surprisingly soft guitar melody filled the room, followed by a husky voice singing.

"This sounds..."

"Sounds?"

"You sound sad."

"Well, that's kind of what I was going for, so I guess that's a good thing."

The music cut off and Steve immediately wished he could hear more.

"Do you have other stuff recorded?" Steve suddenly needed to hear more of Eddie's voice.

"You wanna hear more?"

"If you want?"

Eddie flipped another switch, pressed a button, and a much faster guitar started playing, followed by heavy drums.

"This one doesn't have vocals."

Steve wouldn't listen to this regularly, but he could admit when people were talented, and it was very clear that Eddie and his band were talented.

"You're really good," Steve smiled at him.

"Thanks, sweetheart."

Eddie shut off the music and stood up.

He leaned closer to Steve, playful smirk on his face.

"You wanna go in the booth?"

"I'm not allowed."

"I'm allowed and I'm asking, so." Eddie wiggled his eyebrows, making Steve giggle.

"Okay, sure."

Once in the small booth, Steve felt overwhelmed with Eddie's presence.

His body heat was enough to make Steve sweat.

"You do all the lead vocals?" Steve asked.

"Yeah. Since day one," Eddie said from right behind him, so close his breath hit the back of Steve's neck.

Steve shivered, closing his eyes as he felt Eddie's hand rest on his lower back.

"Tell me to stop if you want me to," Eddie whispered against his shoulder.

"I don't," Steve gasped.

Eddie turned him, pushing him against the wall behind him.

"Can I kiss you?" Eddie breathed against his lips.

Steve nodded, a whimper escaping his mouth as Eddie's lips touched his.

Eddie was a soft chorus, a soft kiss.

A soft moan when Steve wrapped his arms around Eddie's neck.

Eddie's fingers gripped Steve's hips, tugging him forward so their hips met, both already half hard.

"Wait," Steve said when Eddie started kissing down his neck. "When will they be back?"

"Don't know." Eddie nipped at one of Steve's freckles. "Don't care."

Steve moaned again when Eddie's hand found the front of his pants.

"What if-"

"Don't know. Don't care."

Steve threw his head back as Eddie's hand cupped him over his pants.

"Fuck, feels good."

"How fast can you come?" Eddie's hand squeezed, almost making Steve's legs buckle.

"I-"

"Eddie! Thought you were joining us!" A voice yelled.

"Be there in a few! Just wanted to check something!" Eddie yelled back.

"You're a workaholic!"

Eddie checked through the crack in the door to make sure the person left before he turned back to Steve with a sad smile.

"I probably should join them." Eddie cupped the side of Steve's face in his hand. "Maybe after your shift we can meet up?"

"Really?"

"Really, sweetheart."

"Oh. Um, I guess. I mean, it's probably against the rules, but I can give you my number?"

"I won't let them fire you. I made the move, right?" Eddie dipped his thumb into Steve's mouth for just a second, teasing.

Eddie may have made the first move, but Steve was quick to make the next one that night, not giving Eddie a second to say hi before he was in his lap in the backseat of a hired car.

Steve's job had a lot of perks, but gaining a boyfriend was definitely the best one.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddieholidaydrabbles #meet cute

300 notes · View notes

nanowrimo · 7 months

Text

Write Meow! 4 Writing Tips Cats Teach Us

Did you know cats have a lot of wisdom about the writing process? It's because of their cat lifestyles! NaNo Participant Megan Jenkins lets us know what our wise cat friends can teach us about writing.

“Cats are too human-like,” my friend complained while explaining to my cat-lady-self why she’s a dog person. I laughed, but after pondering my cat’s behavior, I realized just how much cats can teach us about becoming a better human, and more importantly, a better writer. (Arguably.)

Here are a few writing lessons we can learn from cats.

1. Have a Routine

As someone who rolled her eyes at this advice for years, I still cannot believe that my cat hoodwinked me into a morning routine.

My cat was right though.

Writing for 15 minutes during my cat’s breakfast has me writing more than ever before. While 15 minutes may not seem like a lot, giving yourself prompts for the next session and having consistent sessions helps you accomplish more than you would think.

Also, cats are great accountability partners. If you stray from their routine, they will meow loudly and slap you with their paw. (Or is that just my cat?)

2. Take Breaks

Before my cat, my writing process was to write for hours at a time on a random weekend day. This process was exhausting and made me feel like I had to block an entire day for writing, which is becoming increasingly impossible.

However, cats inherently know the importance of taking breaks and stepping away from screens, which is why they sit in front of our keyboards and computers when we spend too much time on them (I assume).

One way to remember to take breaks is to participate in writing sprints, in which writers write together for a set time.

For any fellow introverts, the Pomodoro Technique, in which you work for 25 minutes then break for 5 minutes with a longer break after four rounds, has been shown to increase productivity.

You might hesitate to try sprints or Pomodoro like I did because you love to emerge yourself in your writing for hours. However, I have found that both methods have built my endurance, allowing me to write longer.

Plus, the frequent breaks to entertain my cat prevent her from hijacking my keyboard.

3. Prioritize Meals

Cats are grazers, meaning they eat several small meals throughout the day, which they do not like to miss.

Unlike my cat, I skipped meals all the time. I couldn’t be like Pippin in The Lord of the Rings asking for second breakfast while on an important quest!

However, modeling my cat, I now prioritize my eating. While it may not work for everyone, eating throughout the day gives me energy to write after work, not just rewatch The Lord of the Rings.

Since you are likely not on a quest to eliminate all evil, try prioritizing eating, like cats (and hobbits) do, and see how it impacts your writing.

4. Focus on the Present

Do you sometimes focus so much on the past or the future that you forget about the present? I do. With NaNoWriMo especially, I tend to over-plan and dwell on any minor failures.

Cats don’t do this. Cats live in the present, and while cats learn from their past, they do not dwell on their failures or worry about the future. Instead, cats deal with problems when they arise.

Similarly, do not torture yourself if you have a bad writing day (or week or month) or worry about every what-if. Instead, use the past to improve your current writing session.

As NaNoWriMo begins, I hope what I have learned from cats’ behavior helps remind you to have a healthier relationship with writing, which is ultimately the goal of NaNoWriMo. Besides the 50k.

Megan is a business risk and control advisor at a financial institution. The rest of her time, she spends dreaming of fantastical places. Her love for language led her to obtain a BA in English with a concentration in professional writing and an MA in Technical Communication and Rhetoric. When she is not writing, reading, or editing, she also enjoys traveling, watching movies, and spending time with her family and cat, Sophie. Connect with her on Linkedin or Goodreads!

Photo by Pixabay

#nanowrimo #writing #writing advice #writing tips #writer's life #by nano guest #megan jenkins

248 notes · View notes

eggtrolls · 23 days

Text

haiku misinformation: a fact check

there's an post going around about haiku that has a lot of incorrect information about haiku, its terminology, history, etc. I will try to debunk some of the biggest inaccuracies here. everything in quotes is a direct statement from the original post. this is also really, really long.

"Haiku are made of 14 on, which are essentially the equivalent to Japanese syllabic structures, except the nature of how Japanese as a language is constructed versus English means that any given proper haiku could be translated in extremely and intensely different ways, each giving a subtle but distinctly different meaning."

Starting off strong - haiku are (usually) made of 17 on. It's the classic 5-7-5 pattern! 5+7+5=17! [possibly this is a mix-up with wakiku (脇(わき)句(く)) which is another type of Japanese poetry that does use 14 on but who knows.]

Definitions: an on is a phonetic unit, the equivalent to a mora (pl. morae) in English. this concept a) exists in English and b) like on, is related to syllables but distinctly different from them (i.e. ba is one mora but baa with a long vowel is two morae). On can be counted using the number of hiragana (phonetic syllabic characters) when the text is transliterated, so a word like Osaka that has the long O sound (made up of 4 kana) would be 4 morae or 4 on (o-o-sa-ka; おおさか). it's not really a syllabic structure at all, and more importantly has nothing to do with translation. idk where that last part comes from because that's really...not the point here. Yes, any given "proper" haiku could be translated in different ways with a subtle but distinctly different meaning but that's true of just...translation, period. check out Deborah Smith's translation of The Vegetarian by Han Kang for more on that.

Furthermore, haiku were/are not rigidly locked into the 5-7-5 on pattern. That's just not true, which is why I said usually above. Easy example: a 1676 haiku by Matsuo Basho that uses 18-on:

冨士の風や　扇にのせて江戸土産; ふじのかぜやおうぎにのせてえどみやげ; the wind of Fuji /I've brought on my fan/a gift from Edo <- that first line is 6-on!

2. "The best way I can explain what I mean is that in English a good poem can be defined as a shallow river, whereas a good haiku is a deeply-dug well."

Not dignifying this with a response. Deeply incorrect and untrue. @bill-blake-fans-anonymous can handle this assertion.

3. "The presence of the kigu. There is a specific series of characters/words which are used to imply a season, and specifically a specific aspect of a season which the haiku revolves around. The creation of a haiku is often done as a meditative practice revolving around the kigu--you're essentially contemplating on this particular natural feature (nearly always the temporal aspect emphasizes either ephemerality or the opposite as well bc Buddhist ideas of enlightenment and beauty begin coming into play) and building an evocative and purposeful point that revolves around it like a hinge. It functions as both ground and anchor."

First (and largest) problem: the word. is. kigo. kigo. It's ki (季; season)-go (語; word) = 季語. Both the English and Japanese language Wikipedia, or a 3-second google search, will tell you this immediately. I have no idea where the term kigu comes from.

Second problem: plenty of haiku, both traditional and contemporary, do not use kigo. these are described as muki (無季; seasonless). Matsuo Basho, the haiku-writing poet non-Japanese people are most likely to know, wrote at least ten seasonless haiku that exist today. Masaoka Shiki, the Meiji-era haiku poet and reformist, wrote hundreds of kigo-free haiku and as an agnostic, tried to separate haiku from Buddhism and focus more on the shasei, the sketches from daily life. you can actually, today, buy what are called saijiki, which are lists of words and terms that refer to specific seasons (in the traditional Japanese calendar, so there are actually a lot of "micro" seasons as well). some saijiki include a whole section of "seasonles" words - here's an article about non-season kigo in a saijiki.

so the claim that English-language haiku are invalid or not "real" haiku because they lack a kigo doesn't hold up, unless you invalidate a whole bunch of Japanese haiku as well. the op also claimed they would categorize a lot of English "haiku" as senryū which is...an opinion. Yes, haiku tend to be focused around nature (more on that below) and senryū tend to be more comedic or about human foibles but...that's it! it's a tendency! it's not a hard and fast rule!

Third problem: the claim that a haiku is as meditative practice revolving around the kigu kigo...yeah, no. the earlier form of haiku, the hokku, were the introductory poems of the longer poetic form, the renga and the hokku gradually became a standalone poetic form known as haiku. the hokku had a lot of purposes and we have a historical record of them going back ~1000 years to Emperor Juntoku where they were declamatory poems tied to events (births, deaths, etc.) or social events (moon-viewing parties) - not really meditative. haiku, if a genre can focus on a single idea, focus on an experience and that can be real or imaginary, direct and personal or neither.

Here's another Basho poem for your consideration:

夏草や兵どもが夢の跡 (natsukusa ya tsuwamonodomo ga yume no ato; summer grasses--/traces of dreams/of ancient warriors)

both the dreams and the grasses are those of Basho (contemporary) and of the warriors (ancient); it's about travel, it's about connecting the present to the ancient past, it's not really so much about the summer.

(Fourth, minor problem that I'm not really going to get into: you'd have to take this 'Buddhist ideas of enlightenment and beauty' up with haiku scholar Haruo Shirane but he explicitly says in the Routledge Global Haiku Reader (2024) that "pioneers of English-language haiku [such as D.T. Suzuki, Alan Watts, and the Beats] mistakenly emphasized Zen Buddhism in Japanese haiku".....so.)

4. "The presence of the kireji...it's a concept borderline absent from English because it's an intersection of linguistics and philosophy that doesn't really exist outside of the context of Japanese."

Let's begin with clarification. What is kireji (lit. a 'cutting word')? It's a class of terms in Japanese poetry that can do a few things, depending on the specific kireji and its place in the poem. In the middle of the poem, it can mark a thematic break, a cut in the stream of thought highlighting the parallel(s) between the preceding and following phrases. At the end of the poem, it provides a sense of ending and closure - it helps mark rhythmic division, to say the least, and it is seen as the 'pivot' word.

