#Bridge or rail station? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

arminsumi · 8 months

Text

it's the hair.

𝐆. 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 — 五条悟 ⋅ fem reader

NOTE: lol this is just a dum fluff drabble i wrote instead of studying

SUMMARY — your childhood friend and classmate satoru positively kills you with his new haircut. but he misunderstands your reactions and behaviors, thinking he did something wrong.

WARNINGS — lowercase used, not proofread, misunderstandings between u n gojo, angst if you squint ??

WORDCOUNT ≈ 1.3k

🍒 𝐉𝐚𝐲 — サクランボ ⋅ 𝐑𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬/𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐭 !

you've been eyeing out gojo all day. he's not sure what to make of your expression — it's something mixed between comical worry and genuine distress.

"what? what is it?" he keeps asking you each time you give him the side eye look-over. "do i have something on my face?"

"no. it's nothing." you reply curtly.

he squints skeptically at you.

from class to class, he ponders alongside suguru. did he say something? were you mad at him? was it because he stole your soda from the vending machine yesterday? but he always does that, so why would you be mad now? maybe you were just not feeling well? did you not sleep well?

and suguru's ears flooded with all these theories.

"did i say something to y/n? she's acting strange today."

his best friend stifles a smirk. "dunno, did you?"

"i think she's mad at me. was it because i stole her soda? but y'know it's not my fault we like the same soda! and i promised to buy one for her next time!"

suguru now lowers his head into his arms, resting on the desk, trying so hard to keep his laughter in.

"maybe it's the weather — probably the flu — yeah, definitely the flu. i'll go get something for y/n at the store, d'you need anything, suguru? what! what are you laughing at!"

"nothing, nothing. i don't need anything from the store, thanks — unless maybe something spicy that catches your eye. 'better run quick, store's gonna close soon."

satoru furrows his brows in confusion, and eventually his entire expression becomes serious, like an old philosopher in deep thought about the universe. but it's not the abyssal void beyond the stratosphere that's in his thoughts, no, it's you — you're pervading his entire mind as he walks across the roads of tokyo, to the station, and boards the train.

holding onto the handles as it shudders and sways, shoulders taught as they always are when he's in thought. were you really sick? what if he did something bad? maybe it was nothing at all, and he was just overthinking it. maybe it didn't even involve him. did it have to do with suguru? or perhaps you were upset about something in the past, something irrational and long-forgotten, like the fact that he didn't attend your 7th birthday party. it's not like he had a choice, his parents barely allowed him to visit your side because they didn't want their prodigy son hanging out with...

he texts you.

satoru — are u home yet

he stares and waits for you to come online, then watches as those three dots move up and down and you start typing.

you — no why

satoru — where are u

you — bridge

satoru — what are u doing

you — lol so many questions

you — the sunset looks rlly good today i'm taking pics

satoru — wtf without me??

you — lol sorry didn't think u wanted to waste ur time watching the sunset

satoru — see u there

he's just boarding off the train, coming through its doors, when he texts you that. thank the benefit of his long legs for speeding to the store in time before it closes. he picks up your favorite.

when you see him come into view, you're waiting with your arms draped around the railing of the bridge.

"trying out for the track team?" you laugh, as he practically runs up to you. "did you run this whole way?"

he's catching his breath, clutching a plastic bag of goodies.

"are you sick?" he asks.

"what? no?"

"i thought you might have the flu." he's asking with genuine concern, it's bizarre. he usually doesn't talk like this unless he knows he's in trouble with you, or if something's really wrong.

"i'm fine." you blink, "i've just been watching the sunset. you missed the best part."

"i didn't know you enjoyed sunsets."

"why didn't you invite me!" he groans, coming over to assume an oddly attractive position by the railing. he slacks against the metal, leaning his weight on it. he lets the plastic bag with yours and suguru's favorites in it thud to the ground.

the cityscape is so pretty, and yet he's still prettier, you think.

"i don't care for them." he admits, "but of course i'll enjoy a sunset if you're watching it with me."

you look at him. he's not even facing the sunset. was something on his mind? you can hardly theorize, because you're giving him that peculiar look again.

he catches you looking at him, "what!"

"what?"

"did i do something wrong?" his breath is stable now, "are you mad at me?"

"no? why d'you think I'm mad at you?" you ask confusedly.

"because you keep lookin' at me like that!"

"like what?" you feel your cheeks warm up.

"like something about me is offensive to your eyes."

you break out laughing. "no! i'm not — it's not — you misunderstand me, like always..."

"what the hell?" he whines, "is it nothing serious? i've been worried. you've been looking at me weird since sunday and — oh... OH MY GOD."

you giggle, chin pressing on the railing. "did you just realize something?"

"is it the haircut!"

"it's the haircut."

"why do you not like it!" he fumes, that familiar satoru playfulness coming back now as he was put at ease knowing he didn't upset you. "you know it cost a lot, 'n i styled it and everything."

"i didn't say i didn't like it! it's the opposite."

"so you like it? then why do you look at me like you're having an internal crisis?"

you groan, "because you're giving me a crisis! you know i'm weak for undercuts!"

he shuts up. his heart races a bit. oh, so he misunderstood you not a little bit but entirely. oops. now why didn't he realize that his haircut would have this effect on you? when he subconsciously went to get an undercut because you mentioned you liked them in passing one school afternoon.

"oh."

"you're so dumb, satoru."

"well sorry!" he rolls his eyes.

now there's silence. he stops leaning his back against the railing and turns to face the final stages of the sunset. the streetlights come on, one is gleaming not too far from you two. it casts a dreamy light on his hair.

it really is a good cut, and it's styled in such a way that... well it gets your daydreams going, let's just say that. and here gojo was worried when he came out of the salon, thinking it was too short now. truthfully, it was a bit short compared to his other haircuts, but he wore it well. of course he did.

"so you like it?"

"i love it."

"well if you love it, then show it love." he teases.

"what on earth d'you mean?" you laugh shortly.

"fluff my hair." he says.

"no way, lice-boy."

"hey!" he pinches your cheek in retaliation, and your reaction endears him as much as it always has since you two were kids. "that was one time, i haven't ever had lice again."

he pouts. you look over. he is pouting. pouting. he's a nineteen year old boy pouting about not getting his hair fluffed by his childhood friend who he maybe sorta kinda has a crush on.

and then he encourages you. he leans his head on your shoulder. his hair tickles your cheek.

"damn. you're like an attention-starved cat." you joke.

he places your hand on his head himself. the brief warmth and glimpse at the size difference between his hand and your hand made him giddy.

you ruffle his hair lightly, and then he wears a satisfied smile. now early night has settled. it's quiet at the bridge except for the distant city sounds and lull of the highway.

"i was really worried that i did something wrong." he admits.

"i'm sorry."

he sighs, snuggling your shoulder. there's a nice silence between you and him.

then he breaks it.

"hey, i didn't say stop fluffing." his deep voice reverbs in your chest. he's playful and lively, but you can tell he's also tired from running all the way here.

"you're a menace." you tell him.

"but you like me, right?" it's more of an insecure question. he wants to hear you say it back, not as a playful joke.

"of course i do."

"good, good."

1K notes · View notes

munson-blurbs · 1 month

Text

Living After Midnight (Failed Rockstar!Eddie x Motel Worker!Reader)

♫ Summary: Running an errand together brings out even more sides of Eddie Munson, including one that you wish you'd never seen (5.2k words)

♫ CW: slowburn, strangers-to-lovers, angst, parental conflict, poverty, jealousy, eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI)

♫ Divider credit to @hellfire--cult

chapter six: the eye of the tiger

Guilt fit like the shoes your mom forced you to wear as a kid, the dressy ones reserved for special occasions. It pinched at you, dug into you, a constant reminder of its unwelcome presence.

