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manicpixiedreamcurl · 2 years

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The More You Give ❧ (Part IV)

Pairing | Eddie x reader

Warnings | 18+ minors and blank blogs don’t interact, bullying, once again Eddie flirts with bullies, sex shaming, discussions of anxiety, dom!eddie increasingly present, fingers in mouths and other places, oral (f and m receiving), first time blow job, cum eating (a theme of this story now as much as shyness, apparently). New named characters, hopefully it’s clear who’s important and who’s not.

Word count | ~11,700

A/N | I’m late! It’s late. Thank you for the patience and the very encouraging messages. It’s wonderful to hear that people are enjoying this fic.

Taglist

Previous Chapter

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Your fingers twist and pull at your scrunchie, turning the stretchy patterned cotton around your wrist. You think about May’s face; one you know better than anyone else’s. Long eyelashes, pink smile; friendly and warm. You can keep her that way if you just say everything right.

Eddie is kind to me, you imagine yourself explaining. I like him and I want you to give him a chance.

You hum as you cross the street, not entirely happy with how that sounds.

Eddie is kind to me. That works. I think it would be really nice if you’d speak to him, so you could see how wonderful he is.

You chew your lip. You are getting ahead of yourself. Even if, by some miracle, you can explain properly, even if May accepts that Eddie is important to you now, she still won’t ever want to be seen with him. May likes being popular, and people hate Eddie Munson.

It doesn’t matter that he’s the Eddie who made you a mixtape after one date, Eddie who doesn’t mind speaking when you can’t, Eddie who holds your hand and kisses you sweet. It doesn't matter because he is Eddie Munson. The way he dresses, the music he listens to, where he lives, the game he plays, how he makes money, who his parents were. He’s like a ticked list of everything people don’t want to understand.

To think, now, that you ever let yourself believe he was anything other than lovely makes you ache with regret. You think of that word you found in a Welsh poem; hiraeth, like nostalgia, like homesickness. A sinking feeling, the realisation that you should have followed through every time you thought that people might be wrong about him.

You saw him hold doors open, take Jeff under his wing, play his guitar exactly the way he likes even in the face of relentless mocking. You knew. Knew he was funny, knew he was interesting, knew he was kind. Knew that, somehow, life would be better if you just spoke to him.

What would you be like, now, if you had?

For a second, you’re sure you must be thinking about him too hard, because you can hear the howl of the music that plays loud from his van. But there he is, pulling up at the corner, looking both ways until he spots you and waves wildly like you might not recognise him otherwise. The tyres of Eddie’s van screech as he makes the turn, again when he halts next to you on the sidewalk. “Thought I’d lost you,” Eddie laughs, leaning over to open the passenger door for you. “Hop in, sweetheart.”

Eddie waits for you to climb up into his van to press a chaste hello kiss to your lips, so casual and domestic it makes that longing to have had him earlier worse. He watches you buckle your seat belt and get yourself comfy with an excited grin, clearly waiting until he has your full concentration to say what he desperately wants to say.

Eddie peels off from the sidewalk the second you are settled and looking at him expectantly.

"Guess who met your Dad this morning!”

You blink. “You went to my house?”

“Of course,” he says matter of factly, peeling away from the sidewalk. “Why do you think I’m here? I’m gonna be driving you to school from now on.” You almost fight the smile, but let it show when Eddie continues. “At first he thought I was there to mow the lawn? Had me all the way to the garage before I realised. My guess was he wanted an expert opinion on the quality of the grass.” Eddie grins conspiratorially, laughing at his own joke. “But I explained that I was there to pick up his beautiful daughter. Thought he was going to attack me with the weed whacker.”

You shake your head, giggling at the image of your cardigan clad, slipper wearing father wielding such a weapon against Eddie. You look him over, giving yourself a moment to gaze at his handsome profile. “But you’re miraculously unharmed.”

“Oh yeah, it was no problem. Just turned on the signature Munson charm, you know?” He gives you a dimpled smile. “Then he told me you’d left early to catch the bus so I had to abandon my new best friend and speed on over to find you.”

You like him especially like this. The way he weaves fantasy with the truth so easily, refusing to let reality get in the way of a good tale. He’s a better storyteller than anyone you’ve ever met, so much so that you don’t know exactly how much of this account is real. You won’t know unless you ask your Dad.

You probably won’t. Eddie’s version is better.

You watch his adorned hands while he drives, steady on the steering wheel. Your gaze drifts up his lithe arms to his face, bathed in Summer light. His dark hair is shades lighter like this, flyaways made golden by the sun. “Eddie?” He hums a questioning tone, eyes on the road while yours are fixed on him. “Are you really going to drive me every day?”

“Well, yeah. I thought I would.”

“You won’t…miss a day?” You’re not trying to dissuade him, but one thing you have known about Eddie for years is that he is prone to arrive late, if he makes it to school at all.

“Princess, if there comes a morning that I am not ready and waiting for you with this, your carriage, know that I will have been slain by dragons.”

You are so desperately fond of him. “Really?”

“Nothing but talons and fiery breath will keep me from your door. I promise.”

The van slows to a stop, but you’re too occupied by him to question it. Eddie looks serious, even as he makes such a whimsical promise, and you know he wants you to believe him. Heart fluttering, you lean over to kiss his soft cheek, leaving a little spot of pink gloss on his skin that you wipe away with your thumb.

“Thank you, Eddie.” You grab his hand and bring your clasped fingers to rest on your knee, cherishing the warmth of him, the weight and feel of him. You sigh, chest sore at the loss of all the times you should have held this hand before. Your fingers find the smallest of his rings, this one is less chunky than those on his left hand. The stone at the centre is dark, flecked with grey. Eddie lets you twist it smoothly, run the pad of your first finger along the textured metal. When you look up from his hand, Eddie is already watching you. You give him what must be a sad smile. "I wish-"

“I think I speak for all of us-” You jump at the voice along with the door at the back of his van opening. Feeling caught in an intimate moment, you fight the urge to drop Eddie’s hand, instead squeezing it tight to get out the sudden nerves. Into the van climbs three boys. Eddie’s friends; including Jeff, who waves at you while the youngest, dressed in a sleeveless flannel, establishes his disbelief at your presence. “-when I say I did not think for one second you were serious about getting a girlfriend.”

Your face heats, the word fluttering around your brain like a swallow diving and gliding in Spring; girlfriend, girlfriend, girlfriend.

You don't chance a look at Eddie, even though you see him glance at you in your periphery. You can't, not when the desperation would read so clearly on your face the second you get a real glimpse of him.

You watch the three boys shuffle and sit together along the bench seat in the back. Arms and legs squish together, and soon elbows appear to try and gain ground. Protesting grunts and curses sound even as Eddie starts the van.

When Jeff widens his legs in the middle, forcing one boy almost off the end and another to slam into the door at his side, a final frustrated groan sounds. “You know, Monday's are supposed to be my day riding shotgun."

“If you’ve got a problem, Gareth, I'm sure your Mommy would let you ride in the front every day of the week.”

“I-” You rub the gem of Eddie’s ring with your thumb in a circle. “I’m sorry I took your seat.”

Gareth’s eyes seem to light up as if he’s spied an opportunity. “Well, you didn’t exactly take my seat. It was given away before he even picked you up,”

“Gareth-” Eddie starts, a warning sound.

“If you think for one second,” Gareth says, voice matching Eddie’s unique tone almost to a point. “That a woman like that is sitting anywhere but by my side you’ve lost your God damn minds.”

The three of them giggle like real schoolboys until Eddie’s head snaps around like a cat locating its prey, silencing them in an instant. Something about the tension in his jaw, the intensity of his eyes makes you feel warm between your legs. It also makes a long quiet, mischievous part of you want to push him a little bit.

“When- when was this exactly?”

Four sets of eyes turn to you; one incredulous, the other three shifty like they’re weighing up the consequences of being the first to speak.

“Friday,” the final boy says, eyes darting to Eddie whose face is swiftly turning pink. “He said you were going on a date, that he might be driving you after. Never seen him so excited. And hey, looks like it went well, Eds?”

“You know something crazy?” Eddie grits. “I could've sworn I just heard Matthew’s voice. But that's impossible, because he’s dead to me.”

“Eddie!” You chide, watching his sweet, angry face, his lips set in an unintentional pout. This time, the kiss you press to his cheek is long, and in full view of his friends. Your heart pounds as you do it, aware of their eyes right on you, but it's entirely worth it to see Eddie’s pink cheeks darken further. You tap your feet a little, your own face heating while you rub the back of his hand with your thumb. “I was excited on Friday, too.”

You expect he might glare at his friends again when a chorus of ooh’s starts up behind you, but instead Eddie settles back into his seat, trying and failing to fight a happy grin, his dimples appearing even as his eyebrows are pulling together in an attempt at keeping up his anger. He squeezes your hand tight before he lets go to make a turn, then reaches out again immediately to take your palm back in his.

“Hey, have you done any of the Chemistry homework?” Jeff asks, head appearing in the front, hiding Eddie from you.

“Yes,” you nod, remembering the brutal questions you’d spent the rest of your Sunday on after returning from town with Heather. “In between bouts of tears.”

“Jesus. I know. Do you remember ever being taught anything about retention factors?”

You shake your head, humming the negative. “We weren’t.”

“What does Mr Brown get from that? I mean I thought he wanted us to say, hey, you old bastard, you never fucking taught us this. But literally last week Jessie told him we hadn't learned molecular orbitals when it was on the test, and she got detention.”

“Note to self. Don’t do AP Chemistry.”

“I really don’t think that’s a choice you’ll have available to you, Gareth.”

“Hey! I got a B+ on the last assignment-”

“I’m your lab partner!” Matthew cries, smacking his friend on the shoulder. “I wrote the whole thing!”

You watch them sitting uncomfortably together on the small back seat, arguing from either side of Jeff, whose stone faced grimace makes you giggle. When you turn back, Eddie is stopped at the lights and gazing at you, looking proud.

You shrug bashfully, because talking to Jeff isn't so impressive. It's always been easier to speak to people who understand what it’s like to lose your words.

You feel eyes on you when you jump from Eddie’s van in the school parking lot, uncomfortable prickles crawling up your neck. When you catch the eyes of two cheerleaders you rarely speak to despite sitting with them every day, you see their lips moving, smiles turning, and hear your heartbeat in your ears.

Then it’s just Eddie, eyes level with yours, close enough you could count the long dark eyelashes that frame them. “You alright?”

You nod, giving him a brave smile. Your fingers twitch, wanting his hand again. “Okay. I have to, uh, meet somebody. But I can leave you with the guys, right?”

You nod again, wanting to tell Eddie that you’ve always liked Jeff, that you think you could like Gareth and Matthew, too. Suddenly you’re thinking about your own friends, and how hard it will be to explain this arrival on top of your dates with Eddie over the weekend. A part of you wants to beg him to get back in his van with you. You could drive to his trailer, hole up in the room that smells like him and hide in his arms.

Another part wants to grab his face and kiss him in front of anyone who might be watching, scream at anyone who might hear that you've been waiting for this joy for what feels like your whole life.

But you are stuck here, in an uncomfortable place between the two.

“Eddie, will you-” You swallow, pressing the toe of your shoe into the tarmac.

“Just tell me what you need, sweet thing. I’ll do it.”

You could cry at how earnest he sounds, how much he means it. Instead you step forward and press your face to his shoulder, wrap your arms around his lithe waist in a hug. You hope he knows you want to give him more, that you’re trying for him. When Eddie’s hands come round your shoulders, giving your body a tight squeeze, you’re sure he does.

“Hey, you wanna come to my place after school?” You nod into his shoulder, sighing happily at the thought of time spent with Eddie removed from pestering eyes. When you force yourself from him, he gives you a final once over. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

“Mm.”

As Eddie walks away, you feel a bump on your shoulder and turn to find Jeff grinning at you. He raises an eyebrow and you find yourself covering your face and giggling. “Stop!”

“I didn’t say anything!” He bumps your shoulder again while you walk to the door, past intent stares and whispering mouths. You grab the hem of your skirt, crumpling the fabric in your fist. Next to you Gareth and Matthew are talking about a new album they like, as if people turning to look at you over their shoulders don't matter one bit. Jeff speaks soft. “Hey, you wanna compare the homework before first period? I found an old textbook in the library and I think I have the right idea, but if you’ve given it a try, too-”

Your name comes in a distinctively curt call, the way your Mom used to say it when she found you playing in mud and pretended not to be angry. Your heart drops, toes curling your shoes. May’s expression is tight, eyes fixed on you to avoid looking at the boys you are surrounded by.

Your mouth opens to speak, but what do you say here? Introduce them? Apologise? Fabric twists in your shaking fingers while you look up at Jeff, knowing that you need to be left alone with your friend now.

“Let’s go over it another day,” Jeff says, giving you a brace filled smile and May a quick worried look. “See you later.”

Gareth and Matthew follow the farewell, and you’re left alone. Looking at May's face, you can't help but feel guilty.

She knows.

“You went on a date with him?”

Oh. She knows.

You pull your sleeves over your hands and nod, trying to remember the words you were rehearsing this morning, trying to picture how this scene could play out in a way that ends with May’s smile. You are left empty by the disappointment, the exhaustion in her expression. You just twist your sleeves in your thumbs. “How did you-”

“Tracy's boyfriend works at the diner in town. He didn't know your name, but he told her the freak was there with that one girl that never says anything and well, it wasn't that hard for her and everybody else to work it out." She shakes her head, shrugging incredulously. "Were you even trying to hide it?” You shake your head, wanting it to be a proclamation that of course you weren't hiding, that you didn't want to hide Eddie one bit. Instead, it feels like the action of a scolded child admitting fault. “It’s like-” she starts, touching her forehead as if it’s aching, then clasping her hands together in front of her chest. “It’s like you’re determined to make life difficult for yourself.”

“May-”

“I mean, of everyone, everyone in school, you pick Eddie Munson. Eddie Munson. What is the aim here, exactly? To tank what reputation you have left? What are you going to say to Caroline at lunch when she asks about this?”

Caroline, something of a Queen Bee in the cheer squad. May has been trying to impress her for years. She's half the reason May joined cheerleading, why she saves up for those weekend trips instead of drinking smoothies and gossiping with you and Heather. Caroline is also the reason May is embarrassed of you more often than not, these days.