Two problems with claims above:

a. there are haiku that do not use kireji. For the hat trick, here's a Matsuo Basho haiku from 1689 AD that is kireji-free: 初しぐれ猿も小蓑をほしげ也 (hatsu shigure saru mo komino wo hoshige nari; the first cold shower/even the monkey seems to want/a little coat of straw) <- NB: I love this haiku so much

b. the idea of a kireji, as in a pivot word that provides an inflection point with rhythmic division and structure, exist not just in English poetry but in multiple different types of poetry across time and space! The caesura in Latin and Ancient Greek! The volta in sonnets! Whatever is happening in the third line of the Korean sijo!

final thoughts:

the op included language, which I won't quote here because it was messy and tied into other rbs, about Orientalism and appropriation in English-language haiku, which is definitely a real thing. but this blanket statement ignores that the relationship between haiku and "the West", much like Japan and "the West", was and is not a one-way street. Western writers were influenced by haiku and, in turn, those writers influenced Japanese writers who wrote haiku inspired by these influences - this process has been going on for well over a century. Furthermore, English and Japanese are not the only languages in which haiku are written! Nobel Prize winner Rabindranath Tagore was writing haiku in Bengali; other Indian poets were and are writing them in Gujrati and Malayalam, particularly by the poet Ashitha. the Pakistani poet Omer Tarin has written haiku about Hiroshima! The Spanish poet Lorca published haiku in, get this, Spanish, in 1921 and the Mexican poet José Juan Tablada published more in 1922! Italian translations of Yosano Akiko were published in 1919! any discussion of the idea that English/non-Japanese-language haiku aren't really haiku because they don't hold to the "rules" (which Japanese authors have been revising, adapting, critiquing, and/or straight up flouting for centuries) or because English/non-Japanese poetry is "a shallow river whereas a good haiku is a deeply-dug well" just shows a lack of knowledge around traditions and depths of...well, poetry itself.

my god this is so long.

in summary: this is a complex topic. If anyone would like some actual information about haiku, its history, common themes and forms, or a collection of good poets, the Routledge Global Haiku Reader (2024) and Haiku Before Haiku : From the Renga Masters to Basho (2011) are great references and really accessible in their language! hmu if you're interested and I can send you some pdfs.

#'99% of all haiku written in English might at best be called a senryu' is QUITE a take #the idea that kireji is a uniquely mysteriously super special Japanese term that has no equivalent and could never be understood. hm.#where have I heard that line of thinking before.....#haiku #Japan #long post

88 notes · View notes

max1461 · 5 months

Text

The meaning of an utterance is dependent on context and shared knowledge. This is true in a weak sense and in a strong sense. The weak sense has traditionally more interested philosophers, while the strong sense has more interested linguists.

The weak sense is this:

You and I both learned the words we know through exposure to them in context. Because our life experiences have been slightly different, the meanings we have picked up for these words will differ slightly. So, for instance, when I hear the word "tree", I picture in my mind a certain thing, and when you hear the word "tree", you picture a slightly different thing. And so when someone says "there's a tree outside", the image you get in your mind will be slightly different than the one I get in mine. This doesn't so much matter with "tree", but with subtler ideas like "responsibility" or "inherent" or "help" or so on, this can be a significant impediment to communication.

The strong sense is this:

Contained within the grammar of every human language are explicit references to context, which directly affect the semantics of sentences. The most obvious examples are deictics: words whose referent is contextually determined. English deictics include words like this, that, here, there, etc. The place to which "here" refers is not an absolute, it varies on a sentence-to-sentence basis in response to context. If I am in Munich and I say "this here is a lovely city", I am making a different claim than if I said the exact same words while standing in Paris. This is not a subtlety in the process of interpretation generally, it is an explicit element of English grammar. Every known language has deictics, and languages have subtler grammatical references to context, too.

Another place where this manifests is in the referent tracking of pronouns. Imagine the following exchange:

Alice: "I met my new neighbor yesterday. Interesting guy. And he a dog named Bertrand, which is kinda funny." Bob: "Yeah that is kinda funny. So what's he do, what's his job?"

In this exchange, "he" in the second sentence refers to the neighbor. Of course you can intentionally interpret it as referring to the dog instead, and this is a common way to make a joke:

Alice: "I met my new neighbor yesterday. Interesting guy. And he a dog named Bertrand, which is kinda funny." Bob: "Yeah that is kinda funny. So what's he do, what's his job?" Alice: "He's the world's first canine philosopher!"

Ba-dum-tss.

But this interpretation is not the default one. However, you can shift the default interpretation by changing the context a little, for instance like this:

Alice: "I love dogs with jobs—you know, guide dogs, sled dogs, that kinda thing. I think that's so cute. So anyway, I met my new neighbor yesterday. Interesting guy. And he a dog named Bertrand, which is kinda funny." Bob: "Yeah that is kinda funny. So what's he do, what's his job?"

These examples pull on shared context in different ways. The first exchange uses general knowledge about the world to disambiguate pronoun referents: people have jobs and dogs don't. In the third example, immediate conversational context overrides this general context: we're talking about dogs with jobs, so "he" probably refers to the dog here.

There are even subtler cases of interpretation determined by context in these examples that you might have missed. For instance:

Alice: "I met my new neighbor yesterday. Interesting guy. And he a dog named Bertrand, which is kinda funny."

What's funny? That your neighbor has a dog? No, that's not it. It's that the dog's name is Bertrand. Why? Because we know Bertrand isn't a common dog name. Someone from a culture where, say, dogs are usually kept in zoos rather than owned as pets, but where Bertrand is a perfectly common name for one, might interpret this sentence in the opposite way.

Language is absolutely rich with this kind of context dependent semantics. And I mean basic, everyday language, too—not just literature or poetry or places where metaphor and linguistic ambiguity are employed intentionally.

There are basically three points I want to make here:

For the linguists: world knowledge is part of linguistic competence, or is at least a load-bearing pillar on which linguistic competence depends. Much of language can be characterized formally, in a way that a computer can understand. Indeed, large fragments of the referent tracking of pronouns can be formally described. But there are places where these formal systems abdicate responsibility; they defer to the speaker's world-model and say "you figure it out". Modeling these situations is very hard.

For the historian or the reader of history: you're screwed. Ok, that's an exaggeration. But when the basic structure of a sentence can often only be disambiguated using contextual information, much less the subtleties of the meaning of words, parsing ancient texts whose contexts you lack can be a very fraught affair. This opens up the door both for misinterpretation and for bad-faith reinterpretation, where someone comes along and supplies spurious or spuriously-relevant "contextualization" that actually does not bring you closer to the intended meaning. Cf. the Sumerian bar joke that no one understands.

For those who treat language as basically transparent (that is to say, those who think they can be confident in what things mean without devoting any meta-thinking to the question): this will probably not be a consistently successful strategy.

#linguistics #navel gazing

205 notes · View notes

skipper1331 · 7 months

Text

Legacy // Ellen White (platonic)

a/n: based off this request. Sorry, it took me awhile!

The english wonder talent, that‘s how people called you.

Ellen woke up due to a weird feeling. Confused and extremely tired, she looked around.

She expected to see your figure laying on your bed but she didn‘t. Nor did it seem like you were in the bathroom.

You weren‘t there.

Where were you?

Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, she got out of bed, slipping in her slippers as she left the room.

"I hate it here" you cried into the speaker of your phone, a choked sob escaping your throat. "Pick me up" you pleaded, more tears streaming down your face.

Unknown to you, Ellen stood at the door frame, your back turned to her. She didn‘t hear the other persons responses but she heard your desperate crying. "Nobody is talking to me" - and it was true.

Everybody kept their distance. A 16 year old girl in the senior squad? Nah, no way. They didn‘t talk to you if not needed. "They don‘t even call me by my name. I‘m just the wonder kid"

Ellen‘s heart broke because she knew exactly what you meant. Nobody did bother to get to know you, bitchy looks sent your way. "I want to go home.." was the last thing Ellen heard before she disappeared back in your shared room.

The og-lioness felt awful. She knew what it was like to be new in the senior squad, the way everybody seems intimidating and scary and all of the new impressions at once.

That night she made it her mission to get to know you - not the wonder kid. She would take you under her wing.

"Good morning" the striker greeted you as you walked out of the bathroom, ready for the day.

"Hey" you replied.

"So ready for breakfast? The pancakes are awesome" she smiled, throwing her arm around your shoulders. You furrowed your brows, nevertheless accepting her friendly act. "I prefer omelet to be honest" you smiled.

You didn‘t know nor realize in that moment that it was the start of a great bond.

When it was noticed that Ellen was talking to you about all sorts of things, it didn’t take long for Jill, Lucy and Millie to join your group. Rachel catching up eventually.

While the younger ones still avoided you, the 5 Ogs spent every minute with you.

Each meal, the 6 of you would sit together and share stories.

During partner drills you never had to wait to find someone, the 5 women fighting with whom you should do the drill.

In the end, it was always Ellen.

You enjoyed doing drills with her, working with her helped to develop your technic and playing style and added to that, she was a sweetheart.

„If it feels wrong to shoot - shoot“ she said.

"Are you nervous?" Ellen asked as you walked in the changing room, about to face France in a friendly.

Obviously Ellen was in the starting line up while you were a substitute, not even sure if you would get playtime. "Guess so" you replied with a shrug of your shoulders. Truth to be told, you were a nervous and excited wreck. To see your name on the lionesses jersey was something that you dreamt off ever since you were a little girl. It felt surreal, adventurous and satisfying. It was the greatest honor to represent your country.

"You shuffled the whole bus journey with your feet, you‘re nervous. And that‘s okay" the striker told you as she laid her arm around your shoulder in comfort, "It can be intimidating but once you‘re out there, everything just fades away. It‘s just you and the sport you love"

Motherly, she pressed a kiss to the crown of your head before she gave you a little push in the direction of your cubby.

You wanted to cherish the moment forever.

Standing in front of you cubby, you took everything in, how everything was prepared perfectly, how your jersey hung there - your name on the back.

You made it.

your younger-self couldn‘t be prouder.

For the whole match, you stayed on the bench, not that you would complain in any way. You were happy to be here. You felt great and with a 2-0 win, there was nothing that could put you in a bad mood.

"the goat scored once again" you cheered as you ran happily to Ellen, jumping on her back, the woman laughing at your antics. "That was so cool, nutmegging the goalie wow" you rambled on about the banger she scored. It didn‘t matter that is was 'just' a friendly - nothing mattered at all besides the fact that you did it. You were in the squad of the lionesses, preparing for the upcoming events.

It was the last camp before the final squad announcement for the euros.

You were determined to show them that you‘re important to this team.

Thanks to Ellen.

You didn’t care anymore if the young ladies of the squad didn‘t talk to you or interacted with you, all that matters was the fact that you found your home in Ellen White, Millie Bright, Lucy Bronze, Rachel Daly and Jill Scott. It was your little gang.

The moms and their baby.

After camp finished, everybody returned to their clubs and you were happy to finally be back home. Ellen called you once a week to make sure you‘re okay and how your week went. She was the mother, you never had. She was caring, loving and kind. Your talks went on for hours as you told her about every detail and every news that occupied your mind.

Ellen was the person you trusted more than anyone, in a short period of time, she made you feel welcomed, appreciated and loved.

As kid you idolized her and now she‘s your friend, your anchor in the sea and fear of reality.

Ellen was the first person you called after your call-up for the euros. If you thought your first official senior squad call up felt awesome - the euros call up was nothing compared to it. You felt euphoric and immensely proud. Every possible feeling of happiness flowed through your body, a feeling that was indescribable, indescribably great.

Euros on home soil.

Your debut happened against norway - you played brilliantly. You didn‘t score yet your crosses were on point as you assisted two goals. It was fantastic and the fans welcomed you with open arms.

Since then you‘ve been subbed in every game, the super sub as they called you. Nonetheless with the rest of the girls, there wasn‘t much interacting besides with Lotte who was starting to talk to you, daily as she got to know you while you sat next to her on the bench. She‘s such a sweetheart.

It wasn‘t until the match against Spain where you earned everybody’s respect, that you weren‘t just the wonder kid, the youngster, the child.

You were Y/N Y/L/N.

As usually, you started on the bench, Lotte next to you. The game was intense, Spain eager to win as they showed it with the opening goal.

England was down by one. Your nerves started to rise as the time went by - 10 minutes left.