And so you did everything you could to alleviate the discomfort. On Wednesday, Dad mosied into the lobby for his shift to find the floor meticulously swept; there was not a speck of dust in sight. If he had any suspicions, he didn’t bother to show them. He was probably just grateful for the help regardless of its cause.

Mom, as usual, was more skeptical of your intentions, raising a disbelieving brow when you presented her with the bills you’d reorganized by their due dates. You’d offered up the excuse of being bored with nothing better to do. Did she buy it? Unlikely. But she also didn’t pose further questions, choreographing another step in your dance.

And when Dad hung up the phone Friday afternoon, thumb and forefinger massaging the bridge of his nose, you jumped at the chance to fix the situation.

“Everything okay?”

He looked up with a start, too wrapped up in his own thoughts to realize you’d been standing in the doorway.

“That was Uncle Mo,” he said with an elongated sigh. “The delivery truck won’t start; something’s busted, I guess, so we won’t get our wallpaper until it’s out of the shop.”

“I can go after class,” you volunteered. The shop was a twenty minute bus ride from school, no transfers required. Lugging it on the subway back home might prove more challenging, but you could manage it.

He dashed your dreams with a swift shake of his head. “They close early for the Sabbath.” Which meant they’d be closed all day tomorrow, too.

Dad glanced around at the walls, lip scraping over his bottom lip. Their barrenness unsettled him; his pride and joy left empty and exposed.

Imagine how he’ll feel once this place is boarded up for good. Bet he won’t care about some ugly walls then.

“I’ll go on Sunday.” The promise practically made itself before you could stop it. Your final paper was due on Tuesday, and you had planned to spend your weekend finishing it, but that would need to take a backseat until the wallpaper crisis was resolved.

You could be part of that solution. For now, at least.

Sunlight teased summer’s beginning and warmed your skin. The walk to the subway station required you to cross paths with the mailbox you’d fought with—and humbly lost to—a few days prior. Dejection shot through your chest as you paused in front of it, focusing on a spot of rusted metal where the paint had flaked off. Short of intercepting the United States Postal Service, there was nothing you could do. Besides, your acceptance was probably already locked inside NYU’s admissions office, sitting among a pile of identical envelopes. Most of them, you suspected, were mailed with exuberance and not with the trepidation you carried.

The station’s stuffiness engulfed you as you descended the stairs, fingertips brushing the railing to ensure your balance. Your return trip would be short of torture, sweat prickling beneath your arms at the mere thought of dragging wallpaper through the thick humidity. You might have to splurge for a cab to avoid melting completely.

Frantic, impassioned guitar strumming grabbed your attention just before you approached the turnstile, echoing off of the concrete and infiltrating all of your senses. Your breath caught in your throat when you saw that Eddie was the source of the noise. He leaned against the wall as he played an electric guitar—the same one he had clutched so dearly when sleeping at the bus stop. There was no microphone, no amplifier; just him and his instrument. The case was open in front of him, now holding a few scattered dollar bills and some loose change.

He didn’t notice you, not at first, so you took that opportunity to silently watch him. His head nodded along with the beat, his voice a low timbre as he sang.

Trust I seek and I find in you

Every day for us something new

Open mind for a different view

And nothing else matters

The chords were nearly drowned out by his vocals, and the softer strumming should have clashed with the harsh lyrics, but he made it work.

It was somehow even sadder than when Metallica played it, though not from a lack of power. Eddie’s version intertwined anger with desperation, a somber reprise of the gritty original.

Deft fingers pressed into the frets, the pick pinched between the other hand’s thumb and forefinger. He took a step forward to launch himself into the chorus with a combination of focus and ease. This is what he was meant to do, what he was born to do. Whether he was in front of a captivated audience of thousands or a smattering of indifferent commuters, he was a rockstar.

Never cared for what they say

Never cared for games they play

Never cared for what they do

Never cared for what they know

And I know, yeah, yeah

Heat blossomed in your belly at his gravelly voice, the way he pulled the notes from the depths of his diaphragm and belted them out. The E train came and went as it screeched along the tracks, but you remained as though the soles of your feet were glued to the ground.

So close, no matter how far

Couldn't be much more from the heart

Forever trusting who we are

No, nothing else matters

For a brief moment after finishing the song, Eddie’s chest puffed out with pride. It quickly faltered in the absence of applause, but before he could play another song, his gaze landed on you. He grinned and shook a stray lock of hair out of his eyes. Part of you wanted to fix it for him, to tuck it behind his ear or sweep it all back into a ponytail, but you refrained. Instead, you dug into your purse and tossed a dollar into the case.

“Was that the one I gave you for the cab?” Eddie asked, fingers absently brushing over the strings in a series of random chords.

“Nah, this was from the other asshole guest who made me late for class.”

Your jibe caught him off-guard and he actually laughed with such force that he had to stop playing. “And here I thought I was the only one.” He ran a hand through his hair, wincing as it snagged on a knot. “Are you going to the library or something?”

You lacked the energy to explain that the library was in the opposite direction, opting instead to cut to the chase. “Picking up the wallpaper.”

Eddie’s brow furrowed and he cocked his head. “I thought it was being delivered.” As you relayed the whole broken-truck saga, he started sliding the guitar strap up off of his back and crouched down, stuffing the money from the case into his pockets. “Cool. I’ll go with.”

“Oh, I wasn’t–” You paused mid-sentence to consider your words. “I mean, you don’t have to. I can do it on my own.”

“S’fine.” Eddie laid the guitar down with the fragility that one would handle a newborn baby and snapped the case shut. “Didn’t realize this station is basically dead on Sundays. I normally just play here during the week, but I’ve been out of commission.” He held up his bandaged finger and pouted impishly.

The familiar playfulness settled back into the conversation, breaking up any lingering awkwardness, and you snatched up the opportunity to tease him. “Ah, right. Your man stuff.”

“Very manly. Burly, some might say.” He extended one hand in front of him, palm up, to gesture towards the turnstiles. “Shall we?”

You led and he followed behind so closely that his chest smacked into your back when you stopped in your tracks. The uneven weight distribution, courtesy of the guitar case lolling at his side, thrusted him forward, the metal buckle on his belt digging into your skin through your shirt.

It set off a domino effect, one that had you falling face-first to the ground. Before you could even brace for impact, you felt Eddie’s fingers digging into your hip and tugging you upright. The way he caught you was almost reflexive, his grasp controlled enough to avoid bruising your skin, but strong enough that you realized he could if he wanted to.

“What happened?” His tone was mixed with both concern and amusement; a crackle of laughter broke up his question.

An embarrassing adrenaline surge shot through you, bringing with it a chill that immediately preceded a heatwave of perspiration. “The, um…” You lamely pointed at the card swipe machines that had replaced the token receptacles. “I forgot that we need those MetroCard things.”

Eddie let go of your hip and you felt his absence almost immediately. “No, we don’t.” He left no time for questioning, hoisting the case to the other side and pushing himself up and over the bar, landing on his feet with cat-like dexterity.

You stared at him in disbelief. Sure, you’d jumped the turnstile a time or two, but that was back in high school, under the influence of friends you hadn’t talked to since.

“What’re you waiting for?” He called out. A Cheshire-cat grin graced his lips.

