#MS Huckleberry Finn

[rabbitcruiser]

En Route to Germany (No. 3)

The Baltic Sea is an arm of the Atlantic Ocean that is enclosed by Denmark, Estonia, Finland, Germany, Latvia, Lithuania, Poland, Russia, Sweden and the North and Central European Plain.

The sea stretches from 53°N to 66°N latitude and from 10°E to 30°E longitude. A marginal sea of the Atlantic, with limited water exchange between the two water bodies, the Baltic Sea drains through the Danish Straits into the Kattegat by way of the Øresund, Great Belt and Little Belt. It includes the Gulf of Bothnia, the Bay of Bothnia, the Gulf of Finland, the Gulf of Riga and the Bay of Gdańsk.

The "Baltic Proper" is bordered on its northern edge, at latitude 60°N, by Åland and the Gulf of Bothnia, on its northeastern edge by the Gulf of Finland, on its eastern edge by the Gulf of Riga, and in the west by the Swedish part of the southern Scandinavian Peninsula.

The Baltic Sea is connected by artificial waterways to the White Sea via the White Sea–Baltic Canal and to the German Bight of the North Sea via the Kiel Canal.

Source: Wikipedia

#MS Huckleberry Finn #TT-Line #morning light #Baltic Sea #Ostsee #travel #on board a ferry #original photography #vacation #summer 2020 #Sweden #Sverige #Scandinavia #Northern Europe #en route to Germany #clouds #reflection #sun rays #tourist attraction #Atlantic Ocean #seascape #sky #horizon #nature

[inaflashimagine]

true soma

pairing: eddie munson x g/n reader (though f!reader at the end/smut)

summary: as part of your writing business, you wrote eddie munson's english essay for $20. the problem was, you got caught by the loving ms. o'donnell. the only way to escape expulsion for plagiarism? becoming an english tutor for eddie 'the freak' munson.

word count: 14.5k (help)

warnings: includes the classic stressors and existential crises that come with being a high school senior applying to college, swearing, few substance use references and lots of book references (and a discussion) by two nerds. nsfw part at the end: oral (f!receiving), unprotected sex (oops), hypocritical, inexperienced reader making fun of their inexperienced boyfriend, mentions of handcuffs(?)

a/n: I come out of a year-long writing hiatus on this blog only to write my longest one-shot ever...for a 3d character! At the end of the day, Eddie Munson is a dorky metalhead that leads a group of equally-dorky (but endearing) nerds, so I hope that somewhat came through.

“Please see me after class.”

There was never a time you’d like to hear those words, but receiving them from a frowning Ms. O’Donnell just after the first two weeks of your senior year of high school was less than ideal.

You deluded your anxious self into thinking that your AP Lit teacher wanted to share some information with you regarding college applications. Or that the reason you were the only student who wasn’t handed back their essay on the making of John Proctor as a tragic hero in The Crucible was due to its poignant, publication-worthy analysis that moved its grader to tears.

All those (ir)rationalizations were immediately thrown out the window upon seeing a certain, eccentric person rush into a classroom that everyone but you had now left.

“Ms. O’Donnell! How are you on this fine day?” His growing smile only seemed to further aggravate the visibly annoyed recipient of the question. And when he nodded and offered a wide grin your way, your blood ran cold. 

Because you knew what was about to occur was far from fine.

“It could be much worse, Mr. Munson, even if it is only ten in the morning.” 

When Ms. O’Donnell retrieved two essays from a thick stack of papers, sweat began to form on your forehead as she scolded, “Though I’m afraid the same could not be said for the two of you.”

“And why’s that?” speculated an oblivious Eddie as you seriously contemplated if the man who flunked high school twice was acting stupid or that genuinely dumb. “Aren’t I next to the smartest nerd in Hawkins? President of the Honor Society? It can’t be that serious.”

“Well, Mr. Munson, that statement provides further evidence of why you would hire said student to write your English essay.”

The smile on Eddie’s face immediately swiped off his face, much like the way you felt the ground give way beneath you as a silently fuming Ms. O’Donnell aggressively returned your respective papers.

Only the pages in your trembling hands did not thoroughly discuss the flaws and adulterous sins of John Proctor but provided a horrible retelling of the adventures of Huckleberry Finn in an essay that was intentionally written to barely deserve a C-.

And the most damning part: the paper was purported to be written by “Edward Munson”.

“Oh, I see what’s wrong, Ms. O’Donnell,” Eddie dared to say, a lackadaisical smirk on his face as he pointed to the main title on the cover page he was holding. You swore you saw him (poorly) wink at you before he blathered, “It’s a classic switch-a-roo, a simple mistake. Who is John Proctor? You should give this to him, the dude must be sweating about his grade.”

Ms. O’Donnell’s eye twitched as yours widened. “Mr. Munson, plagiarism is not some silly joke and can result in suspension or expulsion for the both of you.” Knowing she wouldn’t get any answers from him, her stern expression now faced you. “Care to explain why he turned in your AP Lit essay while you gave me his Academic English Lit paper?”

Yet no explanation, or even lie, would get you out of this sticky situation. The truth was simple, really: you charged Eddie “The Freak” Munson $10–plus a $10 rush fee deposit–to write a shitty three-page paper on Huck Finn.  

“You want it to get a C?” you remembered asking him, confusion evident on your face as you scrutinized the energetic man before you. 

How dare he approach your lunch table in broad daylight while he incessantly poked at the hole in his distressed jeans, occasionally munched on a pretzel, and made such a preposterous request? 

“Did anyone ever tell you how my business actually works?”

His amused grin offended you even more, if that were possible. “‘It’s an A or you don’t pay’, got it loud and clear. But from one entrepreneur to another, it’s not the, uh, best branding–”

“–Excuse me?”

 “C’mon, look at me”–he jutted two wagging thumbs toward himself while he looked at you and your baffled friends, wild, brown eyes way too happy over his self-deprecating comment–“do I look like someone who would suddenly write an A+ paper in a course I’ve failed twice?”

After a few solid seconds, you sighed and resigned to his request, before clarifying to the fist-pumping man, “Forcing me to downgrade my writing in less than twenty-four hours will be subjected to expedited service fees.”

Besides, you needed extra money to get a new typewriter, based on the alarming number of essays you were cranking out on your current worn one. At this rate, you’d be able to get one of those fancy computers. 

Eddie barked out a jubilant laugh at that, lips curving upward as he said, “I’m only letting you rob me because that’s a clever charge I might start using in my business.”

You wondered if he still thought you were a clever entrepreneur or the ‘smartest nerd in Hawkins’ as you blankly stared at a scowling Ms. O’Donnell, feeling too stupefied to conjure some fantastical story–or excuse, in this case–that the Dungeon Master was accustomed to doing on a daily basis.

Because there was no way you were going to explain that your sleep deprived brain must’ve given Eddie the wrong paper right before classes started. That your tired mind–consumed with worry about the biology exam you had next period–forgot to double check the content of the writing in your hands before accidentally adding the wrong paper to the growing pile of essays at the end of your English class. 

Of course, he should’ve also checked the essay you had given him. Any of your other customers would at least perform a cursory glance before handing you the money. Still, you had to shoulder some of the blame for having been unusually careless at an activity that required the utmost discretion and vigilance.

But you’d never admit a mistake like that. 

“Please don’t report us,” you blurted out instead, ignoring Munson’s incredulous “Christ!” and exasperation aimed toward your implicit confession. 

Ms. O’Donnell pursed her lips, disapproving eyes considering your nervous figure and Eddie’s cursing one. You closed your eyes, clenched hands anxiously awaiting the verdict that would throw out all of the work you put in for four years.

Snatching the two papers she had returned earlier, she acquiesced, “I guess submitting that plagiarism report would be more painful than grading these papers and having to teach Mr. Munson for yet another year.” 

Right before you and Eddie could exhale a sigh of relief and utter an endless stream of thank you’s, Ms. O’Donnell raised one finger as if to silence the both of you. “But I have one binding condition, aside from the fact that you’ll never commit plagiarism again.”

“Yes, of course, I’ll do anything,” you pleaded while a weary Eddie muttered, “Well, shit.”

You realized you should’ve bit back your words after hearing the worst stipulation proposed in the history of Hawkins, and possibly all of mankind.

“You must tutor Mr. Munson in English for the rest of the year.”

_

“You’re late,” you sighed dejectedly, glaring daggers at the smiling culprit banging his black lunchbox on the library table, “again.”

“My bad, a…transaction took a bit longer than I was expecting.” He pulled out the chair across from you, ignoring the librarian’s admonishment of his not-so-quiet voice. Rather, his gaze solely remained on you, the puppy-like excitement on his face just begging you to ask for more details.

Instead of taking the bait, you pressed, “Where’s your copy of Frankenstein? You didn’t even bring a pencil.”

Eddie actually pouted at you before murmuring a phrase that sounded eerily close to ‘party pooper’. “I don’t even need the book, it was an easy read so I remember most of it. And I, uh, may have lost the pencil you gave me.”

You’re not sure what your bemused “Huh?” was a response to, but it’s enough to get him talking about the book with a passion you’d only seen whenever he rambled about the current campaign he was running for his club. 

“Look, there’s never shame in running away from your problems, but Victor’s reason for running is the shameful part. Abandoning your creation because he looks like a freak? The scientist is the true monster, if you know what I mean.” 

Eddie, folded arms on the table, inched closer to you, adding in a fervent tone, “But the best part? The creature saying, ‘I will be with you on your wedding night.’ Very metal thing to do.”

Though you tried your best to conceal your surprised smile, your face betrayed you.

It had only been a month since Ms. O’Donnell forced this arrangement on the both of you, and the first two weeks had been an absolute disaster. It was a good day when Eddie actually showed up to your thrice weekly one-hour sessions at the typically empty library. But once Ms. O’Donnell threatened to take away his club privileges if he received one more F on a homework assignment, a reluctant Munson began arriving five to ten minutes late, muttering how English was the bane of his existence.

The remaining fifty minutes would then be spent on trying to pull a restless Munson back into the world of the books you were trying to analyze. Sitting still was a foreign concept to him. Only three things seemed to occupy his mind at all times: Hellfire, his B.C. Rich Warlock, and “running away from shitty Hawkins High”. It was in those instances that you were convinced that nothing substantial ever came out of his brain, or his blabbering mouth.

But in moments like these, where Eddie enjoyed discussing the mandatory literature as much as he loved shredding his guitar or annoying the jocks, you realized his head offered more than just a placeholder for his untamed hair. 

Eddie Munson wasn’t a dumb dork, he was just a lazy one. 

And you could definitely work with that. 

“You know what? You’re actually right for once.” Sliding a loose leaf paper to a bewildered and blinking Eddie, you handed him a pencil and suggested, “So why don’t you write all of that down?”

–

“Dude! DUDE!”

Completely unaware that you were the dude in question, you closed your locker door only to startle upon finding a psyched Eddie beaming at you. 

“I have a name, you know.” 

“Never said you didn’t,” he quipped, now deciding to say your last name while you rolled your eyes.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You pulled your calculus textbook closer to your chest, increasingly cognizant of the stares you two were getting from nearby students.

Aside from the teacher who decided to punish you in the first place, only three other people knew about the tutoring ordeal. To explain why you’d be absent for at least three hours a week after school, you kept your two friends, Maggie and Christopher, and the other editor-in-chief of the Weekly Streak, Nancy Wheeler, in the loop.

And while you didn’t think you were someone who concerned themselves with popularity and image at Hawkins High, you shuddered at the rumors already formulating in everyone’s head.

Spreading gossip that tried to piece together why a straight-A student would be talking to a drug dealer like Eddie “The Freak” Munson.

If Eddie noticed your stiffened shoulders and nervous glances he didn’t mention it, instead raising a piece of paper as he smugly said, “Just look at this.”

The first thing you saw was the big, red ‘C-’–a grade that occasionally appeared in your nightmares–on a Frankenstein pop quiz. 

“Holy shit,” you gasped, taking the quiz from him to scan his sloppily written answers, temporarily forgetting all worries as a triumphant Eddie grinned at your widening eyes. In fact, you were shocked to find yourself agreeing with Ms. O’Donnell’s ‘Not Bad!’ comment underneath the grade. “You passed!”

“Hell yeah I did! Told you it was an easy read.”  

“Alright, let’s not get ahead of ourselves, there.”

It took a surprising amount of self restraint to not laugh at Eddie feigning hurt as he gripped his chest. “Must you wound me so? Don’t you torture me enough?”

“Apparently not, since your ego got so inflated with just one passing grade.” To soften the blow, you offered a small smile. “But this is progress. How about we call off today’s session, to celebrate?”

Eddie perked up at that. “Seriously?”

You shrugged before handing him back the quiz, avoiding any brushing of fingers in such a public setting. Even though most students seemed to have returned to their own conversations and tasks, it didn’t hurt to be careful.

“Yeah, why not? I’ll have free time for once. If Ms. O’Donnell asks I'll just say I tutored you during our study period.”

“Hey, maybe we should say that more often.” 

Just as you’re ready to reject his idea, Eddie claimed, “I’m kidding, sheesh!” before returning your smile, appreciation evident in his eyes. “But, uh, thanks. I owe you one.”

“I’ll remember that,” you muttered at his retreating figure, confused at the new wave of emotions replacing the jangled nerves wracking your body a few minutes ago.

Because there was no rational explanation as to why you were sad about canceling a tutoring session with Hawkin’s most pathetic dork.

None at all.

–

“They said you were trying to get stoned with the freak.”

Maggie’s appalled tone made you cackle, covering your mouth with your hand when her eyebrows narrowed, as if waiting for your side of the story.

“Don’t tell me you actually believe that rumor, I’d never get high in the middle of a school day,” you sighed, shifting your gaze to which drink you should choose from the convenience store. “Especially since I almost got expelled for breaking another school rule just two months ago. I think I learned my lesson.” 

“The thing is, I don’t know what to believe in lately.” Maggie called for your name, exasperated when you opened the fridge door to grab a Coke instead of paying attention to her. “You barely hang out with us anymore.”

“Not true!” supplied your savior Christopher, who popped in from the snacks aisle and wrapped a comforting arm around your shoulder. “You’re just upset we missed your pom-poms routine last week.”

“It’s called cheerleading, dumbass,” retorted Maggie, crossing her arms as she glared back at you. “And Chris was obviously playing on the football field, but you promised you would go.”

You winced, guilt evident in your next words. “I’m sorry, Mag, but you know I was busy with tutoring and the early action deadline. Since I mailed the application, I’ll see you next time.”

“That doesn’t matter, you’re going to tonight’s party with us!” Chris placed your brown fedora hat on his head before lifting his arm to give you a noogie, much to your chagrin. “Gotta make sure you know how to let loose before heading off to YALE!”

“Chris, stop!” you choked out, though relief washed over you after seeing his antics got Maggie to laugh. 

Once you got your accessory back from Chris, you quietly added, “I won’t hear from them ‘til December. And I doubt a school filled with that many nerds party a lot, even on Halloween.”

He grinned, blue eyes swimming with a mirth that seamlessly fit the Danny Zuko costume he was wearing. “Your words, not mine. I’m gonna get some cigs, anyone coming?”

“Wait, Jason told us to get a six-pack, don’t forget!” Maggie dragged Chris further down to the alcohol section, her teased, blond curls bouncing with each step as you wondered how she effortlessly moved in those leather pants. 

“I’m gonna pay for my stuff,” you told them, preferring to let your friends play out their lives as Danny Zuko and Sandy Olson. (And before they started arguing on which brand to get.) 

Deciding to wait for them outside, you leaned against the brick wall of the 7-Eleven, taking a sip of your drink…

“Freddy Kruger?”

…before promptly spitting it out after hearing a familiar voice.

“Eddie, what the hell?” you shouted, miffed by his loud cackling as you tried to assess the damage on your red and green striped sweater.

He stood up from his doubled-over figure, pretending to wipe away a stray tear. “I thought I was supposed to be spooked.”

“I left my glove in Chris’s car, but my nails are just as deadly, you long-haired freak!”

“Sureeee, I’ll lock the door to my van before I leave.” 

“I’ll get you long before then.”

Eddie’s lips curved upwards at the baseless threat. His eyes did a quick once-over, clearly amused. “Last time I checked, Kruger was supposed to be ugly and scary. This might be the first assignment you’ve ever failed.”

You felt your face warm, unsure how to process those words. Was that a compliment? An insult? 

Both?

Not wanting to reveal your short-circuiting, you countered, “And what are you supposed to be? At least I’m somewhat creative.”

As if on cue, Eddie dug around the pockets of his leather jacket and put on circular shades, animatedly raising both of his arms to show off his rings and black-painted fingernails while he bellowed, “Ozzy, of course!”

Although you rolled your eyes, you couldn’t help but softly chuckle, deeming his costume as “Very metal” before he asked why you’re dressed up.

“No offense, but you don’t seem like the going-out type. And on a Thursday night?” He covered his gaping mouth with his hand, gasping, “How scandalous!”

Shrugging, you leaned back against the wall, looking at the man next to you. “I don’t go out as much as Maggie and Chris, but I guess it doesn’t hurt to do it once in a while.”

“Respect, no judgment here. And Halloween’s a classic.”

“Right?” you agreed, smiling with Eddie. “But I’m kinda bummed that as you grow up, you trade in king-sized candy bars for cheap beer.”

Eddie lowered his shades as you saw him grab more items from his seemingly infinitely large pockets. “Hey, I know you’re the one who’s teaching me English Lit, but I thought I taught you about forced conforming.”

Just as you were about to ask what the hell he was ranting about, Eddie grabbed your hand and placed a long, rectangular bar on your palm.

Trying your best to ignore his warm touch that made your chest constrict, you laughed at the Snickers bar in front of you as you snorted out a thanks.

“It’s nothing,” he casually dismissed, right before you swiftly snuff out the recently lit cigarette he just placed in his mouth. 

Aghast, he pouted, “That’s how you repay me? You monster!”

“The real monster is lung cancer, you dork, it’s for your own good.” As consolation, you gave him your Coke can, “which might also cause cancer, but at least it’s not lung cancer.”

Eddie laughed, though you weren’t able to hear his jest over Maggie’s yelling of your name.

“Sorry, gotta go.” Brushing off your pants, you slowly began to walk your friends who finally found you and urged you to hurry up.

Yet that didn’t feel right.

Inhaling sharply, you quickly turned around and mustered the courage to ask, “Why don’t you come to the party tonight?”

You wish you were able to see his eyes, covered by those ridiculous shades. But his dramatic head tilt spoke enough. “Me? Going to Jason’s party to hang out with the popular kids? Sounds like it goes against my own personal Munson doctrine.”

“But you’d be hanging out with me. I swear I’m a bit more fun than them, at least enough to be an exception to your little principles.”

“I don’t need any assurance on that,” he said, an almost sad-like smile on his face. “Maybe I’ll stop by after my gig.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” You gave a small wave before running toward Chris and Maggie, the latter instantly questioning why you were talking to Freaky Munson as soon as Chris drove out of the gas station.

“That’s not Eddie, that’s Ozzy,” you replied, unwrapping the Snickers bar and taking a bite out of it to hide your smirk.

“Who?” Her nose wrinkled, as if trying to sift through the pages of the student yearbook in her head. “Is he a senior?”

Chris chuckled knowingly as you cheekily answered, “Yeah, he’s coming to the party tonight.”

You wished the lie didn’t include that part, hating the sinking feeling in your stomach when Ozzy was nowhere to be found in Jason’s crowded house.

–

“I freaking love this book,” was a phrase you never thought you’d hear come out of Eddie’s mouth. “But Ms. O’Donnell assigning an essay right before Thanksgiving is pure evil.”