You got subbed in in the 81th minute, Ella scoring the equalizer shortly after.

Everything was possible again. Every girl on the pitch was determined to win. There was no way, the English would loose.

When the ball came from Keira, you started to run. No one was trying to defend you, so you took the risk. Already in extra time, there had to happen something. And as no opponent came up to you, you just did it.

„If it feels wrong to shoot - shoot“

Outside the box, you hit the ball with so much force, praying it would go in - it had to. Otherwise the girls would hate you more and England could loose.

"FUCK YESSS" you felt someone jump on you, the stadium erupting in cheers as the rest of the girls huddled around you. And the girl you were, you just stood there, not realizing that you scored probably the winning goal.

After the celebrating calmed down, there was only one thing in mind: defend. Do not let the Spaniards score.

Which the lionesses managed. They won. As the whistle blew, the bench started to run towards you, everybody celebrating you with the banger of a goal you scored.

It was the beginning of something new.

The girls became your family. And not just your little gang but everyone of the squad. They joked around, did drills with you and simply enjoyed your company. You weren‘t just the 16 year old anymore. You were much more, a little sister who they must protect.

Final.

Wembley.

Germany - England.

You couldn‘t be more nervous.

"We can do this" Ellen whispered as she massaged your shoulders in the changing room, the striker sensing your nervous state.

You turned around, "yeah" you whispered, ready to bring the trophy home.

The atmosphere was unbelievable, the stands were full - many lionesses shirts to see.

As the national anthem started everybody sang their hearts out, this is it - this is England.

The game was intense, physically and mentally. Your hand held Lottes as you hoped for the win, gripping it tightly every now and then, excitement and anxiety floating through your body and mind.

The bench cheered at every opportunity, supporting the team. The same as the stadium did.

At halftime, it was still 0-0.

Sarina held her speech, talking about the weakness of Germany and what the girls could do better and then it was Leah’s turn. She held the speech of her life, encouraging every single one, showing love and passion towards every squad member. Her speech left you weak in your knees, mind on fire, goosebumps over your arms. You couldn’t wish for a better captain. Leah deserved this captaincy, she deserved every recognition she got because of the armband. Leah Williamson was born to be a leader - the best.

As the second half started, you were surprisingly calm, Lotte the one who gripped your hand or thigh to steady herself.

"TOONEY!" you shouted, jumping out of your seat in the 62 minutes as she chipped the ball over the German goalkeeper, Merle Frohms. "Hell, yes!!!!" the whole bench ran to the sidelines, celebrating as the stadium went crazy. Ella and her opening goals will always be your favorite goals. It was incredible.

Germany scored the equalizer.

It was your turn - Ellen got subbed off. As she jogged towards the line, you stood there, your nerves high. A few steps in front of you, she stopped, cupping your cheeks as she looked you in the eyes, "make this retirement game unforgettable" you couldn‘t even react. Retirement game, what? Dumbfounded, you looked at her, the striker kissing your forehead lovingly before she gave you a quick hug and walked towards the bench.

I will, i promise.

You didn‘t - extra time.

You desperately wanted to talk to Ellen but you couldn‘t. In the short break you had, Sarina gave instructions while some girls got their legs massaged.

Germany wanted to score.

England wanted to score.

Who will score?

Back on the pitch, your nerves were on fire. England had to win.

It was hard to say at least. Each mistake could cost you the win, so you did not let mistakes happens.

When Hemp stepped up to take the corner, you felt everything and so much more. It may be the best opportunity you would get - do something about it. As ball came flying in, it went over you. You didn‘t see who it went to, neither did you care. You prayed that it would just go in.

Nothing happened.

Until…

…the ball fell in front of your feet. Just one kick and it would be in. With no time to think, green shirts around you - you just did the thing Ellen always told you to „if it feels wrong to shoot - shoot"

you did.

And that’s when you heard the roars from the stands. The ball went in. Out of your shocked state, you ran - so many emotions filling your body.

You stopped running when you saw Ellen and the rest of girls shouting at the sidelines. Jumping on Ellen, you hugged her like your life depended on it, the team jumping on you, as well. It was a massive group hug - a moment forever to remember.

I promised I‘d make this unforgettable.

When the final whistle blew, you crashed down, euphoria rushing through your veins as happy tears streamed down your cheeks.

England had won.

The lionesses were european champions.

You were a european champion.

Everything felt wonderful.

The sun was shining, the fans were cheering, your team was celebrating.

This is it - this is England.

A body laid down next to you. You could tell who is was by the gentle touch that squeezed your hand.

Ellen.

It was a thank you,

I‘m so proud of you,

I’ll never forgot this moment.

So maybe it was the end of her career but it was the start of yours. Her legacy will live in your game, forever and longer.

——————

#ellen white #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso #lionesses reader #lionesses x reader #lionesses #engwnt x reader #engwnt #millie bright #rachel daly #lauren hemp #ella toone #lotte wubben moy #alessia russo #jill scott #lucy bronze #leah williamson

352 notes · View notes

almostawinchester · 4 months

Note

ooh I am really intrigued about that young royals trailer! are there a lot of differences from the subtitles to what they are actually saying? I have seen a few people say something similar but haven't seen anything written out.

File this under "Things I didn't know I needed: Explaining all the subtle differences between what's being said in Swedish in the Young Royals Season 3 trailer, and what the subtitles say."

It's similar, but there are just some small changes that give a different *vibe*, you know?

For example in the opening scene, what Simon literally says is "Hur har du drömt att det ska vara?", a.k.a. "How have you dreamed it should be?" It's not a super common way of phrasing it in Swedish either, so I'd probably go with, "In your dream, what did you think/hope it would/should be like?"

When Wille says "Jag vill bara att vi ska kunna ha ett privatliv" (lit. "I just want for us to be able to have a private life"), to me, there's a slight difference between "privatliv" (privacy in one's personal life) and "ett privat liv" (a private life). I'd go with, "I just want us to be able to have some privacy in our personal lives."

And then there are the small filler words, which I know are left out of subs, always. But they add nuance!

When the blonde girl says "Vem skriver du med, då?" (lit. "Who are you writing with, then?"), it's more like, "So, who are you texting?"

And then Felice answers "Wille kommer tillbaks idag, ba(ra)" (lit. "Wille comes back today, just/only"), which is more like, "It's just that Wille is coming back today". Both "ba" and "tillbaks" are informal versions of "bara" and "tillbaka", which adds to the *shrug, no big deal* vibe.

And then the blonde answers, "Vadå, det är ju en så stor grej ju!" (lit. "What, that is such a big thing!"). But! There's no way of translating "ju" – it's a filler word that means "as you/we already know/are aware of". It's not even grammatically correct to add it twice, but it happens in speech when you REALLY want to emphasize the "girl, what are you talking about, we KNOW this" part. I'd translate it as "What? But that's huge!" The "ju" comes back when the blonde woman says, "Jag vet ju att det är lite spänt mellan dig och August" (lit. "I know (as we both do) that it's a bit tense between you and August").

Then we jump to a very long sentence that I understand they had to shorten – Wille saying, "Om du tror att jag kommer låta dig ta över så kan du glömma det!" (Lit. "If you think that I will let you take over, so can you forget it" – this isn't a question, Swedish word order in subordinate clauses is just very different from English). If we had enough space, I'd go with "If you think I'm going to let you take over, you can forget about it!"

Then it's just super small differences. Simon says, "Vad är det som du tycker är så bra med monarkin?" ("What is it that you think is so good with the monarchy?"); the principal (I think) says, "Hela skolans framtid hänger på den här utredningen" ("The whole school's future hangs on this investigation"); the blonde woman says "Hillerska kan tvingas stänga, med omedelbar verkan" ("Hillerska might be forced to close down, effective immediately"); and Wille says, "Vad händer om jag inte vill det?" (lit. "What happens if I don't want that?")

Then I've only just realized Swedes tend to start sentences with "but", which sometimes is more like a filler word, to "soften" the sentence. For example, the queen says "Men vi kan inte ha såna här skandaler mer!" ("But we can't have these types of scandals anymore"). (That is followed by her saying, "Så ska du kunna ta över efter mig", ("So you should be able to take over after me") which is a subordinate clause, which means there was something that came before/after that wasn't included in the trailer.) And Simon says "Men jag försöker att alltid finnas där för honom, men vad jag än gör så, ah, så blir det fel" ("But I always try to be there for him, but whatever I do, then, yeah, then it turns out wrong").

And then there's the "Hur kommer man över sin bästa vän?" ("How do you get over your best friend?") In Swedish, we use "man" (lit. "man") instead of "you", so it's more like a less formal way of saying "How does one get over one's best friend?" – I'd still translate it as "you", though.

August swears! "Jag har saknat dig så jävla mycket att det gör ont." ("I've missed you so fucking much that it hurts!") Swearing in general is a lot more okay in Swedish society, than in for example England or the US, based on my own experiences – it's done at all levels of society, by everyone (especially kids/teenagers, even in school), except for maybe at work or in very formal situations.

Simon says "Kan vi inte ba skita i allt som har hänt?" ("Can't we just ignore everything that's happened?") "Skita i" literally means "to shit in", is pretty informal and could be translated with "to not give a shit about", "to ignore" or "to skip", depending on the circumstances. Wiktionary claims it's vulgar, but I'd use it with family and friends, no problem.

So yeah! There's just more life in the actual dialogue, I think :) And I know that that's always the case, and that the translator doing the subs has limited space and time, and they need to make it work in English without adding explanations, etc., etc. So overall, I think they've done a good job – but I'm still glad I speak Swedish :)

#young royals #linguistics #spoilers #swedish

100 notes · View notes

zentraex · 7 months

Text

Remember: English grammar is a lot different than German grammar. I apologize for any mistakes.

Trigger warnings: yandere, kinda forced relationship

Pairings: Yandere! Bakugou x f! Reader

False Hopes

It was a typical autumn day. The green leaves have changed color: yellow, orange, red and dry brittle brown. One by one, they leave the tree, leaving it naked and bare. The sun starts to disappear behind the horizon, behind the thickening clouds, showing the world its last rays of sunshine for the slowly ending day.

She also says goodbye to the couple, who are enjoying a date at the young man's house.

"I have to admit, I'm surprised. When you told me to come, I didn't expect anything like this. Especially not from you," she says, a sly grin on her lips.

He copies her grin as he speaks, "It wouldn't be a surprise if you could have guessed it."

"True, True," she says and sits down. The covered table is bursting with romance. Romance that she only knows from books.

Who would have thought that she would be one of the lucky ones to get such a dream come true?

"Do you like it?" he asks, his eyes reflecting a hint of nervousness. Hers are sparkling, looking directly into his, seeing right through him.

"Who knows?" she teases him. However, he can see right through them as well and reads the actual answer from her eyes.

His heart beats faster, drops of sweat run down his forehead, and his foot hurriedly taps the ground. His gaze drifts to his plate. Each time, she triggers these overwhelming feelings in him.

From the first time he saw her, the first time he spoke to her, and the first time he touched her.

At first, he hated this attraction and these new feelings, but now he finds himself thirsting for more and more of it... demanding.

He wants more, needs more.

Not seeing her makes him starve.

His gaze wanders back to her.

Ba-dum

Should he dare?

She feels the same, why should she object to that?

The sun has now been swallowed up by grey clouds. A light drizzle patters against the window.

"Bakugou..."

"Huh?"

"What are we to each other?"

He raises an eyebrow, leans back, and crosses his arms.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, what's our relationship status? We always do so much together and I feel like there's more to it than just friendship."

Oh.

Friendship?

He laughs.

"Friendship? You saw us as friends?"

Her gaze becomes uncertain, her smile fades.

"All the dates, this here... Did you really think I would do this for simple friends?"

"No, but-"

He gets up abruptly, interrupting her.

In the meantime, the rain has become stronger and the heavy drops clank loudly against the window.

"You're my girlfriend, of course," he says, walking up to her.

Her body tenses as he stands directly in front of her seated form. He looks terrifying, gives her a feeling of...

Fear.

Fear? From Bakugou? Her crush?

Her heart beats faster, drops of sweat run down her forehead, and her foot hurriedly taps the ground. Her gaze drifts to her plate.

Ba-dum

The food is cold.

"Look at me!" he says, his voice deep, vibrating with anger and disappointment. She flinches, looks at him slowly. He sees her fear.

"You're my girlfriend," he repeats. "Whether you like it or not."