What were you waiting for? It’s not like the transit police were scouring the station. The poor schmuck stuck at the now-defunct token booth was exasperatedly trying to explain the new system to an older gentleman; he probably wouldn’t have noticed a wildebeest stampede. And you certainly weren’t eager to contribute to the politicians who lined their pockets with taxpayer money.

Fuck it.

In one swift motion—much more graceful than your earlier stumble—you mimicked his actions. One foot, then the other, your biceps supporting your body weight.

“You little rebel.” Eddie tutted, his smirk showing off his teeth. You never noticed the way one canine is slightly sharper than the other, and it digs into his lower lip. “This is how it starts, y’know. One day, you’re skipping out on train fare; the next, you’re committing armed robbery.”

If he kept rubbing your nerves raw, you might be more tempted to commit homicide.

Another E train arrived not long after. You were an expert at scouting empty seats, and you made a beeline for the first one you found. There was another one across the way, just vacated by a woman pushing a stroller, and you assumed Eddie would take it.

Instead, he shoved his guitar case towards you, parting your legs between the knees, and grabbed onto one of the overhead handles.

“Can you hold this?” Eddie asked belatedly. He rocked forward onto his toes as the train moved to keep his balance. A guitar pick necklace swung out from beneath the vee of his shirt and swayed above you.

You drank in the way he towered over you, so close that he was all you could see. The mingled scents of the motel’s soap and a musky deodorant wafted off of him and enveloped your senses. For a second, there was only him, and whatever the outside world had to offer was just shy of meaningless.

“There’s a seat down there.” You peered around him and gestured to the one you’d spotted earlier, careful not to point at anyone.

Eddie looked but declined with a shrug. “Nah, I’m good. I like standing.”

“See, that’s the kind of thing that separates the natives from the transplants.” You smiled up at him. “You didn’t even want to sit down after a gig? Or a long rehearsal?”

“I didn’t really ever take the subway,” he admitted. “Maybe, like, once or twice.”

You huffed out an incredulous laugh. “How did you get around?”

“Taxis, car service.” He ticked off the items on his free hand. “One time we rented a helicopter, but then the label threatened to revoke the company card.” He chuckled forlornly, like the memory was heavier than an impromptu helicopter ride.

“Sounds like you were living the life.”

Eddie shook off his wistfulness with a cheeky grin. “Hell yeah. Expensive restaurants, swanky hotels…did I ever tell you about the time we trashed our room?”

“You did not.” You’re not sure you want to know, considering he’s currently staying in one of yours.

He laughed. “Get this: we come back to the hotel after a gig. We’re all fuckin’ exhausted. As soon as we walk into the lobby, the night manager is on us like a hawk. I mean, the guy gave a stink eye like you wouldn’t believe.” He tried mimicking him, but he was too upbeat to embody the manager’s full ire. “Anyway, we’re not in the room for five minutes when there’s a knock on the door. Of course it’s that schmuck, warning us about the noise policy.”

You looked at him incredulously. “That’s why you destroyed a hotel room?”

“Mhm.” Eddie proudly nodded, not missing the way concern furrowed your brow. “Don’t worry, Heiress. I’d never trash your place.”

“I’d have to get Phyllis after you.” Laughter bubbled out of you at his visible cringe, probably thinking of being on the other end of her baseball bat. “Okay, so what’s the dumbest thing you guys bought with the company card?”

People pushed through the aisle as the train pulled up to the stop, elbows nudging Eddie until he was practically on top of you. Every hair on your body stood up at the sudden change in proximity. “Probably one of those stuffed tiger things for our apartment,” he admitted.

“You and your band bought a taxidermied tiger?” You scoffed.

His face flushed, and he scratched at his jaw like he’d been caught red-handed. “N-No, not the whole band. Just me and the drummer. We, um, she was my girlfriend, I guess.”

Puzzle pieces started falling into place and interlocking curves. His ex-girlfriend was also in the band, which was probably why they broke up once Eddie quit. “How long were you two together?” You instantly regret not asking about the tiger instead, for his sake and yours.

“Hard to say; we were pretty on-and-off.” Eddie tried to play it off casually but terse laughter gave him away. The subway lurched and Eddie swayed forward again, his knee grazing yours. “But it was about a year from start to finish.”

You let the information sink in. He had a girlfriend in Death’s Echo, but he seemed to be unattached at the moment. Made sense, considering he was living in your motel rather than with a partner.

“That’s what no one tells you about money: it runs out.” Eddie continued. “It’s like, common sense or whatever. But when you have no money and then you get a shit-ton of it, it’s hard to imagine ever going back.”

His eyes found yours like he had been searching for them, and you held his gaze until a monotone voice crackled over the speaker, announcing that the train was approaching the Forest Hills-71st Avenue station.

“We have to transfer here.”

Eddie wrinkled his nose, clearly not thrilled by this extra step, but he followed your lead without any audible protest.

“Y’know,” he said as the doors opened, the two of you joining the swarm of people pushing their way out, “my neighborhood back home was also called Forest Hills.”

“Seems fancy,” you quipped.

He laughed, head thrown back. “Oh, yeah. It’s the most glamorous trailer park in all of Indiana.”

The faux pas curdled in your stomach. What were you thinking? He had just confessed that he was broke before Death’s Echo.

“Sorry, that was stupid.”

He shrugged off your comment, seemingly unbothered. “How many stops is this next one?”

“Just two.”

He hummed his acknowledgment, and with the R train less crowded than the E, you found seats adjacent to one another.

You did your best to ignore the way his right leg brushed your left, the worn denim against your bare skin as the train jostled him. He murmured a barely-audible “sorry.”

There was no reason for him to apologize, and you almost told him this, but you substituted a tight smile for words. Truthfully, you were glad he confirmed that the touch was accidental. You’d nearly nudged him back, a secret handshake of sorts, and your body burned with the mere prospect of embarrassment.

The train screeched to a stop in front of a sign that barely read 63rd Drive-Rego Park, most of the letters covered in colorful graffiti tags.

“This is us,” you said, handing him back his guitar so you could stand up.

Eddie stepped aside with a small bow, equal parts awkward and endearing. “So, uh, where are we going, exactly?” He stayed close enough so you could hear him over the cacophony of commuters.

“S’just a few blocks.” You maintained your fast-paced stride so as to not get bowled over.

He kept up with you surprisingly well for someone unused to navigating the city’s public transit. The fresh air welcomed you as you ascended the stairs, leaving behind the station’s mugginess. Conversations and traffic replaced metallic clunking while you weaved in and out of a sea of pedestrians, checking every so often to ensure you hadn’t left Eddie behind.

Bold white letters on a maroon awning proudly proclaimed Eisen’s Paint and Supply, and the faint sound of bell chimed when you opened the door. A middle-aged man stood behind the counter, eyes lighting up when you walked in.

“Uncle Mo!” You exclaimed, wrapping your arms around him in a hug. Uncle Mo wasn’t your father’s brother, but their bond went beyond blood relation. He was part of nearly all of Dad’s stories since they’d met in high school: the good, the bad, and the ugly.

There was more gray in his hair and in his beard than the last time you’d seen him, the lines from his lips to his jaw more pronounced, but he still wore the same cologne that you’d remembered. The familiar scent was like home, a reminder of all of the Thanksgivings your families had spent together before the motel engulfed your life.

He beamed, his hands bracing your upper arms as he got a better look at you. “Look at you; so grown up!” His eyes misted over for a second before he blinked the moisture away. “How long has it been?”