You snickered, way too entertained at the sight of Eddie repeatedly banging his head against his copy of Brave New World. “If you love it so much, then writing five pages on it shouldn't be too bad.”

He lifted his head to look at you, tangled hair masking the disbelief painted across his face. “I’m 95% certain you and Ms. O’Donnell are Mustapha Mond, trying to restrict my free will and deprive me of true happiness.”

Though you’d never outright tell him this, hearing his absurd, embellished statements made these tutoring sessions feel less like a chore and more like hanging out with a friend.

Friend. Pairing that word with Eddie Munson felt like an abstract mathematical concept your confused mind was trying to comprehend; you doubt it would sound less foreign if you were to actually say it to him. 

But there was no doubt that these sessions were a lot more fun than in the beginning of the year. When Eddie realized that he would be granted five (more like ten) minutes of non-academic chatting in exchange for five minutes of work, he tried putting effort in his brainstorming or writing. He might even work a bit harder when it was a sci-fi or fantasy book, the only two genres he truly liked. 

And talking with him oddly felt natural. 

He let you vent about the pressure you felt from your parents to be the perfect student and child, despite the fact that they were hardly home. In turn, he disclosed his own current gripes. (“Tell me about it, my uncle keeps on fussing about me making a mess and using up all the hot water. You know, I should get a place of my own.”) 

And he heard your fears on how all the money you saved from odd jobs and your writing services wouldn’t be enough for college, since your well-off parents decided that bestowing such a financial responsibility to you ‘builds character’. (“Not cool for your parents to do. What’s the point of being rich then? College is a scam, anyway. And you want to go to law school? You really like school, don’t you?”)

He sympathized with your complaints on Maggie’s inability to confess her crush to Chris... (“I’m afraid Sinclair is slowly turning to the dark side, he mentioned something about joining the basketball team.” A pause. “You wouldn’t want to be his Hellfire sub this Thursday, by any chance? No? Well, uh, that’s unfortunate. Your loss, really.”)    

…Or listened to your frustration about Nancy choosing Fred Benson over George Davis as the Managing Editor for the Weekly Streak. (“Wheeler did what? I’m sorry, but I have no freaking clue what you’re talking about.”) 

And you actually enjoyed the constant mindless spats with him; whether it’d be better to be a book nerd or a D&D nerd (you obviously won that argument); how vapid the jocks were (you loved Chris and some of his football friends, but basketball captain Jason was definitely an example of all brawn but no brain); or which alien movie was the best (he claimed that Ripley’s badassery was one of best highlights in Alien while you swore by the perfect mix of intelligent characters and the right amount of horror in The Thing).

Ironically enough, your favorite parts always revolved around book discussions. Though these tutoring sessions were required by Ms. O’Donnell, it was surprisingly fun to hear Eddie’s opinions. They weren’t like the contrived contributions you had heard countless times from your classmates during discussions and presentations. Sure, they were far from articulate, but what genuine, spontaneous thought was? 

With each idea you felt like you were getting to know more about Eddie and his perspective on life, an outlook so different from others that you continued to be intrigued.

“Well, I’m not sure if Mustapha Mond is the best comparison, considering that the World State would shock their babies if they even touched a book,” you responded. “If anything, I feel like I relate more to Helmholtz’s struggle to express his intense feelings in a society devoid of such emotion.” 

Leaning your head against your palm, you smirked as you imagined the gears furiously turning in Eddie’s head.  

“Ah, so you agree that there’s no free will in their society?” he spoke after a solid minute, finger extended toward you as if in a ‘gotcha’ moment. “If you don’t fit in or conform to your stupid caste, you’re either forced to leave or you end up dying like good ol’ Johnny boy because you’re so miserable. You call that happy?”

“Free will and happiness aren’t always linked, though. Because of soma, most of society was happy with their position–”

“Because they were ignorant. Does that make them truly happy?”

“Well, how would you define happiness?”  

Eddie scoffed as if you were asking him what color the sky was. “The freedom to be yourself and not care what others think. Why, you think differently?”

You mulled the question in your head, before concluding, “I’m not sure. I just know when I’m happy, I’m not in pain and everything feels stable around me.”

“That sounds like you’re content, which isn’t happiness,” Eddie countered. His intense gaze made you uneasy, brown eyes indecipherable. “Don’t you want more than that?”

“Of course I do,” you said, rather defensively, “but we’re not getting that in Hawkins.”

“And you think you’ll get it at that pretentious college with students that are worse than the rich douchebags in this town?”  

“Yes, because Yale,” you corrected, “has one of the best English departments in the country. I would be able to take so many courses in creative writing! Hawkins has the Hawkins Post. ”

Eddie scratched his head, suspicious eyes narrowed as he questioned, “I thought you wanted to major in Political Science?”

You faltered for a second, astonished he even remembered that. Did he see through your facade?

“R-right, that’s what I meant. I doubt law schools would care, anyway. I’d still meet teachers and friends who’d respect and support my dream of being a lawyer.”

“But why do you still care so much about what others think? To conform to their mindset?” he pressed on, irritation starting to gnaw at you. 

“Because, unlike you”–you rose from your seat, packing up your things as you averted his gaze and furiously whispered–“there’s people that I care about. God forbid I want to be normal and make my friends and parents happy. Your method of running away just creates more problems!”

“Oh, so you think I’m some evil freak?” He stood in your way, preventing you from leaving the library. Of course, the librarian wasn’t at her desk to intervene.

So you stared straight at him, jaw set as your hands tightly gripped the straps of your backpack. “You want the truth, Munson?”

He crossed his arms before having the audacity to roll his eyes at you. “The floor is yours! Clearly you think you’re smarter than me.”

“That’s not true,” you shot back, pressing a finger against his chest, “but what’s true is that you think the whole world is out to get you, when there’s people who care about you. Gareth, Jeff, Mike, Dustin.” 

You gulped, closing your eyes and dropping your hand from his chest as you whispered, “Me.” Opening your eyes, you looked at his dumbfounded expression as you finished, “People do care for you. But you’re too eager about running away to realize and admit it, you coward.” 

Right before his stunned self could say anything, you violently blinked away your blurry vision and asked, “There, are you happy with that answer, Munson?”

At least the one thing you were thankful for this Thanksgiving break was that you wouldn’t need to see him anytime soon.

–

“–and Chrissy’s upset that Jason’s been so focused on preparing for the season, he even held a practice today, on Thanksgiving!…I’m speaking to the void, aren’t I?”

You regained the loosening grip on your phone, a surprised “Hm?” leaving you while you sat up from your bed and untangled yourself from the telephone coils. 

“What has been going on with you? Are we fighting?”

“Mag, what, why do you think that?”

“Because I tell you my whole life story, and you say one word. One word!” 

“No–”

“See what I mean? If you’re angry at me, we can work it–”

“Mags, the only thing you need to be working on is telling Christopher Perkins that you’ve been in love with him for the past three years.”

“Oh, don’t bring that into this! That is low, even for you!” 

But hearing her light chuckle across the line showed she wasn’t upset at your daily reminder to get her act together. You laughed, too, before sighing at your own hypocrisy.

A whisper, almost too soft to hear it. “It’s the college stuff, isn’t it? You’re stressed about that?”

“More like I’m having a mid-life crisis at the ripe age of eighteen,” you complained, puffing your cheeks frustratedly as you stared at the ceiling. 

How would you even begin to tell her that Eddie’s words a few days ago still rattled you? That his disappointed face–as if he had realized his gut instinct was right, and that you were no different from the popular kids of Hawkins High–was seared into your mind? 

You questioned every single choice you made, pondered the motives behind your greatest ambitions.

Did you actually want to be a lawyer? Or were you enticed by the prestige and financial security that came from such a title?  

And why were you so hellbent on pleasing others? Why did the respect of your friends and family seem to matter more than your wellbeing?

Just as you felt yourself begin to spiral, Maggie’s concerned voice now a distant buzz in the background, two loud knocks made you jump from your bed.

“Shit!” you cursed, heart hammering out of your chest as you locked onto Eddie Munson’s sheepish eyes behind your window.

“Maggie,” you breathed, hoping she didn’t detect your shaky voice, “Maggie, dinner’s ready, I gotta go. Can’t miss my dad’s cranberry sauce. Happy Thanksgiving!”

“Wait a–”

Hanging up, you rushed to your window to open it, harshly whispering, “You have a lot of nerve showing up after all you said–”

“Can we have this conversation inside, I’m freezing!”

You let Eddie crawl his way to your bedroom floor, your body still fuming as you murmured, “That’s what you get for wearing a leather jacket, you dumb metalhead.”

Your anger then increased when a revelation dawned on you.

“How do you even know where I live? Were you stalking me?”

“What, no!” he whispered back as he stood less than a foot from you, just as annoyed. “The movies make this seem a lot easier than it is. But Mike Wheeler was nice enough to tell me you’re neighbors, unlike a certain person I know.”

“When would that ever be relevant information, you creep?” 

“Stop calling me a–”

You covered his mouth with one hand, using your other to make a ‘shh’ gesture.

When he made a confused sound, you simply mouthed the word ‘dad’ to Eddie. His comically-widened eyes would’ve calmed your heightened nerves if it weren’t for your name being called by a person whose ascending footsteps grew louder each second.

“Hide,” you urged as Eddie dove straight into your closet while you ran to sit against the headboard of your bed, trying to appear as collected as possible.

“Hey, dad.” You looked up from the book you were supposedly reading, smiling at the confused man who just opened your bedroom door. “Something wrong?”

“I dunno, you tell me. Why’d you scream bloody murder?”

“Oh, it wasn’t that bad. I got off the phone with Maggie and I accidentally stubbed my toe trying to grab this book to read. I’m fine, really.”

You caught his glance toward your open window and mentally cursed at your mistake.

“I didn’t know your room was hot enough to crack that open.”

“It just felt a bit stuffy in here,” you weakly supplied, tugging at the collar of your wool sweater while you cleared your throat that felt drier than sandpaper. “Maybe I should’ve worn less layers.”

“Right…I’m going back to the turkey, should be done in an hour.” He pursed his lips, before gravely adding, “If anyone breaks in, just holler again. I’ll bring out the shotguns in the living room.”

Sighing after the bedroom door shut, you felt your frustration toward Eddie slowly chip away as he shyly peeked his head out of your closet, a mixture of fear, concern, and skepticism in his eyes as he asked, “Shotguns? Plural? In your living room?”

“You’re safe,” you assured him as he began to look around your room, “but why the hell are you here?”

“You have a lot of books,” he muttered instead, eyes continuously flitting to a new growing pile out of the many haphazardly distributed in your room. “Like, a lot of them.”

“Munson…” 

He noisily peered at the cassettes next to the Walkman that laid on your desk. “Big Fleetwood Mac fan. No surprise there.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

It was almost as if he knew his teasing grin would dissipate some of your anger. “What do you think it means?”

That you had better taste in music than he did. The snarky reply never left your mouth, though you could vividly imagine his over-the-top response that would’ve followed—how his affronted gasp would be paired with him banging the library table in false indignation, desperately trying (for the umpteenth time) to convince you to listen to Judas Priest.

But you two weren’t at the library, and this was no time for banter.

“Eddie…”

“I know, I know, I’ll stop skirting around, just gimme a minute.” As if to give you space, he opted to sit in your desk chair. 

After an awkward silence of averted glances and hand wringing, Eddie prefaced, “I’m sorry for the shit I said on Monday. It was crazy and unnecessary. I don’t know what came over me.”

“It was crazy, and it hurt.” You played with the sleeve of your sweater, unsure of where to start yourself. “But I was also mean, and I’m sorry for that. At least you were right about a few things.”

His knitted eyebrows displayed his lack of understanding. “Right about what?”

“I don’t know what I want to do in my life,” you confided, laughing at the instantaneous relief you felt after sharing the haunting thought aloud. 

You brought your knees to your chest, sending Eddie a quivering smile. “I’ve spent eighteen years of my life constantly pleasing everyone around me, thinking I’d be a burden if I did otherwise. Constantly afraid of failing, not meeting their expectations.”

“You haven’t failed them.”

“But I’ve failed myself.” 

Eddie shook his head, standing from his seat before balking at the empty spot in your bed. When you nodded, he quietly sat across from you, his face the most solemn you’d ever seen him.

“Look, I’m sorry if I made you think you had to have all of life”—he gesticulated wildly, large, brown orbs matching the madness—“figured out. But no one knows what the fuck they’re doing. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. So if someone tries to plan out every single part of your life, fuck them! What authority do they have?”

“And you don’t need to take life advice from a dude who has flunked high school twice…” Eddie nervously twisted the ring on his index finger before giving you a genuine grin. “…but you have time to get it all sorted out. Hey, maybe you’ll get some help from that fancy ass school that will definitely accept you because they’d be stupid not to. And even if they don’t, I know whatever you do will be a hell of a lot better than what most people in this town accomplish.”

You blinked at Eddie, once, two, three times. You then offered the smallest of smiles, not confident that your tightening chest and the lump in your throat would allow you to say anything.

So you hugged him instead, an admittedly awkward embrace with your arms around his neck as you buried your face into his shoulder. But the odd combination of pine, cigarettes, and cheap cologne consumed all your senses, your overactive brain forgetting everything else as it now focused on one thing.

One person. 

“You need to stop smoking,” was the first thing you said after a few minutes of comfortable silence, voice muffled as you directly spoke into his vest.

Soft, fluffy hair tickled your cheek while you felt the deep laughter reverberating from his chest. 

The arm around your waist briefly tightened. “Maybe that’ll be my New Year’s resolution.”

“No, your first resolution should be to finally graduate.”

“‘86 will be my year, I feel it in my bones.”

“Didn’t you say that with ‘85 literally two months ago?”

“I was full of shit back then. That was before I got my first C- in Ms. O’Donnell’s.” He gingerly lifted your head from his shoulder, cupping your chin as he said, “Which was thanks to you, by the way.”

“Not true. Since you actually wrote it.” 

His wide grin fell a bit, and you worried you crossed yet another line. 

His next words only increased your anxiety.

“If I ask you something, will you be totally straight with me?” 

You gulped at the abrupt shift, heartbeat erratic. “Depends on the question.”

He continued anyway.

“The other day, you said you cared for me. Did you mean that?” Those brown orbs imploringly scoured every inch of your face, hoping to find a sign that’d appear before your verbal answer.

He didn’t need to.

“Yes,” you whispered, voice so quiet he would’ve missed it if you weren’t mere inches away. “I meant it.”

His eyes softened, glancing at your lips before returning your gaze. 

Sharply inhaling, you began to close the gap, feeling your lips brush against his—

Before jumping for the second time today, releasing a startled gasp at the shrill sound of your ringing telephone.

“You should get that,” Eddie croaked, voice suddenly hoarse.

When he got up, you panicked. “I’ll get it later. Stay here, I can sneak you some dinner.”

He cleared his throat, fingers and eyes increasingly interested in fixing the pins on his vest. “Uh, I don’t know. I usually spend Turkey Day with my uncle. Chinese food, shitty beer, you get the gist.”

“Y-yeah, of course.” Your forced, tight-lipped smile made your cheeks ache. “Have fun.”

You hated the growing distance between you two. Hated how the incessant ringing punctured the now stifling air. 

He nodded and scratched the back of his head, an uncharacteristically speechless Eddie Munson unsure of what to say.

Bidding for an awkward “See ya later,” he exited your window, not privy to the spectacle of you screaming into your pillow. 

When the phone continued to ring, it was impossible to conceal your pure frustration when answering the call.

“Somebody better be dead or dying…”

“I told Chris!” Maggie exclaimed, who sounded very much alive. “And we’re going on a date tomorrow!”

Groaning loudly, you collapsed against your bed, Maggie’s bubbly voice fading into the background once again as you were on the verge of yet another spiral. 

—

“You like him, don’t you?”

“Who?” 

The way Maggie half-growled your name confirmed you weren’t going to get out of this. “You know who I’m talking about.”

Taking a bite of your sandwich, you looked at a wary Chris. “Do you know who she’s talking about?”

“I’m actually gonna get more tater tots,” he decided slowly, furtive glances sent toward the both of you before he practically ran to the lunch line.

“Don’t play dumb,” Maggie persisted, “not when I just saw you smiling at Eddie freaking Munson.”

“I mean, what he said was kinda funny. And true.” Jason’s comically peeved face after Eddie asked if the basketball captain’s singular brain cell still functioned now reappeared in your head.

“No one laughs at his ‘jokes’ unless you’re one of his lackeys.”

Your lips soured into a shape that was far from a smile. “So you’re saying I’m not just dumb, but I’m also a lackey?”

“I’m saying you have a crush on the weirdest person in this school!”  

The deafening silence that ensued was the nail in the coffin, but your next words truly sealed your fate.

“He’s not that weird.”

Maggie sighed, your brain unable to comprehend the simultaneous, paradoxical look of understanding and pity in her eyes. “You’re in deep, aren’t you?”

She wasn’t the first one to tell you that. After all, you’d read plenty of Austen and Brontë novels to know the reason behind your dysfunction. 

It wasn’t that you were embarrassed to have feelings for Eddie Munson. You were mortified that–

“It’s that obvious?”

Especially after what had (almost) happened on Thanksgiving. Those few minutes were all it took to open Pandora’s Box, releasing a disconcerting cloud of emotions that controlled your thoughts every second of every day.

Which explained why each tutoring session for the past three weeks had been absolute torture. A switch flipped inside you, heightened senses observing the smallest of details.

The multitude of shirts with names of heavy metal bands you’d never knew existed.  

The demon puppet tattoo on his forearm, which neighbored six tiny bats. (And you swore you once caught a glimpse of black ink peeking from his shirt, right underneath his collarbone.)

That slight furrow to his brow whenever he began an essay or homework assignment, which was quite similar to his ‘I’m on a writing roll’ look but also completely different. Or how he rolled up his sleeves whenever he was psyched, but mindlessly twirled the ring on his index finger when he was processing something.

Yet you also noticed the strange change in your dynamic. You initially attributed it to midterms stress, despite knowing Eddie’s lack of concern for exams, or school in general. One second you’d catch him staring at you, as if wanting to tell you something. Then he’d quickly raise the wall, attempting to diffuse the charged tension with some cringe-inducing joke.

It drove you crazy. 

“Uh, considering that you’re currently looking his way,” Maggie interrupted your thoughts, “I’d say, yeah, pretty obvious.”

As if he heard, Eddie’s eyes briefly locked with yours before his chortling friends seized his attention.

He drove you crazy.

“What do you see in him?”

His talent to tell terrible dad jokes. Some signs of intelligence. Way too much confidence. 

Kindness. 

“Why do you even care? You’d hate whatever I’d say.”

Maggie shook her head, placing her hand over yours. “I’m just concerned for you. He’s dangerous. And what would others think? Your parents? It’s social suicide!”

“If you’re worried about that last part, then let me make things easier for you. Goodbye, Maggie.” Getting up, you ignored her pleas to come back as you rushed to one of your safest spaces at Hawkins High.

Only to find someone else sniffling at the Weekly Streak’s editor-in-chief workspace.

“Nancy, are you crying?” You frowned, forgetting the reason why you were here as you gently questioned, “Wait, did you hear from Emerson?”

“Huh? No, not yet, I just think I caught a cold–”

“Is it Jonathan? I’ll kick his ass if he–”

“No!” she shouted, wincing at how loud she sounded before she laughed to herself and sent an appreciative smile your way. “I mean, everything’s fine with us. He’s actually visiting soon, for Christmas. But I appreciate your concern.” 

“Oh, that’s great! I’m so happy for you, Nance!” you exclaimed, your wobbly grin and teary eyes indicating otherwise.