Caroline thinks you are strange. She has told you to your face. Conversations with her are limited to sharing the answers of your homework, asking you to do her makeup before a competition, comments about your silence, the fact you can’t look her in the eye, the way you fidget with your clothes.

You could probably ignore it, if you didn’t know it hurt May just as much because of her association with you.

“Oh wait, you won’t say anything. You’ll just sit there and wait for me to explain it for you. Well, I really don’t think I can do that. I mean, do you even know how much time I spent defending you after the Andy thing?” She waits, and you realise she’s expecting an answer. You shake your head and you feel pathetic. “It took up entire practices sometimes. But I did it, I defended you, just like I always do. No, guys, you don’t get it! She hurt cause Andy embarrassed her and she’s shy! Too shy to even try talking to any of you instead of just hanging around all the time, but not shy enough to avoid dating Eddie fucking Munson!”

It’s your longest shame. The memory of the first time you found it hard to speak to someone is hazy, but you know you were young, and that the dread involved in talking to new people, important people, popular people, has never gone away.

You sniff. “I- I’m not trying to make it hard for you.”

“Of course you aren’t!” She cries, exasperated. “But you’re not putting any effort into making it easy for me, either.”

“I didn’t- It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. I was- I wanted to explain everything.”

“What? So I could defend you properly?”

“No!” You cry, reaching for her hand and feeling relieved when she lets you take it. You stare at your fingers holding hers, your matching pale blue nails. “No, May. I hate that I made you feel that way. I’m sorry that you’ve had to defend me. I’m sorry I've left you to explain, but this- I wanted to explain it myself so you could try to understand.”

“Try to understand what? Why you need to date Munson?”

“Yes. I know you don’t like him but he-” Is perfect for you, makes you feel safe, touches you like you’ve been waiting for. “He’s kind, May. And it’s like he- he knows how to talk to me when I…you know, get quiet.”

Her gaze snaps to you. You feel her fingers flex like she wants away from your touch. “And what? I don’t?”

"No, you do, May. You and Heather, you’re the only ones who ever really have. You know that. But, some of the others, like with Andy. It annoyed him.”

“Well, I’m sorry, but it gets annoying.”

You swallow the lump in your throat, nodding your understanding.

“I’m sure Andy didn’t mind it in the beginning either.” May says. “Give Munson time. He might not like it so much when you’re six months in, still barely talking and all you’ve let him do is fucking dry hump you.”

You wince, hating to think about everything that happened, hating that she knew all that before you told her, hating that thought that Eddie could ever act the way Andy did. The tears that have been building finally start to spill, and you drag a sleeve up to your eyes, sniffing desperately and looking up to try and stop the pooling.

You hear May sigh, feel her squeeze your hand in what you’re sure is an apology.

“Okay. Fine. You like Munson. You told me that before and I should have taken it seriously but instead I sent you out into the woods to talk to him alone so, wow, I guess this is my fault.” You’re not sure if she’s joking, not sure what she wants you to say to any of that. “But I’m not justifying it to the cheer girls, okay? I mean it. If they want you gone, you’re sitting at the freak’s table for the rest of senior year whether you keep dating him or not.”

There is a single moment, fleeting in your mind, where the thought of that brings you relief.

She’s not wrong. You let your worries be taken up with explaining it to her, but you find yourself answering questions from just about everyone else all day.

A boy in Spanish you’ve never once spoken to, asking if you really got a ride to school with Eddie Munson this morning. Your desk partner in Math who always copies your answers passes you a note asking if it’s true you’ve been secretly dating for months. A freshman in the hallway whose brother you babysit asks if the freak is your boyfriend now, if you’re going to try and sneak him into her house when her parents are out.

Yes. No. Sort of. Of course not.

Maybe you should feel prepared when you walk into the cafeteria, ready to be questioned. One look at Caroline's picture perfect smile and your packed lunch is shaking in your trembling fingers.

You spy the empty seats directly opposite her as you approach. Like it's planned, like she wanted to keep your options closed. Instinctively, you look over to the other side of the cafeteria as you sit, wishing Eddie were with you and not at the head of his table, gesticulating with his hands with each beat of the story he’s telling his friends.

“Oh, my God. It’s true.” Your gaze snaps back, feeling caught out even though you weren’t trying to hide. Caroline’s own eyes move from where she had followed yours to your face, eyebrows pulled together like she can’t believe somebody so strange as you could be real. You stare at her chin, shaking your knee under the table. “You are dating Munson.”

“Yes."

You hear the chair beside you pull out, see May sitting in your periphery with a light smile. “Hi, girls!”

“Did you know about this?” Caroline asks, gesturing to you with her head like you’re a red wine stain on a white shag carpet.

“God, no." She did warn you, but it still feels like a betrayal, still hurts your chest like one. "Not until Tracy phoned yesterday.”

“I mean, I can’t say I’m entirely surprised,” Caroline replies, widening her eyes and smirking. “If anyone was going to have a thing for the freak.”

You would like to be strong. You would like to sound eloquent and speak with finality. Instead, you force out quiet words. "He’s kind.”

It’s as if you didn’t say anything at all.

“Is this because Andy broke up with you?” You glance over down the table at the curious face of another girl, her hair tied back in the familiar green scrunchie. “Like is this you trying to make him jealous?” You flinch, shaking your head, but she continues, voice half a giggle. “Cause I mean, I think you may have picked the wrong guy.”

“I’m- I’m not trying to make anybody jealous.”

“My God. Imagine being jealous of Eddie Munson,” Caroline laughs, earning herself a chorus of agreement.

“Have you seen that van he drives?”

“He's been a senior since I started high school.”

“I had to go to his place once to pick up. You know he lives in a trailer, right?”

“Yes.” You answer, the judgement of his home, cosy and safe, filled with Eddie’s presence, so personal that it lends you a moment of defiance.

“Oh, you've been?” Caroline again, her pretty blue eyes set right on you. She tilts her head, hair falling in a smooth wave over her shoulder. “What have you been getting up to with that boy?”

Your heart pounds in your ears as dread settles. She's looking at you like she knows every salacious thing you have done in Eddie's bedroom, like she was standing over you during every intimate moment, and is now excited to share. Taking a breath, your mouth opens even as you have nothing to say.

“I think it’s cute.”

Erin Maclean sits with a forkful of salad ready to go into her mouth, grinning to the side. Clearly she's happy to have interrupted Caroline's excitement at having caught you out. You suspect displeasing Caroline is a bigger motive for Erin than any righteous feelings she might get from defending you.

She has been one step out the door of being able to sit at the table for months, since everyone found out she slept with Caroline’s boyfriend at a party, a perfect high school scandal that made its way round the school and culminated in Erin being shunned by the whole table…until she threatened to quit cheerleading entirely. More talented than any of the others, her tumbling won the cheer team second place at regionals.

Even Caroline's influence wasn't strong enough to go up against the desire to win. Now they content themselves with iciness to Erin's face and talking viciously behind her back.

You judged her at the time. It was only later, after Andy, that you saw the hypocrisy. It was like he had no part in things going wrong. Then the injustice became clear, that cruel insults are written about Erin in bathroom stalls months later, while the boy involved, the only one of the triangle who cheated, suffered a single week of pouty silence followed by a public reconciliation that flicked the single spot of dust from his reputation away for good.

You stare at Erin now, amazed at the ease in her voice, the way she plays them all to her tune.

“It’s kinda like," she waves her hand in the air. "Who’s that teen actress with the red hair?”

“Molly Ringwald! I love her!”

“Yeah! They’re like Molly Ringwald and the punk guy in the Breakfast Club.”

“Don’t spoil it! I haven’t seen it yet!”

“Damon finally watched Sixteen Candles with me last week, it was so romantic.”

Just like that, the discussion has moved past you, to someone else’s much more suitable boyfriend, one worthy of their time. You feel your bottom lip shake with the beginning of relieved tears, blinking them away when you find Erin’s gaze.

She gives you a close lipped smile, but she looks sad with it. The sweet relief you were feeling is dulled by the pity in her eyes.

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By last period, you are exhausted with answering questions and explaining yourself to people who have never before taken an interest in you. You drop yourself behind a desk and let your head fall forward into your notebook, hoping that hiding your face will prevent any questions from the students filtering into the History class. You filter out the chatter, your head noisy enough on its own.

Gentle fingers brush at the hair on your temple, and when you turn your head, you find Eddie squatting down beside your desk. At once, the sight of his tender smile soothes the tightness in your chest. You gaze at him, the features of his handsome face, and know that every question, every moment of frustration, will be entirely worth it if he will keep looking at you like this.

“You okay, sweet girl?”

You almost nod, almost lie, but the truth comes easily with Eddie. “I’m tired.”

“Needed to talk to everybody and their dog today, I bet,” he says, rubbing the curve of his finger over your cheek. This time you do nod, realising he must have experienced the same thing all day. Eddie sighs, as you had. “'S my fault.”

That makes you sit up straight, registering the guilt in his expression. “No, it isn’t.”

Eddie’s eyes follow your movement, and he gives you a dejected smile. “It’s because of me.”

You shake your head, hating that even more, hating that he thinks he’s the problem when just the sight of his face is what makes the real problem disappear from your mind.

“It’s because of us,” you correct, thinking about reaching out to curl a lock of his hair around your finger but curling your fingers into your palms instead. “And I-” You look away from his eyes, focusing on his forehead so you can say it. “I kissed you first, remember?”

Eddie’s face goes from concerned to soft in an instant, eyes wide and shining as he tilts his head, face splitting into a smile. “That’s true.”

“Move, Munson,”

You both glance up at Mark; stocky, scowling, clad in green and white. Shaking his head, Eddie looks at you and rolls his eyes. “If only the class were set up in some kind of grid system, then he could get round me so easily.”

You giggle softly until Eddie is shoved with a knee, almost toppling him until he grasps your desk, looking up again in disbelief.

“I said move.”

“Well, if you insist.” Eddie straightens up, taking a step right into Mark’s space to wrap his arms around the back of his neck and swing them round like they’re dancing. He waggles his eyebrows, tilting his chin up with a grin. “This is so romantic.”

“Jesus-” Mark pushes Eddie away from him, sending him crashing back into his seat in a way that must hurt, not that Eddie's laughter would give it away. “You are a freak, Munson.”

“Don’t talk to me like what we had wasn’t special!” Eddie calls after him, adjusting himself in his seat and pouting at you. “They always run.”

You rest your chin in your hand, in awe of him. Eddie looks like he's already moved on. He can deal with cruel words and physical intimidation like it’s all a joke, when an off tone on a single word can leave you wringing your hands all day.

Eddie sighs, resting his own head on his hand opposite you. “You know, I really wanna pass this class, and if I’m gonna pay attention, you’ll have to stop that.”

You hear the teacher starting up at the front of the room, but you have to ask. “Stop what, Eddie?”

He tilts his chin up. “Lookin’ so pretty.”

You make distressed sound like you want him to stop, but you can’t fight the cheek aching smile that sits on your face the whole class.

When the final bell rings, you are desperate to get out of the building before anyone new can approach. You find yourself grabbing Eddie's hand the second your bags are packed, half dragging the giddy looking boy through the halls and then outside to the safety of his van.

When the doors are closed and you are speeding away, listening to Matthew and Jeff argue about what should be on the stereo, hearing Eddie snapping at them and starting up a Dio tape without further discussion, you feel you can breathe properly for the first time since you got up this morning.

Eddie grabs your hand the second Jeff and the others have jumped from the back of his van, the three of them calling out goodbyes to both of you by name. “Still happy to come back to mine?”

You nod, wanting that desperately. “We could do the History homework.”

“Shit. I told you I wanted to pass that class, didn't I?”

“Mm hmm.”

"Always setting yourself up, Munson," he mumbles, sighing. "Okay, Princess. For you, I will sit with you in close proximity to my bed and…do homework with you.”

“It’s always easier with two people. May and I-” You cut yourself off, reminded that you don't entirely know where your longest friendship stands. Telling her did not go at all how you’d planned. You’ve annoyed her, something you’ve been doing more and more recently. But maybe it hurt her, too, that she found out from somebody else.

“I guess you told your friends?”

“Mm,” you sigh. “I didn’t get to tell May the way I wanted to.”

“Right. Just checking, you think there’s anything you could have done that would have made her cool with this?”

You consider that, opening and closing your mouth a few times before shrugging. “I don't know. But I wanted- I mean, my plan was...” You squirm a little, finding your new favourite thing to play with, the gem set into Eddie's ring cool to the touch of your finger. “I wanted to tell her why I…like you so much.”

You expect a little tease. Nothing terrible, but Eddie brand mischief at least. Instead, his shoulders roll back like you've given him a bout of new confidence. He glances at you after turning the sharp corner into the trailer park.

“I’m still not entirely used to that,” he admits. “You know, three different people came up to me today, asking if you were really my girlfriend.” You sit with him when he stops outside his home, pressing one shoe to the top of the other.

“And what did you say?”

“I told them it had nothing to do with them and it was weird as hell to be asking when they don’t even know me.” Eddie gives your hand a squeeze. “And then some guy called Jeff says, what are you talking about Eddie, we’ve been friends for years? So I thought I’d tell him anyway, cause I sort of wanted to talk about it.” Eddie’s face is serious, looking into your eyes. “Told him I hadn’t asked, but I am going to."

“Okay,” you whisper, heart fluttering. Eddie watches the way you sit up in your seat, and brings your hand to his lips to lay a soft kiss at your knuckles.

“Not yet though,” Eddie says, tone suddenly lighter as he opens the door at his side, hair flying behind him as he jumps out of the van. “Gotta be at just the right moment, you know?”

You blink after him, close to a huff, but the sound of his boyish laugh is so sweet that you find yourself climbing out and jogging after him to keep yourself close, where you want to be.

The TV is on in the space of the living room, but Wayne is standing in the kitchen. Water sloshes. You hear the sound of scoured metal against a pan over the serious voice of a newscaster reading headlines.

“Hi Wayne!” Eddie calls, removing his jacket and throwing it on the couch unceremoniously.

“Afternoon." Wayne catches you standing at the door when he looks up to greet Eddie and gives you an acknowledging nod. "Hi again.”

You wave briefly and give in to the temptation to hide, pressing the side of your face to Eddie’s arm when he takes your hand. "We have homework. For History."

Wayne nods again, glancing between the two of you. "Not a problem. Just cleaning up after my breakfast. You want coffee or anything?"

"I do. Sweetheart?" You shake your head, the urge not to be a bother always present. Eddie bumps your hip with his. "I can make one how you like it in case you change your mind, mm?"