“Too long.” You turned back to Eddie, waving him over and introducing him. Uncle Mo politely extended a hand that Eddie shook quickly before shoving his fingers back in his pocket.

“Before I get your paper,” Uncle Mo said to you with a mischievous smile, “I have a bit of a surprise.” The stockroom door swung open on cue and a young man stepped out from behind it.

Your hand flew to your mouth in shock, every bone in your body vibrating. “Ben?” The name was muffled but still audible, and Ben opened his arms just in time for you to tackle him in an embrace.

His gangly teenage limbs had been replaced with hard muscle, his chest straining through his t-shirt. There was no trace of the wispy excuse for a mustache he’d once proudly sported; his face was freshly shaven, only the slightest evidence of his stubble scratched against your cheek when he pulled you to him.

“I couldn’t believe it when my dad told me you were stopping by,” Ben said, finally letting go after a few moments. He looked at Eddie as if noticing him for the first time. “Ben. Nice to meet you.”

Eddie said nothing in response, his jaw set and his arms crossed over his chest. Whatever friendliness he’d shown Uncle Mo was clearly not being granted to his son.

“Ben, this is Eddie,” you hurried to explain before the tension became unbearably dense. “He works for the motel, doing different repairs and odd jobs. Whatever we need, really.”

Your old friend nodded and brought his attention back to you. “Do you guys need help bringing the wallpaper back? I don’t have anything to–”

“We’ve got it.” Eddie cut him off curtly, clipping the conversation’s wings. His eyes narrowed in judgmental assessment and their milk chocolate hue turned dark.

Ben had evidently stepped on his toes; you thought back to the wasp’s nest and his adamance to clobber it with a baseball bat despite your insistence to wait until you bought the spray. You shot Eddie a look that he either disregarded or didn’t notice, because his clenched jaw never loosened.

“Right, yeah.” A blush crept into Ben’s cheeks, the other man’s brusqueness catching him off-guard. “But we should catch up soon,” he said to you, “maybe grab a cup of coffee?”

It was an effort to ignore the way Eddie tensed up; even more so to pretend like his reaction hadn’t stirred something inside of you. Everything between you and him, and you and Ben, was strictly platonic. Whatever melodrama he’d conjured up was his problem, not yours.

Your relationship with Eddie teetered between acquaintances and friends; he was in no position to get bent out of shape over you going for coffee with Ben or any other man.

You pushed the intrusive thought away long enough to answer Ben’s question. “Yeah, of course! You’re home for the whole summer?”

“Actually…” Ben’s grin widened, harboring a secret he was eager to spill. “I’m back for good. You’re looking at Dr. Benjamin Eisen, D.D.S.”

“That’s amazing!”

He nodded happily, enthusiasm unrestrained. “Thanks. I’m hoping to open up a practice nearby, so I’ll be sticking around for a while.”

That was the best news you’d heard in a while. The pair of you were once inseparable, always devising plans to convince your parents to extend their visits. When you were six, you’d almost started a fire trying to put on a pot of coffee, hoping that it would coax the Eisens into staying longer.

Too bad you’d forgotten to add the water.

Uncle Mo returned from the stock room with rolls of wallpaper, and his son shuffled towards him to take one from his grasp.

“Are you sure I can’t help out?” Ben tried again. He only looked at you when he spoke.

You almost took him up on his offer, the reply sitting on the tip of your tongue, but Eddie answered for you.

“We’re good,” he said flatly, taking the rolls from the other men. “I used to lug around amps all the time. This is nothing.”

He’d uttered the same phrase before taking a bat to a wasp’s nest, and he’d ended up hurt. Still, inviting Ben along would almost certainly guarantee an awkward commute home. At best, you’d force stilted small talk; at worst, Eddie might shove Ben onto the tracks.

“Thanks anyway,” you said politely, trying to temper your irritation.

Ben gave a tight smile, brows shooting up when remembered something. “Let me give you my new phone number so we can set up a time to meet up.” He plucked a business card from the little plastic container on the desk, flipping it over and scrawling his number on the back.

“Sounds great.” It truly did, save for Eddie’s glare that made you grateful looks couldn’t actually kill.

Tucking the card into your purse, you held him in one last hug before bidding them goodbye.

Eddie said nothing the entire walk back to the subway station. He strode there despite heaving around a guitar case and cylinders of wallpaper. You suspected he could have flown there if he wasn’t so bogged down. The closest he came to acknowledging your presence was the scoff he let out when you veered off-course to buy a MetroCard.

You ignored him, still fuming over his behavior towards Ben. With trembling fingers, you dropped your change into the coin slot, acutely aware of his presence as he stood beside you. He was close enough that you could hear his tense sigh, as though his frustration was justified.

Yanking the card out from behind the swinging Plexiglass, you silently stalked over to the turnstile, Eddie begrudgingly hot on your heels. The tiny diagram showed the magnetic strip facing downwards and you did your best to emulate it. After two failed swipes, the machine relented and gave an approving beep.

“Go,” you told Eddie, and when he stared at you blankly, you repeated yourself with considerably less patience. “Go.”

“Okay, okay.” There was no hiding his surprise at your insistence, the sharpness of your tongue. He obviously wasn't accustomed to taking the attitude he dished out. His eyebrows crashed into his hairline as he maneuvered through, wallpaper bumping up against the metal gates.

There wasn’t enough money left on the card for you, so after a brief glance at your surroundings, you once again lift yourself up and over to the other side. The metal barrier seemed laughably obsolete beneath you.

Eddie blinked twice in rapid succession but composed himself before you reached him again. A peculiar expression graced his face; not so much amusement as much as admiration. If you weren’t so annoyed with him, with his antics back at Eisen’s, you might have cracked a joke about his bad influence rubbing off on you.

The first leg of the trip—the shortest part, as it were, went smoothly. It was once the E train departed from Forest Hills that it almost immediately halted, the exasperated conductor announcing that extensive track work was causing delays.

“Fucking great,” you muttered. Experience told you that the remainder of the ride would be stop-and-go, which meant more time spent with Eddie.

He’d exhaled an exasperated sigh of his own, eyes flickering over the subway car and foot tapping to a beat only he could hear. When he finally spoke, it was the last thing you’d expected him to say.

“Wanna play I Spy?”

“Um, what?”

“Y’know, I spy with my little eye…” he explained, as though you were confused about the game concept.

It took every last ounce of energy not to burst out laughing at his odd request, though it helped that annoyance still tarnished your mood. “All right. Sure.”

“Cool.” He glanced around again, rubbing his palms over his thighs in concentration. “Okay, I spy with my little eye, something purple.”

Squinting, you searched for shades of lilac and violet. “That woman’s shirt?” You jutted your chin towards an older woman sitting across the car.

“Nope.”

“That little girl’s shoes?”

Eddie just shook his head, his dimples gradually deepening with each wrong answer you gave.

Your next three guesses were also incorrect, and Eddie triumphantly pumped his fist when you admitted defeat.

“It’s the words on that sign,” he said, pointing to an advertisement for psychic readings.

It was your turn, and it didn’t take you long to find your target.

“I spy with my little eye, something…douchey.” Your gaze never left his face, watching the skin crease between his brows as he connected your implication.

Eddie threw his head back and cackled, drawing the ire of your fellow commuters. You shushed him with a hiss, his apathy only fueling your anger.

“Fine, I guess I deserved that.” He leaned back in his seat and stretched his arms upwards. For a second, you thought he might drape one over your shoulders, but he brought them right back to his lap.

“You guess?” You gawped, and he laughed even louder. “You were a total asshole to Ben for no reason.”