Grabbing a few tissues, Nancy rushed to your side while she gave a reassuring squeeze of your shoulder. “Did you hear back from Yale?”

“Nah, I’m in the same boat as you,” you grumbled at remembering yet another lurking stressor.

“Then whose ass do I need to kick?”

“Let me write a list,” you deadpanned, though Nancy found it far from funny. 

“I’m just so stressed, and tired.” Throwing out your used tissues, you leaned against the desk and sighed, “So, so tired.”

“Midterms?”

You barked out the ugliest laugh. “I wish! That’s easier to understand than Eddie Munson.” 

Mentally cursing at your blunder, you rushed to fix the mistake. “Like, how many times do I have to tell him that Frankenstein is the scientist, not the monster?”

“Right,” said an unconvinced Nancy, her eyebrow raised as she innocently added, “So is that why you tutored him on Thanksgiving?” 

Everything in your body ceased to function, save for your dry mouth that tried to ask her–

“How?” she said, the wry twist to her lips showed she was enjoying this too much. “I was going to keep it a secret, but it’s not everyday you see a man spending over half an hour climbing a tiny tree and spending even longer getting down from it.”

“Oh my god,” you wheezed, tears pricking your eyes while your body shook from uncontrollable laughter. “He is such a loser.”

Unsure of how to soothe you, Nancy enveloped you into a tight hug. “Mike agrees. I don’t know what happened to the two of you that night but ever since then he’s been in a weird mood. Something about making a campaign much harder?”

“Stop lying, Wheeler.”

Breaking the hug, she firmly placed her hands on your shoulder as she forced you to look at her. “You think I like hearing my little brother constantly complain about Dragons and Dungeons?”

“It’s Dungeons and Dragons,” you corrected meekly, afraid that those words would be your last.

Nancy’s eye twitched as her grip on your shoulder tightened to an almost painful degree. “Please know that I say this because you’re my friend, but if you don’t tell him how you feel, then Eddie’s not the only loser in this story.”

–

“Today’s the big day!” exclaimed Mr. Benson, the mailman excitedly waving the envelope like it was a golden ticket. 

You wanted to hurl. Figuratively and literally.

Nancy’s gift of friendship not only included an absolutely inspiring and vaguely threatening pep talk, but she threw in a bonus side of germs that left you bedridden with a cold the entire weekend. 

Still feeling somewhat weak on Monday, you unexpectedly convinced your parents to let you take a sick day, knowing that at worst you’d be missing lectures dedicated to reviewing for your midterms.

Now every step toward Mr. Benson was tinged with regret in deciding to stay home, not ready to read the either exciting or crushing news.

His gloved hands gave it to you as he sent you a wink. “I dropped off Nancy’s as well. Fred told me he’s already prepared the article to make the announcement.”

“You’re both too sweet, Mr. Benson,” you lied through your chattering teeth, not sure if the trembling was due to your nerves or the frigid weather. But there was no doubt that the Nancy-obsessed nerd wrote only one name on that headline, and it certainly wasn’t yours. 

“Good luck!” he bid as he moved to the next home, allowing you to scuffle directly across to the Wheeler mailbox.

“NANCY!” you shouted from the top of your lungs, attempting to reign in the coughing fit you were about to go into. “NANCY, GET YOUR ASS OUTSIDE OR I’M OPENING YOUR EMERSON LETTER! Oh, hi, Mrs. Wheeler!”

The younger Wheeler appeared not a moment later, sharing an anxious glance before tearing open the envelope you gave her.

Though there was no reason to be nervous for her in the first place, finding yourself jumping alongside her mom and hugging Nancy before she even screamed, “I GOT IN!” 

And you probably would’ve continued celebrating were it not for her stabilizing your dizzy body and looking you dead in the eyes.

“Wait, you need to open yours! Should we call your parents?” 

The unopened letter stuffed inside the pocket of your puffer jacket suddenly weighed like a ton of bricks. 

Even if it was good news, you wouldn’t be able to do this by yourself. 

Which is why you shook your head at a puzzled Nancy, her bewilderment increasing with your next request.

“Do you think I could borrow Mike’s bike for a bit?”

–

“Fucking hell!”

About halfway into your freezing joyride, the burning sensation in your lungs painfully reminded you of your sheer stupidity in declining Nancy’s offer to give you a ride in her heated car. (You also made a mental note to take your driver’s exam before graduation.)

You had no idea what you were doing. Quite frankly, you hoped the bike ride would clear your head and make it easier for you to choose your next course of action.

But the closer you got to your destination meant the farther you were from turning back. 

So you peddled even harder, whizzing by the sign to the Forest Hills Trailer Park as you spent your last burst of energy. It wasn’t until you spotted a certain battered van that you felt your tired body buzz in anticipation. 

Because maybe there was a slim chance your plan wouldn’t fall apart.

Or at least that’s what you told yourself as you knocked on the door to the trailer before you. 

When no one responded, you took a deep breath before you pleaded, “Munson, please. I know you have early release on Mondays and Wednesdays.”

Deciding whether to knock again or head back home, the choice was made for you as the door finally opened.

“I’m not the Munson you’re looking for,” drawled a middle-aged man who was right in his deduction.

“Mr. Munson! Nice to meet you!” you squealed, wishing you could crawl into a corner as you began profusely apologizing to the man who was probably resting after a graveyard shift.

“No need, about to head out to grab some food anyway.” He studied you for a moment, as if piecing together a puzzle. “You’re his tutor, aren’t you?”

“What gave it away?” you laughed, surprised that he knew his nephew had one in the first place.

“You did, just now.” He lit his cigarette, exhaling smoke the other way before facing you again. “I thought the boy was coverin’ his tracks whenever he talked about goin’ to the library to see his uptight tutor. Good to know it wasn’t a lie.”

“How…nice.” You weren’t sure what irked you more: Eddie Munson calling you uptight or his uncle being able to immediately identify you through that descriptor.

“My nephew uses all our hot water washin’ that hair of his. But he should be done showerin’ soon, feel free to stay warm inside.”

It was a nicer welcome than the one you received from the younger Munson, who clutched his chest and screamed “JESUS H. CHRIST!” when he walked out of the bathroom and saw you.

A joke was on the tip of your tongue, ready to poke fun at the intimidating metalhead cowering in fear. But you felt yourself freeze when he hesitantly said your name, oddly shy with all of his attention on you.

Having a crush was so unnerving. 

He slowly approached the couch you currently sat on before harshly rubbing his eyes, still not believing what he was seeing.

“Stop acting as I’m some ghost, you dork.”

No response, just a suspicious glint. He broke the uncomfortable silence when he poked at your shoulder, yelped, and realized you were, in fact, telling him the truth and casually in his home.

“I have so many questions.” 

“Nice to see you too, Eddie.”

“And you, uh, look and sound like shit,” he continued, a line that would’ve made you slap him if it weren’t for the concern in his voice. “So Ms. O’Donnell wasn’t lying about you being sick. Do you want water or something?”

“Well, at least I don’t have a hole in my shirt,” you lamely pointed out, hoping he didn’t catch your eyes lingering on his biceps. This was the first time you’d seen him wear a short sleeve t-shirt–Iron Maiden merch, no surprise there–and holy shit, was that a new tattoo?

“And water would be great,” you whispered, trying to swallow the new lump in your throat as you exercised great strength to stop admiring his inked arms in that tiny, black shirt. “I hate feeling this thirsty.”

“I’m only ignoring the slander because you’re sick. Even Gollum has seen better days than you.” 

“I have no idea who or what a Gollum is, but I’m still offended.”

His face split into a wolfish grin, mischievous eyes twinkling as he half-sang, “What you don’t know won’t hurt you!”

As he went to the kitchen to fill a glass with water, you then caught his perplexed expression from the counter. “But speaking of being lost as hell, how’d you even get here?”

“Address or vehicle wise?”

“Uh, both, I guess?”

He plopped himself on the opposite side of the couch after handing you the cup, your fingers grazing his ring-cladded ones for what seemed like a second too long. Not trying to dwell on how touch-starved you were, you threw your head back and downed the water in one swoop, ignoring Eddie’s sarcastic, “Lemme pour myself a vodka shot, too.”

“Nancy gave me the address and I may have borrowed Mike’s bike.”

“How did that answer everything but nothing?”

Then a beat later. “Hold on, you biked all the way here in the freezing cold while having a cold? Are you insane?”

“Mike’s odometer said it was only seven miles.” You winced at Eddie’s high-pitched repetition of the number.

“Man, so maybe you wouldn’t design the most intelligent character in the Dungeon…”

“Hardy har har. I didn’t come all this way to play in your little campaign.”

“Care to share the real reason why you’re here, then?” 

You laughed–of course Eddie would ask the most important question last rather than first.

Fishing out the item from the pocket of your jacket, you answered by showing him the envelope.

“Well, shit.” He whistled and gently grabbed the wrinkled paper when you nodded for him to take it. 

“Shit, indeed.”

Eddie’s eyebrows knit into one when he saw the envelope was still sealed. “Why haven’t you opened it yet?”

“I can’t,” you replied honestly, hands fidgeting as you felt the nausea return. “I’ve been waiting so long for this, but I’m fucking terrified.”

“So you’re never gonna open it?”

“Maybe”–you smiled sheepishly, your next jumbled words sounding more like a question than a statement–“that’s because I want you to open it?”

“Me?” he squeaked out, eyes wide.

“And read it, too.”

“Are you sure this cold didn't also, I dunno, fry your brain?”

“Even if it did, you know how stressed I was about applying to schools. Am.” You pointed at the envelope. “You helped me even though you hate talking about college. Hell, you probably saw that side of me more than anyone else.”

“That can’t be true–”

“It is,” you interjected, grabbing one of his hands to squeeze it, hoping your face showed your sincerity. “I don’t want to open it alone, but the idea of reading the letter for the first time with my parents feels even worse.”

“I’m still not getting how I would make things better.”

“Because you wouldn’t judge me, Eddie.” Not when he’s been so supportive.

When he’s been there for you every. Single. Time.

“I’d be stupid to judge you.” He squeezed your hand back, though his softened eyes still held that hesitancy. “But are you sure about this?”

“100%.”

“Yeah, but, are you really that sure?”

“Hey, remember when I canceled tutoring because you passed your Frankenstein quiz? And you said you owed something to your ridiculously hot and smart tutor?”

He rolled his eyes but you still caught the slight twitch of his lips. “Something like that, yeah.”

“Well, I’m cashing in that favor now.”

Even if the dynamic between the two of you felt different after Thanksgiving, his excited grin and brightened eyes toward you never changed.

And the sweet way he said your name, tone hushed, as if in awe. How easily it rolled off his tongue as he softly told you, “You’re something else, you know that?” 

It was in that split second you felt incredibly tempted to ask him for another favor.

But you shook your head and laughed, trying to shake away any of those thoughts before you half-glared at him. “You’re one to talk. But please, please, read the letter, or the suspense will literally kill me.” 

“Impatient, are we? But I will say, it’s quite thick.” Giving your hand one last reassuring squeeze before he let go, Eddie began breaking the envelope seal. “They wouldn’t waste more than a page on a rejected student, right?”

“Ah shit, I can’t watch this.” You shut your eyes, hearing Eddie unfold the letter as he cleared his throat and read the greeting in a neutral voice.

He dropped that tone quickly upon reading the first two sentences, the dramatic shift providing such whiplash that it took your brain a solid minute to fully register the words. 

“Welcome to Yale College! It is with the greatest enthusiasm that I write to congratulate you on your admission to the Class of 1990.”

Tears welled up in your opened eyes, but you could still see Eddie’s toothy grin as he made you stand and jump with him.

“Oh my god, Eddie, the rest of the letter!” Yet your gaze only fixated on the elated man in front of you rather than the paper on the couch.

“Screw the rest of the letter! YOU GOT IN!”

Your excited shouts and laughter joined his as he began twirling you around and almost knocked down a lamp in the process, only stopping when both your voices became shot. 

“Fuck,” you coughed out, laying on the couch as you barely caught your breath and blankly stared at the paper in your hand. “I still can’t believe it.”

“Well, you better start. And we gotta keep celebrating.” Pacing throughout the living room, each finger ticked off an option from the endless list of activities you could choose from. “–a movie, or stuffing our faces at a diner, you name it. What are we doing next?”

“Mmm, how ‘bout a nap?” you yawned, an instant wave of exhaustion washing over you.

“Huh? Christ, I forgot you’re sick.” Kneeling in front of you, Eddie warned, “Don’t you fall asleep on me.”

“Your hand feels nice,” you pleasantly sighed at the cool touch of his hand on your burning forehead, further confirming his suspicions of a fever.

Consciousness was becoming increasingly harder to tap into, but faintly hearing Eddie say the word “home” briefly jolted you back to reality.

Your heart lurched when you realized he was carrying you, senses overwhelmed by the familiar scent of pine and cheap cologne mixing with a minty fragrance coming from his recently-washed hair.

“No, wait!” You weakly grabbed onto his shirt, whining, “I still wanna celebrate!”

“Next time,” he assured you. “I promise.” 

It was the last thing you remember hearing, the calming smell of mint lulling you to sleep.

–

“Are you sure you don’t want to stop by, even for a few minutes? Mrs. Henderson made these cute Christmas cookies. Well, they’re shaped like cats so maybe they’re not that festive, but they’re still really good.”

“Nance, I’m fine, really. I’m used to the parentals working in the ER on Christmas, saving and healing the Santas that have fallen off their roofs.” 

Holding the phone closer to your ear as you shifted on your bed, you could make out the faint laughter in the background and what sounded like Dustin recruiting someone for the Hellfire Club.

Laughing at the antics, you teased, “Sounds like you got a full house anyway. How’re you and lover boy?”

“We actually got into a stupid fight about him applying to Emerson.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah,” Nancy sighed, “We made dinner a bit awkward for everyone. But it’ll be fine, I think. How’s your lover boy doing?”

“Don’t call him that,” you huffed, face instantly burning.  

Besides, the last time you saw Eddie Munson was when you knocked out on his couch. Nancy thought otherwise, especially after last Monday evening, when she answered the ringing doorbell to the Wheeler residence and saw your calmly sleeping figure in his arms.

Despite her interrogation, Eddie only told Nancy that you were worn out from your biking escapade and that he left Mike’s bike in the driveway. After giving you and your decision letter to Nancy (“Don’t lose that, Wheeler.”), he apparently ran back to his van and drove away in his typical maniacal fashion. 

It didn’t help that you missed another day of school, spending the entire time sweating out your fever. Considering you didn’t recall any of this, and Nancy’s journalistic abilities in telling this story seemed compromised, you had hoped to talk to Eddie the day you finally returned to Hawkins High. 

Only to miss his chaos in the unusually quieter cafeteria, freshman and even seniors stressed about midterms and getting last-minute Secret Santa gifts. When Gareth–shocked to see you approach him and the others during lunchtime–had told you that Eddie was sick, you doubted that the metalhead wanted any visitors.

So you resigned to the horrible timing and focused on taking your exams for the rest of the week, immensely grateful for the start of winter break the following Monday.

“Nothing’s going on between us, I swear.”

“Mhmmm.” Hearing more indiscrete voices, Nancy giggled before saying, “Oh, how nice! Mike just said you could borrow his bike again if you wanna pay someone a visit. Maybe Christmas miracles do exist.”

How were you getting clowned by a fifteen-year-old? 

“You’re both insufferable.”

“I’m just fulfilling my duty as a journalist and being honest.”

“But I told you the truth–he’s not interested!” 

“Then why is he climbing the tree next to your bedroom window, again?”

You hung up the phone and ran before your body could tell you to stop, opening the window as your face was hit with the bitter air and disbelief.

“Eddie!” you half-whispered, startling the man as he almost lost his grip. “What are you doing?!”

And of course he still had that leather jacket on.

“Christ, you’re not supposed to see this!” he panted, his frosty breath revealing how cold it was. “Gimme a few more minutes.”

Despite anticipating the oncoming headache, you couldn’t control the amused laughter that escaped you. “You dork, you’re lucky there’s no snow. Just go through the front door. My parents aren’t here.”

You swore you heard a “Oh, thank god” before flying down the stairs and opening the door for him.

“Hi,” he greeted–shooting you a stiff wave and a lopsided smile–as if he hadn’t failed in climbing your tree a few seconds ago.

“Hi,” you returned shyly, that tightness in your chest re-emerging. Quickly picking away the twigs in that ridiculously soft hair and trying to act as if it was no big deal, you let Eddie inside.

“Um, are you feeling better?” you asked as you led him upstairs, hoping you sounded more nonchalant than what you currently felt.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that, considering you, uh, passed out in my arms?” 

You flipped him the bird before opening your bedroom door, scoffing, “I didn’t forget everything that happened that day. If I remember correctly, you promised to celebrate my acceptance with me.”

Letting Eddie sit next to you on your bed brought a sense of déjà vu that was getting harder to dispel with each passing second. 

“You’re totally right. Which is why I brought you something. It was gonna be a Fleetwood Mac poster, but I didn’t have the strength to buy it in public.” He shuddered at the name, a gesture that made you roll your eyes.

“You’re so dramatic,” you muttered playfully, accepting the weirdly heavy plastic bag from Radioshack that he gave you, a sheepish look on his face as he nervously scratched the back of his head. 

“I was gonna gift-wrap it but then realized that A) I don’t have anything to actually wrap the gift with and B) I had no time because I had to make-up my midterms two days ago.” Eyes widening as if he forgot something, he grinned and added, “Oh, speaking of that, I’m preeetyyy sure I bombed Ms. O’Donnell’s exam so I guess you’re still my tutor. Sorry.”

You pretended to shake your head disapprovingly–even if you tried, you couldn’t be mad, secretly happy to hear his rambling again. “You don’t sound sorry.”

“That’s because I feel more sorry for myself. Spending more time with you?” He fake gagged, his hands pretending to clutch his throat as he stuck his tongue out. “Ugh, a fate worse than death. I’d rather head to Mordor.”

“I’ll hit you and your obscure references with whatever is in this bag,” you teased, opening it as you peered inside. “What even is in this–”

You fell silent as you took out the boxed set of books, eyes scanning over the different titles written by J.R.R. Tolkien while your coy smile grew..

“You know, when I said I wanted to read The Lord of the Rings, I didn’t mean you had to get me the whole trilogy.”

In fact, you were planning on getting a library copy soon, in search of a new series to read. (And to finally understand whatever the hell Eddie kept on mentioning these past five months.) 

“The books are actually mine,” Eddie said quietly, hands fidgeting as he nervously looked at your face to gauge your reaction. “I also threw in The Hobbit, which you should read first because it sets the stage for everything but is quick to finish. And if you ever get confused look at my notes. Not to toot my own horn, but they’re pretty damn good. Sometimes even funny.”

“Holy shit,” you breathed, shocked by the myriad highlights and annotations across hundreds of pages.

In August, if someone had told you Eddie Munson read and enjoyed a series that was over a thousand pages long, you would’ve outright laughed at them.

Now, you could easily imagine him excitedly flipping through each page, listening to Megadeth and Dio in the background as he hunched over his messy desk and scribbled his endless thoughts, wondering how he could incorporate some elements to his next D&D campaign.

It was an endearing picture, one that calmed your frantic heartbeats as you were reminded of how you two weren’t so different. 

“Are you sure you wanna give these to me?” you asked, gazing into the warmest, brown eyes that belonged to Hawkin’s allegedly most dangerous teenager.

His cheeky grin already provided his thoughts. “I’ve read these books so many times I can probably quote it back to you. And I know once you finish these bad boys you’ll want to join Hellfire, so it’s a no-brainer, really.” 

“Only when hell freezes over, pun very much intended,” you taunted, about to thank him for the gift until a smug Eddie placed a finger on your lip and whipped out another item underneath his jacket.