Her mouth opens.

...

But nothing comes out of it.

His hand moves in her direction. She leans away, falls, but supports herself in time.

With trembling legs, she stands up and both stare at each other.

BA-DUM

BA-DUM It's instinct that she runs away. She didn't even think about it. From the living room into the narrow hallway.

He follows her, slowly.

She grasps the door handle and pushes it down.

There is lightning, then thunder. Outside, there is a strong storm.

Yes, things like her dreams only exist in books.

188 notes · View notes

punk-in-docs · 1 year

Text

🕷️ Girlfriend is Better 🕷️

Eddie Munson x reader

10.9k words

Summary: Eddie x Pencils hit a bit of a hurdle in their early relationship. But she puts it to rights - and then hits the sweet metal head with an offer he can’t refuse- tw violence, past assault: in this chap folks - sorry its taken so long to get this done - enjoy

Eddie can feel their eyes on him.

He feels it’s undeserved and let’s be honest, a little odd. It’s not as if he’s not doing anything out of the ordinary here. He’s just being- normal.

His version at least. His wheelhouse batshit normal. Eddie-like.

They’re looking at him like he’s grown a new head.

Munson Motor mouth, rabbiting on its usual mile a minute as Motörhead shreds through the van speakers with Lemmy’s choppy and tasty riffs.

Early morning cigarette that he lit before he hopped in the van for the drive to school, curling smoke held between two fingers.

He’s batting the saggy steering wheel in time to the song. Ba-da-da with his other open palm to coincide with drum clashes that pound through like falling rocks and crashing thunder.

He still takes the corners way too fast like a coked up maniac. Some things will never change.

He looks the same. Smiles the same. But there’s a new breed of manic warping his usual calamity of a nature.

He’s not grumbling about this morning. Or a test or pop quiz he had coming up. No miserable sluggishness. Toothpaste breath. Not slumped and still yawning. With nothing but a weak instant coffee, two sugars, as his one and only source of breakfast. Gritty coffee that still catches the grounds between his back teeth.

Hair that mushed dry state that’s hard to tell if it’s met with a brush or not yet. Possibly this morning. It’s a maybe. It’s a not really.

Leather and battle vest showed up for duty on his lanky torso as per usual. Hellfire shirt of course. The ripped jeans. The wallet chain that swings and jingles and clatters to denim when he walks and makes him sound like a jangling six foot cat with a little tinkling bell on its collar. It’s all there. The jangly jacketed freak is all assembled.

But there’s this newness to the way he’s smiling.

So wide it dimples his cheeks. Creases the corner of those intimidating wells of eyes. It’s like someone’s fuel injected him with something to make him wilder. More swirly. Practically floating. Any higher he’d be in the big blue stratosphere. Sun grazed and heady. Icarus soaring too close to the sun. Not yet plunged to earth. Melting gold spattered on milk white swan feathers as he tumbled to earth.

Jeff makes a joke about him toking up before school. Eddie reached over and ruffled his hair. Making that demons smile. Rings flashing from his fingers in the meagre sun. “Man, I wish.”

“Got new pills from Rick or something?”

Eddie frowned. “Hell no. Besides. Wouldn’t be wasting those beauties right before first period English class.” He scoffs.

Dustin and Mike share a furtive glance that begs to know what’s up. Dustin mumbles What the shit, man?

He’s finally cracked. I’m calling it.

He didn’t have far to go.

He judders the van along the lot at school. Rumbling tyres over the loose gravel. Head bobbing to the metal as he lurches the wheel and swings into a space.

“Be seeing you. Little hellions. Be free. Give em hell.” He chuckles. Lumping the van into park. Watching them open doors and frown. Scurrying away to class. Gathered close and whispering. Hiking backpack straps up their shoulders and clutching chunky math books and still regarding him like more of an oddity than he actually is.

Of course there is a reason for the golden sunshine visibly sneaking out his pores, and bouncing the soles of his happy feet today. And it’s his wonderful secret.

Eddie shakes his head, and shoulders all his jagged chips and hatred for this place.

The amount of chips he’s got shelved there, worn on his shoulders, about this stunning educational penitentiary, frankly, he could very realistically wear like scales at this point.

He puts a cigarette to his lips and slips around the corner of the lot, jacket and wallet chain clinking as he goes, sneaking to the smokers spot.

A balding patch of grass skimmed to mud, and a graffitied brick wall, snugly hidden around the side of the squat building where some go to steal a quick smoke before class. He usually occupies the spot alone and has to haul ass like a frightened racoon if a teach clocks him.

No sooner had he come within an inch of the corner, cig almost to his lips, and he is yanked around it by a sturdy hand yanking him fully out of view - by his wallet chain. He feels the tug on the denim around his hip, pulling taut.

He wants to yowl and start squirming away from the grip, slinging fists into faces at this ambush. When really he wants to turn tail and leg it in the opposite direction. Flight not fight.

His back collided with graffiti breeze block and before he could turn out his pockets, show them holding lint and nothing else save for a quarter and a D20, screechily proclaim his dispensary is clean out man, back off-

Then some warm lips mould to his.

A gentle artists hand, faded blue polish on the nails, knuckles scraping bricks, is cupping the back of his wild mane and cupping him for a kiss he slowly melts too.

He honest-to-god goes fully boneless with the way you kiss him. The scrappy fight and shock slowly leeches out those gangly poky limbs. Sparks shoot to his fingertips.

He smiles. You can feel his dimples and a cold leathered arm comes folding around your back. The bracelet and the jangle of those zips up his wrists. Settling at the dip of your waist and his fingers slide into the back of belt loop of your jeans.

When you pull back for breath that you’re not sure you want more than him, he has the dopiest grin skated on his face.

“Morning.” You beam finally.

Because that kiss seemed way more important. You can’t help the feeling he instills. Feels like your belly is birthing a wild jungle crammed with winking wings of butterflies. Brilliant blue. Wicked electric yellow. Gossamer pink. They all shimmer.

“Hey hot stuff.” He smiles. Not restraining himself whatsoever.

Oh, they shimmer even more to the sight of that. Mad. Wild. Unhinged.

His cheeks kissed a little pink. He doesn’t even care that he dropped his cigarette in the mud. He’d rather chase the taste of your lips and let that sustain him all morning. Better than pills and nicotine. This static-fizzy-starburst feeling he gets big lungfuls of when around you.

“Didn’t mean to grab you like that. But I must admit that chain is certainly a handy hook.” You flick a fingertip to it. Sway that lolling chain into his thigh. Biting your lower lip in a smile.

He cups one side your face. If anyone got to chew that lip, it’s gonna be him. Leans in to gently smooch you again.

“Goddamn. I was reaching for my attack whistle there, pencils.” He rubs his hand over your hip. Rings chafe against your denim waistband.

“Maybe I was overzealous. But I do have a stunning defence.”

You lean up on tiptoes to smash a polite smooch back to his mouth. He mumbled a curious sound into your lips.

“Which is?” He seeks. Lips chasing yours for more. Even through speaking. Insanity catches.

“I missed you like crazy and it’s been barely 12 hours since I last saw you, and kissed you. And etcetera…” You flirt.

He can see these little delighted pips in your eyes. Like sowed little seeds of pride. The etcetera being all the dirty things you finally got to indulge in last night. Threaded in moonlight at skull rock.

No regrets. He doesn’t see any tint of regret in you.

Seeing that kicks his rocker heart right up to the moon, and sailing on over it. Like those old songs. Moonbeams and old soft tinkling pianos. Ladies with gardenias in their hair crooning about moondance, love and seeing stars.

He gets it now. He totally gets all of that sappy shit.

“I hereby decree that is far too long, and way too stupid of us, actually.” He finishes your thoughts for you. They were symmetrical to his own after all.

“So stupid. We’re just like, a complete pair of morons right now.” You concur. Linking your fingers into his. Standing toe to toe and just drinking in how it feels to be near again.

“So I’m thinking, we should cease all impending stupidity and uh y’know, catch a movie tonight or, grab a bite at Benny’s. Something like that. Anything.” He says. Smile all limned in excitement.

Shaking that big moppish mane of hair as a grin splits his mouth when he speaks, makes him look like an out and out excited little kid.

Fidgeting with your hands and immersing himself in the tactile deliciousness of your hands being held in his. Little touches that stayed with him all night.

Kept bugging him even in dreams he’s sure thoughts of you crept at the oil slick lining of his mind like wing tips of persistent gentle moths. The dusty old ones the colour of sour grey milk. Ones that they get flapping around the trailer porch light at night in balmy summer. The soft blink as they hit the glass shade.

“Burgers at Benny’s sounds so good.” You grin. “Loaded chilli fries?”

He scoffs. “Naturally. I’m not an animal.”

You run your hands through his wild hair. Listen to him talk. Heart entirely bloated with love of this boy. You swear it’s knocking all giddy up against your ribs like some deformed roaming creature seeking release.

“Shall we head out after class? I’ll drive.” He offers. His stomach zig-zags in vicious excitement.

“Catch you after class, handsome.” You grin.

“Ohh, whoa. I never said I was done with you yet.” His eyes flicker with something you think is cheekiness.

Swooping in to slow kiss you for a beat too long. An embrace that makes him hum softly. Makes you mewl. Right at he back of his throat. Lips roaming gentle and soft and your bodies rock together. Gets him cupping your back to keep you near.

“Fuckk gimme another one of those, pencils. I’m not below begging.” Cups your face again. He wants another kiss. Eyes wide as bourbon brown saucers

Chuckling in the muggy space between your smiles, cheeks fired all warm, sharing the same breath, you lean in and give it to him. Giving him the deep messy kiss you’d been craving.

When it’s time to pull back to guzzle air and maybe some reality again, Eddie chases your retreat with his mouth. His lips bruised a stunning cupid pink. Taking a breath that he’s not sure he needs more than he does you.

“Jesus H Christ. How the hell am I gonna even attempt to concentrate today-“ He asks. Voice all raspy and slow gravel.

“What usually stops you?” You sass him. He bites his lip all naughty and softly jabs you right in the stomach; a move designed to tickle.

“Blasphemy. Dear one. I mean, how dare you.” He grins. Chocolate drop eyes all crinkled at their corners. You cover his hand on your stomach, with your own. He likes the soft warm pouch of you there.

It’s tactile. It’s touch. It shoots right to the roof of Eddie’s brain and does something so funky to him he can’t even describe it in words. Actions maybe - Beer on an empty stomach. The first hit of some really silky smooth strain Rick gives him to try. The home made warm sugary scent of that peach cobbler Wayne makes him on his birthday.

They haven’t designed or discovered enough appropriate words to put to this feeling. None that even his whip smart nature can grasp at.

“I’ll soothe that wounded ego and buy you a chocolate shake later if it pleases.” You offer. Tilting your head. Offer placed on the table.

“An ego bruise is a problem I will gladly allow you to throw chocolate and ice cream at.” His fingers worm their way through yours. Knuckles locked. You could do this all day.

“Can be swayed with chocolate. Good to know.”

“And candy. Pizza rolls are good too.”

“Noted.” You beam. Snuggling to his front. Hands still joined. Fused as one.

The sound of the bell ringing for first period is a rude interjection into a morning that’s shaping up to be stellar.

Eddie didn’t seem best pleased by this. Judging by the way he takes advantage of that split second of your distraction hearing the bell, to snatch his hands at your shoulders and loop you round so your back is to the wall instead of his. Sneak attack.

His arm is a leather band over the back of your waist and he gently cups your chin and deepens a silky melting kiss that is, just, so many elements of perfect it should be outlawed that just kissing can be this good.

The plush of his deeply plump lips, with the scraping push of some stubble on his upper lip. It’s delicious. The way he kisses is better than any hit off any joint. You don’t care what he says. Better than purple haze. Better than fucking anything. Backed by sheer dopey sized crushes that take you both, head to toe. Crushes taking on a life of their own. Wearing your skins whole and making you desperate. Make you ache.

You kiss him back. Desperately. Drenched in want. But also knowing that you should be hot-footing it to your first class lest you get a tardy slip. To turn up late, with a very very kiss worn mouth like that would be about as obvious as the nose on your face.

“Eddiii-mmmmm.” You plead to his bewitching mouth. Smoky minty breath and the faintness of his morning coffee on your tastebuds. He’s cupping your face like your some sacred relic he has to handle gently. As if he had corrosive fingertips. Strychnine laced touch.