Eddie’s voice got feather-soft; you had to lean in to hear him. “Trust me; I had a reason.”

You snorted. “What, him offering to help carry the wallpaper threatened your ‘man stuff?’”

“Something like that.”

Crossing your arms, you shot him a bemused grimace. Whatever testosterone-laden excuse he concocted would just strengthen your irritation, so you saved yourself the headache and plundered on.

“Ben and I have been friends since I was born.” That wasn’t an exaggeration; a photo of one-year-old Ben holding newborn you was tucked away in one of Mom’s albums. Dad had snapped the photo while Uncle Mo sat next to his son, helping cradle your head. You were only a few hours old. “Whatever your problem is, don’t make it mine. Or his,” you add.

Eddie had no response to that, and you preferred it that way. Maybe he was learning not to argue with you, especially when he was so obviously wrong.

Your response halted all conversation for the rest of the extended ride and continued during the short trek back to the motel. The quiet was necessary, but not peaceful, and you refused to buckle when an invisible pull urged you to talk again, to push past the discomfort. If you couldn’t outright tell him that he’d upset you, the least he could do was feel that anger.

“Where do these go?” Eddie asked once the motel’s doors closed behind you. You pointed to the supply closet and he ambled over, wincing as the hinges squeaked in a plea for lubrication. “All right, so, I can get started on this tonight if you want.”

You considered this for a moment before shaking your head. The lobby could survive another night with bare walls, but you needed a break. A break not just from Eddie, but from his naivety to his actions having consequences.

“Tomorrow’s fine.”

He stilled, his hands halfway in his pockets. “I mean, I was going to stop by anyway; I might as well—”

“I think I just need some quiet tonight.” It was the nicest response you could muster, though the way the words passed through your clenched teeth gave away your annoyance.

“Oh.” His cheeks puffed out as he exhaled a breath of air, his eyes refusing to meet yours. Confusion tied his tongue, but if he didn’t realize the mistake he’d made, you were in no mood to spell it out. He waited a beat for you to follow up, to iron out the creases with an explanation that had nothing to do with his earlier behavior, but that never happened.

The lack of reassurance pained you, too. You despised leaving matters unfinished; part of you wanted to apologize—for what, you weren’t sure—just to have some resolution.

Eddie raked his fingers through his curls. “Well, I’m sorry for pissing you off, or whatever.”

Or whatever. Those two words almost had you smacking him upside the head with the wallpaper tubes. Maybe sealing his lips with the glue, too.

The worst part was the shock on his face when you’d wordlessly stormed out of the supply closet towards your room. Like he had no idea what he’d done wrong or why his non-apology fell flat.

No, that was a lie. The worst part was actually the pang of disappointment in your chest when there were no footsteps pounding down the hall, no knock on your door, no attempt to talk through the situation. As much as you wanted to be left alone, you’d clutched to an optimistic sliver that he would follow you. It was a pathetic need for proof that he cared about you as more than just his employer. As his friend.

But there was nothing.

That silence hurt most of all.

taglist (now closed ♥):

@theintimatewriter @mandyjo8719 @storiesbyrhi @lady-munson @moonmark98 @squidscottjeans @therealbaberuthless @emxxblog @munson-mjstan @loves0phelia @kthomps914 @aysheashea @munsonsbtch @mmunson86 @b-irock @ginasellsbooks @erinekc @the-unforgivenn @dashingdeb16 @micheledawn1975 @yujyujj @eddies-acousticguitar @daisy-munson @kellsck @foreveranexpatsposts @mykuup @chatteringfox @feelinglikeineedlotsofnaps @sapphire4082 @katethetank @sidthedollface2 @eddies-stinky-battle-jacket @mysteris-things @mrsjellymunson @josephquinnsfreckles @the-disaster-in-waiting @eddielowe @hugdealer @rip-quizilla @munson-girl @fishwithtitz @costellation-hunter @cloudroomblog @emsgoodthinkin

#eddie x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #lam

283 notes · View notes

gyroncraft · 5 months

Text

finally got a minecraft server up and built this bridge to a friends area, using the huge world i had already built some rail through, now i get to build stations tunnels and bridges for people to ride around ^_^

havent built a station yet but theres a sizeable rail interchange under the mountain

modlist - pastebin

#mineblr #minecraft screenshots #minecraft #minecraft build #minecraft wip #modded minecraft

283 notes · View notes

amtrak-official · 6 months

Text

The FRA has awarded Amtrak almost 10 Billion dollars for NEC projects including the East River Tunnel Rehabilitation, Fredrick Douglas Tunnel, Susquehanna and Sawtooth River Bridge Replacements, The Baltimore Penn Station Modernisation Project, and a study to upgrade tracks to 110 mph in eastern CT, among other projects

#train news

169 notes · View notes

lulu2992 · 4 months

Text

Uncovering the unreleased Far Cry 5 in-game Encyclopedia

The almost complete but unused in-game encyclopedia, reconstructed thanks to the oasisstrings file.

Please note that it’s still cut content, so some information might not be relevant anymore.

You can read the oasisstrings file here. Pictures from this encyclopedia were also extracted and posted by @xbaebsae here.

Part 2: Locations - Holland Valley

Gardenview Packing Facility

The last facility added to the Hadlers' apple empire. They shipped their apples throughout Hope County and beyond. When the cult went red state, the Hadlers stopped their legal threats and resorted to violence.

Silver Lake Trailer Park

A community of people just trying to do their best.

Gardenview Orchards

A part of Doug and Debbie Hadler’s apple empire. After their ciderworks facility, they expanded to a second, larger orchard: Gardenview Orchards. Then they opened the Gardenview Packing Facility.

Rae-Rae's Pumpkin Farm

Fiery matriarch Rae-Rae Bouthillier cares about two things: Prize-winning pumpkins and her dog Boomer.

Gardenview Ciderworks

The first major facility owned by Doug and Debbie Hadler. Ten years ago, they had a dream: an empire made of apples. They nearly achieved it too, until the cult forcibly took over everything they had worked for.

Bridge of Tears

It was called the Mišihrew Bridge when the railroad was still active. It’s now a rickety old train bridge and John Seed's ideal location to send a warning message to all sinners.

Frobisher's Cave

In 1970, a cougar, named "Frobisher" by the locals, killed the star pitcher of a rival baseball team. The Hope County Silver Foxes won that year and changed their name to the Cougars in Frobisher's honor.

Howard Cabin

Home of Niesha Howard, an extreme rock climber from Canada who moved to Montana to be a prepper.

Copperhead Rail Yard

Copperhead Rail was created in the late 1800s by Emmet Reaves. It was shut down in the early 70s and a lot got left behind. It became a place for kids to get drunk or bums to find shelter, then the cult bought it.

Lincoln Lookout Tower

It’s the last working fire tower in the county. A man who worked here promised to help the Strickland family fight off the cult if ever their farm was under attack.

Sergey’s Place

A hobo historian calls this place home. Nobody's seen him in a while though.

Boyd Residence

Will Boyd lives here, or at least he did. No one in the valley talks about him. And for good reason.

Strickland Farm

Property owned by the Strickland family of farmers. No friends to Eden’s Gate.

U.S. Auto

A scrap yard containing trashed cars, broken farm equipment, and even a few busted planes. Eden's Gate uses the garage to build and maintain their convoys.

Doverspike Compound

Les Doverspike was a militia nut and he built himself a bunker. Nobody in the prepper community liked him. Despite that, he was anti-cult and pro-Resistance.