Unlike the boxed set, this one was wrapped in newspaper, his intent touching you enough that you didn’t even think about poking holes at his white lie from earlier or at his shoddy craftsmanship. 

“I will say, that horrible pun made me consider whether I wanted to give this to you, but since I’m an incredibly nice person”–he gently placed the rectangular gift on your lap–“I got you this, too.”

Your forehead tilted in confusion and uncertainty, but you nodded and began opening the present.

“A journal,” you whispered in awe, admiring the intricate tree designed on the cover while your fingers appreciated the feel of your initials engraved in the corner of the authentic leather.

“Thought you would need something to write on for all those college creative writing courses you keep on talking about.” He shrugged impassively, but there was no way to hide the genuine gratitude in his eyes, the sincerity that followed shortly after. 

“And I want to thank you for all your help. And for not hating me because people think I’m a freak. You’re cool in general, but I guess not being a douche makes you a pretty good person, too.”

The number of times Eddie Munson had left you unsure of what to say were more than you’d like to admit. But this was the first time he rendered you speechless, brain unable to think of an action that would show how much his words affected you.

How much Eddie meant to you.

So you kissed him, ignoring the weird angle or the way your teeth clicked after pulling his W.A.S.P. shirt a bit too roughly. Ignoring his slightly chapped lips and the fact that you ate sour cream and onion chips not one hour ago. 

You kissed him, press after press of his lips against yours, climbing into his lap as your fingers got lost in his hair. 

He kissed you, one of his hands grabbing one side of your face while the other rested on your hip. Your head felt light, but you didn’t want to stop, enjoying the delightful warmth in your chest, addicted to the way his lips seemed to melt into yours.

Eddie was the first to break it off, allowing for your panting figures to breathe for just a few seconds before he instantly regretted the separation and dove back in, these soft and sweet kisses feeling more raw and open than before.

“Fuck,” he groaned against your mouth, hot breath tickling your face, “I wanted to do that for so long.”

You slowly leaned back, one hand against his chest as you smirked at the sight of his flushed cheeks and shiny, swollen lips. “I thought spending more time with me was a ‘fate worse than death.’”

Laughing, he pecked the tip of your nose before caressing your cheek, affectionate, brown orbs crinkling as he clarified, “You heard me wrong, sweetheart. Spending time without you is worse than death.”

“Ha, smooth!” you teased, amused as you raised an eyebrow. “And whipping out the pet names already? We didn’t even say what we are, you dork.”

Clearing his throat dramatically, he bowed his head as he finally asked the question.

“Would you do me the honor of being your boyfriend?”

Lifting his chin, you smiled into the kiss, hoping that was a good enough answer.

–

“Edward, slow down!” you screeched over the loud music, reaching for the roof handle of the van. 

Eddie’s chances of receiving his diploma from Principal Higgins this May were getting slimmer by the day, but based on the current speed an extremely excited Munson was driving, that chance was falling to zero for you, too.

The speedometer only lowered a sliver as Eddie scrunched his nose at the use of his first name. “Sorry, babe, but I’m still psyched after that show! We had a solid turnout.”

You recently started going to Corroded Coffin’s Tuesday gigs at the Hideout, and while they weren’t the best band in the world, you only had to watch a few shows before confirming that Eddie was a damn good guitarist. You’d even argue that seeing one show was sufficient to draw the same conclusion, but you could just picture Eddie’s shit-eating grin and constant bragging to his bandmates if you actually said those words aloud.

Proudly smiling at him, you grabbed his free hand and kissed the back of it. “The band’s best show yet. Told you people dig Fleetwood Mac covers.”

“Not as much as I dig you~” he sang giddily, wiggling his eyebrows at you as he slowed down to turn into Forest Hills.

“Ugh, stop being corny, Munson,” you laughed, affectionately squeezing his hand. Some of Eddie’s funniest moments came from the rush that followed after a performance, the man’s hyperactive brain rambling and continuously throwing out whatever joke or vague reference to see what would stick. 

The nights after concerts were also when he was practically bouncing off the walls, itching to release his pent-up energy.

Which explained why he was already peeling off your coat while trying to open the front door to his place. Why he tossed his own leather jacket aside and immediately placed you against the kitchen counter, knocking down a few items as he buried his face into your neck, hands dangerously inching up your thighs.

“Ed,” you mumbled, sighing pleasantly at the soft bite on a sensitive spot as your legs instinctively wrapped around him. “Why do we never go to your bed first?”

He raised his head, a mischievous look in his eyes as he roughly kissed you. Lips grazing the shell of your ear, he whispered, “But where’s the fun in that?”

A few tugs to his hair convinced him to follow your directions, shared laughter filling his bedroom as he gently threw you onto his bed. He wasted no time taking off his sweaty shirt and removing your top before leaning into you, the cold, metal rings on his calloused fingers trailing up to your bra and sending goosebumps all over. 

His lips ghosted yours before he breathed out, “You’re so pretty.” 

The comment made you smile and arch into him, his tongue entering your mouth right after you gasped at him unhooking your bra. 

He kissed you slowly, relishing your whimpers as he toyed with your nipples and shamelessly grinded against you, head too hazy with lust to care about the rough fabric of his jeans against yours. 

Closing your eyes, you let his hungry lips taste every inch of you, committing your skin to memory. For the first time ever you were grateful that the March weather was still cold enough for you to wear a turtleneck, the only way you were going to be able to hide the marks he so generously left on your shoulders and exposed neck. The loud, wet sounds of him gently sucking on the soft fat of your breasts caused you to press your thighs together, frustrated at how soaked your panties were getting. 

“Eddie,” you urged, breathless, fingers tangled in his hair as you guided him upward, foreheads meeting tenderly. You felt the low groan rumble from his chest as you told him, “I want more.”

You and Eddie weren’t necessarily walking into uncharted territory. After two months into your relationship, your intense make out sessions and roaming hands prompted a conversation about boundaries and sex.

Though neither of you were virgins (“Harrington?” Eddie asked you, his eyes practically falling out of their sockets. “As in rich boy, drives-a-BMW Steve Harrington? I’m competing against him?”), the two of you weren’t the most experienced. (“Oh yeah, I’ve been around…” Eddie started smugly, your unrelenting stare getting him to feebly rectify, “...uh, with two women.”) 

You both agreed to take your time, not wanting to rush things. Truthfully, you felt it improved communication between the two of you, Eddie quickly listening and learning about your needs. What you disliked and liked. What turned you off and what moves made you want to jump his bones.

The latter now a feeling that you were experiencing, your chest filling with a greedy desire as the discomfort in your legs increased.   

“Please, Eddie,” you pleaded against his lips, rolling your hips into his and enjoying the low moan you riled out of him. “I want you so bad. I need you.”

“Are you sure?” he questioned, bumping noses and placing a light kiss on your forehead when you confidently responded with, “I’m ready.”

“But–”

He instantly froze when you said that, hands that were ready to lower your pants now firmly planted on your waist. “It’s okay to say no, now or later. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

Fuck, that was sexy, biting your lip at his words. Smiling softly, you reassured, “I’m definitely ready. But no handcuffs.”

The tip of Eddie’s ears matched his bright, blushing cheeks. “You saw those?” he whispered, his sideway glance toward his wardrobe incriminating himself.

Rolling your eyes, you ran a soothing hand over his chest as you teased, “It’s the first thing I saw in this messy ass room. We can use it some other time, but not tonight.”

“Hey, I’m not complaining, at all.” He worked quickly on discarding your pants, giving you a chaste peck before starting a trail of open-mouthed kisses on parts of you he neglected before. “Just the thought of using them is hot enough for me.”

“You kinky bastard!” you joked, body tingling with excitement when he tugged off your panties and part your legs even further, but not before tightly snapping the waistband against your skin. 

“But I’m your kinky bastard.” That comment and a sloppy kiss on your inner thigh drove you mad, not even thinking it was possible for the wetness between your clenched legs to continue growing.

It hurt to swallow your moan, your eyes refusing to leave his as you impatiently challenged, “Then do your magic, Dungeon Master.” 

The only warning was the flat of his tongue teasingly gliding between your parted folds, a shiver traveling up your spine at the sight of his shiny lips when he sighed, “Fuck, you’re so wet.”

His tongue continued to thrust straight into your leaking cunt, slow flicks become more assured as he found a rhythm that drew out your loudest moans and the most forceful hair pulling. The heat of his mouth closing around your core made you dizzy, hips bucking from the touch as you brought him further down to that tiny bundle of nerves.

“S-shit,” you stuttered upon feeling two fingers inside you, writhing helplessly into the bedsheets as he continued sucking your clit like a starved man. The curve of his digits hit a deep spot that made your eyes roll back, breaths becoming shallower as the searing knot in your stomach tightened.

“Eddie,” you whined, aching walls clutching his pumping fingers, “I wanna—”

“Cum, baby,” he encouraged, and you almost did.

But your eyes flew open, animated hands directing Eddie upward and shakily unbuckling his belt as you begged, “Want you inside, wanna ride you. Now.”

His hooded eyes widened while nodding enthusiastically, flipping you to the top and helping you lower his jeans and boxers before he cursed under his breath.  “Shit, where are the condoms?”

“No time, just pull out” you stammered, fingernails digging into his biceps as you spared a second to ogle at his considerable length, the tip glistening with precum. Hard. Ready. Waiting.

For you.

You lifted your hips and sank down, immediately keeling over and whimpering at the way his cock buried into you. Your shaking body alternated between going up and down and rocking back and forth, moaning at how good it felt.

How good he felt.

“That’s it,” Eddie grunted, one hand steadying and holding yours while the other ran up and down your flushed body, mesmerized by the sight of your bouncing tits and the cute mewls that left your pretty little mouth. Stars clouded your vision as Eddie quickened the pace and slammed into your hips, the friction of his thick cock against your walls a sensation you both continued hunting after. 

The incoherent babbling began as soon as he rubbed your clit with his ring, the cool steel bringing a new wave of pleasure that washed over your burning body.

“‘M gonna cum,” you managed to cry out, his name and curses tumbling from your lips as you felt a tense coil wound inside you. 

You let go, eyes shut in bliss as a white, hot burst of pleasure flooded your veins, your numb mind drowning in a newfound sense of euphoria. Eddie felt himself teetering on the edge of an orgasm, chest puffing in pride and eyes darkening at your fucked-out face as he chased his own climax.

Flipping positions again, the bed creaked with every thrust as you sunk further into the mattress, the sounds of slapping skin became louder than both of your groans combined. Eddie swallowed your moan by clumsily capturing your lips into a kiss, the faint taste of your arousal on his tongue. 

“Christ, you’re so beautiful,” he whispered into your ear, voice so low you barely caught it. 

You laughed, your insides doing somersaults as his palm arched your back toward him. The new angle allowed his twitching cock to slip deeper inside your spasming walls as you held his gaze, watching his pants become heavier and rhythm more erratic. 

Eddie quickly pulled out after, your body already missing the fullness as he painted your stomach in warm, white lines. 

“Fuck,” he breathed as he stood on his knees, voice thick and jaw dropped. His heaving chest displayed all the tattoos scattered across his pale skin, entrusting you with a secret only you had access to. His sweaty bangs clung to his forehead while the rest of his tangled hair stuck out in wild directions, framing his face like a halo. Hypnotized, you drank the stunning sight before you as he grabbed some tissues from his desk and gently cleaned you up. 

Eddie Munson was absolutely breathtaking.

And you were so done for.

“Did you hear me?” he asked, breaking your reverie as he laughed at your dumbfounded reaction. He collapsed next to you, letting your head snuggle into his chest as he lightly stroked your arm. “Or did I fuck you too hard?”

You snorted, playing with the tattoo underneath his collarbone before kissing it. “Mmm, no. I was thinking about how you, Eddie Munson, one of the most disorganized people to exist on this earth, found tissues in less than a minute but forgot where his condoms were. Good to know you masturbate more than actually get around.”

“How funny,” he drawled, pinching your waist playfully and raising a shriek out of you as he tried tickling you. “My biggest supporter quickly turns into my worst enemy. Was the sex that bad?”

Looking up, you pinned him with a cheeky grin before nestling your face into the base of his neck, gifting multiple butterfly kisses into the sensitive skin as a peace offering. “No complaints from me. It was amazing.”

“Would you say it was mind-blowing?”

You shrugged casually, amused lips curving upward while you twirled a strand of his hair. “Yeah, I’d say so.”

“Perhaps even better than sex with, I dunno, a popular douchebag?”

“Eddie!” you guffawed, unable to control your laughter.

“It wasn’t a joke,” he pouted, feigning hurt that you thought so.

“So I’ll answer seriously,” you said, pecking him before resting your chin on your hands that laid comfortably on his chest. “Who am I currently with?”

He rolled his eyes but you saw the slight twist of his mouth, felt his soothing hand drawing patterns on your back. “Fine, I guess, you proved your point, my fair lady.”

“Damn right I did. You’re lucky I’m still with you after I found out who Gollum was.”

“Oh, not again,” he whined dramatically, “everyone looks like Gollum when they’re sick!”

“Except?” you pressed, head turned to the side as you listened to his calmly beating heart.

“Except for my insanely hot and intelligent girlfriend…”

Satisfied with the amendment, you hummed loudly, briefly noting his heartbeat quicken.

“...who I happen to love.”

Your finger stopped re-tracing the tattoo on his chest, wondering if you heard that correctly.

Slowly raising your head, you searched his anxious, brown eyes and cautiously asked, “Did you say what I think you said?”

“What, that you’re hot and intelligent?” he nervously returned.

“No, the ‘L’ word,” you encouraged quietly, a hand caressing his cheek. 

“Lesbians?”

“Eddie,” you slightly scowled, not enjoying how the fluttering in your stomach was about to turn into nausea. “The other ‘L’ word.”

The next beat of silence was the longest in your life, his warm eyes meeting yours before he muttered, “You got this, Munson.”

He cradled your face with the utmost care, thumb tenderly stroking your cheek while he said three little words. 

“I love you.” 

His fond smile was contagious, the joyous laughter spilling from your lips music to his ears.

Though nothing sounded better than you saying–

“I love you too.”

The kiss felt sweeter than ever, lifting you to a place you weren’t sure you’d ever reach.

This moment. This person. He was the true happiness you dreamt of.

His eyes lit up with a pure brightness when you told him that, both of you smiling goofily at one another while cherishing that rare, comfortable silence that few lovers had the privilege of experiencing. 

“Not to disturb the peace or anything…” Eddie muttered after a few minutes, struggling to stay awake in your intertwined arms.

“Huh, that’s a new goal for you.”

“...but since we’re on the topic of happiness,” he rambled on, “it would make your boyfriend immensely happy if you were to participate in his D&D campaign. It’s never too late to fight the Cult of Vecna.”

“You have guts, I’ll give you that.”

“So is that a yes?”

Chuckling as you closed your eyes, you relaxed further into his embrace while mumbling, “Mmm, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to check it out. If it makes my boyfriend happy.”

You heard his fist pump swoosh the air, Eddie kissing the top of your head before he exclaimed, “The happiest man on earth! I knew ‘86 was my year.”

Smiling into your sleep, you couldn’t help but agree with the dork.

a/n: if you read this long ass fic then you're automatically my friend. i might write more parts featuring this pairing, i might not. i tried to write g/n smut but failed spectacularly so that's the next goal on my list. would love comments, feedback, or the opportunity to talk about eddie munson's shaggy hair and/or s4 pt. 2 theories. much love

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #stranger things #Eddie Munson

[ahhvernin]

Back in middle school and high school, I had an English teacher Ms.C. She often said was I bad reader and my analyzing skills were bad and that my skills of interpreting stories and reading in between the lines were non existent. That the reasons why I liked certain books over others and certain characters were 'wrong' or 'not meant to be liked or supported' and that I just didn't understand the literature at all. I had her for over 3 years. Then one year, in high school, I had a different English teacher, Ms.T. We had an assignment to write an analysis report for one of the books we had read during the year. I went to her, feeling ashamed, and telling her that I did not feel like I could write a good report because the only idea I had couldn't possibly be a good one. She asked me what it was. I told her, I wanted to compare The Secret Life of Bees to Huckleberry Finn, and how the Secret Life of Bees had many comparable themes and that the story was a Huckleberry Finn-esque adventure but with a girl and woman protagonist. She asked me why I didn't think it would be a good analysis. And I told that I always did poorly on reports because I could not interpret stories or understand the author's message correctly or read in between the lines because English was my "second language" even though it was my primary language and that the stories took place in different time periods. And that I had read Huck Finn a year ago and didn't do well on the report because I "missed the themes". Ms. T said "I don't think any of my students have compared those two stories before. Now I'm curious. Why don't you write it. I think it would be interesting to see how you read the two novels. Go ahead and write it. If you need help just let me know." So I wrote it. I don't think I worked so hard on a book report. I don't really remember exactly what I wrote, but I remember filling my books with bookmarks, cutting out strips of lined paper with excerpts and gathering them together on the carpet, this was.. before CTRL+F was in my tool box and before the two books were in digital format. I really wanted to show the parallels and show how each kid left a town with an abusive father, ran away with an adult black companion who were their trusted adult figure, their friend, their parental figure and reservoir of wisdom. How their companionship would have been frowned upon during their time period but were integral to their growth as a kid. I remember reluctantly handing this chunky report in, I had exceeded the page count, I was telling myself that despite all that work and all the pages I had typed out and the cover that I had illustrated because I couldn't find good pictures online, that it wasn't going to get anything higher than a B or C because most of my English reports hovered around B or C in the past. I fretted over the few weeks it took to grade these papers. Then the day came to return the papers, and Ms. T had arranged it so each kid would get in line, find their paper and leave. I could not find my paper. My anxiety flew SKY HIGH even though she said "Perhaps she left in one of her folders. So I waited until everyone else got theirs thinking mine would turn up. It did not and then she called my name and she pulled my paper out from under her notebooks and handed it to me. Then gently and firmly said, "You did a great job. Some spelling and grammar issues, but otherwise it was a great analysis. Don't be afraid to discuss your favorite books or stories okay? Not everyone reads them the same way. Don't let anyone tell you that the way a book impacts you is wrong. Everyone has different life experiences and everyone has different need and wants, that means what they get from a story will be different from one person to the next. Don't be afraid of your next book report, okay? Because your reading skills and writing skills are just fine." I don't think I was ever so happy to see an A.

Because for the first time in English class, I felt like could understand the language and the literature. All because...someone accepted my thoughts and ideas, and didn't tell me I was wrong. Someone who told me that, I was free to apply my thoughts, experience and world knowledge to the things I read. And that growing up as a kid with two clashing cultures, was fine and that I didn't have to think exactly like everyone else around me and I didn't have to feel guilty or stupid for wanting to share my differing thoughts on a subject matter. And most importantly, that it was okay.... to just read to enjoy a book and not have to worry about having to reading it "right".