"Okay, Eddie." You let go of him reluctantly, feeling out of place watching him and Wayne fluidly move around each other in their kitchen.

"You wanna get us set up at the table?" Eddie asks. You nod, glad to have been given a task to stop you standing in the middle of the room feeling at odds. You sit at the little fold out table by the kitchen, retrieving your History folder, notebook and pencil case from your bag while dishes clink and coffee is poured to your right.

"You two got a lot of classes together?" Wayne asks, setting the washed pan on a drying rack next to the sink.

"Not this year. This one's working for college credits in a bunch of subjects."

You smile at the pride in Eddie’s voice, digging a toe of your sneaker into the floor.

"You heading to college next year?" Wayne is asking you directly, leaning back on the counter and drying his hands on a kitchen towel. You nod, hum a little positive sound. "Where you headed?"

"Mm, my friends are probably staying in Indiana...”

Wayne’s face is serious, edging on concerned. “Didn’t ask about your friends. Wanna know about you.”

Your face heats. You glance at Eddie, who is already looking over his shoulder at you like he knew you’d need him. He gives you a little smile, an encouraging nod, and you glance back at Wayne. “I mean, I guess I might just stay with them. But, I don’t know, I might try for NYU?”

"She's gonna write about old poems in other languages. That’s right, isn’t it, sweetheart?" Eddie places your mug down on the table and throws himself down in the opposite chair, immediately searching through your open pencil case. You see his eyes widen in delight, landing on a pale blue pen with a fluffy top that you sometimes play with when you’re in class and the teacher is calling on people to speak. Eddie presses the softness at the end to his face, strokes it up and down his cheek. “Why aren’t all pens like this?”

You watch him adoringly while he tickles his own neck and laughs softly to himself.

"It was nice seeing you again," Wayne says, suddenly closer. When you turn to him, feeling sheepish that you had, for a second, forgotten he was there, he's giving you a small, but genuine smile.

You realise that you've been caught. You can only imagine the way you look at Eddie, especially in the moments he acts like this, sweet and silly and him. Maybe your expression showcases it, the fact that you’d rather look at Eddie than anything else.

"You, too.” You mumble, clearing your throat to try and get the next words out more clearly. “Thanks, um, for letting me work here."

"Course. Anyone my boy wants around is welcome. You take care. I'll see you later, Eddie."

Eddie finally pays attention, bringing the soft fluff down from his chin and grinning. "Later, Wayne."

You smile shyly when Wayne’s out the door, remembering the last time he left the two of you alone in this trailer, Eddie’s hands and mouth exactly where you wanted him most, where you are fighting against the want for him now.

You search through your pencil case for a slightly more practical pen. “I thought, maybe, we could do the questions together? I can start at five if you do one, and we could meet in the middle?”

Eddie’s head tilts, his hair falling across his mischievous face. “You actually wanna do the History homework? It's not due till Wednesday."

"But you have a gig tomorrow."

Eddie considers this fact for a second, then leans his head back and groans into the air. He slumps, bum sliding forward on his seat until his body is a diagonal line from the back of the chair to the floor. He looks so much like a grumpy little boy with his big pouty lips and wide eyes that your heart aches a little even while you’re close to laughing at him. "I hadn't considered this,” he sighs, arms crossing over his chest. “You're really gonna make me do my homework all the time, aren't you?"

"Oh. I mean, I thought-” You suddenly feel a little silly, find yourself playing with the paper of your notebook, curling up the corner of the top page with your thumb. “I guess I thought it would be nice. But I can- I’m happy to go home, next time.”

Eddie shakes his head decisively, grasping the table to help sit himself up. "No, Jesus. I don’t want that. I’d choose doing my homework with you over doing anything else without you. Always.” He rests his elbows on the surface, leaning in close enough you can smell the smoke and the mint of his breath. “I guess I’m just wondering how much of the time we’ll spend on homework is time I could have spent with my tongue inside you."

The space between your legs pulses with sudden heat, leaving you rubbing your thighs together. You could curse him for having this amount of power over you already, that he can say something so casually that leaves you with the beginnings of an encompassing ache. Eddie is grinning, proud of himself, watching your eyes keep darting from his face to the table and back again, searching through your blank mind for a reply.

“But you call the shots here, sweet thing,” he acquiesces, satisfied by the shadow of regret on your face. “Question one, you said? I’ll get right on that.”

You watch him write his name at the top of the paper, leaning over the table. The concentrated look in his big eyes as he reads the question, his pink tongue coming to rest at his top lip. His soft hair is asking to be stroked as well as pulled. The pale column of his neck begs for kisses. The curve of his arms and the tattooed skin peeking out from his shirt want your tracing fingers.

“Stop it,” you mumble, pressing a toe to the end of one of his Reebox under the table.

“Stop what?”

You tilt your head. “Mm. Looking so pretty.”

Eddie’s eyes widen. Me? He mouths, pressing a palm to his chest as you nod. That hand moves to drag some of his hair across his face. Eddie plays it up, but you know that you have made him genuinely happy because, when he is done fluttering his eyelashes, his gaze moves to the table and he looks, for a second, earnestly shy.

“Well, I guess I’ll try. But no promises.”

Eddie writes quick, once he’s settled. As you finish your first question, he has written his answers for two. Your agreement, to work on the third question together, gives him a moment of pause that his busy brain latches onto. It drags him on to the next activity as soon as he’s written his last word, and then he’s offering you more coffee and searching through the cupboards for a preferred snack. He even disappears into his room for a minute, emerging with a mug he’d used yesterday that he throws in the sink before returning to his snack hunt.

It reminds you of the way you’ve seen Eddie in class sometimes. Deeply focused, then suddenly playing with the ends of his hair, drumming a distracting beat, doodling on his notebook around the beginnings of what must have been good notes.

It’s only when you’re finished with your own questions and reading through his that you bring him back to the table. It doesn’t take much, just an exclamation of, “Eddie, that’s a really good point!”

He is sitting down opposite you the next second, looking just as pleased at that as he was to be called pretty.

The second your pens are down from writing the final answer, Eddie is round your side of the table and pulling you up from the chair by your forearms like he wants to run away from the books and paper in case you suggest any more work. “That was exhausting,” he says, walking backwards to keep his eyes on you, briefly tripping over a discarded magazine but otherwise walking with practised ease. “You do that all the time?”

You giggle to watch him throw himself back on his bed and give a tired groan as if he’d just written ten thousand words and not five short paragraphs. He toes off his shoes carelessly, kicking them from his feet while you kneel to tug at your laces

“You really never do your homework?” You ask, loosening the tongue of your left sneaker and pulling it off before shifting to the right one.

“I try. Sometimes. I just, y’know, get bored,” Eddie says above your head. “Then I get distracted, and I can’t get back into it.”

“Well, we can work together, now.” You finish with your other shoe and look up at him from the floor, finding Eddie’s gaze intent on you already. You swallow, glancing at his knees, bare through denim, spread apart from each other on his bed. If you shuffled forward a couple of feet, you’d be between them.

“Yeah?” Eddie’s shoulders roll back, hands behind him on the bed. “You gonna keep me motivated? Reward me when I’m good?”

A shiver runs up your back, the ache that had never truly gone away now roaring its presence. It is a strange feeling, to know that Eddie likes looking at you on your knees, that he must like the thought of what you could do for him, positioned like this. And then, to still feel unsure. Maybe you’ve misunderstood. Maybe you haven’t and doing what you think he wants would be a mistake anyway. You don’t know what you’re doing, and he won’t like it. If he does like it, if you’re good at that, what would that say about you?

Do you ask to do it? If he asks you, what do you say back? You know he likes the things you say to him when he is touching you. But to beg and praise and thank him when your body is alight with the pleasure he gives happens naturally. It happens without the involvement of your brain, when your ecstatic body tells your mouth the things Eddie wants to hear.

What do you say when you are the one giving? When your brain is working full tilt to ensure you are doing everything right?

You look briefly between his legs, the metal buckle of his belt, the black denim that hides him from you, and you are both wanting and scared. You find his eyes, and they are kind.

“Eddie,” you whisper.

“C’mere.”

You clamber up to him, almost a familiar position now to be sat in his lap with your knees bracketing his thighs. You bury your face in his shoulder, letting yourself be soothed by the softness of his shirt against your cheek and the smell of him; smoke and weed, his cheap and pleasant aftershave. Eddie hums low, stroking a hand down the back of your head, massaging gently at your neck.

“I wish-” You mumble, regretting it immediately, the end of the sentence too embarrassing to say. You think he might prompt you, but instead he keeps rubbing at the back of your head with his thumb, his hand a delightful warm pressure on your neck. You breathe in the boyish smell of him, mind settling on Eddie who is kind, Eddie who won’t judge, Eddie who wants to look after you.

“I wish I could talk like you.”

“I’m not sure this town could handle another person who talks the same shit I talk, sweet thing,” he laughs. “Besides, I’d miss the way you talk.”

You hide your whole face in his shoulder, voice coming out muffled. “But I mean…in bed.” Embarrassment crawls up and down your spine to be saying this. “It’s like it’s easy. You just make me all- make me so-”

You unconsciously wiggle on his lap, a desirous little movement that doesn’t escape Eddie. He huffs a soft laugh into your cheek. “I make you so…hot and wet in your little cunt?”

You squeeze your eyes shut even though the world is already hidden by his shoulder against your face. “Eddie,”.

“You know, it’s probably easier than you think.” Eddie’s big hand locates yours where it was pressed to his chest, bringing it up to his lips to kiss your palm before he lowers it. “Cause, you? Fuck, sweetheart, all you need to do is say my name.” Eddie presses your palm to his crotch, where you can feel him, thick and hard under the zip. “Say it again.”

He lets you curl your fingers, getting a feel for the girth of him, the length hidden by denim. You turn your head from his shoulder, glancing up at his face to find that the warm brown of his eyes has vanished behind pools of black. You whisper. “Eddie.”

You feel the excited twitch of his cock at the sound of his name from your lips. He is hot and ready against your palm, and the thought of touching him more, seeing him like he’s seen you takes over your brain. “Eddie,” you murmur, earning yourself another twitch, followed this time by his soft lips on yours. Your shoulders release their tension, content to feel Eddie’s mouth, to taste the promise that you are allowed to get things wrong because it’s him. You gasp softly when he releases you, your eyes fluttering closed when he dots kisses over your face, breath heavy when your palm rolls tentatively over his swollen cock. “Eddie, I want-” Your throat protests, and you pause to build yourself up to it again.

“Do you want my mouth?”

Your pussy throbs, the memory of Eddie’s tongue at your entrance, how soft his lips were kissing your clit. “Oh. Yes, please.”

“S’fucking sweet,” he says, grabbing your hand from his crotch. “Lie back, baby-”

“Wait,” you gasp, tightening your legs on either side of him to keep him from turning you over. “I want- I want to-”

Your toes curl, wishing again you could be more like Eddie, who offers his tongue with the same ease as a cup of coffee.

Eddie strokes his thumb over your wrist, feels your racing pulse under his fingers and shakes his head, soft hair moving with him. “You don’t have to do anything, baby.”

“I know,” you answer with certainty, chest warm. It’s the knowing you don’t have to that makes you want to. It’s the fact that Eddie doesn’t expect you to offer anything more than what you’re willing to give that makes you want to give so much.

You can’t say it, not how you want to, but you can still tell him.

You turn your wrist out of his hand, grab his own. Your heart pounds when you curl three of his fingers down. You clasp his wrist with both hands, hoping they can keep each other steady, and bring his fingers to your lips. Chancing a look at Eddie when your tongue flicks out along his rough pads, you find his mouth hanging loose, eyes blinking and intent on your lips. He tastes like his last cigarette at the tips, like skin further down. You breathe heavily through your nose as you press your head forward, sliding along his warm fingers until your lips meet the cool metal of his rings. Your tongue curls naturally around the length of the digits, and the noise that escapes the back of Eddie’s throat when you suck gently stokes the heat between your thighs, the sticky feeling of cotton pressing to wet skin.

“Okay,” he breathes, face flushed. “Okay, shit.”

You pull back, dragging the soft inside of your lips along his skin, and Eddie makes a low groan in the back of his throat, one of his legs shaking between yours. “Will you-” His voice breaks, a soft squeak at the last word, and you hear him clear his throat desperately through your heart beating in your ears. Eddie sighs, speaks soft. “Open your mouth a little for me, sweet thing.”

It takes you a second, still wrapping your head around the satisfying feeling of your mouth being filled, the taste of Eddie’s skin, the ability to speak taken away. Your mouth opens wider as soon as the request registers in your brain. You let Eddie press his fingers deeper, your eyes fluttering at the smooth glide over your tongue. Just as you get a taste of the metal of his rings, your body protests the depth, our fingers twitching at the gagging sound your throat makes. You blink away the first spring of tears as Eddie coos softly, tilting your head so you’re looking right at his intent gaze, his gentle pout. He draws his fingers in and out of your mouth, skating along your drooling tongue.

“Just wanted to see what I’m working with, mm? My girl wants my cock in her mouth, is that it?”

You try to make a positive noise, but it comes out as any other sound would with your lips wide open like this. Eddie doesn’t seem to mind. He gives another deep prod with his fingers, grinning when your prepared throat lets him in a little deeper before protesting with a short gag.

Eddie pulls his fingers from your mouth and grasps your cheeks with his wet hand, the curve that connects his forefinger and thumb sitting at your chin. “I think you’re gonna be a natural. You wanna get on your knees for me?”

The tears that had sprung up from your gagging pool a little more at the relief of Eddie taking over. You’ve told him what you want without words, he understood, and now he’s going to give you it. “Yes, Eddie.”

“Okay, baby.” He helps you off the bed, kicking shoes out of the way and replacing them on the floor with one of his pillows, making you feel soft for him even as you’re trembling in anticipation. Your head feels light when you sink down, settling your knees on the pillow before you look up at his flushed, smiling face. “Comfy?”

Eddie’s fingers push back stray hairs from your forehead when you nod, his thumb rubbing soft over your cheekbone. “You can stop any time, you know that, right?” Another nod from you, your hands coming to rest at the inner seams of his jeans, feeling the radiating warmth there. “Even half way through, even right at the end, okay?”

“Yes, Eddie.”

“I want a God damn recording of you saying that,” he groans, leaning down to capture your lips in a quick kiss wet with your spit and his. “I’d play it on a fucking loop everywhere I go.”