Harris Residence

Mike and Deb Harris were preppers with a cunning plan to keep themselves fed after the end of the world.

Reservoir Construction Yard

Deep North Water wanted to build a new reservoir for the Holland Valley. The company ran out of funding and was chased away by Eden’s Gate.

Dodd’s Dumps

Colin Dodd used to run garbage disposal for the whole Holland Valley, and his business lot shows it. The cult intimidated him into leaving but has yet to sort through all he left behind.

Davenport Farm

The remains of a run-down farm. Local farmers let their cows graze here. Can't let good land go to waste.

Hilgard Electric Power Station

The Holland Valley's power supply is reliant on this transformer station which is controlled by Eden's Gate.

Golden Valley Gas

Once the kind of gas station that gave out free bubble gum to kids, Golden Valley is now a strategic point of gasoline and auto maintenance for the Project at Eden's Gate.

Green-Busch Fertilizer Co.

Facing a decline in business, the Green-Busch family said “yes” and sold the place to John Seed on the condition that locals could keep their jobs and work alongside Eden's Gate.

St. Isidore School

Once a religious boarding school, it was forced to close its doors by Eden's Gate.

Dodd Residence

Home of Colin Dodd, hoarder and DIY enthusiast. He never throws anything out. His granddaughter Nadine's been known to lurk here.

Roberts Cabin

Home of Joe Roberts, a hunter. He's gone missing. He loved hunting deer above all else.

Hope County Clinic

Dr. Kim Patterson provides medical services to Hope County's farmers and low-income residents, many of whom would never receive care in such a remote area.

Holland Valley Station

In the days that it was up and running, Copperhead Rail used to stop here. Eden’s Gate uses this station to catch people who try to escape the region.

Grain Elevator

As the farmlands started to collapse, the grain elevator was the first casualty. Too expensive to maintain.

Henbane River Rail Bridge

Copperhead Rail was created in the 1880s during a mining boom, and shut down in the early 70s after the industry collapsed.

Flatiron Stockyards

Bobby Budell established the stock yards in 1946, and has proudly provided farm and ranch auction services since. The economic and community base employed over 25 people at its height.

Fillmore Residence

Home of Doug Fillmore. Not much is known about him.

Dupree Residence

Home of Tommy Dupree, an idiot who used to work at Green-Busch Fertilizer Co. He got fired by Eden's Gate because he was as dumb as the crap he bagged.

Catamount Mines

Fall’s End owes its existence to the gold Orville Fall discovered here in 1865. The mine brought a generation of prosperity to the region until a suspicious accident entombed 100 men within it, forcing its closure in 1912.

Sunrise Farm

Sunrise Farm was going under, so owners Mike and Chandra Dunagan reluctantly sold it to Eden's Gate. Big mistake.

Deep North Irrigation Reservoir

Originally designed to irrigate farms, the reservoir became a liability when the cult began putting Bliss in the water supply. The Resistance sealed it up to buy themselves time.

Red’s Farm Supply

The Redler family has run this place for 4 generations, and earned a reputation for honest business. Wendell did his best to keep it out of cult hands.

Purpletop Telecom Tower

In the 1950s, Purpletop Telecom built this tower, blessing people with the wonders of AM radio. As time and technology marched forward, they were also given the American splendor of a local TV station.

Woodson Pig Farm

This place has been in the Woodson family since 1943. Current owners Andrew and Frances Woodson used their wealth to try to stand up to John Seed and fight him in court. They lost, and joined the Resistance.

Sawyer Residence

Don Sawyer came from out of town to join the Project at Eden's Gate. He restores canoes, but isn't very good at it. Visitors have sworn they've heard him swearing in Russian over those boats.

Hyde Barn

Kenny Hyde's a poor man in Holland Valley, but that doesn't stop him from loving deep fried balls. He's the proud keeper of Fall’s End Testy Festy decorations, stashing them at his barn until they're needed.

Kupka Ranch

Zip Kupka's the only one who really knows what's going on in the Holland Valley.

John’s Gate

A missile silo long decommissioned and abandoned. The locals used to call it "Area 68." Eden's Gate bought it in secret and turned it into a bunker that is in John Seed's safekeeping until the Collapse.

Security Gate

Formerly the entrance to the missile silo, it's now the gateway to John Seed's bunker. Everything taken in the Reaping passes through this checkpoint.

Steele Farm

The Steele family managed to get their kids out of Hope County, but stayed behind to try and defend their home from Eden's Gate.

Lamb of God Church

A Lutheran church. Its elderly priest was overshadowed by Pastor Jerome’s charismatic sermons. John once asked the priest to say “yes.” Not a chance. Then, the priest was gone. He had taken a “long vacation.”

Lamb of God Sacristy

The Project at Eden's Gate has turned the Lamb of God Church's sacristy into a holding place for everything they need to baptize people at the water's edge.

Armstrong Residence

The Project at Eden's Gate targeted the Armstrong family early, burning their home to the ground when Grace Armstrong refused to devote her sharpshooting skills to the Father's cause.

Bradbury Tractor Shed

A shed for tractors.

Hope County Jail Bus

Prisoners hijacked this bus but were run off the road. The wreck was left to rot in the woods. When Eden's Gate brought prohibition to Hope County, some enterprising moonshiners set up shop behind the cult’s back.

Parker Laboratories

Home and workshop of Dr. Laurence Parker, and the origin of many mysterious noise complaints.

Seed Ranch

The power of yes gave John Seed this dream ranch overlooking the Holland Valley. it has commanding views, a private air strip, and secluded soundproofed rooms for his most invigorating religious pursuits.

Bradbury Farm

The home of the Bradbury family, hay farmers for generations. The strange pattern of dead hay in the field does not impact the quality of the final product. That's the Bradbury guarantee.

Bradbury Hay Field

Bradbury Farm's hay is baled and stored here before being sold to clients looking to feed their livestock with quality hay.

Laurel Residence

Laurel family honey was a local market favorite until their bee colony collapsed and jeopardized the business. It also spooked the Laurels who sunk money into a bunker and became preppers overnight.

Eden’s Gate Greenhouse

Bliss plants are found throughout the Henbane River, but they're also found here. John Seed takes the flowers he receives by boat from the east and plants them in his greenhouse.

Seed Boat Launch

Once a favorite spot for summer frolickers, this boat launch is used by John Seed for receiving shipments of Bliss and other supplies from elsewhere in Hope County.

Rye & Sons Aviation

This plot of land was first settled in 1920 by Willard Rye. He started a crop dusting business. His sons inherited both and it now belongs to the current generation of Ryes: Nick & Kim.

Kellett Cattle Co.

The Kellett family supplied beef for 3 generations. These proud Republicans thought they recognized the American spirit in Eden’s Gate, but when John Seed asked them to serve the Project, they said “no.”

Fall’s End

After prospector Orville Fall struck gold, his small mining camp quickly grew. Decades later, his rival, rail baron Emmett Reaves, shot him dead in the streets, giving the town its official name.

Old Silo

Welcome to the middle of it.

Kay-Nine Kennels

The owner, Kay Wheeler, loved her dogs more than life itself. She bred and trained hunting and guard dogs. When Eden’s Gate showed up, the local demand for guard dogs tripled. John Seed noticed and took action.

Sunrise Threshing

A silo and shed complex attached to Sunrise Farm. Rumor has it that Mike Dunagan's stashed a lot of cool shit around here somewhere.

Redler Residence

Home of Wendell Redler, local businessman and Vietnam veteran.