#English class #english teacher #books #stories #literary parallels #Huckleberry Finn #The Secret Life of Bees #teachers #great teachers #good teachers #bad teachers #English #book reports #literary analysis #acceptance #freedom #kindness #empathy #guilt #reading #literature #literacy #writing skills #writing #grammar

[girderednerve]

well i'm upset about book bans & i work in a library & can't shut up y'all're welcome

book bans & challenges (which is the technical term for when someone asks us to pull a book; it doesn't mean that the book is removed) have been an issue in american libraries for basically as long as there have been libraries, although there was a massive spike starting in ~2021 as the far-right seized on libraries as a new front for the culture wars. as a result there are some very established ways of handling & talking about book bans in the library field

these include the 'right to read'/'intellectual freedom' as articulated in the library bill of rights, which was first adopted by the american library association in 1939. it basically says that libraries believe that all patrons have the right to access information that interests them, irrespective of its content. the thinking at the time was that libraries should take a neutral course and not police the content they provide to patrons; as far as i know, this point at the time was more directed at fiction than nonfiction. (one of the other things that has been happening more, at least at my library, is that we're accused of having an unbalanced collection & suppressing conservative viewpoints if we decline to buy, e.g., anti-vaxxer screeds that contain rank misinformation; i don't think that was as much of an issue back in the day but i may be completely wrong.) in practice, this approach means that we make no comment whatsoever on what content is banned or why; if you look at a banned books week display, it will often include books like huckleberry finn ("challenged" when one parent of color asked to have it replaced with another book on their child's required reading list; not a literal example) alongside gender queer (target of a nationwide transphobic astroturfing campaign; literal example). things may be different elsewhere, but that's my experience of how libraries traditionally respond to book bans, i.e., they neglect the content, character, & effectiveness of 'bans' in order to talk more neutrally (&, in my view, ineffectually) about censorship as a negative social pattern devoid of any context. frustrating! we also never include prison book bans, although these are absolutely fucking dire.

the other major way we talk about book bans is via a set of talking points which were established by the late 90s, and possibly earlier. most challenges center on materials for children and young adults. the recommended language in reaction to a parent who objects to a book is to say something like "the library provides a wide range of materials for all different kinds of families, as we try to serve our whole community. we leave it to parents to decide which items their children should check out. parents have the ultimate responsibility for what their children read, and we support their right to make those decisions." you're also supposed to apologize for their negative experience, etc., and try to let them vent to you without agreeing or promising them anything. if they're really mad, at this point you refer them to whatever your library's reconsideration process is, usually some kind of offical-looking form where the patron has to write in their name, contact information, the title of the book, and the reason they object to it; most of them also ask the patron whether they've actually reviewed the whole thing in full. many people drop the matter at this point (fewer now that they've been handed canned scripts by m*ms for l/berty!). not entirely sure how it works at school libraries, but probably similar.

my problems with this general approach are that a) obviously it isn't going to appease someone whose objections are grounded in the belief that LGBTQ people shouldn't exist or whatever and b) i actually do not believe at all that parents should get to decide what books their kids check out of the library. sorry! i get it when your kid is really little and needs help finding & reading books in the first place, but by the time they're old enough to visit the library by themselves (so, for us, say 10 or so) they're old enough to have their own interests & information needs irrespective of their parents' opinions. i imagine that this is very uncomfortable for parents & i am capable of experiencing sympathy but also, i have met plenty of kids who are in weirdo homeschool groups & do not know anything about their own fucking bodies, much less what a happy gay life might look like. i get that this rhetoric is meant primarily to be placatory, but i think it matters what we say & what we believe beyond the customer service script. maybe other libraries have more robust discussions about ethics in youth services (my library system seems bent on ignoring that youth services requires anything other than storytime & the occasional cute craft for the under-10s).

anyway i keep making myself absolutely fucking miserable thinking about all the kids in the world (many!!!!) whose entire idea of what sexuality & romantic relationships look like are built on what their parents & the people who go to their church do, & how vulnerable that leaves them, how hopeless it must feel. i knew about gay people but i didn't feel like i knew myself, that i could live as myself, until i found out i was gay. i hate to think that a child is toiling away under the crushing weight that i used to feel, thinking that they have to grow up & marry a man who drinks too much & makes them afraid, or a woman who will never understand them, or otherwise live totally alienated from who they are, & are kept from even the glimmer of another life. it feels so openly abusive, so obviously intended to control & victimize. 'you can't choose another life because i won't even let you see the idea of one.' and what, i'm supposed to tell that patron that i believe they're right, their children belong to them? i can't do it, man. can't do it. kids can read whatever they want & if something makes them uncomfortable they can stop reading & talk to their peers or a trusted adult about it. a library book is plausibly the safest way to come across content that makes you uncomfortable as a kid. the risks are so fucking low & the benefits (in terms of understanding yourself & the world, having a safe, recreational retreat, getting to practice intellectual agency, etc.) are so, so high. i'd rather pitch my tent there than try to make some kind of mealy-mouthed compromise

the other part of this, obviously, is that the freaky fash aren't actually arguing about library books so much as they're making a loud argument about public space. libraries' physical collections provide vital access to lower-income people & children, but more people than ever have smartphones & are perfectly capable of reading whatever they want on the internet. there's no reason whatsoever for us to insist on taking all of these challenges at face value, it's a losing game.

anyway i'm upset & spinning my wheels about it. if you got down to this end of this please tell me a fond memory of using the library as a kid if you feel so inclined <3

#vocational awe diaries :')

[greggermeister]

AI is BS spelled AI

I don't believe I've ever seen such a fantastic pile of nonsense as AI is going to solve every conceivable problem. I think anyone with a brain in their head should understand AI is just the latest over-hyped tech, that will fail to deliver just like everything else.

It's not artificial when Microsoft buys GitHub with the intent of injecting an all your code belong to us clause in legal language buried deeply in a EULA nobody is going to read. It's not artificial to use GitHub to power Copilot. It's not artificial to power text prompting image generators with all manner of existing content, some of which is copyrighted, or the same thing for music or written works.

It's not artificial when MS takes Cortana down for spewing racism within 24 hours, and retraining it with a subset of the internet that isn't racist. It's not artificial when Just Walk Out is powered by humans watching videos of customers to determine what they put in their bag and automatically bill them for it.

AI is way overhyped, Elon is just a typical full of himself CEO of a high-flying company. AI is not going to reshape the world. All it is going to do is augment existing technology and software and processes. It is only ever going to be capable of being an assistant. Anyone who thinks otherwise, is only fooling themselves.

There's a reason why AI code assistants generate insecure code from other insecure code - it simply does not have the ability to reason. I can reason with another developer about why I take a particular approach to a particular programming problem given a particular set of circumstances. My reasoning changes with changing circumstances.

Intelligence is largely a matter of U+1F595, Reversed Hand with Middle Finger Extended. An example would be Huckleberry Finn, travelling down the river with Jim. Huck grew up in an incredibly racist society, where the first sentence out of someone else's mouth of a different race than yours is either filled with hate or not filled with hate. Everyone wore their racism on their sleeve. The white kid Huck decided the grown up black man Jim is a good man, despite all the crap he had heard his whole life from white people about blacks. It was his U+1F595 moment towards the society he grew up in.

This is how we evolve our thinking, how we shape our attitude over time towards this world, and the people and processes we are surrounded by - we reverse our hands and extend our middle fingers towards everything we see as stupid, hateful, hurtful, useless, pointless, or any other sort of false premise. AI will never be capable of doing this in its present form. AI could only do this if it was self-aware.

Do you want an AI that explains to you why it is so smart and you are so stupid? Why everything you do to get ahead in life is hopelessly pointless? How your children would be better served if only you cared to be a better parent? Looks down on you as another waste of its cpu cycles? Sees you as the human child in its care?

We don't actually want AI because we don't want a self-aware consciousness we can't control running everything. We want an assistant to help us to perform boring, lengthy, and repetitive tasks better. We expect the assistant to be far better than current AI results offer. AI in its present form is useful for search tasks, such as:

Search for better ways to play games like chess or go

Find better ways to arrange thousands of traces on many layers of a motherboard

Optimize search results for considerations like heat, pressure, time, density, weight, colour

Find the best route for a salesman to travel and other graphing problems

A reasonable translation of text or spoken words from one language to another

None of the above is life-altering, it is simply more convenient. It was definitely more convenient for me and my other half in our recent trip to Mexico to be able to use Google Translate with cab drivers, and people on the street asking for directions, and other conversations. We could have gotten by without it, but it was definitely better.

We need to stop calling it AI and call it what it is - virtual assistance. That's all it is, and all it will ever be, and all we will ever want it to be. We will always want to know how things work, we will never want technology or processes that only the computer can understand. We will never have, and never will, want AI.

#artificial intelligence

[musicarenagh]

Funkle Berry Talks About His Latest Album 'Impossible Dreams' And Inspiration I don’t know what your driving force is, but for multi-talented producer Funkleberry, the quest to the perfection of his beats is what keeps him going, and his current body of work showcases his growth, this body of work is what he likes to call “Impossible Dreams”. “Impossible Dreams” is his latest album and is full of head knocking instrumentals which has a nostalgic feeling to it, yet it keep you wide awake with your speakers buzzing. “Impossible Dreams” has 15 songs with unique instrumentations and themes. This project is great for the background while you're working; it's all instrumental, and it moves fast so it stays interesting. The samples are all straight from records so it kind of sounds familiar and nostalgic but everything is chopped up and cut to hip hop drums so the speakers will still be knocking. This album increases corporate productivity by 18%. – Says Funkleberry In an exclusive interview with Mister Styx of Musicarenagh, Funkleberry delved deeper into his personal life and shared with the world the person he is behind the scene and his main inspirations. When asked who he sees as a competitor in the music industry, his response was fascinating, this is what he had to say ; Everyone haha. But I like competing in music, it hurts a lot less than tearing your ACL More of these topics were discussed during the interview, get the full interview below Listen to Impossible Dreams below https://open.spotify.com/album/6SSclG9XxyJc3zIOiFspOa Funkleberry out with Impossible Dreams,Funkleberry releases Impossible Dreams,Funkleberry with Impossible Dreams,Funkleberry drops Impossible Dreams,Impossible Dreams by Funkleberry ,Impossible Dreams from Funkleberry ,Funkleberry ,Impossible Dreams,Funkleberry Impossible Dreams,Impossible Dreams Funkleberry Follow Funkleberry on Twitter Spotify Soundcloud Bandcamp Youtube Instagram Mister Styx: What is your stage name? Funkleberry: They call me Funkleberry Mister Styx: Is there a story behind your stage name? Funkleberry: I was always fascinated by classic American literature and was/am a big Mark Twain fan. I thought this was a fun play on the Huckleberry Finn name and since that character was like a forever-young-runaway-adventurous spirit I thought it connected well to my artistic style. MS: Where do you find inspiration? F: I live in Los Angeles so inspiration and artists are all around me. My girlfriend is a writer and she’s constantly grinding in that world and that definitely inspires me. I also just love buying old records and allowing myself to get inspired by the sounds. The more obscure the better! MS: What was the role of music in the early years of your life? F: There was the church choir, playing in the middle school band, and stuff like that super early on but my family isn’t really music people in the sense of being a bunch of musicians. They appreciate music though, they just don’t play. They’re more sports people haha. [caption id="attachment_52425" align="alignnone" width="1334"] There was the church choir, playing in the middle school band, and stuff like that super early on but my family isn’t really music people[/caption] MS: Are you from a musical or artistic family? F: Nah, they’re more sports people but I love my family and they’re always super supportive even if it’s like I’m speaking a different language to them when I try to provide music updates for them haha. MS: Who inspired you to be a part of the music industry? F: I think growing up in Durham, NC I always looked up to the older guys in my neighborhood doing music and playing shows and going on tours and stuff like that. In LA I really look at my music teacher/friend Sweatson Klank as a big inspiration now. MS: How did you learn to make beats? F: I guess from trial and error and other kids in the neighborhood doing it and showing me how to do it then buying my own software and experimenting myself.

MS: What was the first concert that you ever went to and who did you see perform? F: My first memorable concert was Hootie and the Blowfish in South Carolina with a couple buddies lol. My first super cool concert was The Roots in Myrtle Beach… maybe still the dopest show I’ve ever been to. They were unreal back then. MS: How could you describe your music? F: I think lofi is a genre I’m starting to embrace more. Hiphop instrumentals feels accurate too. MS: Describe your creative process. F: I mean not give too much away here because I do like the idea of some secrecy or magic involved in the process but it’s basically this: buy some records, listen to them, grab some samples, whip up a drum pattern, and start cooking. MS: What is your main inspiration? F: The quest for the perfect beat. MS: What musician do you admire most and why? F: First name that comes to mind is J-Dilla. He was a real pioneer in the beattape world and his sampling techniques, drum patterns, sound design, and everything is so elite. I also think his life story and the idea of this completely self-sufficient artist who just committed so much to the music and was so loved and appreciated by so many people for his talents is a cool story even though it has a sad ending. MS: Did your style evolve since the beginning of your career? F: I’ve definitely learned a lot about mixing and mastering recently but it’s still basically the same concepts for me! MS: Who do you see as your main competitor? F: Everyone haha. But I like competing in music, it hurts a lot less than tearing your ACL competing in soccer which is something I’ve done way too many times. (3 to be exact). MS: What are your interests outside of music? F: Big sports fan, I love watching football, basketball, soccer, and tennis. Really any sport I’m down. I also love painting and cooking. https://open.spotify.com/artist/4WLNkMHEbFubiYpAxILZno MS: If it wasn't a music career, what would you be doing? F: Probably more painting, I need artistic outlets. MS: What is the biggest problem you have encountered in the journey of music? F: Collaborating can be a tough process, sometimes it’s better to just work on your own and make sure you’re always in control of your own sound. That can help make collaborations more fruitful if you feel secure in your own sound. MS: If you could change one thing in the music industry, what would it be? F: Artists getting way more money per stream. MS: Why did you choose this as the title of this project? F: I found this great sample on an old comedy record I bought that was this guy talking about “I keep having these impossible dreams, all in color” and it was part of this larger bit they were doing but I just liked that little clip because of the phrase “Impossible Dreams”. MS: What are your plans for the coming months? F: I’ve got a project called Venetian Castle with a friend/collaborator Eric Maul who is a guitarist and multi-instrumentalist out of Venice. We’re excited to share that project. MS: Do you have any artistic collaboration plans? F: Funny you should ask. MS: What message would you like to give to your fans? F: Thank you so much for listening! I hope you enjoy.

#Interviews #Funkleberry #FunkleberrydropsImpossibleDreams #FunkleberryImpossibleDreams #FunkleberryoutwithImpossibleDreams #FunkleberryreleasesImpossibleDreams #FunkleberrywithImpossibleDreams #ImpossibleDreams #ImpossibleDreamsbyFunkleberry #ImpossibleDreamsfromFunkleberry #ImpossibleDreamsFunkleberry

[peschaniy]

Is It Time To Cancel Shakespeare?

Is it really time to cancel Shakespeare? The much-admired English actor, Juliet Stevenson, who has played many of Shakespeare’s main female protagonists, wrote an article in The Sunday Times recently, in which she made the most extraordinary attack on Shakespeare: she advocated the “cancelling” of two of his plays: The Taming of the Shrew and The Merchant of Venice.

Juliet Stevenson – wants to cancel Shakespeare?

“Cancelling” people and books, paintings or music, has become a favourite preoccupation of those who would rather see history as a sanitised script edited in favour of their view than as a richly textured record of human thought and activity woven through centuries of changing dialectics. People who did certain things that were normal in their time but are now met with abhorrence existed, and nothing can change that. Removing reminders of them – such as plaques and statues – brings no benefits – on the contrary, it weakens the richness of historical detail and context and paints a false picture of history.

There have been campaigns to cancel Mark Twain’s great novel, Huckleberry Finn, and books by other authors, like Enid Blyton. More recently, there have been campaigns to wipe out some of America’s top twentieth century writers like Saul Bellow, John Updike and Philip Roth for “misogyny” and “bad relations with women,” and Norman Mailer for using the word “negro” in the title of one of his books. Bad enough, but William Shakespeare? What a thought!

Juliet Stevenson wrote: “Some Shakespeare plays, where history has overtaken them, should just be buried.”  As she sees it, stories which centre around what she calls misogyny or anti-Semitism – terms which were not part of the Early Modern English dialectic – should be cancelled.

History overtaking the plays of William Shakespeare? Can a writer whose plays have been regarded as fresh and relevant to every generation since they were first performed ever become irrelevant? It’s hard to imagine a Shakespeare play being overtaken by history or being seriously regarded as irrelevant.

Ms Stevenson insists, “You can’t do The Taming of the Shrew now – the spine of its so-called comedy is that a man marries a woman he doesn’t love and enjoys using his patriarchal authority to crush her.” Yes, certainly, that’s the main story there but so what? There were such relationships then, and they are very common nowadays too. It’s difficult to understand Ms Stevenson’s point. Why shouldn’t such a common human story not be told on the stage?

We don’t know what Shakespeare thought of such a man, or a woman, or such a couple as he depicts in the play. What we know is that he heard or read the story somewhere and considered it a good subject for a play. He also proved that it was a credible relationship because his version is convincing. He did not consider it his job to pass judgment but, as he has Hamlet point out in his advice to the players, to hold a mirror up to nature – to show things as they are.

What business does Juliet Stevenson have in advocating the cancellation of the play? If Shakespeare were promoting such bullying by a man and such submission by a woman there would be a point, but just showing those things does no harm to anyone. And if Ms Stevenson can tell us what Shakespeare’s opinion about human intercourse was she would have the gratitude of thousands of Shakespeare scholars.

So following Ms Stevenson’s logic, why not cancel Hamlet? An important storyline in the play is the tale of Ophelia. She is abused by her father, who puts her down, threatens her, orders her about, and uses her to spy on Hamlet. Claudius uses her too, and as for Hamlet, he is outrageously cruel to her, swearing at her and coming close to striking her. All three men regard such behaviour towards a woman as their right. Buckling under the pressure from those three alpha males, she commits suicide. We can’t have such treatment of a woman and her tragic response hitting the stage, can we? We should certainly cancel Hamlet.

And Othello. We need to cancel that too. Poor Desdemona, the submissive victim of an insanely jealous husband, finally murdered by him – just lying down and accepting it as his right. And what about Juliet Capulet, ending up dead after her father has insisted that she marry the man of his choice and brutalising her when she refused?

Shakespeare holds his mirror up to women in every kind of situation. Katherine in The Taming of the Shrew is only one type. What about Viola? And Portia? Completely different. Can one imagine either being the victim of a man? And where else in English drama is there such a perfect feminist as Beatrice? Will there be a time in the future, perhaps in a few hundred years’ time, when perhaps men have regained their power and feminism has become taboo, is some future male version of Juliet Stevenson going to suggest the cancellation of Much Ado About Nothing? Katherine and Beatrice, both written by the same author: doesn’t that tell you something?

What’s the problem with The Merchant of Venice? Some people – those who don’t take the trouble to try and understand what’s going on in the play – have suggested that Shakespeare was anti-Semitic. And that The Merchant of Venice is an “anti-Semitic play.” Apart from Ms Stevenson, there is also the celebrated children’s author, Michael Morpurgo, who avoided including the play in a Shakespeare anthology he did for children. The play “can be anti-Semitic,” he said.

What does he mean, that the play can be anti-Semitic? Ms Stevenson said: “The Merchant of Venice is extremely challenging because of Shylock. The anti-Semitism is inescapable.” Again, so what? The play is largely about anti-Semitism. So? What’s wrong with writing a play about anti-Semitism? Writers address anti-Sematism every day in our time. Ironically, this may be one place where we could get close to Shakespeare’s opinion regarding a social phenomenon. And it would not be that he was anti Semitic, but quite the opposite.

Those who insist on classifying Shakespeare’s plays as comedies, tragedies, histories etc. get into trouble with plays like The Merchant of Venice but because of the love story and the pairing of lovers at the end it goes in the comedy basket. But when one looks at the whole basket one finds that every comedy has something dark and distressing beneath the surface -young people courting, loving, having fun, and eventually getting together, but always with a cloud that leaves us with an uncomfortable feeling.