When he pulls back. Hands two big gangly paws holding your neck, there’s this sweet dazed look all over his expression. Drugged on you. The way you kissed him like his tongue is made out of cherry candy and you only want more- oh lord.

How’s that for irony. The Hawkins High school dealer and here he is getting a huge hit, from kissing you. Nothing that comes pre rolled in a baggie making his mind fuzz like hot molasses, or circled into a wild little chalky pill that makes his head all bright and fuzzy sharp like cotton candy.

Making out before class he can gladly get hooked on. He thinks he’s there already. DT-Ing for more. Make him shake and rattle on all fours like a rabid dog.

“One for the road…” He explains inbetween raspy pants for breath. A silly smile all yours for the keeping.

You pat his chest. He could honestly whimper at the tactile feel of your hand resting on the meat of his pectoral. So dangerously close to skin on skin.

“I better go.” You sigh. A drop kick to your mood to leave him. You take a step back.

He can’t allow that. He whines like a kicked puppy. Button eyes all round and shiny with whatever amount of sadness it would take to root you here, with him.

“Don’t. Pencils. Stay here. Stay uneducated and stupid with me and let’s just make out, all day.” He waggles some filthy intentioned brows at you. Pleading threaded onto his voice. Trying his best to yank you back.

“You could easily tempt me to play hooky any day, Munson. But I’ve been studying for this test all week.” You point out.

“Well. I can’t deny that dorky chicks turn me on.” He sighs nicely. You can’t help smiling.

“Really? I figured tiny pleated little cheerleader skirts and peppy bouncy pom-poms turned you on.” You tease. Voice all sultry.

He leans in and smacks a kiss to the end of your nose.

“Nuh-uh. I like em’ covered in paint and jeans and artsy, and working in record shops with old hippies. And hopelessly in all consuming love with me.” He grins.

“Kiss ass.” You smirk. Smacking a kiss to his cheek. Stepping back. His hand slithers to find yours again. Links fingers. His rings glitter. They’re all warm where he’s been holding hands with you. On you.

“Hey, my girlfriend is a damn fox. This is a hill I’ll die on.”

You bring your joined hands up and kiss the back of his for that.

“Class beckons.” You roll your eyes. Shouldering your bag. Unwilling to unlink hands until you absolutely had too.

“See you at lunch?” You ask. His brows creased. Makes him look like an upset puppy.

“Can’t. Got a drop to make in the woods.”

“Parking lot after school?” He counter offers.

“You bet.” You agree. And you cannot even handle the wait.

You walk away around the corner. Eddies eyes trail over you as you go.

“Enjoy the smoke.” You turn over your shoulder and call back.

He saluted you with a flicking motion, with that million dollar grin pleasured all over his face.

“Brutal babe. You know what I’d enjoy more…” his inflection at the end of his words lets you know what he’s referring too.

“Down boy.” You play as you head off. Smile all secret and wide for him. Grin so wide it makes his heart pulse.

He’s grasping a hand over his mad heart as you slip away. One knee bent up. Sneakered foot flat to the wall behind him.

He reaches for that cigarette and his lighter. Though he doubts this little stick will do any damn thing that kissing you didn’t. He lights up. Grinning. You left his heart thrashing about and kicking inside the shell of his denim and leather like a damn drum in a cramps song.

Way, way across the field, sat high up on the bleachers with some of the girls on the cheer squad. In full view of the back brick wall where you had just been. Supposedly around the corner and concealed from view-

Linda snapped her binder shut. Eyes packed in venom. Huffing as she picked up her books.

Lipsticked lips pursed together in a grim hot pink line. Annoyance fills her chest and rams up against her ribs. Sour in her stomach. Nastiness curdled up on her tongue. She’d seen enough.

You and the freak. Just like Jonny said.

No fucking way.

Eddie bapped along to some rock that had been trapped in the lining of his crazy head since this morning. Head bumping as he hummed along, sang under his breath to Rattlehead. That mane flicking every which way.

Metal lunchbox swings from his hand and clatters as he bounced along the familiar route. Feet trained for the way. Leaves cushion his rustling step. He drags his eyes over the foliage spread high above.

Dappled with gold sunshine of the afternoon that chips down. The odd scurry of a bird flapping around the treetops. Nature and the soothing crash of wind lacing through wide apple-green leaves. He darts his eyes around, seeking and searching for the shape of anyone to come crashing through the trees.

He arrived at his little decaying stoop in the woods. The table that’s so carved and scarred with crude drawings and initials it’s chipped and falling to bits. Cig butts littered everywhere and Eddie shamefully admits some of them are most likely his. His place of business is well reputed.

Swinging his leg over the bench seat and slinking himself up onto the table to take a pew. Sneakers resting on the seat. Cause when has he ever approached anything normally, or fallen into doing anything that comes into the category of usual.

He throws the lunchbox lid open with no gilding the lily, and braces his scattered mind into this deal. Shoves through the bags to find the semi-decent stuff. Wave of heady green hits him in the nose as he rummaged and carried on humming to himself.

Though really for the preppy guy who propositioned this drop, he’s tempted to charge way too much for a thin little roll of ditchweed.

Alas, his reputation is too important. One bad sale and he’d never touch profits on it again. He will unwillingly part with some decent sativa for the knucklehead.

He thumbs through his papers and rustling bags and makes a note of exactly what he’ll put his fistful of measly dollars from the sale towards; another date with you.

He’s heard of this great alt store a couple towns over. Super your style. Record store in back, cool clothing, apparantly a rock n roll kinda vibe that you would appreciate. Posters, merch, jewellery, you name it.

He can’t think of a better place to take you for a date. He’s keeping it under wraps even though, god knows, his blabber mouth which runs and rants away from itself, wanted to yell and shriek about it to you nonstop.

How he wanted to scrape together some dollars to buy you something. A handful of punk style patches, a tee, a poster for your bedroom door that needed some anarchy or some goth Siouxsie. Maybe a little Joan and some Blackhearts action.

He’s heard you crank them up on your headphones to blaring when you’re trying to concentrate on a sketch. Like the loudness lifts you out your mind and transcends into the paint.

How he wanted to make a mixtape for you, of all the metal songs - and to his embarrassment some of the less tacky love ballads - that bring you to the forefront of his mind when he hears them. Even some older crooning songs that Wayne likes.

The stuff he was drip-fed on in his early days, sweet and crooning, like slow gold honey melting into his ears. Listening to them and snatching pieces of melody that breezed through the trailer. Warm and sunny to listen to. Softly swaying Don Henley, Woodie Guthrie, and Jim Croce. Even some Ella or some Julie London and her smokiness.

He smiles to himself as he comes to Rattlehead’s chorus. Toes tapping the rotten old bench and creaking the wood, as he scrunches bags aside this way and that to find the pre-rolls. Fingers drum the beats off the side of the tin. Clacking out into the woods.

The brutal snap of a twig makes him peer around.

Eddie swims his eyes through the trees and eventually drags them to find a Jock with his hands shoved in his pockets.

It’s not someone he’s on a first name basis with. He’s lost amongst a sea of sensible jeans and varsity two tones. Sea green and blinding white with the lion gold yellow Hawkins H proudly blazoned on his front.

Crazy how differently they wear their allegiances.

He’s the anti-thesis of Eddies style. Shirt tucked in. Sensible white sneakers that aren’t beat up to shit. Preppy. Hair brushed. Some square jawed Ryan or Chad or whomever, pads towards him.

The look in his eyes twists Eddie’s gut like wet flannel. Scathing.

He’s seen hatred and distain before. Of course. It’s poured very freely his way.

Thats nothing new to him. Distaste. Eye rolls louder than claps of thunder and tutts coming stabbed under breath peppered with nasty words.

This is that crowd at its ugliest. The tribe this guy is happily a part of. Supposed fuckin’ Normalcy. They scar the word ‘Freak’ into him over and over again. Stomp it into his messy maned head over and over with their feet.

Finally he got tired of the brutal raining down kicks and just took it. Weened the power of it. Stole it from them and flipped it. Made it his shield. Propped it up with that DIO patch on his back. Let their hatred sink into that and roll away useless.

Let them know it doesn’t sink down to places where they want it to hurt.

Eddie swallows. Throat suddenly a sticky chasm. Tried to soften the blow and put away whatever the fuck this guy was trying to scowl and throw at him.

“Hey, man. You’re my 1 o’clock right?” He asks. Tapping his knee still and fiddling with his hands.

The guy swerved his jaw before he spoke. “Yeah.” Spine held poker rigid as he answered. Like it offended him to have to be here and talk.

He came into the clearing. Sneakers rustling leaves. Something feels sour about this whole thing.

“Okay. Well- um.” He awkwardly clears his throat. Reaches into the box that he gently sets beside himself. Grabs the joint and fidgets with it for a second.

“It’s uh, it’s twenty bucks for a pre-roll.” Eddie tells him.

“Great.” He watches the guy nod. Curt. His expression steely. Eyes glassy in a way that’s beyond unsettling.

“Ohhhkay.” Eddie nods. Eyes a fraction too pinched at the corners. Concerned frown dragging down his brows. Wondering what the stitch up is. His eyes dart around. Bordering on panic.

He stands to get off the bench, the guy doesn’t so much a muscle to reach across and take the joint off him. Hands still shoved deep in his pockets.

Eddie holds the joint. The guy doesn’t even move to take it.

“It won’t bite man. Smooth as silk and just, hits you like a cool wave when you smoke that puppy. Trust me.”

Something flickers like a sneer across the guys mouth. He looks at the innocuous rolled joint Eddie’s holding out to him. Looks at the brown paper all rolled in his palm.

Eddie shrugs. Wide open. Leather crinkles over the jutting movement of his shoulders.

“You want it or not?” A razor edge starting to creep into his tone.

If this is someone who hasn’t made their mind up, he’s got other places to be. Better times to be had. Than waiting on whether or not the preppy jerk is gonna take the goods off his hands. Or use more than two syllables.

“If you don’t want it. I’ll go right now. Forget it. No hard feelings.” He takes the edge off for him.

Despite the fact that actually a little simmering front of annoyance bubbles at his belly for the guy wasting his free period he could have used to kiss you senseless with wandering hands, right up against the side of his van.

He turns around and throws the joint back into the box. Shaking his head. Making his hair do that wild kicky thing it usually does.

“Maybe you should go. Freak.” Comes spat his way. Drawn in a snarl.

“Whatever, dude.” Eddie puts his back to him. Folds his product back into his box.

More snaps. More rustled leaves. Eddie drifts his eyes up and sees three more guys coming through the woods to the clearing. Walking slowly, picking over nature to come to the bench all menacingly slow. Like he was a deer they were in danger of spooking.

All wearing Hawkins letterman jackets. Sneers writ on all their faces. Intimidation carved into every step they take. They look way too happy to see him here alone.

Suddenly Eddie feels small. Feels like he’s right back in middle school. Being tossed around and bashed up by the bullies. Coming home with stinging scraped knees and a cheek that feels swollen hot, itchy like bloated meat. The crust of dried rust scabbing under his nose.

This feels exactly like that. Some things never change.

“The fuck?” He asks. He won’t lie. His voice wobbles to a croak. Set on shaking sands.

“Where you goin’ loser?” One of them huffs out. Eddie turns his head.

Strutting towards him like the bullshit cover of macho magazine. Or J-Crew, is Barbies boyfriend. The blonde ape.

One of them he doesn’t recognise proudly comes up and slaps the lunchbox out his hands.

Eddie flinches back. Shrinks away. Puts distance between every step they eat up eagerly to come towards him. He doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want whatever’s coming barrelling his way. He hasn’t done anything except sell some reefer.

“Alright. Alright-“ Eddie stumbles back from the table. Hands high and empty. Voice jittery. His head and gut yell in sync - telling him to run the hell outta there.

“Clearly you guys have some sort of agenda I’m not aware of so why don’t we all just-“ His smile is all tremulous and shaky.

A fist drags his collar into a yank. A curled up punch swings into his face and knocks him clean to the ground before he can chew out his next words. His jaw snaps together. Hot pennies comes flooding his tongue where his teeth cut his cheek.

Stars and bursting black galaxies accompany his artless tumble to the ground.

And then some more fists come raining down. A sneakered foot planting square into his side to kick the wind clean out of him.

They leave him crumpled on the ground. Cushioned by rotting dry leaves. Smeared in mud, blood leaking from two places in his face. Spotting down to his dark shirt.