You hum, body tingling in a mix of excitement and worry. Waiting to touch Eddie, wanting it to be good for him. Knowing he’ll help you, hoping he doesn’t mind. Chewing your lip, you rub your hand up his thigh, staring at his face the whole time. You find him hard and straining still, a soft whimper edging from his mouth at the pressure of your fingers.

“Baby, I’ve got to-” He groans at the back of his throat. “Can I take it out?”

You nod quickly, the ends of your fingers rubbing the bulge of him as Eddie attacks his belt, his desperation to get it open making his fingers clumsy, fiddling with the clasp until he starts shaking his knee in exasperation. You hear the gentle clink of the buckle when he finally succeeds with it, followed by the differing metallic sound of his zip.

Eddie’s hand disappears under the grey band of his boxers, and you feel his fingers slide under yours through his pants. His shoulders shake, like he’s been waiting for this relief, like it was hurting, when his hand jerks under the cotton. You stare at that place, the thick, dark curls of hair that peak out from his waistband, the movement of his hand under shifting fabric. Your tongue peeks out to wet dry lips.

He laughs softly when he catches the anticipation on your face, dimples appearing at his cheeks. Eddie sounds like he’s only just realised what’s happening. “Fuck. Fuck. You want my cock in your mouth.”

Your cunt clenches and you find yourself nodding, watching his hand drag his cock out from his jeans, pulling his fist over the thick length in a few quick strokes. “You ever seen a dick before?” You shake your head, eyes fixed on the round, smooth end of him that peeks out from folds of pink skin when his hand glides back. “Shit, man. It’s fucked. I know it’s fucked but that’s so hot.”

His hands speeds up, drawing out some liquid from his tip, pooling at his slit. A primal part of you resents being made to watch, your fingers digging into his thigh in protest. Eddie’s body shakes up his back. “I’m sorry, baby. ‘S all yours.”

The fear that he might leave you on your own to work out what to do rises and falls away when he grabs your hand and shows your where to touch him. Eddie wraps your hand around him at the base, and you feel the twitching you’d only known through fabric, now directly in your palm, along your fingers.

You swallow as Eddie guides your pace, feeling the soft skin wrapped around firm flesh. “A little tighter, baby- yeah, yeah, shit. Wait, fuckin’, shit, spit on your hand a little. S’better if it’s wet.” It’s like a call and response, the way you take barely a second to spit into your palm and return your hand to glide along his cock. It is easier, your hand moving smoother. “Twist a little at the end.” You follow his advice, turning your hand at his tip, and he groans through his teeth. You watch more cum leaking from him, dripping from his slit, pooling within the skin that covers his head every time your hand moves up towards the end of his cock.

You hardly expect it yourself when your tongue lathes over the end of him. Eddie cries out above you but you hardly notice, considering the new taste of him, musk and salt like the sweat on your top lip after a long run. Strange and new but not unpleasant. Your tongue peeks out again to lap softly at his head, licking away pooling cum and leaving the head of him wet with your spit, unknowingly teasing him beyond what he can handle.

“That taste good, sweetheart?” Eddie asks, voice strained. You look up at him with wide eyes and hum positively, any thoughts of embarrassing desperation miles away when Eddie is watching you like this. “You gonna let me fuck your mouth now?”

Your pussy throbs when Eddie brushes your hand away from his cock, grasping the base with his own ring covered hand and tapping himself against your tongue. The wet dirty sound of it, the feeling of his spongy head bouncing on your tongue makes you squirm, opening your mouth wider so he has the space to take it how he wants it.

His cock glides easily along your wet tongue until his head, heavy and warm, is past your lips entirely. “If you- if you cover your teeth you can- yeah,” he laughs when you instinctively bring your lips over your top teeth to suck at the swollen flesh filling your mouth, Eddie’s big hand rubbing at the length still exposed to the air. “Was right, baby. You were fucking made for this.”

Eddie seems torn between letting his head fall back on his neck to focus on the feel of you, and remembering every detail of how you look on your knees for him; eyes wide, mouth stretched open. His face keeps disappearing and reappearing, thrown back then staring down. You keep sucking gently, enjoying the weight of him on your tongue, the constant drip of salt slick from his cock. Praise from Eddie has your clit twitching, and you think distantly about dipping your fingers into your panties to rub at the swollen button. But you want Eddie’s tongue more, the thought of it making you whine around his cock.

Eddie’s hips buck, his cock pushing deeper until it hits the same place his fingers had prodded, your throat clenching in protest. You pull away from him, leaving him wet with drool, to take a breath. “M’sorry, m’sorry,” he breathes, stroking the back of your head with one hand and pressing his tip into your mouth with the other. “Get back on my cock.”

You squirm as you take him back inside, bobbing your head in time with his hand moving along his cock. You rub his thighs, still hidden in his jeans, feeling the ocassional twitch under your fingers from him fighting the urge to ignore your protesting throat and fuck himself deeper. “We’re gonna do this all the time now, yeah?”

You hum in agreement, wanting this feeling again, as much as he’ll let you have it. Sitting at Eddie’s feet, making him feel good, the heavy thickness of him filling up your mouth.

“Yeah, we’re gonna train you up, baby. ‘M gonna help you take it deeper till you can take my cock in your tight little throat. Till I can feel myself here.” He rubs a thumb over the hollow of your neck, pressing down like he’s imagining massaging his cock through the skin. “That sound good?”

You groan, feeling desperate now. Your panties are uncomfortably wet, your hips grinding into the air in the search for friction. Wanting him to cum, wanting him to cum now, you reach up to brush his working hand from his slick cock, replacing it with your own, trying to replicate his pace and jerking him into your bobbing mouth.

“Shit,” Eddie gasps, both hands threading through your hair at the scalp, a tight painful grip that only makes your core throb, encouraging you along. You feel his cock twitch desperately in your mouth, under your fingers. “So warm, so fucking good on my cock, you’re unbelievable. This can’t be real. You’re a siren- a fucking succubus, you’re gonna kill me- fuck!”

Eddie’s ramblings make you more desperate for him, things only he would say, pushing you to take him deeper, the head of him finding the tight beginning of your throat. “I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum now.”

He pulls his cock from your mouth rapidly, leaving your hand to work him through his orgasm. You watch wide eyed at the twitch along his cock, his heavy balls underneath, followed by ropes of white cum from his tip. It covers your hand, warm and thicker than what had been dripping onto your tongue.

You rub a thumb over the end of him, taking the last clinging drop before you bring your hand to your mouth, licking tentatively. The taste is almost familiar now, the texture new. “Holy shit-” You lap at it on your hand, a mix of curiosity about your own ability to taste and swallow him and the knowledge that boys are supposed to like it when girls do this. With anyone else, you might be worried about seeming desperate. You don’t mind Eddie knowing that you are.

You gather spit in your mouth to help you swallow down what was on your hand, blinking at his softening cock for a second before kissing at what is left there. Eddie hisses, eyes closing tight while you lick up the rest of it.

“You swallowed everything, sweet thing?” Feeling a strange, salacious pride, you show him your tongue, wet and clear of his cum, only for Eddie to grasp your face and lick along the muscle, groaning into your mouth at what is left of his taste there. “Okay. Okay, come up here, I’m gonna- fuck. Have to eat your pussy.”

Eddie tucks himself away in his boxers, and then he’s hauling you up to him, dragging your dress up and off before pushing you down on his bed. Eddie lacks all the gentle finesse he’d brought to this yesterday. Gone is the boy who rubbed his cheek against your thigh while playing with the edge of your panties. He tears this pair down your legs like he’s angry at them for being there, pressing his face to your cunt like he needs the taste of you the same way he needs air.

“S’fuckin wet,” he groans, dragging his tongue from your entrance to your twitchy clit. “Imagine that. Sweetest fuckin’ girl in town, and getting on your knees for me leaves your cunt sticky.” His lips wrap around your clit, sucking at the sensitive nerves until your toes curl in your frilled socks. Your hands find his hair, stroking through the soft, broken curls at the top of his head. Teeth brush your clit, your hips flying up against his face and your fingers grasping his hair tight enough it must hurt.

Eddie spits, saliva pooling at your wet entrance to ease the way for his fingers, sliding through your slick and his to target the delightful spot at the end of you.

“Eddie,” you cry, the build of it so much more intense than any time before, his fingers fucking your tight cunt while he sucks ungracefully at your clit. You gasp, high and desperate, your thighs closing around his head. Your fingers dig into his hair, keeping his wet mouth between your thighs while your hips roll desperately, using his outstretched, lapping tongue for your pleasure while your pussy clasps around his invading fingers. Your high is a quick, overwhelming thing. You feel it gush wet around his hand, the sounds of him playing with your hole increasingly sloppy until you’re keening, batting at his shoulder with tears in your eyes.

Your tense limbs loosen when Eddie’s mouth leaves you, tensing up for just a second at the final kiss Eddie gives your clit to feel the excited twitch of it against his lips. He crawls up your body, laying kisses on you at every level. Your mound, stomach, breasts. The hollow of your neck. His face is wet with you, leaving damp spots all across your skin. When his eyes are level with yours, his hair brushing the sides of your face, you reach up to tuck some of it behind his ear.

Eddie laughs softly, his breath warm and humid on your face. “Congratulations,” he breathes. Eddie presses his sweaty forehead to yours and the world becomes his big soft eyes. “You’re going to be in every wet dream I have for the rest of my fucking life.”

You hum, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to pull him right down on top of you, stealing more kisses from him while his body weighs down on yours.

“How do you feel?” He asks, big hand rubbing your hip.

Another hum. Strange is the answer. To have been so in a moment just minutes ago, wanting something so desperately, and now to wonder what that wanting says about you. And then to resent that wonder, wanting to be present where you are, pleasured and cosy in Eddie’s bed, in his arms.

“Liked it,” you assure, looking from his cheeks to his eyes. “I don’t know.”

“Felt so fucking good for me,” he breathes, leaving you chewing your lip bashfully. Eddie shakes his hair over your face, tickling your cheeks until you’re smiling and tucking it back again. Eddie kisses your forehead, your nose and your cheeks. Then your eyes, chin, jaw, back to your nose, soft lips scattering kisses over every bit of your face, leaving you giggly and breathless, clinging to him even more, needing him like this. He sighs into your mouth at the end. “Be my girlfriend.” Eddie’s eyes close tight the second he says it, face embarrassed while you lay under him, a picture of adoration. “I didn’t wanna ask like that- shit. Don’t answer.”

“I want to be your girlfriend, Eddie.”

“Are you sure?” He asks, as if you aren’t stroking a hand over his face like a lover, rubbing his eyebrow with your thumb to ease the tension at his forehead. Your heart aches at his sweetly concerned expression. “Cause I can ask better. I can make it romantic, you know?” He pulls his bottom lip into his mouth, chews at it cruelly while he stares at your contented face. “I want to deserve you.”

You shake your head. A better speaker would be able to lay out all the reasons he already does, that anyone half as good as him deserves anything, everything they want. You are left with something more simple. “I- I just want to be yours.”

It seems to work just as well. Eddie’s sigh is long and shuddery. The release in his shoulders is the loss of a long held tension that you are trying to rub away with gentle hands.

Next Part

#eddie munson fic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #tmyg

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aeolianblues · 4 months

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Listening to early XFM era Elis and John podcasts, and what I'm finding is, while it's true that people have been talking about how some of the edge has been taking off the Robins' style of tortured humour over the years and especially since he stopped drinking for good, some of those early podcasts also saw the most unbearable sides of Robins: petty, with no patience at all for Elis, especially where his (Welsh) interests were concerned, whereas all of John's own interests were to be honoured at the highest level, and Elis would always give them time of day. The times when John would get extremely petty on Winner Plays On and throw the game by making Elis' questions impossibly hard or not let him answer, or times when he'd have no patience for some of Elis' topics/general rants on Elis' Welsh interests were sometimes unbearable. To that 2015 Robins, I certainly, certainly prefer the John of 2024.

I suppose he really hit the peak of his craft between 2017 and 2022, the balance between razor-wit, compassion, dark humour and astute comedy was the absolute peak of Robins' powers. Some of the 5 Live shows just after both lockdowns were lifted were some of the funniest I've heard from them.

I love that John's happier and more at peace since he's given up drinking, it does seem to me that John's the sort of person that needs to devote his life to something or other in order to not have his own mind simply consume him. I am surprisingly sympathetic to this notion, even though I don't think personally I've ever felt that the space in my own head was so unbearable that I needed to silence it for extended periods. But then again, I am on Tumblr and listening to a podcast while I'm trying to work through some code. I could've just sat with my thoughts, but no. Nonetheless. I can sort of see how he's ended up a big coffee and gym connoisseur, if it was a choice between those two and more serious vices (that John has dealt with in the past, must point out), it's an easy choice.

Gym chat isn't even really my thing, but the rapport between Elis, John and Dave does still make it pretty interesting chat. It's certainly more 5 Live on-air conversation than scripted comedy chat in the style of standup. But you have to give them that, it's not Radio 4's Comedy Of The Week podcast.

I have faith in the new format, from other non-BBC stuff I've seen John on recently, he and Elis have both certainly still got a very funny streak. I feel like they're in the stages of working out how to make the show retain the urgency (/'seat-of-the-pants' broadcasting) of the live show. Figuring out how not to let it just slip back into a sort of guileless chat you'd get from some broadcasters that have no self-awareness and are too far up their own arses. Once the training wheels come off, I'm sure it'll be great. The current episodes aren't bad, just that you can feel a bit of that patting on the ground, trying to find a footing. Certainly happier to be listening to 2024 Robins than 2015 Robins, he's got some cool stuff to say.

#John Robins #Britcom #radio #5 Live #Radio X #XFM #just had a couple of thoughts; pipe in/ignore as you please

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theverumproject · 2 months

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Get To Know Me Tag!

Thank you for the tag @rivenantiqnerd!

I rambled a little too much in this one, woops.

Rules: Answer the questions because I want to get to know you better :D

Do you have a pet?

No, but I frequently get visited by a cat that is older than I am (She's like 22 or something lol). But my mom, my sister and I have been wanting to get chickens!

Comfort food?

I don't really have one? A steak, maybe?

How many languages do you speak?

My native language is Swissgerman, so naturally I also speak High German and obviously I speak English. So let's say 2.5 languages, because the two Germans are similar, but not the same.