In The Merchant of Venice the darkness is the anti-Semitism at its heart, and it’s particularly nasty. Shakespeare is holding up his mirror and holding it close and direct. What we have here is a bunch of young Venetian Christians who we identify with. We like them and enjoy their adventures. We get drawn into their community and we love it. However, they are all thoroughly nasty people, each and every one of them, in spite of the engaging personalities of many of them. Their treatment of Shylock is appalling. Shakespeare has Shylock do something that places him spectacularly out of order but, on another level, he is more sympathetic than almost any of Shakespeare’s other characters. That’s Shakespeare’s magic, that he can do that – make us like the villains and regard their victim as the villain. Until we think about it. Then we may look more closely at the text and see the kind of behaviour from the Christians that would make any of us react like Shylock. Shakespeare gives us several glimpses into what it must have been like to be a Jew in Venice at that time, topping it up with one of his finest passages of poetry – Shylock confirming that beneath his Jewish identity there is a sensitive, deep-feeling, hurt and wounded human being.

One can forgive an actor for just playing her character as well as she can without understanding what’s actually going on in the play, but she should not pronounce on its meaning unless she understands what the author is doing. It seems like the height of arrogance to consign a Shakespeare play to the dustbin of history, even if one has some understanding of it.

As for Mr Morpurgo, he has no excuse. He does not consider The Merchant to be suitable for children but surely that would present a challenge – to find a way of presenting it to children.  He has not called for the cancellation of the play, however, and one can be fairly certain that Juliet Stevenson’s call for the cancellation of plays by Shakespeare will remain unheeded for all time.

Shakespeare is safe, and we need not converge on Stratford to pull his statue down.

What’s your take on this “cancel Shakespeare” debate? We’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments below!

#Shakespeare #william shakespeare #cancelled #theatre #female artists #women artists #misconceptions

[ellewritesathing]

Infernal    VIII

Summary: In your sleepy little town of Greendale, nothing ever slept for long. And ever since October, everything felt like it was waking up. Everything except for you, that is. One teensy trip to Hell (and an infuriatingly cute guy) later and suddenly you felt wide awake.

Word-count: 3.4k+

Masterlist Prev. | Part 8

Ever since you were eleven years old, you’d been going to the Paramount once a week with Theo to share a large popcorn with m&ms poured over the top, two large sodas, and the biggest bag of Sour Patch Kids that money from dog walking, tutoring, and scrounging between the couch cushions could buy. The dark was a blanket of safety and anonymity for an hour or two, and you loved it more than anything. It was two hours of you, Theo, and whatever rerun was showing that weekend. One of only two movie theatres in Greendale, The Paramount stood as a testament to friendship and the enduring power of bad cinema. 

Sharing the Paramount and all its memories with Caliban was nerve-wracking. 

If he noticed your non-stop fidgeting, he didn’t say anything. He was perfectly composed as he watched stressed out parents corral their screaming children - shoulders relaxed, mouth upturned, and hand easily laced through yours. 

“You know, I never cared much for children,” he said. He suppressed a laugh when one of the kids threw pieces of popcorn at their dad. “But I’m starting to think they may not be such loathsome little creatures after all. Given a little direction, they could surpass any of Hell’s torturers.” 

You would have laughed at his joke if you’d been listening, but you were too busy watching the specials board light up his face red, orange, and yellow that caught on the edges of his hair. “Is this your first date?” you asked. 

Caliban raised an eyebrow as he turned to you and you stammered out an explanation. Impulse control had never been one of your strong suits, and it had been on the decline lately. Putting you out of your misery with a sly smile, he said, “Yes.” 

“Wait-” you tugged on his hand slightly as the two of you moved forward in the line “-does that mean I’m your first kiss?” 

Caliban laughed and ran a hand through his hair. “My first kiss was with a succubus.” 

You weren’t sure what kind of answer you were expecting, but that particular one caught you off guard. “Oh. That’s pretty cool. Do you guys keep in touch?” 

“Are you in touch with your first kiss?” Caliban asked, throwing another smile at you as the two of you walked over the counter. He let you order and pay in peace, but he asked again when you were flavoring the popcorn, clearly amused by your awkwardness. 

You were in the middle of explaining that your first kiss had been on a dare at one of the worst, least supervised birthday parties you’d ever been to when someone bumped into and spilled your popcorn all over the floor. They kept walking. 

They only cleared a few feet before the Darkness lashed out and you yelled at them. “Hey! Are you going to apologize?” 

You recognized them once they turned around. He was one of the kids from the lacrosse team who’d bullied Theo back in freshman year. With possibly the fakest smile you’d seen, Charlie said, “Chill. It was an accident.” 

“Apologize.” 

“Are you kidding me?” 

“Say you’re sorry.”

His body relaxed and his eyes took on a familiar glassy, hollow quality as he mumbled an apology. You smiled.

“Good.” You took a step forward to close the distance between you. “Now give me your wallet.” He did so without a word, the charm overwhelming any reservations he may have had. He faltered slightly when you took out most of the cash, but you told him to be quiet. With a smile, you handed his wallet back to him. “Enjoy your movie.” 

Charlie blinked twice, slowly, but then he nodded. “You too,” he said uncertainly. He stumbled down the hall and looked at you again as he rounded a corner, completely dumbstruck. 

You waved at him, turning back to Caliban with a smile. “Ready to watch the movie?”

The easiness from earlier was gone; Caliban’s jaw was tense and his eyes were narrowed. He didn’t move from where he leaned against the wall. “What was that?” 

You shrugged. “I wanted him to apologize.”

“Are you sure that’s all you wanted?” he asked, pushing himself off the wall. His movements were easy, but his words were strained.

“Yes,” you lied, unclenching your fists. When you stole a glance at your palms, they were coated in a thin layer of darkness, smudged around the area where you’d dug your nails in to keep from knocking the false smile off Charlie’s face.

---

“Wait, so you’re like … Hannah Montana if she was a teenage witch and he’s like- what is he? Your Jesse?” 

Out of all the reactions you’d imagined after telling your friends that the mother you’d spent your whole life looking for turned out to be a literal demon, a Hannah Montana comparison hadn’t even made the top ten. 

“Harvey, don’t you think you’re being a little-” 

To be fair, they’d handled the news about Lilith better than expected. Harvey was confused, Theo was happy you found your mom even if she’d tried to kill them all before, Sabrina helped smooth things over, and Roz admitted to having her suspicions for a while. 

“What? I’m just trying to understand why the guy that tried to rule Hell and enslave us all is sitting on my couch.” 

It was only when things came to Caliban that their understanding faltered. Even Sabrina, trying her best, didn't quite understand.

“I’m sitting on your couch because I was invited, Huckleberry Finn.”

After defeating the Darkness and unbinding your powers, you’d gone to Sabrina’s with a tub of ice cream and explained everything. A weight that had been slowly crushing you was lifted off your chest that night, but it came back in full force with every angry word from Harvey. It wasn’t like you’d expected him to understand, but you’d hoped he would at least try. 

“Okay!” Standing up, you let out a weighty breath and held out your hands to stop them from speaking. “Will you two stop antagonizing one another for five minutes?” 

Reluctantly, Caliban nodded as Harvey collapsed back in his chair and grumbled, “Fine, but I still don’t like him.” 

“You don’t have to like him. You just have to respect that I like him,” you said. Harvey didn’t seem convinced, so you sighed and tried to come up with a new strategy. Finally, you stopped pacing and turned to Harvey. “Do you know what it’s like to feel like a piece of you is missing?” To Roz, “Like there’s something wrong with you because you just don’t fit in with everyone else?” To Theo, “And then you figure out what it is and you can’t tell anyone because you don’t think they’d care about you anymore if they found out?” You wiped your face haphazardly and stared at the Smashing Pumpkins poster peeling off the back wall. “It fucking sucks.” 

“And I’m sorry you had to go through all that,” Harvey said, standing up and blocking your view of the poster. “I am. But you can’t expect me to be okay after finding out that you spent the last three months lying to everyone and dating that asshole.” 

“I didn’t want to lie to you!” You felt the Darkness rising in your throat and did your best to push it down. Taking a deep, shaky breath, you looked back at Harvey and tried not to cry. “Is it so hard to believe that I was scared to tell you, or did you forget when you cut Sabrina out of your life when she told you?” 

Harvey frowned. His hand twitched at his side as he glanced at Sabrina. “That’s not the same thing.”

“Yeah, I know, because she was the most important person in your life and I’m just the kid that lives next door.” Your voice broke and Harvey stepped forward to give you a hug. The Darkness lurched at the movement and you stepped back to keep it from hurting him. Taking another step back, you started gathering your stuff. “I can’t do this right now.” 

“Hey, just hold on a second, okay?” Harvey tried to grab your wrist to stop you, and you couldn’t stop the Darkness from lashing out this time. 

“Don’t touch me.”

Harvey frowned, his hand outstretched and frozen, and a familiar, glassy film cloud covered his eyes. The air was sucked out of the room as Harvey blinked and tried to recover. His hand still hung in the air. Your heart broke.

“I need to go,” you rushed out, scrambling for the door. You didn’t care about the stuff you dropped or the fact that Caliban was sitting on the couch the last you saw - all you cared about was getting out before you did anything worse. Still, you froze in the doorway. Over your shoulder, you mustered up all your courage and said, “I’m sorry.”

You weren’t sure if any of your friends heard you over their concern for Harvey or if they just didn’t want to respond, but at least Caliban caught up to you in the silence. He didn’t reach out for you for the rest of the night, all he did was stare at you with stormy, unfathomable eyes.

---

Hilda Spellman was the closest thing you’d ever had to a mother; she was warm and inviting, and always made your favorite cupcakes if you were having a bad day. She made sure that your dad always had something on the table for dinner. She took you shopping every year before school started. She let you stay in their house for almost a month when you were convinced that your bedroom was haunted. Hilda Spellman deserved nothing but happiness. 

So why couldn’t you suck it up for one day and give her the perfect wedding that she deserved? 

Because, despite your best efforts, you were still upset at how things had unfolded with your friends. While Theo and Roz forgave you for lying and accepted you for being a witch, they weren’t sure they could give Caliban a chance after he lashed out at Harvey. Talking to Harvey might have solved that problem, but he was pretty much set on avoiding you. You didn't blame him after what you did to him, even if he didn't know what exactly it was you did to him.

All this drama might not have been an issue otherwise, but they were the only people you knew at this wedding. So far, the only other people to show up were witches that were preoccupied with either the Uninvited or the incubus on the loose. 

When you noticed Nick had disappeared from door duty, you finished your drink and set the glass down. Sliding in next to Sabrina, you bumped her arm with your elbow and held your hand out for some of the programs. “Need a hand?” 

“Not really, but I’ll take the company,” she said with a smile. She handed you a stack of creamy pink programs and laughed wistfully. “Nick was supposed to help me with this but he’d rather get busy with Prudence in the coat closet.” 

You tried not to laugh as you handed a program to a very solemn-looking witch. “Yeah, well, at least he’s talking to you,” you said, watching the witch disappear into the steadily growing crowd. 

Sabrina rolled her eyes. “Harvey will come around,” she said, pausing to smile as she handed out another program. “He’s just scared of losing you in all this.”

“You know, Caliban actually said something similar after we left the other night.” This time, you didn’t bother hiding your laughter. Sabrina didn’t bat an eye at taking on an eldritch terror, but the possibility of Caliban having a valid point seemed to shake her to her core. “He said that I shouldn’t be so hard on Harvey because all he wants is to keep me safe, but this is the one thing that he can’t protect me from. The magic and … getting my heart broken.” 

Sabrina tried to reign in her surprise, but she still seemed stunned as she handed out another program. “That … actually makes sense.” 

“Weird, right?” You stole a look at the line forming outside the church and your heart ached when you saw your friends lugging their band equipment through the parking lot. It was going to be a long night. 

Sabrina followed your gaze and sighed. “So ... where is Caliban? You RSVPed that you were bringing a plus-one but I don’t see him anywhere.” 

You tore your eyes away from the band to hand out another program. Shaking your head, you said, “I was going to bring him, but then I figured that this was Hilda’s special day and she didn't need a fistfight between her lead singer and a plus one.” 

“Well, I think you should bring him,” Sabrina said. “What? Just because I’m going to be sad and alone the whole night doesn’t mean you have to.” 

So, after a quick check with Hilda, you invited Caliban. He agreed to come, if you promised to talk to him about your lesser angels creeping in. 

You could feel Harvey staring at the back of your head throughout the whole ceremony, but Theo sat next to you and Robin said he’d save you guys a seat at the reception. Things were starting to look up, even if they were a little weird. 

As awkward as the ceremony had been, the reception was great. Caliban was as charming as ever, winning over Theo and Robin and making witches swoon left and right. Despite all your time together, you’d never seen him this comfortable around others. A room without demons or humans, it seemed, was where you found common ground. 

Until Sabrina’s toast. 

She lost credibility before she even opened her mouth by stumbling up the stage steps. Opening with a joke, she had a solid two and a half seconds before she started drawing attention to every couple in the nearby vicinity - starting with Harvey and Roz, glossing over Theo and Robin to mention you and Caliban, and eventually landing on Nick and Prudence. Sabrina tried to save the toast by circling back to Hilda, but it was too late. She crashed into the drums, said she’d be single for a century and a half, and was dragged off-stage by Zelda while the Fright Club scrambled to perform their set.

Amidst the chaos, Caliban ducked his head closer to yours and brought his drink to his lips. “You know,” he said, pausing to take a sip, “If you’d told me how much fun these gatherings were, I would have come with you a long time ago.”

Rolling your eyes, you took his drink and shifted in your seat so you could lean against him. “Does that mean I can sign you up for the book club?” 

“That depends. What are we reading?” Caliban asked. He looked away from the stage to meet your eyes. 

“The Feminine Mystique.” 

“Oh, okay.” 

Laughing, you tilted your head up to kiss his jaw. Settling back into your seat and intertwining your hands, you said, “Well, if it counts for anything, I’m glad you’re here now.”

If you thought the worst part of the night was Sabrina’s toast, you were totally and completely unprepared for the incubus attack. It jumped from Theo to Harvey to Melvin before landing in the Uninvited. Their eyes were wild for a moment, but then the Uninvited shuddered as their eyes returned to a deep, empty brown. They’d eaten the incubus, and moments later they bit into Dorian’s heart like an apple. 

There was something unbearably sad about the Uninvited, and the Darkness within you ached to fix them. It didn’t matter that they toasted to the end of all things, all that mattered was that they were alone. You started reaching out for them when Caliban took his hand in yours and pulled you closer to him. 

“I am the Herald of the Void. I feast on the hearts of those that reject me. And someone here turned me away, therefore, death to you all.” The Uninvited smiled and downed whatever had been in their glass. 

Tipping your glass towards the Uninvited, you drank to their toast as Hilda apologized for turning them away. She tried to invite them, but the Uninvited said it was too late. They’d already been turned away. 

Nick stepped forward as the one that had turned the Uninvited away to sacrifice himself, but Sabrina tugged him back by the edge of his sleeve. Prudence was one step behind, holding Nick close to her chest as Sabrina offered the Uninvited a heart of sorts. She explained that she’s been wandering a cosmos of her own lately, feeling hopelessly alone, and just wanting to belong somewhere with someone. If they got married, the Uninvited would have her heart and a place to belong, always. Forevermore, they’d be the Invited. 

The Darkness grew unruly as the Uninvited considered her proposal, and for a moment you thought they’d do as the Darkness wanted and rip Sabrina’s heart from her ribcage. Instead, all they did was nod.

---

Cold bit at your fingertips as you sat, knees pulled up to your chest, on the wall outside the desecrated church, but the stolen Mother’s Ruin kept your stomach warm. The sun had disappeared somewhere between the fake wedding and trapping the Uninvited in Sabrina’s old dollhouse, October chill coming in with the night sky, but you welcomed the change. Indifferent sunshine to apathetic stars. 

Pouring out a bit of gin on the dead flowers below, you said a silent prayer for the Uninvited. Not for forgiveness, but maybe understanding. Hoping it would make the Darkness subside.

The crunching of dried grass underfoot interrupted your thoughts. 

“This seat taken?”

You shrugged but moved over all the same to make space for Harvey. He threw a lanky leg over the side of the wall as he let out a deep breath. When he was settled, you offered him some of the Mother’s Ruin but he shook his head. 

“No, uh, I’m good. Thanks though.” Harvey drummed uncertainly on the sides of the wall, watching carefully as you drank his rejected share of the gin. “So I was thinking about something the Uninvited said back there - about wandering around all alone until the terrors welcomed them to their club?” 

Raising an eyebrow, you asked, “Are you about to call my boyfriend a terror?”

Harvey laughed, a deep, unsure sound, and looked down at the wall again. “Well, he is, but no.” He sighed and tried to get back to his point. “Look, I know I’m not the best at handling change. When Sabrina … I don’t know. It just- it kills me that you felt like you felt so alone and didn’t think you could talk to me.” 

“Harvey-” 

“Wait, let me finish.” Harvey took another deep breath. His nose was red, either from the cold or because he was holding back tears. “I never ever wanted to be the reason why you got hurt. But I was, and I’m sorry that I made you feel like that.” 

You slid your hand over his. “Thank you,” you said quietly. 

“I’m still not done.” 

“Of course, you’re not.”

Harvey choked out another laugh and smiled. “Don’t tell Theo but you’re my best friend. And if Caliban makes you happy then … I kinda owe it to you to give him a shot.” 

“So you’ll stop antagonizing him?” you asked, sitting up a bit straighter and pointing the bottle of gin at Harvey’s chest. 

“Well, I never said that,” Harvey said dramatically. He laughed and pulled his other leg over the wall, taking the bottle from you and pulling a face after he tasted it. “Okay, what stars are we looking at tonight?” 

You threw your legs over the side and let out a deep breath as you leaned against Harvey’s arm. “Fuck if I know. Tommy was the one who remembered all that stuff.” 

“You just wanna make some up?” Harvey asked. He put his arm around your shoulder and handed the bottle back to you.

Hugging the bottle to your chest to keep the Darkness warm as it slept, you looked up to the sky and pointed to a cluster of stars. “That one’s you because it’s ugly.”

Tagged:  @caliban-is-my-girl  @t-a-i-l-o-r-m-a-d-e​  @music-movies  @miss--moose  @marrypuffsstuff​  @harryscarolinaa​  @igorsbby  @foji2000​  @hxlalokidottir​    @artaxerxesthegreat​  @thxmagic  @luquincy  @strawberriesandknives​  @xealia​  @hotmessindisguise  @acciomaximoff​  @reheated-coffee​​  @olivia-west-allen  @shelby-x​  @perseny-blog​  @millie-753​  @luneerius​  @shizzybarnaclee​  @lettherebelovex​  @drrramaaaqweeen​  @throughparisallthroughrome​  @ietss​  @thebookwormlife​  @mechanicalanimalz​  @mariamermaid​  @nqbmf​ @roxytheimmortal​  @shephard17895​  @andie-kathleen​  @clockworks-world-to-fandoms​  @blondeeee-e  @piensa-bonito  @supportstudies​  @bookishaficionado​  @perfectlysane24​

#Infernal #caos #caos rewrite #chilling adventures of sabrina #Caliban #caliban x reader #caliban imagine

[justforbooks]

The Baumans, Sellers of Really, Really Rare Books

Their shop is the thinking person’s place to go after hitting the jackpot in Las Vegas (or New York).

What reward does one buy after winning at the gambling tables in Las Vegas or sitting through an excruciatingly dull convention there? A Rolex, a designer handbag, a new bracelet?

How about a rare book?

It was 11 years ago that David and Natalie Bauman, the owners of a successful rare book store in Manhattan, open since 1988, decided to expand to Las Vegas, opening a store on a relatively quiet second floor walkway among the Grande Canal Shoppes between the Venetian and Palazzo hotels. On the main floor, ersatz gondolas with gondoliers ferry tourists from end to end.