As a parting gift one of them empties his lunchbox over the floor and stomps its contents into the dirt.

He knows the feeling only all too well.

You clatter into the bathroom after your last class.

Let the bustle of crowds fall far behind you as everyone rushes to the lot to leave. Afternoon summer sun stripes its sneaking glory across the halls and slants the window ledges in gold.

You cross to the sinks and set your sketchbook crammed with new drawings on the side. Leafs of the paper and all the dried paint crinkling, as it’s wedged partially open by the sheer number of crammed pages all skated on dusty pencil or charcoal.

You’d need to buy another pretty soon. One with thick cloth like paper pages for you to fill up.

You go through new books like running water. Never stop sketching. You’d wanted to take Eddie to the funky art shop you grab your supplies from. You’ve a feeling he’d love seeing the paint sets and the sheer number of spray paints they got.

Creativity seemed to flourish from him. His imagination permanently running wild. Could never stop it. One of your favourite things about him in fact.

He would talk about your sketches. Ask you about them. Ask you what the best paint would be for decorating some new figurines he’s got.

He’d twirl the pen you’re using out your hand and tell you all about the way he’d sit in the library for hours drawing fantasy maps for his campaigns on graft paper. Drawing rolling green islands. Mountain caves with trolls. Boggy muggy swamps with draping trees and hidden dangers. Vast seas with coily sea serpents hiding in the waves.

He’d chat to you about your ideas. The ones you’re struggling with for art class. The things you need to study and learn about. The theory of colours. The use of them all dotted in a Poussin or swirled in a Van Gogh.

You could talk to Eddie about anything. For hours and hours. The mere fact of going to grab a huge greasy meaty junk fest of a dinner with him has you walking on clouds.

You want your evening with him already. It can’t come fast enough. You want salty loaded fries and a cold shake and relentless plush Eddie kisses. You wanna climb into the comfy ratty seat in that tired old van that you love. Listen to whatever blasting metal cassette he’s been humming along to all day.

Hell- even just seeing his whole face light up with a smile as you saunter up to his van. The way he’d look at you - the way he always looks at you - with those big shining brown eyes all haloed in golden sun. Brimming with mirth. Cheeks split wide and crow-eyes all bunched up at the corners in glee.

He burns so bright to see you, it’s like he’s swallowed the sun and stars combined. You feel so lucky to have that.

The way he links his fingers with yours. Lopes your fingers together as one and doesn’t even mind if your all paint spattered or your hands are too dry. Palms all hard from scrubbing off acrylic smudges.

He kisses your fingers and acts like you’re draped in diamonds.

Acts like you weren’t wearing a ribbed worn Henley. A large - borrowed - Berkeley blue varsity sweater knotted around your waist, or your straight worn baggy jeans, cuffed up hems and patched at the knees that you mended. And your truly awful red sneakers that are so beat up with age they’re almost a sad faded pink.

He still looks at you like you’re a holy revelation. Each time.

You heap your bag next to the sinks and scrub the last of the charcoal off your hands. Sticky pink soap making a lot of lather around your fingers as you washed the smudgy grey away from the creases in your knuckles. Watch the way it circles down the drain.

You pull up and dry them with the crinkly paper tissues sat on the side.

Take a second to look back to the mirror. Centred all around the ugly squiggles of old sharpie doodles etched on the walls. Contemplate your reflection.

You smooth the hair away from your forehead. Attempt to neaten some of the crazy fluffy bits that kink down around your ears. Fuss with it for a minute or two. Smudge the charcoal away off your cheek.

“Who you trying to look so nice for-“ Comes a cutting tone from behind you. Tone dredged through revulsion and back out again.

A twist over your shoulder reveals Linda. Stood there in her oversized acid wash denim jacket and too-short purple skirt. Hair all bunched up and piled on her head in a half up style wound with a magenta scrunchie. She stands with one hip cocked. And her eyes are frosty daggers.

Heat licks your spine in the shame that you’d been caught preening. “No one.” You say too quick.

Try and inflect some humour on your voice. “You know I don’t exactly have anyone to preen for.” You lie.

Looking down at your hands as you dry them. Scrubbing water away with damp paper. Crush it into a fist and ball it in the bin when you’re done.

You can feel her stare embedding itself into your skull. Like an engraving. Sharp. Scratch of a knife on hollow bone.

“I saw you with him. So don’t try and come at me with your bullshit.” She spits. Words tired and clipped.

You turn over your shoulder. She stands there seething. Looking as bitchy as she usually does. Pink lips pursed.

“Saw me…” you check.

“Yeah. You and Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson?” She poses the words like they’re offensive. Mocking.

Anger furred the back of your tongue. Like feasting on too much sugar. Or a chalky jagged pill lodging itself in your throat.

“Look. I know you’re like, a lonely little virgin or whatever, and you wanna pop your cherry and all, but there’s way better guys out there to screw-”

Your venom stops her words dead.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” You bite.

You see her face fall into shock at your tone. Snappy and sudden. She looked stunned. As if you’d wheeled around 360 and slapped her.

“Oh my god. Don’t tell me you actually like him? Are you serious?” She gapes like it’s illogical.

“He’s a loser with ratty hair who sells weed and lives in a shit hole trailer park.”

“I do like him. I more than like him. We’re dating.” You tell her with steel. “We’re going out tonight as it happens.”

“I knew you had a screw loose but this is just another level of low. Even for you.” Linda bitches.

“How do you never get tiredwith that constant tirade of shit that spills out your mouth Linda.” You snipe.

She rallies to respond. Scanning you with hard eyes backed with new levels of poison.

“I’m not the one dating the King of the freaks.” She hits at you, real low.

“No. You’re dating a two-bit jockstrap who doesn’t even like you, unless you blow him. At least Eddie wants me for more than my pussy.” You point out.

She swallowed. Eyes glimmer. You know that one bit deep.

“Don’t come crying to me when that trailer park asshole dumps you like a cup of cold poison.”

You shake your head and try to remember how to breathe. Snickering cracks of bones in your throat as you swallow. You want to fly into rage and slam your textbook into her stupid scathing face until it dents one of her precious cheekbones.

“You don’t even know him. None of you do. You don’t even know the first two things about him.” You defend loud.

“I know he’s weird as shit and sells skunk. What a catch.”

You bite your tongue. Plenty of insults about Jonny come crawling to mind.

“How long have you two been-“ She sniffs.

“Couple of weeks now. Since Kyle’s party.” You hurl at her furiously.

Her face fills with an expression you can’t read as everything comes to make sense. Falls into place. Puzzle pieces clicking.

“You’ve been lying to me this whole time.”

“Yeah. And you’re so self centred look how long it’s taken you to even notice or give a shit about what’s happening to me or my life.” You finally say all the things you should have voiced long ago.

“You’re only interested now because you care what other people are gonna say on Monday, and what they’ll gossip about.”

“He’s trouble, and he’s gonna get you hurt. Probably gonna give you a filthy rash or something too.” She sneers. “Lord knows what he’s riddled with.”

“You’re such a fucking bitch.” You grit your teeth. Emotion gets the better of your voice. Tears bubble at your lash line. Red hot.

“Not gonna be my problem to have you trailing round after me anymore. Cause by the way, we are no longer friends.” Linda spits. Eyes narrow to slits.

You nod. Resigned. Tears of anger prick the corners of your eyes. You’re too angry to let them loose.

“What a goddamn relief.” You hit back. Chew your lower lip.

“I’ve had to listen to you bitch at me, and whine and snipe, and moan, for years. I’ve had to endure your tantrums and your cutting comments, and every play-by-play of every unsatisfying Friday night screw around, with your shitty dirtbag of a boyfriend who treats you like garbage. And who you run back to each time he fucks you over. And I’m so sick of you.” Your voice comes out raw.

“So yeah. You’re right. We’re not friends anymore. I don’t think we’ve been that for a very long time.”

You put your back to her and grab your books.

“Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out. Freak.” She sideswipes nastily as you shoulder your way past her.

Catching her on purpose. Shoving her with your shoulder to catch her teetering in those heels.

“Have fun with your trailer trash.” She snips.

“Word of advice. Make sure Jonny wraps it first. Word is he’s been screwing Tina on the cheer squad behind your back every Wednesday.“

You watch her saunter up past you to get to the mirror and touch up her lipstick. Ignore ignore ignore.

Her too sweet Revlon perfume making your stomach roil. She looks at her reflection. The thing she loved most. It’s amazing you ever got a look in. She scrunches up sections of her hair to make it bounce. An indifferent mask on her face.

Trying to ignore you already so the tears don’t come. So what else is new.

You pause at the door. Hand on the handle. Books piled on your arms.

“Sad thing is. I never expected you to act any different when you found out. Turns out you’re just that shallow vain bully I always suspected you to be.”

She pretends not to hear as you slip out the door. You’re sure to slam it as loudly as you can.

Coming out into the partially empty hall. Quickly skating a hand down your cheek. Taking a gulp of a deep breath. Starting down the hallway to come to the doors at the end.

Letting the distance to that girls restroom salvage some of your anger. Let it ebb away and let the savage venom words roll down your skin like blunt razors.

You wait to see if they feel like they’ve drawn any blood.

Maybe just a raking deep black bruise. Perhaps the confrontation has lifted a rock solid weight off your chest. Cut your ties to something corrosive.

You storm to the doors at the end, and push your way out. Into the midsummer air. Afternoon sun washing over you as it creeps it’s golden-fiery way by. Slanting ochre across the parking lot.

A gaggle of people clutched around one of the sticky lunch tables stops you dead in your tracks.

That weight comes crashing back with all the subtle tact and grace of a tank storming a building.

It’s Hellfire. The crowd. It’s Gareth, Mike, Jeff and Henderson. They’re all clutched around someone sat on the bench seat. Someone who is leaning forwards with his elbows resting on his knees. One hand held up to his head.

Your mood plunges even more. There’s a sour shift as some of them twist to look at you.

Big childlike eyes full of something that approaches wariness. Sadness dashed with insecurity. The kid-like uncertainty of how to deal with this very gruesome and very real situation.

A cold can of tab, now warm, for the crescent bruise taking shape around his eye socket.

One of them fishing around in the bottom of their bag for crumpled blue band aids. Anything to help.

A wad of crinkly and loveless paper towels snatched from the boy’s restroom and wadded into a wet lump for the blood pouring under his nose. The fresh red that’s staining his tee like big gruesome poppy petals.

His free hand is wrapped around his side for the bruise he can already feel like a dark cloud of cherry red and blue cobwebbing up his skin and over each slat of his ribs on his left side.

They shuffle away from the table and you finally get to see what they all look so grim about.

Eddie is hunched over with a black eye and a bloodied face and nose. He’s muddy and dirty and scratched up and when he meets your gaze, your world shudders on its axis, to a grinding halt.

The way he’s looking at you shatters your damn heart into huge glassy shards. Diamonds and sprinkles of it, sharp and chunky, cut into your chest. Daggering.

He’s hurt.

He swallows and keeps eye contact. Looks at you with such fear and sorrow emanating from those big round bourbon eyes. You see the apprehension in his body.

It doesn’t get any better when he winced and tries to stand. Body bowing as he slowly eased himself off the bench seat. Hand cupping his ribs as he inched his way to a full stand. You hear him groan.

You see as pain flickers across his face. The usual springy frolicking gait is muted. It’s etched with pain and writ with ache.

He wishes he could read your expression right now. As it is he’s struggling to sort it into one emotion.

You look hurt, tear stained, livid and clenched rigid with something that could only be bone deep anger. Venomous, mind numbing, anger. And it was just bubbling and clawing it’s way to a fever pitch.

“Pencils-“ He wets his lips. Looks meek as he watches you carefully. Tenderness in his voice.

You dump your books where you stand and turn on your heel. Sketchbook cast to the floor and heaped atop your bag. You slam back through the doors and into the school - mind set on one salient thing.

The doors slam not seconds after you. The creaking jolt as the metal crunches back into place. Footprints scatter after you on the lino. The squeak of muddy sneakers. The gusting air of a sigh bred with a wince.

Eddie chases after you with all his might. Hooks his hand to your elbow. Tries his best to stop you.

“Hey. Pencils. Babe. Please, let’s get outta here. Let’s just forget this. I don’t know who it was- I didn’t see them.”

He’s really a terrible liar.

“With all due respect Eddie. I know who did it.” You explain bitterly, as you wander along. His touch turns to a tug on your elbow. Pulling at your shirt.