I wanna learn many more languages though, that includes; Romansh, Italian (we had it in school for six fucking years but I can barely speak it), French (these three are the other national languages of Switzerland), Swedish, Norwegian, Finnish, Greek, Russian, Japanese, Welsh, Old Germanic, Latin, Old English and perhaps spanish. There are just sooo many beautiful languages in the world, though I know I will probably never get past the 2.5.

Random fact about yourself

As a kid I got so sick of radio music that I didn't listen to any songs with lyrics in them for about 2-3 years. I only listened to Dubstep, which eventually turned into only listening to Deathstep (and some robo and metalstep) for about 2 years.

One day I found a remix of the songs Psychosocial and The Devil in I by Slipknot. Slipknot was my gateway band to metal. I practically only listened to them for probably more than half a year.

And then I discovered aliencore. Aliencore is a subgenre of death metal in which, you guessed it, everything is about aliens. So I got obsessed with Rings of Saturn at first (I still mourn them deeply) and later on with Aversions Crown. So I pretty much only listened to them for probably more than half a year too.

Then I got obsessed with Behemoth and Gorogoroth for a while, that's how I began listening to black metal too. About one or two years ago I got obsessed with Ghost and only listened to them for more than half a year, AGAIN!

That was the last time I obsessed over a band. Now I just listen to a bunch of different bands and artists. I don't have a favorite band at the moment, but my favorite song is Sommer by Nargaroth. I also love Starchild by Wintersun, Fading Memories by Thy Pallor, Wieczernia by Batushka, The Sun, The Moon, The Star by Aether Realm, Million Year Summer by The Angelic Process, The Satanist by Behemoth and a bunch of Slipknot songs like Gently, Iowa, Scissors and The Virus of Life.

I really just rambled about my entire musical journey, fucking hell.

Something you’re proud of?

In my last year of school, we had to do a final project. I chose to write about how I imagined the future to look like. I researched everything to be as scientifically accurate as possible. I had a bunch of ideas for topics, and in the end I ended up with six. They were: “Can you bring artificial intelligence to life?”, “What could the future of space travel possibly look like?”, “How could the cities of the future look like?”, “Will humanity go extinct?” “What is the technological and human singularity?” and “What is my idea of transhumanism?”. (The original titles are in German).

I had a blast during the presentation, I even made somebody cry actually. I showed them a video of ChaosGPT and it actually frightened some. One girl was wiping her tears away. To me this was really funny, because I put the video on 2x speed which made the Mozart music in the background sound really funny. Imagine some evil AI planning to destroy the world, while a girl is crying as Mozart is playing at 2x speed in the background and I just stand in front of the whole class and two teachers, trying to hold my shit together.

Anyway, I got a 6 (best possible grade) for the written work, a 6 for the journal and a 5.8 for the presentation (I talked for over an hour, which was a little too long, but the rest of it was fucking great!!!), so I received a -6 for the whole project. My other teacher also gave me a 6 (It's an unofficial grade though) and the whole class had to give me a grade too, which were all 6s too!

So yeah, I did a fucking amazing job!

Tags: @teamarine777 @creative-author + open tag!

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georgieluz · 10 months

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Hey Jules! 2, 9, 14, 19, 24, and 28 for the HBO War positivity ask game please ☺️

hi lou!! ofc ofc!! :)

2 - who are some your fav creators/mutuals?

i love all of my mutuals and every creator in the fandom bc everyone is just amazing!! but to list just a few @footprintsinthesxnd, yourself!! (@luckynumber4), @ep6bastogne @lamialamia @thewayisset @lewis-winters @jenkil @mads-weasley @hellofanidea @liptonwashere @malarkgirlypop @panzershrike-pretz @sweetxvanixlla @whollyjoly @samwinchesterslostshoe @next-autopsy @iceman-kazansky @heystovepipeboys @theflyingfin @cody-helix02 and many many more!

special shout out to the cult!! zim zam, my friends, zim zam!!! also i'm so sorry if i forgot to tag anyone!!

9 - a ship that you can't get enough of?

bradnate, andyeddie, snurgie, ronnix, lipluz, webgott, and no matter how much winnix i consume it never gets old so them too!

14 - your fav underrated character?

ooh this is always hard bc everyone classifies underrated as a different thing.. are burgie and harry underrated? if so, them! chuck grant, tab (this man is so loved he's can't be underrated but i couldn't not mention mr lover lover himself), alton more??? one of the most interesting easy co men for sure!! wish we had more of him (lol)

19 - what's your fav universally-accepted/fanon headcanon about a character?

ooh either all the nix childhood fanon or the andyeddie ghosts/afterlife/grief fanon.. yeah.. that hits the spot

24 - what wip from another creator are you most excited about?

all of @ep6bastogne's wips (yes i read all your tags about them in utter anticipation), @luckynumber4's burgie wip! anything @footprintsinthesxnd writes! same with @lewis-winters ALL of your wips sound so so sooooo up my street/my thing!! there are so many more but despite my plans to spend the day at home i actually have to leave the comfort of my bed and brave the cold outside, and i'm late already so i'm gonna have to stop listing, but it's very likely that i'm excited for almost every single wip any of you guys have!

28 - what's something that lives in your brain rent free and you want everyone to know about the show/the fandom/your works?

outside of hbowar??? oooh i have LOADS of things!! the thick of it!! it has such clever funny writing, the best dialogue and political satire ever, because it's just so true to life and accurate for uk politics. peter capaldi is fucking amazing in it! and you'll see a lot of uk actors that are famous for other things here. but yeah, it's just hilarious and witty and clever. love it. go watch it. ummm other than that, the korean band onewe!! please go listen to them, they are ridiculously talented and have the kindest most lovely and accepting fandom in the world. in fact, the hbo war fandom and onewe fandom are the only two fandoms i've ever felt happy and comfortable in. onewe write beautiful songs with the most gorgeous lyrics (they have a space series which is one of my all-time favourites). ALSO pride (2014) as a movie recommendation! this film is my comfort film but it tears me apart as well. some people watch it for the queerness and come away learning about welsh history too.. for others, it's the opposite. but as a welsh gay man for me both those elements are so important to who i am and my own identity, that this film is just feels so incredibly special to me. especially the character gethin who i really feel i can relate to a lot due to our circumstances. tim roth is someone who i always wanna shout about and who lives rent free in my head too. love that man so much. also the band the libertines!! because them and the strokes were my entire teenage years and i pretty much grew up with their music as my 'soundtrack'. ok i think that's enough, even though i definitely have way more to shout about. sorry i rambled!

for this ask game!

#julian's ask games #julian's inbox #hbo war positivity game #also i'm gonna answer the rest of these asks and also the wip asks from like two weeks ago when i get home!! sorry i'm taking ages

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lewis-winters · 7 months

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please please PLEASE tell us what you think the easy boys' dnd classes would be! i agree with dick being a paladin and nix being a rogue 100% but i'd love to know what your take would be for everyone else!

Caveat: I'm not as well-versed at DND classes just yet (mostly because I haven't actually encountered a lot of them, and I've only ever played in 5E) so these are probably not the most creative of builds but I did my best! Also! These are classes, not DND races! Just assume everyone's a variant human... and also that everyone has the Soldier's background... Also don't come for me about which edition rules or game source I'm going by, we're playing it fast and loose, everyone.

I did say Dick was an Oath of Redemption Paladin-- mostly as a joke, because of the whole healing-Blythe's-combat-blindness thing. But now that I think about it, it doesn't really fit him very well. Something about Dick could drive him to be very vindictive, I think. He's definitely very petty. Story-wise, since he's so young in-show you can explain this away as a young Paladin picking a path and learning the ways and the discipline that comes with it... But he can also very well be Oath of Devotion Paladin, since Dick is very big on honor and duty. I also see him being Oath of Glory, mostly because something about Dick always strives to be the best, and that man has a lot of self-discipline.

You know who else is a Paladin? Ronald Speirs.

Listen. I know people would automatically think: oh, Ronald is a Rogue. And while that's what I think Ron would like to think of himself as (and maybe he multiclasses-- though I have no idea how that'd work), this bitch is a fucking Paladin through and through. Oath of Vengeance? maybe, but not quite. Oath of Conquest? oh, yes, that fits very well. Listen, a Paladin does not garner divine power from their Faith in their god-- that's a cleric. No, no, a Paladin garners divine power from their devotion. Try and look me in the eye and tell me Ronald Fucking Speirs wouldn't have the ability to divine smite someone simply because he has strong opinions about something. You can't. Did ya'll just forget *points at the interrogation scene in episode 10.* GIRL. He can multiclass, of course, but I feel like he's like. Locked the fuck in, ya know?

Or if you really wanna lean into the strange-and-off-putting vibe, we could borrow from Critical Role and he could definitely be a Blood Hunter. Ronald would be the kind to become a Blood Hunter. Order of the Lycan, because he's from DOG company, and I like to think I'm funny, but also that'd play excellently with both the almost animal-like way he moves and thinks + his care for easy as a whole (pack).

Ron could also be a monk. But I like him better when he has a weapon in his hands.

Lewis is a rogue though, and mostly because he's an Intelligence Officer, but also knowing his family background, it fits. I do love the idea of him being an Arcane Trickster, mostly because in my mind he could definitely multiclass as a Shadow Sorcerer (because let's be real, New Jersey would be the type of place to house a Shadow Sorcerer bloodline) because of his Nixon name + Charisma, which he has in spades. But only until like... level 3 or 4 because Lew would be the type to forgo magic-- since it's not something he can precisely control + it's his bloodline, so it's not like he worked for it-- to opt for something he can control and work toward perfecting. But another subclass he could fall under is Inquisitor Rogue. That's literally his job description.

Or Lew could be a College of Whispers Bard! That'd be fun, too, especially since Nix doesn't do much combat, but he would have a ton of Bardic Inspiration.

Wouldn't it be so funny if tiny Harry Welsh was a Path of Wild Magic Barbarian? I think it would be funny. Idk if it would fit, mostly because I think he's a Fighter, but it would be so funny.

David Webster, this bitch would be a College of Lore Bard for sure. But I did think for a bit that he might've been a School of Evocation or Order of Scribes Wizard (who multiclassed Bard), just for the high intelligence, low wisdom joke. It would be so funny if he was School of Evocation though-- can he cast spells? Yes? Gracefully and subtly and with finesse? Oh, gods no. He's a mess.

Web and George Luz are probably the only Bards in the whole company. George could be either College of Eloquence or College of Swords........ but if you want to up the angst potential, how about College of Spirits Bard? Oh, he watched his friends die in front of him? Let's make his survivor's guilt WORSE by making him have the ability to talk to ghosts!!

Shifty Powers, obvious. Ranger, of course, and in numerous subclasses, too. Though I did toy with the idea of him multiclassing as Arcane Archer, but then I figured that's more for Earl McClung, ya know (because, historically, he was a better shot than Shifty-- even Shifty says this)? The class in itself is fairly weak though, so I imagine Earl'd multiclass Arcane Archer (Fighter subclass) with a Ranger, though what kind of subclass is still up in the air for me, too. Truthfully, much like Shifty, he could be any, so take your pick. I'm partial to Horizon Stalker; but Hunter/Monster Hunter would be good, too. Also? Just imagine casting Arcane Shot on a gun instead of a bow-&-arrow. Magnificent.

Shifty and McClung could also be Circle of Land Druids, but then they wouldn't be as proficient in combat, so we'll stick with Ranger.

Eugene Roe could be a Life Domain Cleric, of course. But I feel like that's a bit too obvious. Grave Domain Cleric, maybe? Way of Mercy Monk sounds more appropriate for his character, since he's easily the kind of character to strive for inner spiritual balance, the way monks do-- let's just pretend he focuses more on healing than he does combat. Though both these classes do have the abilities to go on the offensive.

Ralph Spina strikes me as a non-magic user healer, though, so I think he'd be a Thief Rogue with a focus on the medicine skills + an extensive Healer's Kit, since thief rogues have like... more object interaction (I think?) per turn than anyone else. Though that would also fit Eugene, too, if you want non-magic user!Eugene, since he's often described as having a sixth-sense for when people need him, then appearing outta nowhere + the whole scissors thing. And the looting for supplies.

Carwood Lipton could go like... 3 ways. Fighter, Cleric, or Monk. I'm partial to him being a Light Domain Cleric, though, since that's the first thing that popped into my head. He could multiclass as Bard too, for the Bardic Inspiration, but idk, there are other subclasses that have the Suggestion spell in their back pocket, and he would use that extensively in Bastogne to keep morale up.

Malarkey is a Wild Magic Sorcerer. Mostly for the angst potential. Can you imagine him losing control of his magic when Skip and Penkala die? I know I shouldn't torture this man, but alas, it's just too good.

I also think Joe Liebgott would be a Divine Soul Sorcerer, though. That literally popped into my head first thing the second I saw this ask. He'd have some Healing Word by Level 2, and I think that works best for scenes like the one where Tab gets stabbed and also the one where he's comforting Tipper.

I can't shake the image of Artillerist Artificer Pat Christenson, Skip Muck, and Alex Penkala out of my head. They're on machine guns and the mortar rounds, respectively, so it fits for me.

......... an evil part of me wants Buck to be some sort of Warlock, he just hides it very well? But, again, that's mostly for angst potential. Realistically, he'd be a Fighter and/or a Barbarian. But a Warlock in the Military, though, wouldn't that be something? Of course the military would never allow it, because the Patron would take precedence above all else, but who says he can't hide that by claiming to multiclass as a Wizard? Idk how that would help in any way the plot, but the vibes are immaculate.

Everybody else, though, to me are either Artificers, Fighters, Barbarians, Clerics, or Monks, of course with multiclassing in between!

......... uh. yeah! that's it!

#ask #band of brothers #bob hcs #bob aus #thanks for this anon this was fun #and if anyone wants to fight me about it... don't do it. i cry easily

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didyoulookforme · 18 days

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hi lovely!!! for the music asks - 1, 13, 16 + 20 :)💌

hi my beautiful jaye <3

you give me warm, cozy vibes, so here are some warm, cozy songs that i love :)

1. a song you liked as a child

“if i needed someone” by the beatles

for some strange reason, my parents always found it funny that i inherited their love for the beatles.

13. a song by a performer you’ve seen live

“before the moon was full” by devon welsh

he’s originally from a canadian band called majical cloudz who i completely adore but hadn’t listened to his solo stuff much. it just so happened that he was the opener for a show i went to a few months ago and i swear my heart cracked when he performed this. it’s been stuck in my head ever since. i just want to be camping looking at the milky way while this song plays on repeat.