Their shop is wedged next to Lazarou, a custom men’s clothing store, and just across from Mezlan, which sells shoes. Its two-story, elegant bookcases are filled with carefully arranged volumes, many bound in embossed leather. A reading table at the center of the store recalls an Ivy League college library. A patient saleswoman awaits visitors at a podium close to the entrance.

On a recent day, in a locked vitrine, were first editions of Lewis Carroll’s “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland” and “Through the Looking-Glass” in full leather pictorial bindings. Printed in 1866 and 1872, they sell together for $23,000. For $700 one could by a first edition of Margaret Thatcher’s “The Path to Power,” signed by her.

In a town of sparkle and flash, rare books are an anomaly, but for the Baumans, they are lucrative. One visitor spent $400,000 on “The Great Gatsby” and McKenney and Halls’ “History of the Indian Tribes of North America” in a single visit. Another, a quiet man in shorts, flip-flops and a T-shirt spent $15,000 on a first edition of “Huckleberry Finn” and then several weeks later returned to pick out a first edition of “The Catcher in the Rye” for $17,000. (One can only imagine what Holden Caulfield would think of that.)

But most receipts are well under $1,000, Ms. Bauman said. Julia Child’s “Mastering the Art of French Cooking” is a bargain at $850, and a 1996 first edition of Chuck Palahniuk’s “Fight Club” goes for about $1,000.

One Las Vegas visitor started with modest purchases. Then he became fascinated with Gould’s “Birds of Great Britain” an ornithological plate book that contains a series of spectacular plates, colored by hand, plunking down $100,000.

Later he paid $500,000 for a first edition of Isaac Newton’s “Principia.”

“Most People Don’t Look Up”

The couple got into rare books quite by accident, recalled David Bauman, a gentle, soft-spoken man in his 70s, after espying some at Freeman, the auction house in Philadelphia where they lived as newlyweds. “For $1 we bought a first edition of a volume of Samuel Johnson’s works, then we bought a first edition of James Joyce’s “Ulysses” for $12, and we started to think about it as a business,” he said. “We were not afraid then, because we did not know enough to be afraid.”

They opened a small store on the second floor of a building across the street from Freeman’s. “But what we did not realize is that most people don’t look up,” Mr. Bauman said.

So they decided to go to antique shows around the country selling books. They eschewed New York because “we were told it was just terrifying,” Natalie Bauman said. “But when we finally came to the city, we made more money in one day as we made in six months going around the country.”

They next set up shop at the Waldorf Astoria, because “you want to put yourself where the kind of people who buy your books will go,’’ Mrs. Bauman said. Easy enough, right?

Nope.

“The first week, we did not sell any books. No one even came into the store,” she recalled. But then Nelson Doubleday appeared. Mr. Doubleday had been chairman of Doubleday and Co., his family’s business but had sold it for hundreds of millions. “He looked around and bought half of our inventory and had it shipped to his yacht. He was also the godson of Rudyard Kipling,” Mr. Bauman said.

Eleven years later, the Baumans decided to open at 535 Madison Avenue, where they remain, after walking up and down the blocks there to evaluate the market. “Mostly businessmen,” Mr. Bauman said.

One day, two women from the Midwest walked into the store. “We came to New York to see different, great things and there is magic in your store,” one told Mrs. Bauman.

Some years later her husband went to visit a cousin working on a project in Las Vegas. “I realized that there was over one million feet of convention space underneath the hotels,” he said. “Casinos have studied everything about their customers. They were making more money from the stores than from the casinos.”

He realized that the millions of visitors who arrive in Las Vegas each year “are there to enjoy themselves. They have the time to look at books and put a toe in the water. When you are on vacation, you have more discretionary income and more time to spend it.”

Buzz Aldrin’s Teletype

Still, for the Baumans, opening in Vegas was a big investment. They wanted a store that had the elegance of a wonderful library. ”We believe we sell beautiful things so they should be housed in a beautiful place,” Mr. Bauman said. The store also required a staff of nine people, since it is generally open 13 hours a day.

Its sales staff has to be very knowledgeable. “He would quiz us,” Eric Pederson, who now manages the Manhattan store, said. “David would point to a book and ask us to tell us everything we knew about it.” Today a 32-person staff works in New York, Las Vegas and Philadelphia, where much of the research and online business takes place.

Over time experts learn what makes a book valuable. For example, Mr. Pederson explained, the earliest copies of the first edition of Ernest Hemingway’s “The Sun Also Rises” said “author of ‘In Our Times’” on the dust jacket. “You had to know it was an error that was soon “corrected to “In Our Time.” “The mistake told you that book was an earlier copy.”

Initial printings of “Huckleberry Finn” had errors as well. On page 57 a sentence read: “With his was …” because the letters for the word “saw” had been reversed. In later printings it was corrected to: “With his saw.”

And a copy of “Ulysses” signed by both James Joyce and Henri Matisse was printed before their dispute because Joyce grew upset when he realized that Matisse had relied on Homer’s “Odyssey” as a source of inspiration, rather than Joyce’s “Ulysses.”

But erudition is not enough to keep the Baumans afloat. Marketing and event planning are equally important. In July 2009, the 40th anniversary of the first moon landing, the store promoted a group of space exploration books including Buzz Aldrin’s Teletype message of the safe touchdown, which he later signed, six volumes of limited editions by astronauts including John Glenn and Scott Carpenter. For a nice stocking stuffer one year, the Baumans offered a first edition of Charles Dickens’s “A Christmas Carol,” published in 1843. The price: $38,000.

For gamblers who pray to win, and may need a little help, the store had offered an exhibit of rare bibles like a fragment of the microform containing 50 pages of the King James Bible. Three years ago, it held an exhibit of cookbooks, including the first Jewish one published in America.

The Baumans, who spend most of their time in New York and a 12,000-square-foot headquarters in Philadelphia, remain obsessed by books. “When we are going on vacation, we have to pick a place with no bookshops,” Mr. Bauman said. “We like Thailand, Vietnam and Turkey: Turkey because you could not buy and take away old Qurans because they are antiquities. So all we could buy was fabric.”

Their success in Las Vegas has been “a pleasant surprise,” he said, with a few unexpected advantages.

For example, the city attracts more than 42 million visitors a year, but the average stay is only three and a half days. “You don’t have to change your windows very often,” Mr. Bauman said.

Tiny details and the aesthetics aren’t merely a side note, they’re as important as anything else.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at http://justforbooks.tumblr.com

#JUST FOR BOOKS

[edettethegreat]

assorted books I’ve read for school as “it’s more likely than you think” memes

Yeah so this is part 5? Maybe? Idk at this point

A Separate Peace 

Alice in Wonderland

Pygmalion 

Driving Ms Daisy

Lord of the Flies

To Kill a Mockingbird 

My Antonia 

Twelve Angry Men

Great Expectations 

Fahrenheit 451

The Scarlet Pimpernel 

Huckleberry Finn

#a separate peace #a separate peace memes #alice in wonderland #alice in wonderland memes #pygmalion #pygmalion memes #Driving miss daisy #driving miss daisy memes #lord of the flies #lord of the flies memes #to kill a mockingbird #to kill a mockingbird memes #my antonia #my Antonia memes #twelve angry men #twelve angry men memes #Great Expectations #great Expectations memes #fahrenheit 451 #fahrenheit 451 memes #the scarlet pimpernel #the scarlet pimpernel memes #huckleberry finn #huck Finn memes

[milkcartonbastard]

You, Me, (Eddie Get Your Foot Out Of My Face!) and Huckleberry Finn Makes Three

Fandom- IT

Pairing- Richie/Eddie.