Adams Ranch

Jules Adams lost her husband in an "accident" after saying no to John Seed. Her family's struggled to keep the cattle ranch out of cult hands ever since.

Miller Residence

Despite financial hardship, the Miller family refused the cult’s invitations, prepping for doomsday all on their own. When the reaping came, Jerry Miller was out working.

Wellington Residence

The Wellington family mine is an urban legend, supposedly stuffed with gold, explosives, or both depending who you ask. Generations of Wellingtons (possibly inbred) have tried and failed to strike it rich here.

#far cry 5 #hope county #holland valley #boomer #wendell redler #kenny hide #zip kupka #john seed #jerome jeffries #grace armstrong #larry parker #nick rye #kim rye #far cry absolution #will boyd

96 notes · View notes

presidentlokis-hornyhelmet · 11 months

Note

Please make more PAVITR X READER PLEASE 🥺🥺

- Angst

- Fluff

- Jealousy 😍

ANYTHING PLEASE

Six Feet's Never Felt So Far [Angst]

Summary: Pavitr is only belatedly told you were in the bus with Gayatri, but now it's too late. TW: Blood and Injury, Major Character Death, Near Death Experiences A/N: you said angst..👉👈 As usual all Hindi words and nicknames are googled, sorry if they're wrong! '^_^

Pavitr Prabhakar, aka Mumbattan's friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man, swung to the accident spot immediately, getting to work.

A bridge connecting two cites across the ocean had collapsed in the middle and vehicles along with people were falling. Pavitr swung in saving a few civilians who fell off the railings and set them to safety. Screams get his attention and Pavitr finds a brightly coloured city bus about to tip off the broken edge of the bridge and ran towards it.

"AAAH!"

Spidey turned around at the screech only to find Mr. Singh, his best friend Gayatri's father and Inspector of the local police station, about to be smashed by a falling concrete peice with the little child he saved.

He needs to act soon.

Pavitr quickly calculates that the bus is approximately six feet from safety. He could do this!

He shoots his web, catching onto the rear end of the bus and ties it to a pole. He shoots another web at the inspector, pulling him away from the debris and to safety.

Seeing the policeman is uninjured, he turns to the falling vehicle dangling by a literal thread.

"All of you, get to the rear end!", he yells to the passengers stuck in the bus, shooting more webs at it.

His efforts grow stronger when he sees Gayatri trapped inside, shouting for help.

Inspector Singh joins him and together they pull the vehicle back onto more stable parts of the bridge. The passengers stumble out one by one, shaking and shivering from the near-death experience.

Gayatri comes out and Pavitr rushes to her, throwing his arms around his best friend. He couldn't live without her rants and incessant fussing.

"Thank God, you're okay!"

Spidey quickly retracts upon realizing he's being too familiar for a stranger, stuttering out excuses that don't come out as smooth as he likes.

Gayatri's horrified expression softens a little when she sees her father and rushes towards him with extended hands, panicking. "Papa!"

"Mera beta", the policeman says, sighing in relief as he kisses her forehead. "I thought I lost you."

"Papa!", she tugged at his sleeve anxiously, tears pooling at her eyes as she pointed towards the bus, "Y/n is in there!"

"What!?"

Colour drains from Pavitr's face under the mask and he rushes towards the bus, frantically searching for you inside and under the seats as the Inspector follows suit.

A choked cough catches Spider-Man's attention and he turns, finding you jammed into the drivers seat at the damaged front of the bus.

You seem to have crashed your head into the glass, blood trickling down your forehead. Pavitr tears up and gently pulls you into his arm, carrying you bridal style outside.

'It okay, it's okay, N/n is alive', Pavitr chants, convincing himself that he made it in time. He won't let what happened to Uncle Bhim happen to you too!

He tries so hard to be strong for you, but seeing you almost dead shook him.

"You okay?", he croaks, hoping his voice doesn't give him away. Tears roll down his cheek under his mask as he tries not to break.

"Pa..pavu.."

It was your nickname for him, one only you and Maya auntie were allowed to call him. But in that moment Pavitr didn't care if you knew his alter-ego, all he could think was how he saved you from the brink of death.

"Pavu? Is he your boyfriend?", he jokes, hoping to make you feel better.

It's an inside joke between you two, saying 'this is their boyfriend' everytime you pick up each other's call.

You smile weakly. "You're... Spider-Man?"

He nods, blinded by the tears clouding his vision, aware that you have a horrible pun in line. However, his smile falls when he sees your eyelids droop; blood trickles down your nose and you're losing consciousness.

No, no, no, no, NO-!

"Stay with me, N/n, please", he pats your cheeks hoping to prevent you from slipping out of consiouness. "C'mon", he tries desperately, holding to you tight to his chest as he shoots his web onto the railings of the bridge, "Stay with me. Just hang in there, we're going to the hospital. Everything will be fine!"

You wheeze, struggling to breathe as you heave, and go lax in his arms. Pavitr is content, until he realises you let go.

No, nO, NO, GOD, NO!

"Pavu.. I love you....."

Your body goes limp in his arms and that's when the whole world ceases moving for him. His heart beat stops as he freezes in shock, unable to digest your death.

No, no, it's not possible! He can still save you! You've just blacked out, that's all!

He can't.. won't lose you like this.

Gayatri begins to cry, holding her father for comfort who soothes her with moistened eyes; you were a like a child to him too.

Pavitr's knees buckle and he sinks to the ground, the gravity of your death too much for him to bear. Guilt chokes his throat and he lets out a loud cry, holding your lifeless body securely in his lap -afraid that if he lets go, you might just disappear. His shoulders sag as he leans into you, cradling your face, resting his forehead on yours one last time.

The other spider heroes arrive just then to witness the ever cheerful Pavitr break. It's not, afterall, too far from what they themselves have experienced at some point; such was the curse upon every spider hero.

Tears soak through his mask as Pavitr watches life leave you, sobbing at his cruel fate.

"Meri jaan.."

______________

*Meri jaan means "my life". I learnt it from another pavitr hc Tumblr post '^_^

#atsv pavitr spidey looks more indian with his hair ngl #pavitr prabhakar #pavitr x you #pavitr x reader #spiderverse #spiderman india

238 notes · View notes

feigeroman · 3 months

Text

The Vicarstown Car Ferry

Above: This is not the Vicarstown car ferry train. I just needed a screenshot of a car on a train, and this was the closest I had to hand.

Every year, the Island of Sodor receives thousands of visitors from the Mainland, and obviously, the vast majority come by rail. A significant number, however, choose to arrive by car. Nowadays, this is no trouble, as they can simply drive across the Jubilee Bridge, which carries the main A950 road over the Walney Channel.

The bridge only opened in 1977, though, and any motorists arriving before then had to rely on the NWR's services to get themselves and their cars on and off of Sodor. And thereby hangs a fascinating tale about a little-known aspect of the NWR's history.

EARLY NWR EFFORTS

Above: The Vicarstown Bridge, in an undated view (obviously post-1975, given the presence of Spencer).

It all started with the construction of the NWR's own bridge over the Channel in 1915. In those days, there was no other link between Sodor and the Mainland, and thus no other way for goods and passengers to arrive. Some of those passengers wanted to bring their own horse-drawn carriages with them, and so was born one of the earliest vehicle-and-owner trains to run on Sodor. To begin with, it was simply a case of strapping the vehicle to a special carriage truck, and coupling it up to whatever passenger train its owner was travelling in. The truck then travelled as far as the nearest station to wherever the owner was going, where it was detached and the vehicle rolled off.