16. a song that makes you think of an old (or current) crush

“goodbye horses” by q lazzarus

my old platonic high school crush (think bad boy who is actually super sweet, art student, tattoos, loves music) always posts on ig when he sings this song at karaoke. funnily enough, one of the couple of people from high school who i still chat with.

20. a song you’d put on a playlist for the person who sent you this ask

“mellow jam” by blur

probably my favourite b-side by them. the spacey vibes make me feel safe, as if i’m drinking a warm cup of chamomile tea at 7:30 am.

#thank you for indulging me!#ask game #ilysm jaye

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hotvintagepoll · 5 months

Text

Propaganda

Glynis Johns (Mary Poppins, The Court Jester)—LISTEN, I'd let that woman's voice with all its gravely hoarseness (positive) wash over me all goddamn day, but if that's not enough she managed to play the straight woman to Danny Kaye's jester, all with her cleavage so plunging it might as well have been catapulted into the ocean right after Basil Rathbone

Eartha Kitt (Anna Lucasta, St. Louis Blues)—My friend and I have a saying: NOBODY is Eartha Kitt. A thousand have tried, and they've all come up empty and will continue to do so. Everyone knows her for something: from "Santa Baby" to Yzma in Emperor's New Groove to Catwoman to making Lady Bird Johnson cry for the Vietnam War. She was a master of comedy and sex, an extremely vocal activist, and she aged like fine wine... I honestly don't know what I can say about her that hasn't already been said, so I'll stick to linking all my propaganda. Like what else do you want from me. She was iconic at everything she ever did. Literally name another. How can anyone even think of her and not want to absolutely drown?

This is round 4 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Glynis Johns:

She walks the line between sexy and cute. Her best role for me is in "The Court Jester as Maid Jean. She's fantastic as the soft but tough captain of the outlaw band and she looks stunning in every gown she wears throughout the film. And of course we can't forget her iconic turn as the suffragette mother, Mrs. Banks, in Mary Poppins! Also shoutout to her distinctive and beautiful voice, kind of smoky and husky. Extremely hot and set her apart from many of her peers."

"She was amazing in Mary Poppins (the Suffragette song is severely underrated) and apparently she was Welsh? National pride! And she advocated for arts funding in Wales, which is very cool. Also, she died recently (RIP) making her one of the last survivors of the Golden Age of Hollywood, according to Wikipedia. Also also, she just has a cheeky energy I like? And her eyes are beautiful!"

"She had this wonderful wit and charm to her no matter the role and the most distinctive, striking voice!"

"I mean, incredibly beautiful and talented, can do drama can do comedy. And she was a mermaid."

"Like Bette Davis she has eyes to die for. Unlike Bette Davis you felt comforted by them, even when she was batting her eyelashes at you. Would glady go to Downing Street with her and throw things at the Prime minister"

"Listen, listen. I was raised on Mary Poppins and "Votes for women! (step in time)" single-handedly taught me how to be a feminist. Also The Court Jester is one of my favourite movies of all time and she is UNBELIEVABLY gorgeous, charismatic, funny, and clever in it. She knocks several men out. Absolute icon."

"I love Glynis Johns. Most of the reason is The Court Jester where she's a sensible and capable foil to whatever what going on with Danny Kaye at the time. She was also the first star I based an OC on. An OC that I still have to this day! Anyway here have some YouTube links love u bye"

Mermaid clip:

Court Jester (sharing a bed trope):

youtube

Court Jester (seducing the king):

youtube

"VOTES FOR WOMEN! Well, votes for this woman. Please."

youtube

Eartha Kitt:

"A hot vintage woman who was not just known for her voice, beauty, poise, and presence, but also her unapologetic ways of speaking about how she was mistreated in the show business as a girl who grew up on cotton fields in South Carolina in the 1930s through the 1940s coming to Broadway first and then Hollywood."

"Have you watched her sing?? Have you seen her face?? Have you heard her talk?? How could you not fall instantly in love. She makes me incoherent with how hot she is."

"She can ACT she can SING she can speak FOUR LANGUAGES she is a GODDESS!!! Although she is (rightfully) remembered for her singing, TV appearances (Catwoman my beloved), and later film roles, her early appearances in film are no less impressive or noteworthy!! She’s an amazing actress with so much charisma in every role. She was also blacklisted from Hollywood for 10 years for criticizing the Johnson administration/Vietnam War, so. Iconic. Also Orson Welles apparently called her “the most exciting woman in the world.”

"She had such a stunning, remarkable appearance, like she could tear you to shreds with just a glance- but the most undeniable part of her hotness was her voice, and it makes sense that it's what most people nowadays know her for. Nothing encapsulates the sheer magnetism of her singing better than this clip of her and Nat King Cole in St. Louis Blues, she pops in at 2:49. Also I know it's post-1970 but her song that was cut from Emperor's New Groove is likely to make you feel Feelings."

Even with as racist as Hollywood was in the 1950s and 60s, Eartha Kitt STILL managed to have a thriving career. She also once had a threesome with Paul Newman and James Dean, and called out LBJ over the Vietnam War so hard that it made First Lady Johnson cry. Eartha Kitt was talented, sexy, and a total badass activist.

#eartha kitt #glynis johns #hotvintagepoll #fuck that old woman #ladies 4

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mccall-muffin · 2 years

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Love vs. Hate - Part 11 // Joe Liebgott x OC

Summary: Technical Sergeant Olivia Stark knows the military. Raised in a military family, a graduate of military school and OCS herself, she is transferring from the 82nd Airborne Division to the 101st. Between new friends and what appear to be foes, she becomes a part of Easy Company, 2nd Battalion, 506th PIR.

Warnings: Language, Violence, War wounds

A/N: I don't know what to say... be prepared still ;)

Here is my Masterlist

Tag List: @brassknucklespeirs

Later that afternoon, we're still sitting by the fountain, and George suddenly stands up. "Well, look who decided to show up, Floyd," he says, and I look up. Tab and some of the other guys who were still missing are coming toward us. We all stand up to greet our new arrivals. "Hi there, Luz. We thought we'd never find you guys," Tab says, then looks at me. "Liv, good to see you," he says, and I give him a quick hug. "Likewise, Tab." Now Liebgott pushes past me. "Hey, Tab, get a load of this. You like that? It's the real stuff," he says, unwrapping his flag with the swastika. "Yeah, of course. You like this?" asks Tab in return, pulling out a German raincoat. "Oh, nice. That's a beauty, Sarge," Liebgott replies, and now Don pushes through as well. "My Luger's gonna put you all to shame when I get it," he says, and I have to laugh. "Yeah yeah, Don. You almost got yourself shot for one. So let's hope you're still alive when you finally get your hands on one." Don nudges me from the side and laughs.

"So, have we lost anybody?" asks Tab, looking at each of us in turn. "Tommy Burgess took one in the face. Popeye Wynn got pinked in the behind. But they're gonna be okay," George replies. "That's good." "You run into Lt. Meehan on your travels?" I ask, and Tab looks at me quizzically. "No, why?" "Company HQ's still missing. They think the plane crashed," I reply, lowering my eyes. "They say he's gonna turn up," Liebgott now interjects, and I look at him with raised eyebrows. "Yeah, I ain't holding my breath," I reply, "Why, they just showed up now, too; why not Meehan?" "Because his whole plane is missing, smartass. You think that's a fucking coincidence?" Liebgott glares at me. "Looks like cuddle time is over," George grins, and Liebgott and I look right at him. "Shut up, Luz!" "How nice that this hasn't changed, huh?" grins Tab sarcastically, looking at both of us before turning back to me. "Who's in command, then?" "Winters for now. Lieutenant Welsh is 1st Platoon," I reply, and he nods.

Then Don puts his arm around my shoulder and pulls me to the side. "It's funny, you two. In the morning, you're cuddling with each other, and now you're the bickering couple again. Unbelievable." "Can't you just stop that? Liebgott and I are nothing! If possible, I'll stay away from him, okay?" "Yeah, right, because that works out so well," Don laughs.

Up ahead, I see Harry clearing his throat. "Let's go, 1st Platoon! Easy's moving out! On your feet!" he calls, and I exchange a glance with Don. We are in 2nd. Platoon. "I'll see you guys later," Muck says, walking past us toward George. "Stand up, lift up. Let's go," Boyle calls out, the 1st Platoon Sergeant. Buck now stands up next to me. "Listen up! It'll be dark soon. I want light and noise discipline from here on. No talking, no smoking. No playing grab-fanny with the man in front of you, Luz," Harry calls out, and we all laugh. "So, where we headed to, Lieutenant?" "We're taking Carentan." "That sounds like fun," Don says next to me, looking at me. "It's the only place where armor from Omaha and Utah Beach can link up and head inland. Until we take it, they're stuck on the sand. General Taylor's sending the whole division," Harry still explains and looks around.

"Remember, boys, give me three days and three nights of hard fighting, and you will be relieved," George says, imitating General Taylor, which makes us all laugh. "1st Platoon, fall in behind Fox Company. You people from 2nd and 3rd Platoon, follow us. Let's shake a leg." I look at Don for a moment, then nod at him. "Come on, Liv. Let's get these guys on their feet," Buck says beside me, and I nod. "Another thing to remember boys flies spread disease. So, keep yours closed," I hear George still saying in General Taylor's voice. "Okay, come on. Joe, Bill, on your feet. We're moving out." Bill nods to me, and our platoon gets ready to move out.

June 12, 1944 - Carentan, France

When we finally take on Carentan, a few days have passed. It is now D-Day plus 6. This morning, Winters informed us that it is our turn to intervene as support. Behind a small hill leading into town, we hunker down behind the 1st Platoon. "You guys ready?" Buck asks Don and me as we crouch next to him. Winters and Harry are upfront as he gives the order for the first platoon to move out. "Fuck," I curse as I watch Harry run off, closely followed by George. We make out the first shots and duck a little more.

"Okay, Buck, let's go! Get those men out of the trench and start clearing the buildings!" Winters then calls out to us, and Buck looks at me. We both nod at each other. "You heard the lieutenant, boys! Let's go!" I shout and run off with Buck and Don. We are immediately fired upon. "You better not die!" I call to Don, who winks at me. "Come on, get out of the ditch! We have to go!" I shout to the soldiers who are entrenched in the trench. "Jesus Christ! Move!" I shout, grabbing a soldier and pulling him to his feet.

Then I run into town and take cover next to Buck. He looks at me. "Liv, take Tipper and Liebgott. Start clearing these buildings. Right. Let's go! Second two, go, go!" Buck calls out to me, and I nod. "Tip, Liebgott! Come on. We're clearing those houses!" The two nod and follow me. From a distance, I see Don looking after me. I nod to him again before running on. "Ready?" I ask the two, and they nod. "All right, let's go!" I shout, and we run into the house.

After we clear a few houses, I suddenly hear Lip's voice. "They got us zeroed! Spread it out, spread it out! Go! Get the hell out of there!" he shouts, trying to get his men off the street. "They got us zeroed! Get out of there! Go, go! Get the hell out of the street!" he shouts again as I see him get hit. "Lip!" I shout and immediately want to run to him, but Liebgott holds me back. "No! Liv, we have a job to do! Tab takes care of him!" I look up again, and Liebgott is right. Tab is already with Lip, helping him.

I nod and follow Joe and Tipper into the house. "Okay, quick now," I say. We search everything and then run back out before the house goes up. I quickly look around. "Dammit, where's Tip?" I ask, looking at Liebgott. Startled, I wheel around to the house, and then I can see Tipper coming out of the house. With my mouth open, I stare at him, and Liebgott's eyes have also widened. "Tipper," I breathe. Joe slowly puts his gun on the ground and then walks toward Tip. He puts an arm around him. "Joe?" asks Tip back. "Looking good, Tip." "Is that you?" "Looking real good. Come here; you gotta sit down. Come here, come on. Easy, easy. There you go, there you go," Liebgott says, helping him sit down. He hugs Tip to him and has his arm around him. I swallow hard and slowly kneel. Tip is bleeding all over. His legs are torn open, and one side of his face is also ripped open and bloody. "Jesus," I breathe, looking Liebgott in the eye.

"Oh, Jesus. You hang in there, buddy. Okay, we're gonna get you fixed up. All right?" he says then, and I've never seen Liebgott so caring as he is right now with Tipper. "Okay. Guys, you wanna give me a hand here?" he then asks, addressing me, and only now do I realize that two more soldiers are standing behind me.

"Fuck!" I then curse. "Medic!" I look around briefly before turning back to Tip. "Hey Tip... It's going to be all right yeah? As Joe said, we'll get you fixed up." Liebgott and I exchange another look. "Where's the goddamn Medic?!" I yell, then look back at Liebgott. "We need to get him out of here, Joe," I say to Liebgott, and he nods. I reach under Tip's other arm and try to lift him. Carefully, we both stand up and carry Tipper away. The bullet fire has fortunately died down, and we can get Tip to the aid station without further incident.

"What happened?" asks Doc immediately as we put Tip down. "I'll take it from here, Liebgott," Gene says. He nods and heads back outside. "Mortar. We thought he was right behind us, but he was in the house too long. Then it went up." "Did you give him anything?" continues Doc, and I shake my head. "Fine, thanks, Liv. We'll take care of him." "Thanks, Doc."

On the way out, I notice my hands are full of blood. I try to wipe it away a little, step outside and take a deep breath while still rubbing my hands. "You can't get it off without water," I hear a voice and look up. Next to me, leaning against the house is Liebgott, smoking. "Ah yeah, thanks!" I say wryly, rolling my eyes. "Ah, come on, Stark, I only meant well," he says, and I look up in surprise. "Really?" "Really." I rub my face with the back of my hand. "Jesus, I'm done for the day," I mutter. Suddenly Liebgott holds out an already-lit smoke to me. "Thanks," I say, still slightly confused.

For a while, we stand silently at the entrance to the house, smoking. "Joe," he says suddenly, and I look up. "What?" "You called me Joe today. You never did before." I think about it for a moment. "Just like you never called me Liv. Seems like it takes all of this to do that." "Seems so."