Warnings- Language warning- mostly because of Richie and Eddie. Fluff to make up for the IT: Chapter Two trauma I'm facing. Long title, I know. The only spoiler is the hammock, honestly. 

~~~

   Ms. Jeffords. The most annoying teacher in school- so of course Richie had been placed in her AP English class for the year. Ms. Jeffords, who was a short and round woman with the face of a horse, was going out of her way to load the "smart kids" down with homework. Read four chapters of this! Write an essay about that! I want your testicles on my desk tied neatly in a bow by the end of the class! All Richie wanted to do was hang out with the Losers- not do homework in the corner like a nerd. 

   But Richie cared about his grades, sadly, because they were his only hope of getting out of Derry. He needed good grades for a scholarship, just like the rest of his friends (except for Stan and Bill, who were riding on their baseball skills as well as their grades.) So Richie had the Huckleberry Finn book he was supposed to read when he got to the clubhouse. Beverly, Stan, and Ben were sitting in the clubhouse with music playing softly throughout their luxurious hideout. 

   The seven of them had worked all summer following Ben's directions and aspirations for their underground hangout. It was deep enough that their heads didn't touch the ceiling, but most of the boys were getting taller and that wouldn't last much longer. 

   The clubhouse had been made into a second home for the seven of them. Small things from their homes- the only good parts, in some of their cases- had been brought down into the Barrens to be placed on the shelves and the small tables in the squared hole. There was a portable stereo that Richie had bought, containers of snacks had been brought by Eddie, Ben had brought music as well as a few rugs for the ground, Bev had decorated with scraps of wallpaper and blankets, Mike had brought cushy seats- even though some springs were protruding from the cotton, they had made do-, and Stan had brought books to add to the small spaces on the shelfs. The best part was the hammock that Bill had snagged from his attic.

   They had placed the hammock between two of the sturdiest parts of the clubhouse, which was extremely sturdy minus the one pole towards the middle, and would take turns relaxing on it. Taking turns meant that Richie hogged it until Bev or Stan would come by and throw him out of it. Which was often.

   None of them were swinging in the navy blue hammock, just sitting around and talking. Richie dropped his backpack on the ground after descending the ladder and shedding his jacket. It was always warming in here than outside, which was an amazing thing in the fall. They hadn't faced a winter yet, but Richie had a space heater he was going to bring- if they could figure out how to get electricity down there. 

   The moment he sat back in the hammock, he felt his shoulders untense. This was a safe place to him, one to all of them. Unless you were part of their inner circle, you wouldn't be able to find this place. It was just theirs. Not anyone else's. It was theirs and Richie could feel- as sappy and dumb as it was to say- that this is his home. Not with Maggie and Wentworth Tozier. But with his friends in a hole in the ground. As long as he was with them- he'd be happy.

   "Richie Tozier? Reading a book? My, my, how Ms. Bitchfords had changed you." Bev teased, but she had her math book open and in her lap. Ben was behind her, scribbling something that looked like more building plans. Stan was working on a puzzle in the corner, a flashlight dangling from the ceiling above him.

   "You could say I've changed her. After all, I did bend her over he-"

   "Beep, beep, Richie." Stan said it softly and pressed one of the jagged edges together. It made a soft click noise and Richie fought off a smile. He grabbed at the flashlight above him and turned it on, angling it to hit the words on his book. 

   It was The Adventures Of Huckleberry Finn. It was a banned book at the school, but Ms. Jeffords had talked the School Board into letting them read it. It wasn't too interesting, but only because Richie hadn't bothered to open the book yet. He wasn't too interested in much besides comics, but he had been known to read the occasional book. Gone With The Wind? Classic. Pet Sematary? Legendary. Cat In The Hat? Iconic. 

   Richie had barely gotten through the first lines of chapter one when someone else began to descend down the ladder. For a split second- which was always a fear- he was worried that maybe Henry Bowers or one of his goons had found their hideout, but that fear was squashed when he saw the familiar red and white striped socks.

   Eddie Kaspbrak descended the ladder's rungs. His red fanny pack was fastened around his waist like a shitty Lifeguard. The fist thing he did was sling down his backpack and toss the pack on top of it. His eyes fell on the occupied hammock and he frowned. Richie tried not to stare at him, but it just wasn't going his way. The door to the clubhouse let light in and it was pouring in around Eddie. His brown hair looked golden in the light and the freckles on his face looked like dirt. Richie bit the inside of his cheek. Dirt? Since when was dirt pretty?

   "No! You were the last one to be in the hammock last night. I want a turn!" Eddie toed his shoes off and kicked them towards his backpack. Richie rolled his eyes at the childish look on his friend's face. He looked like a grouchy toddler- which was Eddie in a nutshell. A cute, annoying, adorable, toddler.

   "I just got here! I'm too comfortable to move. Looks like you're out of luck, Eds." Richie made a dramatic scene of turning the page in his book. He hadn't finished reading the page yet, but nobody needed to know that. It was for dramatic effect, after all.

   "I hate it when you call me Eds. Let me on!" Eddie was tugging Richie's leg. He was trying to move him as little as possible, which was always what happened, but Richie never said anything. He knew that if Eddie really wanted the hammock to himself, he would flip Richie out of it like Stan and Bev did. Instead, Eddie usually wanted to sit with Richie.

   Richie didn't understand why he wanted to, but he didn't mind at all. In made Richie feel warm, physically and not. Eddie was like a human space heater, which was surprising since he only wore shorts and t-shirts. 

   Eddie picked up Richie's legs and crawled into the navy blue hammock. He got comfortable and let one of his legs stretch out towards the curly haired teen and the other folded up under Richie's knee. Richie rolled his eyes again, biting the inside of his cheek so he wouldn't smile and let Eddie know how much he enjoyed it. It might have been a trick of the light, but he thought that behind that annoyed expression on his friend's face, that one of his cheeks had a little indention now.

   Bev swore and crumbled up the piece of scrap-paper she had been working on. She chucked it toward the small trash can in the corner. It sunk into the basket effortlessly. She always had good aim, especially when it came to throwing rocks. Richie looked away from the corner and focused back on his book. He gently and subtly switched back to the first page. He read almost half of a sentence before Eddie's socked foot smacked him face.

   "I didn't know you knew how to read." Eddie's big toe poked into Richie's ear and he squirmed. He smacked Eddie's foot away from him with the hard-backed book. Eddie yelped and retracted his limb from Richie's immediate reach. Richie opened the book again and tried to read.

   Eddie hadn't said anything or moved around for a few seconds and Richie peeked up at him. He was pouting, looking off to the side. The Losers were split up into different classes during the day, so breakfast, lunch, and after school was the only times they got to spend together. Eddie must have been bored, because he was wanting attention and Richie wasn't giving it to him. Richie thought for a second about how to provoke his friend into a fight before deciding on something.

   "Don't be sad. Cause sad spelled backwards is 'das' and das not good." Richie pinched Eddie's leg that his own was propped on top of. Eddie's head snapped around to Richie's with a dumbfounded look on his face. He sputtered before moving his hands around.

   "What the fuck did you just say, Trashmouth?"

   "I said das not good." Richie enunciated and pinched Eddie again for emphasize. Eddie smacked his hand away from the skin on his leg. 

   "That's not even a real word!" Eddie exclaimed. Richie fought back his smile and instead went to pinch Eddie again. Eddie wiggled away from him, the hammock singing back and forth a little. 

   "Yes, it is!"

   "Oh, yeah? Use it in a word then!" Eddie challenged. Richie felt a grin spread across his face and Eddie's smile dropped. He knew what was coming. After all, most of their arguments ended up with Richie joking about his mother.

   "Das not what your mom sai-"

   "Beep, beep, Richie!" Eddie had launched forward and tried to hit Richie in the face, but something had gone wrong. Their legs had tangled up together and Eddie began to fall over the edge. One of Richie's hands shot out to grab him and the other grabbed the side of the hammock. Within the next few seconds, Eddie was pulled back on, grabbing onto Richie and somehow still managing to fall sideways.

   Nobody had been paying attention to the two until the posts holding up the wood above them creaked. Ben, Bev, and Stan looked up, hoping that the ceiling wasn't about to fall down onto them. It was not, thankfully. But the hammock was looking more like a cocoon now.

   The two teens had managed to twist the hammock around so they were wrapped up in the middle and being held upside down. They were tightly bound up and the ropes at the ends of the contraption were twisted up thickly, suggesting they had done a 360 degree spin more than once.

   "What the fuck! I can't- breathe-" Eddie's words were muffled by the fabric and the laughter barreling out of his friends.

   "I think I got motion sick..." Richie's words were strained and Eddie audibly gasped.

   "What?"

   "I think I'm about to vomit!" Richie's voice cracked and the blanket started bubbling with Eddie's frantic movement.

   "Don't you fucking dare! Richie, don't you fucking dare!" Eddie was screeching, making the hammock sway like crazy. Stan howled with laughter and Beverly was clutching her stomach. Ben was red in the face, slapping his thigh and trying to breath. Soon enough, Richie started making gagging noises and Eddie's warning screeches turned into ones of horror.

   With an ungraceful few flips, the two boys were tossed out of the hammock and sprawled on the dirt floor. There was no vomit, just Richie with tears streaming down his face and his chest shaking with laughter. Eddie still looked horrified, but his cheeks were turning rosy and he was trying to suppress his own giggles. Soon enough, the five of them were all howling with laughter, crying, and clutching their stomachs. 

   Eddie was smacking Richie gently, his laughter weakening his blows. Richie was trying to pinch Stan now, but he couldn't extend his arms without his stomach hurting from the laughter. They all calmed down soon though, and the hammock was once again underneath Richie. It wiggled a bit easier now, which was something Ben would have to fix.

   A sobered up Eddie crawled onto Richie, this time his back was resting against the taller one's chest. Eddie's hips were resting the split of Richie's legs, their feet tangled together. If any of the other Losers noticed- they did, but they didn't mind either- they didn't comment. Eddie held the Huckleberry Finn book up and Richie cracked it open again.

   "What's it about?" Eddie asked. Richie shrugged and found his place on the first page. He was one the second sentence, but he didn't remember what he'd read so far. His eyes flickered to the start of the paragraph, his brain trying to ignore the perfect way that Eddie's body fit with his. His chest felt like it would explode painfully any second, but that had nothing to do with Eddie's weight.

   Richie rested his chin on top of Eddie's hair. Eddie's hand wormed around the book and found one of Richie's hands that were propping it up. This was something that had been happening recently- it had really been happening forever but the two of them were just beginning to notice how the felt about it- and would send jolts of electricity pulsing through Richie's veins. Eddie's fingers rested over Richie's, not quite holding hands, but close enough to make their hearts skip beats.

   "How bout I just read it to you? Since you obviously won't let me read it myself." Richie talked softly, trying to spare Eddie's ears. Eddie made a sort of noise and Richie took that as yes. He looked at the top of the page and began to read aloud.

   After about a chapter and a half, Richie spared a glance at Eddie's face. His eyes were closed peacefully and for a second Richie thought he'd fallen asleep. Then the long, dark, eyelashes fluttered like wings and those warm brown eyes were looking up at Richie. Richie felt his cheeks go rosy and watched as Eddie's eyes flickered to his cheeks.

   "You quit annoying me, so I figured you fell asleep." Eddie grinned and shook his head.

   "I was listening. Now, get back to the ransoming of the women. Tom's got a point with the wooing." Eddie repositioned his head and closed his eyes again.

   "He's talking about Stockholm Syndrome, Eds."

   "Yeah and I'm talking about the disappearance of the female species. No offense, Bev- we'd keep you." Eddie was grinning and Bev rolled her eyes.

   "Yeah, but we give them Stanley." Richie offered and Eddie giggled. Without looking up from his puzzle, Stan flipped them off. Eddie giggled harder, the vibrations from his chest making Richie feel like he was holding onto a- well never mind that.

   "Alright, back to the ransoming then." Richie started reading the pages again. Soon enough though, he felt Eddie's breathing even out on top of him. He was asleep this time, but Richie didn't stop reading. He only curled his fingers around Eddie's palm, feeling smile overwhelm his face when Eddie curled his fingers around Richie's hand in response.

   Yeah, Richie didn't mind this. In fact, he thought he loved it. 

#richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #beverly marsh #ben hanscom #Stanley uris #stan uris #it chapter one #it chapter two #IT #the other losers are mentioned #losers club #reddie #Richie x eddie #fluff #fluff without plot #I threw this together quickly #more to come #toby writes

[rabbitcruiser]

En Route to Germany (No. 9)

Møns Klint is a 6 km stretch of limestone and chalk cliffs along the eastern coast of the Danish island of Møn in the Baltic Sea. Some of the cliffs fall a sheer 120 m to the sea below. The highest cliff is Dronningestolen [da], which is 128 m above sea level. The area around Møns Klint consists of woodlands, pastures, ponds and steep hills, including Aborrebjerg which, with a height of 143 m, is one of the highest points in Denmark. The cliffs and adjacent park are now protected as a nature reserve. Møns Klint receives around 250,000 visitors a year. There are clearly marked paths for walkers, riders and cyclists. The path along the cliff tops leads to steps down to the shore in several locations.

On 29 May 2007, close to the cliff tops, the GeoCenter Møns Klint was opened by Queen Margrethe. The geological museum with interactive computer displays and a variety of attractions for children traces the geological prehistory of Denmark and the formation of the chalk cliffs. The museum was designed by PLH Architects, the winners of an international design competition.

Source: Wikipedia  

#Møns Klint #Møn #Cliffs of Møn #original photography #summer 2020 #travel #abroad a ferry #MS Huckleberry Finn #TT-Line #Danish island #Denmark #Baltic Sea #Ostsee #en route to Germany #Northern Europe #vacation #nature #ship #landscape #countryside #seaside #blue sky #clouds #reflection #water #tourist attraction #landmark

[ct-offical-sexyman]

20 lines:

Thank you @hughstheforcelou

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line. Then tag 5 of your favorite authors!

“Cory!” The 15-year-old looked up from her painting to see another girl standing in her driveway.

Tides Shifting (H2o: Just Add Water)

Heloise Selwyn, better known as Hela, was considered quite strange, quite strange indeed. She didn’t seem to fit into the wizarding world or the muggle world. She was considered very unpredictable, which was part of the reason why she was on the run in the first place.

S.P.H.I.N.X and the Philosopher's Stone (Harry Potter)

Melinoe has never known true peace. Ever since she was a child, there had been no rest: only fear, anger, and pain.

Force of Nature - The Phantom Menace (Star Wars)

“What the heck is a Huckleberry Finn again?” A girl with bright green hair joked while putting cash into the registrar.

Black Sheep - Season 1 (Gilmore Girls)

BEEP BEEP BEEP

Power of Love (Back to the Future)

“I wanna go home!”

Tales of the Curse-Breaker (Hogwarts Mystery)

“Now it is a tad small. I hope that’s not too much trouble Ms Kelpie.”

She Blinded Me with Science (The Glass Scientists)

Tagging: @wokenhardies @randomestfandoms-ocs @perfectlystiles @eddysocs @

#tag game #fanfiction #writing

[applexcat]

I was cleaning up some files on my computer at work and I TOTALLY forgot I made these terrible ms paint doodles. Believe it or not, these are my first drawings of Clover! This was before I had seen his concept art and I knew very little about him - basically just his Aesop fable inspiration and semblance. For some reason I imagined him as kinda scrappy, like a Tom Sawyer/Huckleberry Finn type. Anyway, it looks hilarious to me now considering his final design so I figured I’d share.

#apple post

[spoonscribe]

Blog 3: Characters and Yearning

Mark Twain once said, "Write what you know." I'm not sure if he was an incarnation of Huckleberry Finn or if he knew that boy or both. I think we can all agree that Twain knew his characters well. Characters are the threads in the fabric of every story. 

Who doesn't love Elizabeth Bennett and, therefore, Mr. Darcy? Scout Finch? Or even Harry Potter? Some characters are so well written they take root in our history like the small tree growing from an overpass on I-85. They don't quite fit in our world but remain distinctly and unquestionably a part of it. 

Character writing is hard, and the bar is high when you try to set yourself among the likes of Twain, Austen, Lee, and Rowling. I can only feebly attempt to accomplish a well-written character who is flawed but also deeply loved. Characters connect us to intimate parts of ourselves we never knew existed. But authentic characters, the ones authors write as truth, are the ones who change our lives.

Waves the graphic novel, reveals profound truths about miscarriage and loss that gets misplaced in the noise of today's society.  Often, we are sad for those suffering from such a loss but seek to minimize it because they weren't real yet. If we never saw a baby smile, then were they real? Society re-writes hard stories because it's easier than dealing with some harsh realities. I want to do the opposite.

I decided to stick with the "Fear of Falling" because, as a chronically sick individual, I know the struggles of the elderly at the ripe old age of 34. I know my character intimately, although I'm still struggling with a name for her. I know her because she is a compilation of the elderly and aging individuals in my life. This story began as an ode to my 89-year-old neighbor Betty Bagwell (yes, that's her real name), who is the most fearless woman I've ever known. At 89, she still lives alone with minimal assistance, grocery shops, and takes her trash to the road. Recently, my aging neighbor had a fall, and her brave face melted away into a puddle of tears. The ambulance no more had pulled out of the drive then I found Betty in her kitchen sobbing into her arms. Immediately seeing me, she pulled up and apologized for the tears because, Betty said, "I never cry. At least not where anyone can see me." At that moment I realized, despite her hardiness, she was terrified of what came next. Here at the end of her life, Betty has no lifeline, no one to help her navigate her last years.  

My main character is also loosely based on my grandfather, Jack Mayes, who could never entirely accept his old age. Vain until the end, he would often ask people, "How old do I look?" and then would promptly answer the question by saying that he didn't look 85. After taking a bullet for our country and living life without abandon, he couldn't come to terms with age. He seemed surprised at the man he saw in the mirror, even disgusted by it. Even at 85, he was always spoiling for a fight, and without the oxygen, he probably could have taken more men on for size.

In my time spent with the aging, I've seen them differently than the sweet old people who are "ready" for what comes next. The youth of today seem to spin this yarn that all older people are ready for the next phase of their lives, so it's ok when their bodies begin to fail. It's the lie we tell ourselves, so we don't question our own failing mortality. Sometimes even elderly deaths are diminished by the old phrase "Well he/she lived a good life." I'm not saying they didn't, but my grandfather clung to life until his last breath, and Betty isn't giving up anytime soon. Betty may outlive us all. As an author, I want to honor them and others like them by humanizing them, by making their fears as real as ours, and by commending their bravery. My character is yearning for life, for just one more breath, one more day. This one is for you, Ms. Betty. And to you, Grandaddy.

#oldtimer #truth

[madmen-ao3feed]

All Together™

read it on the AO3 at http://bit.ly/2YSndqV

by mellloyelllo

die

Words: 10, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Orange is the New Black, Steven Universe (Cartoon), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket, A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), Shark Tale (2004), Sharknado (Movies), Jaws (Movies), XXXTentacion (Musician) RPF, OK K.O.! Let's Be Heroes, Undertale (Video Game), Deltarune (Video Game), Roblox (Video Game), Family Guy (Cartoon), Sonic the Hedgehog - All Media Types, The Cleveland Show, Garfield - All Media Types, Voltron: Legendary Defender, Marvel Cinematic Universe, DC Universe Online, Victorious (TV), iCarly, Minecraft (Video Game), But I'm a Cheerleader (1999), Russian Doll (TV 2019), My Singing Monsters, Revolver - The Beatles, Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Hetalia: Axis Powers, Fairy Tail, SpongeBob SquarePants (Cartoon), M&M's Commercials, Homestuck, Super Mario & Related Fandoms, Donkey Kong (Video Games), Santa Claus Conquers the Martians (1964), Santa Clarita Diet (TV), Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, 私がモテないのはどう考えてもお前らが悪い! | Watamote - No Matter How I Look At It It's You Guys' Fault I'm Unpopular!, Free!, American Horror Story, Ирония судьбы | The Irony of Fate (Movies), John Wick (Movies), Fortnite (Video Game), Overwatch (Video Game), Salad Fingers, Wonder Woman (2017), अलीबाबा और चलीस चोर | Alibaba Aur 40 Chor | Adventures of Ali-Baba and the Forty Thieves (1979), Alice In Wonderland - Lewis Carroll, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Political RPF - US 21st c., Maroon 5, Twenty One Pilots, Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare, Everyman HYBRID, Everybody Else (Band), Everything I Never Told You - Celeste Ng, Arctic Monkeys, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, Game of Thrones (TV), Teen Titans - All Media Types, Teen Titans Go!, Regular Show, Clarence (Cartoon), Flaming Carrot Comics, Le fabuleux destin d'Amélie Poulain | Amélie (2001), Jane Eyre - Charlotte Brontë, Jane the Virgin (TV), H2O: Just Add Water, Shrek (Movies), Fish Hooks (TV), Shark Tank (TV 2009), Of Mice & Men (Band), Of Mice and Men - John Steinbeck, Slamacow Minecraft Animations (Web Series), The Stanley Parable, Hitler: The Rise of Evil (TV 2003), Fran Bow (Video Game), Hamilton - Miranda, Johnny Test (Cartoon), A Separate Peace - John Knowles, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Office (US), Five Nights at Freddy's, Phineas and Ferb, Moshi Monsters (Video Game), Neopets, K-pop, Poptropica (Video Game), Baby-Sitters Little Sister - Ann M. Martin, Super Planet Dolan (Web Series), Slazo, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Parks and Recreation, Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV), We Bare Bears (TV), Adventure Time, Mighty Morphin Power Rangers, Mighty Magiswords (Cartoon), Hey Arnold!, Rugrats & All Grown Up! (Cartoons), CatDog (Cartoon), Harvey Beaks (Cartoon), Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunter X Hunter, Camp Camp (Web Series), Fairly OddParents, Camila Cabello (Musician), Anne with an E (TV), G.I. Joe - All Media Types, 5 Seconds of Summer (Band), Eminem (Musician), Club Penguin, Ouran High School Host Club - All Media Types, LOVECRAFT H. P. - Works, Captain America (Movies), American Dad!, Country Music RPF, Tiger Cruise (2004), Karate Kid (Movies), Lilo & Stitch (2002), Beauty and the Beast (1991), Aladdin (1992), Pirates of the Caribbean: The Price of Freedom - A. C. Crispin, The Princess and the Frog (2009), The Aristocats (1970), The Muppet Show, The Muppets - All Media Types, Sesame Street (TV), Diary of a Wimpy Kid Series - Jeff Kinney, Dork Diaries Series - Rachel Renee Russell, Looney Tunes | Merrie Melodies, Apple "Get a Mac" Commercials, McDonalds "NHL Mini-Sticks" Commercials, Talking Tom and Friends (Cartoon), Nintendogs, Melanie Martinez (Musician), Little Witch Academia, 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia, Cowboy Bebop (Anime), Gravity Falls, Halloween Movies - All Media Types, The Nun (2018), How to Train Your Dragon (Movies), How to Get Away with Murder, School of Rock (2003), The Cheetah Girls (Movies), Good Luck Charlie, Ant-Man (Movies), A.N.T. Farm, Codename: Kids Next Door, Powerpuff Girls, Mr. Pickles (Cartoon), Peanuts, Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Fallout (Video Games), Weather Girl (2009), Heathers (1988), Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe, Burger King "The Burger King" Commercials, My Babysitter's A Vampire, The Amazing World of Gumball, The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb), Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends, Minions (2015), Despicable Me (Movies), Because of Winn-Dixie - All Media Types, South Park, Sanjay and Craig (Cartoon), Breadwinners (Cartoon), Robot and Monster, Fanboy & Chum Chum (Cartoon), Monsters vs Aliens (2009), Original Work, Mary Poppins - P. L. Travers, Godspell - Schwartz, Het Achterhuis | The Diary of Anne Frank - Anne Frank, Ed Edd n Eddy, Eddsworld - All Media Types, Ed Sheeran (Musician), Sweet Home Alabama (2002), Furry (Fandom), Lego Ninjago, The LEGO Movie (2014), Lego - All Media Types, My Life as a Teenage Robot, Danny Phantom, True Jackson: VP, Pinky and the Brain, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Multi-Fandom, Dance Moms RPF, Life Is Strange (Video Game), Mother 1 | EarthBound Zero | EarthBound Beginnings, Mother 2: Gyiyg no Gyakushuu | EarthBound, Mother 3, Portal (Video Game), Portal 2: The (Unauthorized) Musical - geekenders, Ariana Grande (Musician), Justin Bieber (Musician), Bebe Rexha (Musician), Taylor Swift (Musician), ジョジョの奇妙な冒険 | JoJo no Kimyou na Bouken | JoJo's Bizarre Adventure, Liv and Maddie, Crash Bandicoot (Video Games), Shake It Up! (US TV), G-Force: Guardians of Space, G-Force (2009), Ancient History RPF, Ancient Egyptian Religion, Little House on the Prairie (TV), The Prince of Egypt (1998), Mulan (1998), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types, The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1996), Adventures of Huckleberry Finn - Mark Twain, Number the Stars - Lois Lowry, The Giver Series - Lois Lowry, Flowers for Algernon - Daniel Keyes, SuperLuv - Shane Dawson (Song), Kirby - All Media Types, Chick-fil-A "Eat Mor Chikin" Commercials, Cow and Chicken (TV), Block B, Beauty and the Beast - All Media Types, Groundhog Day (1993), Christian Bible, Islamic Lore, Jewish Scripture & Legend, The Epic of Gilgamesh, תורה | Torah, Hindu Religions & Lore, Orphan Black (TV), Black Panther (2018), Mad Men, Goosebumps - All Media Types, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Pretty Little Liars, To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before (2018), Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon, Yu-Gi-Oh the Abridged Series, Scooby Doo - All Media Types, Les Schtroumpfs | The Smurfs, Pillsbury Company "Pillsbury Doughboy" Commercials, Nickelback (Band), Rocko's Modern Life, All That (TV 1994), The Color Purple - Alice Walker, Doraemon (Manga), Go Diego Go!, MS Paint Adventures, Homestar Runner, Inanimate Insanity (Web Series), Battle For Dream Island (Web Series), Digimon - All Media Types, Caillou (Cartoon), Berenstain Bears Series - Stan & Jan & Mike Berenstain

Rating: Not Rated

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Other

Characters: Oscar (Shark Tale), Brook Soso, Alex Vause, Piper Chapman, Megan Bloomfield, Graham Eaton, Lenny the Chocolate Moose, George Milton, Lennie Small, Nicky Nichols, Lorna Morello, Lemony Snicket, Alexandrite (Steven Universe), Dominga "Daddy" Duarte, Artesian McCullough, Rose Quartz (Steven Universe), Blue Diamond (Steven Universe), Blue Diamond's Pearl (Steven Universe), Yellow Diamond (Steven Universe), Yellow Diamond's Pearl (Steven Universe), Yellow Zircon (Steven Universe), Jade West, Joel Luschek, Noelle Holiday, Slim (Of Mice and Men), Slime (Minecraft), Creeper (Minecraft), Enderman (Minecraft), Sans (Undertale), Papyrus (Undertale), Violet Baudelaire, Klaus Baudelaire, Sunny Baudelaire, Count Olaf (A Series of Unfortunate Events), Janae Watson, Sister Jane Ingalls, Sophia Burset, Baz (Sharknado), Robin Hood (Once Upon a Time), Starfire, Cyborg (Character), The Beast (Over the Garden Wall), Stanley (Disney: Beauty and the Beast), John Bennett (Orange is the New Black), John Doe (Roblox), John Wick, Ruby (Steven Universe), Jane Doe, Justin Hammer, Carrie "Big Boo" Black, Peridot (Steven Universe), The Narrator (The Stanley Parable), Shrek (Shrek), Annoying Dog (Undertale), Ben Shapiro, Desert Glass (Steven Universe), GLaDOS, Winnie (Free!), Bird That Carries You Over A Disproportionately Small Gap, Watanabe You, Franny Morello, Thanos (Marvel), Spider (Minecraft), May Parker (Spider-Man), Courage (Courage the Cowardly Dog), Peter Parker, Lois Griffin, Michael Scott, Freddy Fazbear, Nevel Papperman

Relationships: Piper Chapman/Alex Vause, Nicky Nichols/Alex Vause, Parker (Leverage)/Alex Vause, Megan Bloomfield/Graham Eaton, Barry Benson/Oscar (Shark Tale), Pearl/Rose Quartz (Steven Universe), Lapis Lazuli/Peridot (Steven Universe), Amethyst (Steven Universe)/Sans (Undertale), Sans (Undertale) & Peridot (Steven Universe), Olivia Caliban/Jacquelyn Scieszka, Blue Diamond/Greg Universe, Sans (Undertale)/Shrek (Shrek), Papyrus (Undertale) & Sonic the Hedgehog, Noelle Holiday/Susie (Deltarune), George Milton & Lennie Small, Artesian McCullough/Maritza Ramos, Alex Vause/Reader, W. D. Gaster/Sans/Reader, Ned (Pushing Daisies)/Harry Potter, Amethyst (Steven Universe)/Harry Potter, Sans (Undertale)/Reader, Garnet/Jasper (Steven Universe), Alice (Alice in Wonderland)/Christopher Robin (Winnie-the-Pooh), Frank Castle/John Wick, Joel Luschek/Nicky Nichols, Alexandrite/Malachite (Steven Universe), Freddie Benson/Carly Shay, Star Butterfly & Steven Universe, Count Olaf/Esmé Squalor, Galina "Red" Reznikov/Gloria Mendoza, Enid (OK K.O.! Let's Be Heroes)/Pearl (Steven Universe), Enid/Red Action (OK K.O.! Let's Be Heroes), Carol Denning/Reader, Sans/Sans (Undertale), Chara/Frisk (Undertale), Tony Stark/Thanos, Peter Griffin/Johnny Test, Courage/Katz, Jane Eyre/Edward Rochester, Blue Diamond (Steven Universe)/Eugene Krabs, Gene Forrester/Phineas "Finny", Creeper (Minecraft)/Sans (Undertale), Creeper/Steve (Minecraft), Creeper (Minecraft)/Reader, Gene/Jailbreak/Hi-5 (The Emoji Movie), Jailbreak/Smiler, Lord Boxman/Eugene "Gar" Garcia, George Washington/Martha Washington, Alexander Hamilton/Sonic the Hedgehog, Jim Halpert/Michael Scott, Eievui | Eevee/Pikachu, Kasumi | Misty/Satoshi | Ash Ketchum, Satoshi | Ash Ketchum/Serena, Chica (Five Nights at Freddy's)/Harry Potter, Bonnie/Foxy (Five Nights at Freddy's), Freddy Fazbear/Reader, Freddie Benson/Nevel Papperman, Gibby Gibson/Nevel Papperman, Lorna Morello/Nicky Nichols, Lorna Morello/Vince Muccio, Liane Cartman/Quahog Residents (Family Guy), Lois Griffin/Glenn Quagmire, Glenn Quagmire/Joe Swanson, Benny (In the Heights)/Alexander Hamilton

Additional Tags: Futanari, Mouth Sewn Shut, Everyone Is Gay, Kissing, Necrophilia, Murder, BDSM, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Must Read, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Discussion of Abortion, Abortion, Glasses, Alternate Universe, Crossover, Fuckin' Fluffy Mondays, Everybody Dies, Holocaust, I did this instead of studying for my finals, harambe trump, Cereal, Vore, Cock & Ball Torture, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Furry, Irony, Epic, Bromance, Blue Eyes, Green Eyes, Brownies, Mind Control, Dogs

read it on the AO3 at http://bit.ly/2YSndqV

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #mad men