“Because he’s not smart enough to juggle two thoughts at once, much less try and hide the fact he beat you up. And second his jagged pill of a girlfriend just tore me to strips in the girls restroom for finding out.” You say. Possibly louder than you intended.

His face falls.

“Hey, hey…” He says softly.

You turn back. Tears springing down your cheeks. His hands are all over you. Cupping your neck. Your shoulders. You can smell the blood coming off him. Sour pennies. Desperation laced his voice. Comes off him in waves.

Desperate for you not to to this.

“This isn’t stupid shit to me Eddie. This is not okay. Not something I’m gonna let get brushed under the rug-“ your lip wobbles. You shake your head. You rub your nose. Chase the tickling tears away.

He mimics you. Shaking his own head so his hair flicks out. Eyes wide and terror stroked words pour out his mouth.

“Don’t go getting into trouble for me. I don’t want that for you.” He begs. His eyes are wide with it.

“Good thing I want it then.” You resolve.

He looks apprehensive. Choked by it. Scared by your resolve. He doesn’t want to let you do this. This is a doomsday territory.

“Pencils-“

You continue down the hall. He follows. Still doing everything in his power to convince you, or try to stop you. Credit to him, his list of reasons are pretty excellent.

Babe. Please. It doesn’t have to be a thing.

You’re on track. You have your grades. You got Indie state in your future to think of. I don’t want you jeopardising that for me.

I don’t want you going and getting in trouble for this.

He doesn’t stop you from making your way to the gym. But he is right there at your back as you push open the doors, shove your way inside and you don’t care if your entrance is loud.

The idiot jocks practice in the gym after school. Basketball mostly. Some dotted in the bleechers. Long suffering girlfriends sat with bubblegum pink coloured files, shaping their nails to the side and chatting and trying not to look too bored whilst the guys play. Linda sits chattering to one of the cheerleaders.

You wrinkle your nose at the stench. Whole place smells like musty sweat, floor polish and old socks.

Jonny has his back to you as he dribbled the ball. The ricochet of it pangs across the court.

You race across the floor to him like a hell fury. Fists clenched at your side. Eddie still trying in vain to get between you and your stubborn brain. To try and talk you out of this before it’s way too late.

Your entrance with him hot on your heels and whispering pleas at you, draws laughter and sniggering sneers from some of his dirtbag friends. Shouts come aimed your way.

Hey, look who it is. It’s the freaks.

Closed practice, morons.

Jonny doesn’t turn back but you make your presence known.

“Hey. You dumb fuck stain.”

You march right up to his sweaty back and shove him hard with both hands. Wrinkle that goddamn white basketball jersey.

The guys around him make mocking noises. Chorus of awes and exclamations.

The room slowly dawns quieter. The squeak of shoes muffled. Everyone’s eyes centre court where you stand seething. Panting for breath and trying to look as livid as you felt.

He turns back to you all slow and condescending. Like he’s some golden haired Apollo flouncing down from Mount Olympus to grace you with his presence. He’s limned in sweat and dissects you both with conceited arrogance.

“What’s your damage?” He sarcs. Looking down at you like you’re an ant. Or a mangy mongrel.

He flicks his eyes across and landing on Eddie.

“Munson. How’s them ribs.” He sneers.

You’re about ready to topple over the edge and spit nails. Anger gently creeps to a boil.

“Just peachy, thanks for asking.” Eddie answers. Mouth is a grim line. And his eyes look stern coal black. He turns his attention back to you.

“Pencils please. Let’s just let it go. There’s no point…” He whispers. Standing with his hand gently cupping your forearm.

“What do you want? Teams full. We don’t accept weirdos anyway.” Jonny pushes at the both of you.

“I’m not leaving this spot until you tell me why you attacked my boyfriend.” You steel. Voice low and even.

You can feel Eddie’s eyes on you like lasers. Burning holes in the back of your head.

His mouth gapes a little. If it weren’t for the fact he’s terrified off his ass stood here, his heart would flutter like a fledgling baby birds wings, to hear those words admitted aloud.

“No reason. Just don’t like him.” He shrugs all honesty. Passing the ball over to his friend. Standing with his hands on his hips.

“Careful hefting those big thoughts around. You might hurt yourself.” You fire out.

Your fight with Linda left sharp scalpel words on your tongue and now you ache to use them to their fullest.

He doesn’t look happy. Dark gold hair beading sweat down into his cenote blue eyes. Rigid anger on his frown as he glares at you.

“Linda didn’t like the idea of him being around you. She told us we were teaching him a lesson. To stay away from you. We were protecting you, moron.” He says like it should be obvious.

“How fucking considerate. Your girlfriend couldn’t think her way out of a damn paper bag if she had a map, Jonny.”

You feel Linda’s scowl all the way across the room. The weight those slitted eyes and a bitchy scoff. You know those echoing words found their target. Slammed right into bullseye red making their mark. You hope it truly hurts. As much as she hurt you

“She didn’t reserve the right to presume any fucking thing about me. And not one thing gave you not the right to hurt Eddie. Not under the guise of some macho-stupid ‘protecting-you’ crap.” You snarl.

He bounces the ball. You slam forwards and bat it out scathingly out his hand. Send it rolling away.

More chorus of noises scattered around you both as you stepped toe to toe with the guy who almost towered over you.

“You acted out of pure hatred. So don’t try and dress it up at something else. You useless. shithead.” You insult.

“And what are you going to do about it, freak, huh?” He jabbed. Nostrils flaring. Lips pressed together unattractively thin. Looks like a provoked silverback in his enclosure. About the beat his chest.

He turns to guffaw laughter and sneer with his friends.

When you speak it’s so reed thin it even makes a shiver run up Eddie’s spine. Slices of jagged metal.

And he’s not even on the receiving end of this frightening ire of yours. The one that’s bursting out of you like raw lightning. Like it can’t fathomably contain you. Love and fierce packed rage tight in situ.

“This…” You remark with a clenched fist. Thumb wrapped over your knuckles.

Your nail polish glints blue in the light like steely-inky beetle wings. Your eyes barely smother down live-wires. Danger, danger.

You thought about how they would’ve laughed at him.

Kicked him into the dirt like wet leaves and muck that drifts off the trees in fall.

How they would have laid into him and left him there. On the floor. Blood soaked.

Shown the freak who’s in charge.

It flashes when you rear your arm back. Putting full force into your right shoulder, feet taking a firm stance. You channel everything you have into this fearsome right hook;

You swing your fist straight into Jonnys face.

It’s powerful enough to hear a loud crack, you feel the blow shudder into bone. Catching his nose, which spurts blood.

He recoils and staggers. Knocked off balance. Sound punctured out his mouth. Clutching his bleeding face as red streams drip on his pretty white shoes. Stains his pristine uniform. Good.

Try explaining that one to mommy and daddy dearest.

You don’t even let him swing back around. You grab the shoulder of his disgusting sopping jersey and ball it in your hand. Using that as leverage to drive your knee high - hard - into his balls.

Before you let him slump to the floor in a bleeding pile of sweat glazed limbs. You mutter words just for him to take caution of.

“Come near me or Eddie again, and believe me I will break your goddamn jaw, Lopez.”

You let him crumple this time. Flag to the floor in a heap of collapsing bones and sweaty jock uniform.

He looks up at you, trembling. Blood skirting down his arms and past his cupped palm. Tears streak down his cheeks. You step back and let him crumple.

He’s spitting and snarling crude insults in between wails of pain, and a sticky mouthful that smears his teeth red, and stains his tongue with metal.

“You broke my nose, you crazy fuckin’ bitch.” He spits. It sounds wet. Words sluiced in crimson.

“Finally. A nickname I can warm too.” You scathe.

When you look up, guys around him flinched back a good few paces in case they fell into the category of your rage. Wariness edging their expression. Eyes wide and mouths caught suspended open, like brain dead guppies at feeding time.

Eddie stepped forwards and gently laid his hand on your shaking arm. His fingers urge you closer. Get you following him to haul ass outta there.

You scan the room and find Linda gaping at you just as dumbly as everyone else. She’s risen to a stand. Face like she’s just swallowed a painful poison pill. Apparently in no rush whatsoever to get to her boyfriend.

“It’s ok. I’m done here.” You tell him. Gritting your teeth. Meeting Linda’s eyes.

You turn and walk away. Back to this whole affair Amazed how scarily easy it is. Leaving your supposed friendship in the dust. Bleeding crumpled on that floor.

You feel an enormous sense of relief walking out that gym.

Your hand killing you. No doubt about it. Shooting mad red hot fireworks up and down your forearm. Your knuckles feel like hell. Sparking furious with pain.

You reach for Eddie’s hand anyway. Screw the pain. You slip your fingers into his. Turn and catch his eyes.

He’s watching you with so much cautionary care and concern.

You breathe. Lungs shivering around new calm air. Words come easy but you feel shaky with them.

“C’mon. Let’s go get you something for that eye.”

He agrees with a nod. Then that hopping spark that’s truly skated in usual Munson mischief, comes springing back full force into his eyes. Lovely happy bourbon again.

“Wouldn’t dare refuse you, Pencils. Not after seeing what you’re capable of.” He grins. Nudging you with a shoulder to get a smile out of you.

“Damn right. Those idiots just cost us a date night. He deserved all that and more.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” He smiles. Eyes still stuck on your face.

He lopes alongside you. Hand clutched in yours. Shoulder rolling to yours. It feels whole. It feels like trust.

You sit in Eddie’s van in the parking lot of the Fair Mart. Despite your protestations, he fully insisted he was fine to drive. He rolled into park out front just about as the sun began to set.

The night started to pull in. All lilac and periwinkle skies, soft as a vintage eiderdown that made you think of bluebirds feathers as you watched that solemn shade of blue overtake the sky.

Making the all too yellow lights within the dingy place stand out proud. Blinking a little. Humming along with the huge freezers inside. All the twee touches of home made signs telling you about the canned goods on offer. Written on card with flicky show-manly italics. Some easy friendly music sparkles out the speakers.

The plump clerk is smiling and jolly and bubbly bright, even when you unload for a whole armful of some medical supplies on the counter. Eyeing your now purpling knuckles with sparky perception. Ringing things up, you throw in a bag of jolly ranchers and a couple of ice cold cans - they suggest a rattling jar of aspirin.

“Take away the sting, honey.” He wafts a knowing hand. “That’ll be $11.90.”

You pay with a watery smile and walk out with a paper bag full. It crinkles in your arms as you go back to Eddie. Who’s sat with his legs dangling out the driver side of his van. Fidgeting with his rings all skittish. Legs swinging to an invisible tune. Still Rattlehead, actually.

You’re the only people in the place. Talk about lulled and sleepy Hawkins. This clearly isn’t a place for two teenagers on a Friday night. They’re all off sucking face at the quarry or skull rock. Or gathering at the arcade.

You come back and get to work cleaning him up.

Lump the bag down beside him, close to his hip, and you stand between his spread legs. Hand fiddling with your belt loop so carefully. He feels you gently brush sweeps of his bangs off his forehead to get at his skin and smudge away a bit of dirt. He lets you. Sat there and losing himself in his gazing.

He winced a little when you gently dabbed some antiseptic cream on the cut at his cheek.

“There’s Jolly ranchers in there you know.” You supply.

“Is that a bribe for me to sit still?” He checks. “Cause it will definitely work.” He dives his hand into the crinkly paper and searches for the candy. He finds one and holds it in his palm until you’re done.

“Who, um.” He swallows. Looking too intently at his ripped jean kneecap. “Who taught you how to—“

You draw back and let him find his words. Let him come to you with it.

“Who taught me how to throw a punch?” You smile.

Still dabbing his cheek. Fingers slipped under his chin and tilting his head up to you. When he could stay still enough.

“My sister. She bought me self defence lessons after-“ The words die and wither up all grey and ashen in your mouth.

You break eye contact for a second and rub at your brow.

It slowly creeps over his head like some dreadful tide. After what?-

Eddie knows he doesn’t like the look settling over your features. One bit. He doesn’t care for it at all.

“It was the summer before junior year. Around the time Linda and Jonny started dating. We went to this party. She didn’t want to go alone so I was roped in. Dressed me in one of her stupid mini skirts, planned to set me up with one of his buddies, Alex.” You pause and chew over the words.

“It was stupid as shit, looking back now, but we got so stupid drunk. Teen freedoms and lite beer. We thought we were so cool. So much so I didn’t notice that my drink was spiked with something. I don’t even know what. All I can remember is just, blackness, and then waking up with Alex sliding his hand up my skirt.”