Silence falls between us again. "Liv!" someone suddenly calls out, and I look up. Don is coming hurrying toward us. "Here you are! Are you okay?" he asks as he pulls me into his arms. "Yes, Don, I'm fine," I reply. "Jesus Christ, I didn't see you at the rally point, so I was already thinking the worst," he says quickly, and I raise my eyebrows. "Tip got hit. We had to bring him in," I explain, pointing to Liebgott and me. "Is he okay?" "Not really... Well, he should survive, I guess, but... They'll probably send him back to England."

Don exchanges a glance between Liebgott and me, then smiles briefly at me. "Come on now! We found something to drink and a place to crash," he then says, pointing his head in a direction. Don leads the way, and I exchange another glance with Liebgott before we follow him.

Comfortably we sit in the evening at the town border of Carentan. "Have you ever heard from your brothers?" Don asks me as we eat something. "No, unfortunately, I haven't. All my mother wrote in her last letter was about Damon bouncing from island to island in the Pacific and Tommysomewhere in Europe. But exactly where, I don't know." Don presses his lips together and looks at me. "And your sister?" "She's in the pacific as well." "I hear the Pacific must be pretty bad," now interjects Frank, who immediately catches a blow to the back from George. "Shut up, Frank!" "What?" the latter asks, confused, and I hang my head.

"Cheer up, Sweetheart. They'll get through it!" Don tries to cheer me up. "I hope so. We all took a risk when we decided to go to war. As long as I don't hear from them, I'm confident. It's better than hearing that they've been killed." There is silence for a while, and I stare at my boots. I miss my family very much. It's been several years now since I've seen them. But so has every single person here.

I take out my cigarettes and light one. I keep thinking about Tipper or the others we lost today. It could happen to any one of us at any time. I briefly let my gaze glide over the faces of my friends. Don, Muck, Penkala, George, Buck, Bill, Joe Toye, Lip, Harry, Tab, Chuck, Web, and yes, to hell, even Liebgott. It would hurt.

"Okay, enough moping," George says, pulling out a bottle of whatever. "Here's to the day finally being over," he shouts, and we cheer. The bottle is passed around until it's Liebgott's turn, and then he holds it out to me. I accept it and smile at him. Maybe today was a turning point between us. "Oh wow, I didn't think I'd live to see this," Buck laughs, looking at Liebgott and me. "You two, without fighting?" The guys around us laugh, and I take a sip, shaking my head. "Don't get used to it, Buck," Liebgott retorts. "Figures," I grumble, rolling my eyes.

"What, Stark? Would be boring otherwise, wouldn't it?", Liebgott challenges me, and now I'm looking at him. "I don't know, Liebgott. It would be quite nice if you would just shut the fuck up now and then," I return, and the men around us groan. "Why did you say something, Buck?" Don asks our lieutenant, who grins. "Well, I didn't know they were about to start again, Malarkey." "Sorry to disappoint you, Buck, but I'm afraid Liebgott can't help it. Always the tough guy, aren't you? I'm really starting to wonder if you're trying to compensate for something with that," I say to Liebgott and stand up. "You're one to talk, Stark. Or what else is why you're here but to prove yourself?"

My eyes turn to slits, and I take a step toward Liebgott. "I've told you a thousand times, Liebgott. Don't fucking talk about things you don't understand!" "I'll talk about what I want, Love. Get used to it," he now says, standing up as well. "But if I don't understand it, why don't you explain it to me, huh? Why are you here?" Anger spreads through me. "That's enough, Lieb," Don interjects, but Liebgott is still glaring at me, as am I at him. "I don't need this, Liebgott, because I could give a shit what you think." "But you do give a shit, Stark, don't you? I wonder why...?" By now, we're standing so close to each other that the others can barely hear us. Liebgott scrutinizes my face, and his gaze flits briefly to my lips. "I hope you're not starting to fall for me, Stark," he whispers huskily, and I tear up. I push him off me. "You're such a fucking asshole, Liebgott!" I curse and stomp away.

Settling against a tree not too far from the others, I bury my face in my hands for a moment. Why do I let him get to me? What is it about Joseph Liebgott that can get me so worked up? I exhale in annoyance and light a smoke. "Sergeant? What did I say about you not wandering around by yourself?" I suddenly hear Winter's voice next to me. "I'm sorry, sir; sometimes I just need to escape from all the testosterone for a minute." Winters chuckles. "I can imagine that. But still, I'm not comfortable with you being out on your own..." "Well, you're here now, sir," I grin, and he smiles at me. "May I?" he asks, pointing to the seat next to me. "Sure, sir."

He sits down next to me, and we sit there silently for a moment. "How's your leg, sir?" I then ask. "Oh, so far, so good. It hurts a little, but it should get better quickly." "I'm glad to hear that, sir." "What was the reason for you to sit here now and not with the other men?" he asks, and I look at him for a moment. "Oh, nothing crazy." "Can I guess?" "Go ahead." "Liebgott?" I let out a sigh and grin. "Liebgott," is all I say, "I don't know what it is, but he somehow always manages to drive me up the wall." "Maybe that's what he wants?" "What do you mean, sir?" "Well, first of all, Liv, please call me Dick, at least when it's just the two of us. After all, you would be an officer. And secondly... Maybe he's trying to drive you up the wall because you're letting him?" "But what does he get out of it?" Dick shrugs. "I'm afraid I can't answer that for you. There could be several reasons for that." I hang my head and prop my arms on my knees. "I saw him differently today, you know? When Tipper was hit... He was so caring and kind. Even afterward, when we handed him over to Doc. And then he morphs into that asshole again." I see a slight smile creep onto Dick's face. "I'm telling you: several reasons, Liv."

"Sir? Liv?" we then hear a voice in front of us and look up. It's Don. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to interrupt. I just wanted to see if everything was okay, Liv?" "Yep, everything's fine," I say, and Dick and I stand up. "Are you coming back? Don't worry; I've put Liebgott in his place. He won't make another sound for today," Don grins. "It's okay, Don." I turn to Dick. "Thank you, Sir. For talking to me." "Always, Liv. Enjoy your evening." "You too, sir."

Don and I make our way back to the others. "What did Winters want from you?" Don asks me. "Oh, he just wanted to remind me of his orders not to wander around alone. Nothing more..." Don leaves it at that and leads me back to the boys, toward George and Skip. We sit down, and my gaze meets Liebgott's as he studies my face. There's something strange about his look, but I avert my eyes and turn my attention to George and Don.

June 14, 1944 - Carentan, France

Two days later, I sit on a staircase with Don, More, Muck, Penkala, and Albert. Once again, we gathered different food and enjoy a bit of the sun. Albert is lying on the floor next to us, and we are sitting on the steps. I have my eyes closed and hold my face to the sun. Don and More are discussing what the next course will be. "Berlin by Christmas. That's how I see it," More says, looking at all of us. "Yeah, you're full of it," Don replies. "Oh, God. This Kraut cheese tastes like... It stinks. Bread's stale, too," Penkala then says, chewing on the bread. "Give me that," Muck shouts, taking it from Penkala's hand.

"You mark my words, Mal, Berlin by Christmas," More repeats. Then suddenly, we hear a foreign voice. "Enjoy it while it lasts. We'll be moving out soon." I open my eyes now and see Speirs standing in front of us. "Out of town, Lieutenant? Already?" asks Don, and we all look at the lieutenant. "That's right," Speirs replies, turning away. "Don't they know we're just getting settled here?" More says, and we all look at him in shock. Speirs turns to us again and glares at More before disappearing. "Nice, Groucho," Muck says, looking at More in disbelief. "What?" "Real smart. You know, you're taking your life into your own hands. Ain't that right?" Muck asks, addressing Don and me. I look at Don for a moment and shrug. "We didn't see anything, Muck; we already told you that." "What, Speirs shooting the prisoners or the sergeant in his platoon?" then asks Penkala, and we look at him in surprise. "Sergeant?" "I didn't hear that one." "He shot one of his own guys?" asks Don in shock, and I raise an eyebrow. "Well, supposedly, the guy was drunk and refused to go on a patrol. Who knows if it's true?" then tells Penk as Speirs reappears in front of us. "Sergeant Stark? Can I talk to you for a minute?" he asks, and I look at him in surprise. "Uh, yes, sure, sir," I reply and stand up hesitantly. I put on my helmet and briefly look at Don, who looks at me with concern.

I follow Speirs a few steps when he stops and turns to me. "How are you, Sergeant?" he asks, and I look at him in surprise. "Quite well, sir, thank you. Why do you ask?" "Just because. After what happened after D-Day, I wanted to ask." "I'm fine, sir. I've got my boys, and they're looking out for me." "Not that you couldn't do it yourself, right?" "Right." "Lieutenant Winters told me you graduated from OCS? How come you're not an officer?" "I guess it's because I'm a woman, Sir." "Well, as far as I can tell from what I saw, I think they're right to do so. You got your men under control." "Thank you, Sir." Speirs is eyeing me, and I genuinely can't tell what's happening in his head. "Very well. Stand by, Sergeant. We'll be moving out soon." I salute him quickly and then turn away before returning to my friends.

Narrator POV:

Don, Muck, More, and Penkala watch Liv as she follows Speirs. "I wonder what he wants with her," Muck wonders, looking at his friends. "Do you think it could be that Speirs is interested in Liv? Luz told me he saw them together on D-Day." "That would suit you, Muck! Only because you deny that there's anything between her and Liebgott," Don interjects, and Penkala rolls his eyes. "You saw them together the day before yesterday, too, didn't you, Don? I agree with Muck. These two hate each other." "Love and hate are known to be very close, Penk. I'll tease it out of her, and then you can pay up." "You bet on that?" asks More now, looking briefly at Liv, who is still talking to Speirs. "You got it." "But that's just because Don is too sure of himself." "But yeah... Have you guys ever studied Joe? I mean, really study him? The way he looks at her sometimes? The case is just so obvious." "Then why is he being so... assy to her?" "That's clear, too, because he can't have her. Or at least because he thinks he can't. Joe's too proud to even deal with the thought that she might reject him." The conversation falls silent as Liv rejoins them. Don looks up but notices Speirs watching her until she sits with them again, and only then continues.

Liv POV:

"What are you guys talking about?" I ask as I sit back down with the boys. "Still about the same thing as before," Don grumbles, rolling his eyes. "Well, I know a guy who said an eyewitness told him that Speirs hosed those prisoners," Skip says, throwing food at Don. "Why? What for?" now Albert asks out of nowhere, and we look at him. "On D-Day. Speirs comes across a group of German prisoners digging a hole under guard and so on. He pulls out a pack of smokes.... hands them out. He even gives them a light. Then, all of a sudden... he swings up his Thompson... and hoses them down. I mean, for fuck's sake, he gives them smokes first? See, that's why I don't think he really did it," Muck tells us. "I can't imagine him doing it, to be honest." "You don't believe it?" asks Don. "You were there too, Liv, weren't you?" "Yeah, but we didn't see that he did it." "I heard he didn't," Penk now interjects again. "See!" "Someone else did it."

"Oh, no, no, it was him, all right. But it was more than eight guys. It was more like 20", Alton now says. "Hell of a shot!" "All except one guy... who he left alone." "I still think that's bullshit," I say, and Skip eyes me. "Ah well, could it be that you like a certain lieutenant Liv?" he asks, shrugging his eyebrows. "What? What are you talking about? How many more men are you going to pin on me? First Liebgott, then Winters, and now Speirs?" "Anyway... Well, all I know, from what I heard he took that last 105 on D-day practically by himself. Running through MG fire like a maniac," Penk then says. "Yeah, that I did see," Don says immediately, and I nod. "Yep, me too." "On his own?" asks Alton. "I don't care if any of the other stuff's true," Penk says. Suddenly, however, Harry speaks up. "Let's go, first platoon, weapons on me."

"Here we go..." I grumble and stand up. "Come on, Don, let's find the others," I say, pulling him to his feet.

#Band of Brothers #Joe Liebgott #Joe Liebgott x OC #Fanfic #Joe Liebgott fanfic #bob #bobedit #hbowar #ww2 #hbo series #ross mccall #don malarkey #scott grimes

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i-can-even-burn-salad · 1 year

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OC Name Meanings Tag Game

So @starlit-hopes-and-dreams tagged me with this, and I should be writing, so let's do that instead! Gonna leave it an open tag.

Rules: Put down an OC or more and tell what their name means.

Gonna take my POV OCs. Fair warning: I am not googling all names. Everyone can do that. I'm just putting down where they came from for most.

Caldyn

Was a random name generator for the game GW2, I am pretty sure. Possibly swapped some letters around as well.

Breannan

I don't think this name exist with that a — so either I used a Gaelic name generator and just stuffed it in, or it appears like that in the GW name generator. Either way, no meaning was intended.

Seyonna

Shamefully stolen from a book I read back when I made the ingame char. In the book Transformation by Carol Berg, the protagonist's name is Seyonne, and it sounded so very fitting for that ingame race. Now I am stuck with it.

Lily

I decided that some kalani will probably have plant (and later: object) names, and picked the first flower I could think of lol

Marian

I literally did not think about it. I needed a name and she just appeared out of nowhere. Apparently it means "bitter" and "beloved" — well she's not bitter.

Josephine

Back in my roleplaying days, I had a char concept that never got much playtime which was a demon possessed girl, who really wanted to live, while the demon wanted to kill her to take over her body. I named her Joy, full name Josephine. I believe the original char's parents were religious, but no such meaning intended for this Josephine.

Valadan

My second stolen name — from my favorite book The Wind Witch, and I will live forever with the shame that this char was named after a stallion. Well, Valadan would find it very funny, I assure you.

Damien

I was listening to Savatage's Damien when I wanted to make a brother for Valadan. It apparently means "to subdue".

Merridy

This one I actually went for meaning — it was yet another ingame char, and for some reason, I had just bought the musical instrument flute, and I wanted a char with a music name. Some page I had back then said it means "happy melody" :D She does not have anything to do with music in writing.

Cedric

Just like Marian, appeared out of fucking nowhere.

Cédric means “warlord” or “war chief” (from Celtic “kad” = war + “rîg” = ruler/king) and “loved one” (from Celtic-Welsh “carad” = loved or “caru” = to love”.

Well. good pick.

Riordan

Was a name I like since I named... one of my neopets that. I did not have an OC for that name, instead using it for my weekly deleted key farmer in the game. It means something like "poet king, royal poet".

Then Fancy Boots arrived without a name and I looked at my list and thought— you know what, let's give this name a face.