Eddie blinks. Shuts his eyes for a second. His voice sounds so far away. “Shit. Pencils.” He rasps. Upset and angry on your behalf. He looks more hurt than all those bruises scattering his face.

“Nothing else happened. I screamed blue murder, and shoved him off me and just turned tail and got the hell out of dodge. Walked miles home in heels til I got blisters all over. Charlie was so so pissed. First time I’ve ever seen my Mom go full apocalyptic angry.” You explain.

“She wanted to bring charges but Alex’s family lived on Loch Nora, and his dad was a bigwig in local council so naturally he just chalked it up to underage kids having too much drink and touting it around town that a ‘misunderstanding’ occurred. Transferred their golden boy to a private school. And it just got, quietly swept away.” You accept.

All the pieces slowly floated and formed together to clarity in Eddie’s head.

“Linda stayed with Jonny even after all that shit you went through…” He asks. You nod.

“Stuck like glue.” You infer.

He can’t stand it any longer. wraps his arms around you fully and tugs you into a bold hug. Burying his face in your chest. Listening to the tick of your heart, and feeling you hold him back. Smiling and pressing a kiss to the wild nest of his hair. He smelled like sour-sweet green apple shampoo and earthy papery leaves.

“I’m so sorry.” He rumbled into your arm. His hug says so much more than that.

I’m here and I’m not leaving. Whatever you need - I’ll give it. Carve it out of my chest because you own every piece of me - in full.

“Not your fault, Eddie. I stopped being mad a while ago.” You tell him. Pressing another kiss to his head.

That’s why he’d been so unsuccessful in being able to stop you today. Because you’d let one bout of assault go, like hell were you about to let that happen all over again. And not to him. Drew some blood of your own to partially settle an old debt. To quiet some old violent ghosts.

He lets go of you and plonks the red wrapped jolly rancher in your right hand.

“I think you need and deserve this more than I do. And I’ll keep on being mad on your behalf - if that’s ok.” He says honestly. Fingers slithering through yours. He twists your hand over and sees the bruises wrapping around your knuckles.

You smile.

“I’ll take that.” You answer in reply to his offer. “The candy and that kind offer.”

Cause this is exactly what you need. Him. Him in all his unusual and funky glory.

Metal head with a heart so pure you’re actually certain it is made of solid gold. He whom proclaims to the world he’s nothing but a devil worshipping Satanist, made up of cynical death metal, and pot smoke.

Yet, he’s the guy who puts wrapped candy in your hand. Plies you with kisses and tried to hard to keep you out of tumbling headlong into trouble for his sake. Wanted to take you for a greasy burger and just share every silent soaked moment with you. No matter what you’re doing as long as you’re shoulder to shoulder.

He’s springing up before you can stop him. Sits you in the seat he occupied and told you firmly to ‘wait here, toots.’

Then, he’s scampering across the grocery store lot all jangly jacket and mad frizzy rocker hair bouncing as he goes. The soft pad of his feet on the doormat and the swish of the door he pushes open.

He drifts around the aisle for a few minutes before you see the top of his head bounce as he jaunts to the checkout and pay with a load of coins and a crumpled bill dug out his pocket.

He’s out the doors and whirling back to you in no time at all.

Hand on his ribs as he winced and realised that moving around all silly like he normally does would have its consequences. Ode to a bruise.

He comes over and crouched in front of you. Proudly showing you his purchases. He holds them up like he’s won an award.

bag of frozen peas and a tub of mint chocolate chip ice cream.

“For you, my most dangerous slash badass weirdo.” He grins. Even under that black eye, and the cut limned with purple across the bridge of that nose, his brightness and joy is infectious.

He takes your hand and you smile as he settles the peas on it. Settles his hand on top of it and stays crouched. Looking up at you with literal stars in his eyes.

You’re hit with such a fierce wave of love it shocks you from the inside out. Punching into your ribs and mangling and mashing your heart and lungs together with something that burns all mean like static. Words trip off your tongue like a smudge of sugar. You feel drunk on them; fever and maddening realisation in a shockwave.

You put your hand over his. Ice cold and shifting crunch on the bag.

“Eddie, you’re free tonight right?”

“Well the beauty pageant will have to take a hike with these shiners.” He plays. Tilts his head.

“What would you say if I asked you to spend the night?” You check.

His brain seems to crunch and churn through the cogs to answer.

“The night?” His eyebrows almost swoop up and disappear into his bangs.

“Not sure your mom would be too wild about that.” He says.

“She’s in San Francisco. Short haul. Not back til Monday.”

“Oh.” Eddie nods. And then it hits him.

“O h.”

You keep eye contact and smile. “I'm game. What’s say you, Munson?”

“Holy shit. Pencils.” He wets his lips. Grinning.

T A G S darlings

@ceriseheaven @indouloureux @fujiihime @youaremyfamiliar @ghosttownwherenoonegoes @greenishghostey @svenyves @sammararave @feralgoblinbabe @groupie-love-71 @andromeda-andromeda @morganamoonstone @ramona-thorns @gvtosbith @munsonswhore @munsonlov3r @lunatictardis @shenevertricks1831

@hazzaismyreligion @harrys-titties @anaisweird @cerinthussulpicia @cinnamoncunt @thincrusttheworks @manicpixiedreamcurl @therosietoesy @fanficappreciationblog @thicksexxualtension @tvserie-s-world @sharp-and-swift @dadsbongos

@edsforehead @chcolateeyelver @seven-glass-kids @forever-is-not-for-everyone @quinnsmunson @bkish @wyverntatty @latenighttalkingwithgrapejuice @churchmuffins @chickpeadumpsterfire @choke-me-eddie @prozacandnicotine @xeddiesbattattsx @s-u-t @alyssaaaaa-r @wayward-rose @usedtobecooler

331 notes · View notes

kairiscorner · 9 months

Note

Throwback to the very first thing i requested from u bc i think it’s been over a month HAHAHA

For ‘i’m stuck with you’ (art student x stem student miggy) EXCEEEPPPTTT make the reader a english/langlit major, or just really good at writing (bc i love my writers)

Okay, we have established that reader is fucking terrible at math (i am them, they are me)

But how about miguel needing help with essays? Because sci students are lowkey kinda bad with essays

Cause yeah, even though i hc that miggy probably has really, really good grammar, when writing essays? Nah, that mf is all over the place.

Like he has the ideas, but he lacks the creativity and writing skill to get them onto paper

(Not a request, but write it if u want to :D)

SHIEEEEEETTTTTT i am forever in love with college miggy <333

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

i'm stuck with you. — miguel o'hhara x reader pt. 2 (college dorm mates au)

summary: it should come as no surprise to anybody that miguel o'hara was extremely good at running his mouth off and pretentious when it came to grammar and spelling... but making him write an opinionated essay, or a book report? oh, you're stumping him. luckily for him, he has a super adorable, english-smart dorm mate; unluckily for him, however, you can't put up with his annoying, whiny ass about how "boring" all this writing seems to be.

pairing: college!dorm mate!miguel o'hara x college!dorm mate!reader

genre: fluff <333

word count: 965

author's note: when is it my turn to have a cocky, math and science smarts stem boyfriend that sucks ass at creative writing ,,, i'm alr the writer gf, universe, ano ba 😭😭😭

he stared at the flashing cursor on the document he was supposed to be writing his book report for the english class he had to take. he sighed and folded his arms over his chest in frustration, his eyebrows crinkling as all he could do was sigh again at the lack of ideas swirling in his head. "this is why i took genetics, nobody needs to write reflections on alleles or why DNA is shaped as a double helix... this is idiotic." he muttered under his breath as he forcefully hit the backspace key repeatedly and sighed for the third time.

you soon arrived back to your dorm after attending all your classes for the day and was surprised to witness your so-called "genius" dorm mate slump over his desk, his forehead pressed down against the surface as his laptop remained open and the document remained empty–even emptier than before, actually. you walked over to miguel, half concerned and half unfazed, ironically. you had yearned to see the day when his ego would break, but unfortunately, you weren't there to see the fall–hence you drew barely any enjoyment out of seeing him all stumped.

"hey, genius, what's wrong?" you asked him in a partially sarcastic and partially worried voice, with miguel groaning as he thumped his forehead lightly against the surface of his desk. "words are hard." he muttered. you raised an eyebrow at him and chuckled lightly. "words are hard? wow, and you can piece together a bunch of letters and greek symbols together... either you're speaking an alien language of incomprehensible numbers, or you're just good at everything but linguistics." "the latter." miguel mumbled all muffled and groan again.

you chuckled and moved closer to him, practically hovering over him as you looked at the very blank document before you. "what's this supposed to be?" "an... essay." "an essay has words, you realize that, right?" you asked him sarcastically with a smile. he scowled at you as he sat up a bit from his computer chair. "it's... it's loading." "nah, i know exactly when words are loading, i'm around documents a lot–you've got nothing on it." you pointed out with a snicker as miguel rolled his eyes.

"well, if you're so good at this, why not you do it?" he asked you with narrowed eyes. you rolled your eyes and placed your arms over his shoulders, bringing your fingertips to the keyboard to type for him. you were in such close proximity to miguel that he couldn't focus on anything but the feeling of your forearms brushing against his shoulders and neck occasionally, and the scent of your perfume filling his nose. he felt a bit flustered at the feeling and scents he was picking up from you.

you tilted your head slightly. "what is it, mig? care to tell me what your essay's supposed to be about?" you asked him, snapping him out of his trance as he pushed his glasses back up on his face and cleared his throat. "it's about... my thoughts around my favorite person. i know, pretty rudimentary, it's a question for a first grader. but the problem is... i can't even begin to describe that 'favorite person' of mine. the thoughts are pouring in, the words just... don't come as fluidly." miguel admitted as he shrugged.

that was no problem for you, however–you had the ability to come up with the most effective and creative ways to write feelings, thoughts, and ideas out with ease; you were just the person miguel needed. you articulated his thoughts out on the virtual document for him, listening to him patiently describe his favorite person in such layman terms; and you, with your very eloquent and unique way of delivering his scrambled thoughts, wrote him a 7 page essay in that one sitting. all he did was open and close his mouth, speak in such simple terms to describe his favorite person–stuttering, stammering, repeating words involuntarily due to his limited vocabulary for adjectives that could properly describe that person, expanded by your own broad vocabulary aiding him in drawing a picture of this favorite person of his that... felt familiarly unfamiliar, in an uncanny way.

you two finished the joint work you were doing, and miguel's mouth hung open in surprise at how quickly you could type and how you never repeated a single adjective to describe his favorite person–and especially at how long the work you wrote was. "no... way." he muttered aloud as he rolled the mouse's cursor all the way down to the seventh page, his eyes bulging from their sockets as he took in every word you wrote for him. "my professor's not gonna believe i wrote this." he gushed as you chuckled. "is it that bad?" you asked him with a shy smile as he looked at you in disbelief.

"bad? this is spectacular, beyond everything i ever expected–thank you." he expressed his thanks to you as you smiled wider and shrugged. "dunno, i... think i could've elaborated more on paragraph–" "oh, please, if you elaborate any more, my professor's got fail me on the spot, they'll know i didn't write it by then. it's beautiful, it... really encompasses how i feel about my favorite person. thank you..." he said as he grinned up at you brightly. you had witnessed a side of miguel that no one had ever seen before... a grateful side to the cocky, arrogant genius of this college; and you swore, that from the corner of your eye... a hint of a genuinely happy, adoring miguel was staring back at you through those hazel brown orbs of his that peered into the deep recesses and depths of his soul, of his heart.... have you finally figured out who his favorite person is?

tags !! @miguelswifey04 @binibinileonara @melovetitties @arachnoia @luvstarrstruck @ophanimgold @popeheywardssecretgf @meeom @simsrandomstuff @hisachuu @wreakingmarveloushavok @fictarian @yuridopted0

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara fluff #miguel o'hara fanfiction #atsv #atsv miguel #atsv fluff #atsv fanfiction #atsv x reader #atsv x you #atsv x y/n #atsv imagines #spiderverse #across the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse x reader #spiderman across the spiderverse fluff

166 notes · View notes

Last Seen Blogs

probleygay

Happily Homo

koyato-via-imajuku

県住入口

cricket124

Kirby Art Depot

im-defalut

Personality? what's that?

drsandeeportho

Untitled