Laurent

I am probably rolling with Caldeia having lots of french names, so I looked up a super french name and came up with that. It's so french. Realized a bit too late I have (had) a coworker with that name. Oops.

(No, France does not exist ̇)

Eilis

Another neopet. I have no idea where I got her from — she was a plush Ixi, and I am sure I never turned one plush myself, so it was probably a pound catch, and then lab turned. I was looking for names that work as, well, names, while keeping a small memory of my pets.

Finnian

A different kind of pet! I once drove 350 km to pick up two albino rat rescues, and named them Finnian and Winifred, both names which meant "white". Finnian is not particularly white; he's white, yes, but with dark hair and dark eyes, but I like the name.

#salad-tag #most of the names existed for another medium before I named my chars after them #or gave the chars personality and wrote about them #I would not have taken those two names directly for writing like that alas

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pacifymebby · 1 year

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Hey what are your favourite books? I’m so intrigued about what books you’ve talked about to musicians about, because I too have ripped into many an indie boy about only ever paying attention to Bukowski hahah so relate

Hiiii!!! This is my favourite thing to talk about so thank I for the ask <3

So I'm not gonna lie, for all I rip into indie boys for Bukowski, some of my favourite books are by people just as bad morally haha

Also this is gonna be longggg because my taste varies so much

I think my favourite books/most treasured/ almost always guaranteed to have one of these in my bag at all times are:

🌿 Quite Early One Morning/Dylan Thomas

Man's a genius when it comes to a vivid, touching, somewhat haunted short story, there's so much life and spirit in every single memory he tells, and if you listen to him reading his own stories you feel them hit all the harder. Something really homely and cosy and I read them whenever I'm feeling sad. This little books been all over with me.

🌿The Dear Green Place / Archie Hind

When I lived down in England with my gran, I'd phone B when I was sad and he'd read down the phone to me, usually Scottish faerie tales and stuff but also this from time to time and then he gave me a copy one day and I read in cover to cover in a day or two whilst travelling and like, this is one of the ones a mean when I talk about like, "nothingy books that are sad af but beautiful, Bukowski take notes.." because it's just about a working class man living in poverty, he meets the love of his life and they marry and they live in poverty, he's desperately trying to be a writer, nothing works out for them, it's miserable, its bleak, it's fucking beautifully written, it captures the hope in being hopeless, it touches your own sadness and idk, also the man just describes industrial Glasgow beautifully. It's just beautiful. (Also no one gets raped, he doesn't think women are whores, he's a kind and mostly gentle man, it really shows you that not all men are like or think like Charles Bukowski which I think is v important)

🌿 God's Silence / Franz Wright (poetry)

Okay so, he's struggling with the death of his famous poet father, he's struggling with his faith, he's struggling with alcohol and feeling hopeless. Again melancholic, nihilistic but... well written, it actually makes you feel something, there's imagery, you can picture stuff, there are lines that hit you in your chest and stay with you forever.

🌿 How Green Was My Valley / Richard Llewellyn

This is one of my dad's favourite books and he read it to me in bits when I was sick as a teenager. But I've read it so many times now too. The funniest thing I think about this is that the guy who wrote it claimed to have based it on his own experiences as a Welshman from a Welsh mining family, but he actually spent most of his life in England. I was always read this with a "isn't our country gorgeous, aren't these descriptions beautiful," kind of attitude and part of the reason I still love it is because it's true, just the first few pages where he's describing the valley are fucking lovely and really do make me a wee bit homesick but like, it's funny to me that the man was actually about as Welsh as me.

Books musicians recommended to me (I did not like all of these):

🌜 a few weeks ago an indie boy in a band went off on one about how Perfume by Patrick Suskind is his favourite novel of all time and I was actually probably a bit too mean but A) me and my dad are both in agreement that it's just not thattt interestingly written B) it's my ex's favourite book and C) guarantee this particular indie boy is only saying it's his favourite because it was Kurt Cobains favourite.

🌜 Hangover Square / Patrick Hamilton

A member of the libertines recced this to me when I was extremely drunk about 7ish years ago haha, like drunk enough that I don't remember which one I was talking to, but he was really laying it on thick about how much he'd enjoyed reading it (I honestly think he'd just finished it because he gave me the copy out his pocket which is either like, he always keeps a book to give to girls he's chattin up or he'd just finished it idk) anyway I didn't read it for ages afterwards but then when I did I was actually like oh shit this is quite good actually. It's very dark but also quite amusing in a similar way to all the Russian stuff, like bad shits happening to the protagonist but the protagonist is a bad person so you're enjoying it I guess.

🌜 Lolita / Vladimir Nabokov

Okay so as much as we all know Lolita to be that book, there's no denying it's incredibly beautifully written, the prose is gorgeous (purposefully so because famously Nabokov was laughing at the stupid Americans he said would praise anything if you dressed it up nice enough, even noncing)

This was another rec from my "wants to be a groupie coquette" days and I'm not gonna say who it was who recommended it to me, but they read me some of it and went on a little rant about how lovely they thought it was. And I laughed at them later when I was reading it because I was like wow, you're the person this mans laughing at wow. BUT I'm also eternally grateful to them for turning me onto Nabokov when I was like 16 because Nabokov turned me onto all the other Russians and also Nabokov wrote one of my favourite books ever also. So I owe alot to the older man in the indie band who should not have been talking to me lol.

🌜 Ham on Rye / Charles Bukowski

So! Many! Men! Told me to read this book or other Bukowski books and I tried really hard with the man's poetry and stuff but fucking hell, I can't do it... I just don't think you can go from idolising Ginsburg's "I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving, hysterical, naked..." to Bukowski's "People run from rain but sit in bathtubs full of water," and accept the latter as a genius because like, those poems are essentially about the same hopelessness that swept up several American generations and yet one of them captures the devastation and the hideous romance of it all and one is making snide comments about baths.

🌜Bright Dead Things / Ada Limon

This is actually one of my favourite poetry collections of all time, it's gorgeous and emotional and you will be so unsurprised to find out that it was a woman who recommended it to me, she also went off on a long and loving rant about Sylvia Plath, it was lovely. Best post gig convo ever.

🌜 Just Kids / Patti Smith

Okay Patti Smith is fine right, but every feminist boy in an indie band is going to rec this to you as proof that he reads books by women. She is good though, I didn't finish the book but that's because I started reading Touching From a Distance/Deborah Curtis at the same time and got my heart trashed so badly I couldn't pick up a book for a month afterwards.

🌜Touching From a Distance / Deborah Curtis

The man who lent me this one actually had really good taste in books and put me onto a lot of good authors (Max Porter - read Lanny - , Amalie Smith, Emma Glass, Fernanda Trias, Victoria Kennefick - eat or we both starve is very good poetry - Daisy Johnson) he's really into his musician biographies as well and he's recommended a few good ones over the years. But this is by far the best one, it's really heart wrenching and it tells the story of a family getting let down time and time again but the government/social care and healthcare in Britain and just, idk, it doesn't glamorise Ian Curtis and it doesn't dismiss any of the bad shit he did, it doesn't paint him as a lovely wouldn't hurt a fly kind of man. But it does give you a lot of insight into a complicated and painful set of experiences, and honestly I think it's written simply and beautifully too.

🌜 Homage To Catalonia / George Orwell

I'm literally just including this to let you know that if a man tells you to read George Orwell run a fucking mile. This is by far the better of his books I've read but Orwell's just a classic shitty misogynist with an inability to even write that stuff in a pretty way. Like I think the fact that he himself was very privileged and constantly trying to convince the world that be actually wasn't, and that he was really interesting just shines through so hard. You sorta read it and you don't get any of the "this man understands me" you just get "this mans boring and wining about something his rich parents could totally fix" like, he doesn't have anything good to say because he doesn't feel idk.

Other big favourites of mine that I recommend to everyone ten times a day:

🍒 Glory / Vladimir Nabokov, The Double / Vladimir Nabokov

Honestly skip Lolita and go straight to the double because it's straight up incredible, it's black humour, self made catastrophes, your main character is bad and you see him cut about making trouble for himself and it's so entertaining and just a good read. Glory is amazing for the same reason. Nabokovs been done so dirty by heart shaped Lana girls (ME!) And the men who fancy them.

🍒 Elena Ferrante / My Brilliant Friend and the rest of the Neopolitan Quartet

These are for the girls and possibly the men who want to understand the girls. It's like This Is What Makes Us Girls but set in post war Italy in a poor neighbourhood, it follows two girls who are best friends who's different lives drag them apart and push them together. It will make you feel things, it will make you write a letter to your childhood best friend, you will want to call your mother and get to know her etc. It's so so good, there's drama, there's emotion, it's not an overly complicated book full of long words so you find yourself really gripped and hooked in without having to concentrate which is great.

🍒 Tropic of Cancer/Capricorn / Henry Miller

Of all the horrific cunts out there he's the worst (apart from William Burroughs because as far as I know Henry Miller never murdered his wife?)

But he was a misogynist, he was a racist, he was just a total lowlife HOWEVER

All is forgiven (joke) because there are some heavenly passages in these two books, I remember being so breath taken when I was reading these as a sad stoned late teens girl in my lonely little London flat. I lay on my rug getting high and read these two in like 3 days and I kept crying cause the words were so fucking pretty. If Bukowski had ever written anything this pretty I'd have forgiven him for being such a pervert.

Trigger warning though, you have to be really careful with Henry miller because there's heavy violence against women in some of his books (I don't remember there being much in these tbh, just explicit but consensual sex in these two) but in some of his others he talks about raping women or beating them and it's unpleasant. He was for sure a deeply unpleasant human being. Very good writer though.

🍒The Unbearable Lightness of Being / Milan Kundera

I only read this one last winter, I was miserable and feeling like I needed to press on the emotional bruise and this book really did the trick.

Again, the main character is a womanising cunt and I would say if you ever meet a man who reminds you of him then run as fast as you can. However there's just so much beautifully written sorrow in it and again, there were passages that stole my breath away or made me swallow a lump in my throat or just straight up gasp on the train home from work.

"But is heaviness truly deplorable and lightness splendid? The heaviest of burdens crushes us, we sink beneath it, it pins us to the ground. But in the love poetry of every age, the woman longs to be weighed down by the man’s body. The heaviest of burdens is therefore simultaneously the image of life’s most intense fulfillment. The heavier the burden, the closer our lives come to the earth, the more real and truthful they become. Conversely, the absolute absence of a burden causes man to be lighter than air, to soar into heights, take leave of the earth and his earthly being, and become only half real, his movements as free as they are insignificant. What then shall we choose? Weight or lightness?"

"In the sunset of dissolution, everything is illuminated by the aura of nostalgia, even the guillotine."

I remember I underlined a lot in this book and like just searching for the passages I loved most has made me want to read it again.

🍒 The Bell Jar / Sylvia Plath

I just don't think I'd be a nymphet girlie on Tumblr if I didn't tell everyone that reading this book when I was just starting to feel the strain of uni was like, being hit with an emotional freight train and being relieved that it had hit me because that meant someone else had felt the same thing as me in the past. No one's going to write better about the intimate pain of womanhood than women I guess. The expectations everyone has on you to be bright young and beautiful like, no man's ever tapping into that no matter how empathetic they may be.

🍒 The Pachinko Parlour / Elisa Shua Dusapin

Similar to Sylvia Plath, there's just somet really touching and homely comforting when you read women in their late teens early twenties being lost and melancholic and wasting their life away and not achieving as much as they were supposed to, when you're a woman doing all of those things too. And that's what I am and what I was when I read this. The books written quite basically but not primitively, the sentences are all very simple but all the more touching for their simplicity I think.

🍒 Tristessa / Jack Kerouac

When I am miserable I put on Loveless by My Bloody Valentine and I lie in bed, languishing, reading this. It's literally just a real tragic story of love withering to loss and like, it's beat generation, and its written by an alcoholic wanker but, he's a sentimental, nostalgic wanker with a talent for making you feel sentimental and nostalgic for lives you never lived.

I'd also recommend Maggie Cassidy by the same man, his shorter novellas are really good and nowhere near as overwhelming as On The Road. Though On The Road is a good read if you have the time and patience for it.

🍒 The Dangers of Smoking In Bed / Mariana Enriquez

Some of the scariest short stories I've ever read fucked me up good and proper but also kick started my horror revival.

🍒 Rebecca / Daphne Du Maurier

Gothic and haunting but romantic too and she really really hits you in the chest when it comes to fancying gloomy older men who make you feel like a little girl. Again though her descriptions and sense of place are captivating, everything's vivid, you can really picture yourself in the gardens at Manderly. It's beautiful and dramatic and yeah, I love it. I read it at the height of a heatwave but I think it would also be a good autumn read tbh.

🍒 Wuthering Heights / Emily Brontë

Definitely read it when it gets cold and autumnal and gloomy. The books peak gloom. You hate every character and yet you feel their pain and root for them too. Idk I read it in the winter when I was sulking and at home in bed with a fever and it was really good, I've read it three times since haha.

🍒 Little Birds /Anaïs Nin

If you're gonna read Henry Miller you should read Anaïs Nin because she was his better half. She wrote erotica which men sent back complaining she ought to "cut the poetry" some of its very shocking but erotica back in the day was very much about challenging people and subverting the literary worlds expectation for art and stuff. I honestly think it's pretty feminist to read Anaïs Nin, as a teenage girl I think she taught me a lot about sexuality and definitely was how I learned sexuality isn't a masculine thing, that women's pleasure and desire is a fcking art form.

I will be straight up here and say with my whole chest that I haven't read enough women. When I was a teenager doing most of my reading I was reading the beat generation and the beats don't have many famous female writers among them because major sexism of the time meant that if a man went off and did drugs became a bum and lived the bohemian lifestyle he could be Jack Kerouac and be hailed a charming but gloomy tender author. When women did this they got carted off to institutions by their parents or became rhe victims of severe domestic violence. So for a long time I wasn't reading women because it didn't fit the genre I was into.

Then when I got back into horror I got deep into feminist horror but like, some of that is the likes of The Bloody Chamber which I read and HATED. I think basically what it is is that men who are good get published way more but also talked about way way more. Women who are good get published but not as often and when they do they get talked about less. Some of the best stuff I've ever read has been written by women but it's only in the last ten years started being translated because a lot of its from foreign countries and the literary worlds not long since stopped only publishing white men.

Anyways sorry for such a long post!!! If anyone decides to read any of these then let me know what you think of them!!!!

#pacifymebby recs #paccifymebby books

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