Above: For a time, the NWR also offered the use of a horsebox in conjunction with a carriage truck, so that the carriage’s owner could take his own horse with him, and avoid having to search for one at the other end of his journey. This cost extra, though, so there were few takers.

THE VICARSTOWN CAR FERRY

With the boom of private motoring in the early-1920s, there came a similar explosion in demand for the carriage of road vehicles by rail. This in turn resulted in the NWR running its first dedicated car-carrying trains - albeit only on an as-and-when basis, and with cars and drivers travelling in separate trains. The NWR did not return to vehicle-and-owner trains until 1927, when it launched a regular car ferry service between Vicarstown and Barrow-in-Furness - probably the best-known of all its car-carrying trains.

This new service had been made possible by the 1925 LMS Agreement, which gave the NWR running powers into Barrow, and in turn required Vicarstown to be converted for through running. Among the changes which resulted was the conversion of the adjoining goods depot to handle parcels and mail (goods facilities moving to a new depot elsewhere), and the closure of the existing parcels platform. This platform was thus free for conversion into a loading dock for the new car ferry service.

OPERATIONS

Throughout the fifty years the car ferry service ran, the basic pattern of its operation remained much the same, with only details like the motive power, rolling stock and timings seeing much change. It is thus worth looking at a typical journey for the service, starting at Vicarstown and ending at Barrow.

Below: A vague representation of how the loading process would have looked. I've employed a bit of artistic license with this photo: while the NWR did have some enclosed double-decker car carriers, these were never used on the car ferry services.

To begin with, the consist for that particular crossing was shunted into the station - the carriage trucks going to the loading dock, and the passenger coaches to one of the through platforms. Drivers and passengers boarded their coaches, leaving their cars to be loaded by the station staff. Once loading was completed, the carriage trucks were marshalled and coupled to the coaches. All shunting was done by the train engine, who then ran round to the front and hauled the train to Barrow. On arrival, the whole train was shunted to the loading dock there, where passengers and cars were unloaded together. The stock was then taken away for servicing. Of course, it goes without saying that in the opposite direction, the whole procedure was repeated, only in reverse.

In all, ten car ferry trains ran daily (five in each direction), with provisions in the working timetable for an extra four (two in each direction) if they were needed - say, during the busier summer months. To avoid overcrowding, a maximum of 20 cars were allowed on each crossing, and motorists had to book in advance. This enabled staff to work out how many carriage trucks were required, and what types, well ahead of time. It also allowed them to work out how many passenger coaches were needed - the rule here was that there should be at least one compartment for every car carried.

In the early 1930s, the NWR began allowing larger commercial vehicles to make use of the car ferry trains, and this required a slight amendment to the 20 cars rule. This amendment counted the size of a vehicle in car lengths - if, for example, a lorry turned up which was as long as three cars, then it took up three slots on that particular crossing. Any number of vehicles could thus travel on a single train, so long as their total length did not exceed 20 car lengths.

STOCK

The car ferry trains never had a specific engine allocated to run them - generally, any engine could do the job if they happened to be at Vicarstown or Barrow at the right time. As the NWR’s locomotive roster expanded, the car ferry became the exclusive preserve of the engines based at either of those sheds - the job generally being allocated to any engine who wasn't busy anywhere else that day.

The car ferry was also a neat way of getting an engine from one station to the other, without having to find an extra path for a light engine movement. For similar reasons, it was not uncommon for visiting LMS (later BR) engines to take charge of a Barrow-bound car ferry on their way home.

Below: An example of a long-wheelbase covered carriage truck. Many were later converted for parcels, newspapers or general goods traffic. This particular example went into departmental service, and in this view is carrying engine parts.

As far as rolling stock was concerned, this mainly consisted of both open and covered carriage trucks (henceforth referred to as OCTs and CCTs respectively). When the service first started, cars were carried on short-wheelbase OCTs, but these proved unpopular with motorists, as the cars often had their paintwork spoiled by smoke and soot spewing from passing engines - and sometimes from the engine pulling the train! The NWR tried to remedy this by offering the use of protective tarpaulins, but eventually they decided it would be more prudent to switch to CCTs instead.

Single cars were carried in short-wheelbase vans, similar in design to the GWR’s Mogo vans.

For pairs of cars, longer wheelbase CCTs could be used.

For trios or quartets, bogie CCTs were employed.

When larger commercial vehicles began to be carried, bogie OCTs were used - converted from the underframes of the fabled Dublin Stock.

Because of the aforementioned one compartment for every vehicle rule, the passenger coaches were at first quite a motley collection, with the numbers being made up by any old stock just lying around. It was only from the 1930s onwards that more consistent rakes of coaches began to be used - starting with Ironclad-pattern stock, moving on to Maunsell-pattern just after the War, and finishing up with Bulleid-pattern in the BR era.

MOTORAIL

Above: A display of Scottish country dancing at...I think it's Kensington Olympia? No, I don't know why either.

In the 1960s, British Rail officially launched its Motorail service, offering fast travel for passengers and their cars to all parts of the country. To serve Sodor, one of the new services ran twice daily between Kensington Olympia and Vicarstown, and the latter’s existing loading dock was upgraded into a terminal. Two of the car ferry's ten daily crossings clashed with the proposed timings of the new Motorail services, and so were slashed from the timetable. Other than that, the car ferry was able to carry on as normal.

By then, the rolling stock used for the car ferry was beginning to show its age, and a programme of gradual replacement was implemented from about 1966 onwards:

For cars, General Utility Vans replaced the old bogie CCTs, which were retained for parcels traffic.

For commercial vehicles, Carflats replaced the OCTs, which were either scrapped or placed into departmental service.

Finally, for passengers, some of the NWR’s own allocation of BR Mk1s replaced the Bulleid-pattern stock.

The car ferry trains continued unabated into the 1970s, but it was clear they were running on borrowed time - for the first time, demand was beginning to outstrip capacity, and there was no room in the timetable to run extra trains. Then, exactly fifty years after the car ferries had first began, came a blow from which they were never to recover.

THE JUBILEE BRIDGE

That year saw the opening of the Walney Road Bridge, to mark the Silver Jubilee of Queen Elizabeth II. Needless to say, this snuffed out the NWR's car ferry monopoly in an instant. Nobody was more incensed at this development than Sir Topham Hatt, and he saw to it that the NWR was substantially compensated for the extinguishment of their ferry rights.

Above: The Jubilee Bridge. Visitors to Barrow (and native Barrovians, too) may think that this is the only bridge here. This is an illusion!

All was not totally lost, however, for 1977 also saw the extension of BR's existing London-Vicarstown Motorail service to a brand new terminal at Killdane - a more convenient base for the visiting motorist to explore Sodor. Such was the success of this new service that further others were introduced, linking Sodor with other provincial centres. Some of these services employed the stock which had previously worked the car ferry trains.

MODERN DAY MOTORAIL

The expansion of Sodor's Motorail services came during a period of gradual decline for the brand across the rest of BR. The expansion of Britain's motorways, the improvement of car technology, and the chaos of privatisation all ultimately conspired to kill off Motorail by the early-1990s.

Above: First Great Western briefly revived the Motorail concept in the early-2000s, using a fleet of converted GUVs.

Despite this, Motorail on Sodor has continued to flourish into the present day. Not only are its existing terminals at Vicarstown and Killdane still in operation, but there is now a third terminal at Tidmouth. These form the basis for the NWR's current Motorail services, which all serve to help solve a very basic problem.

The thing is, many visitors to Sodor now arrive in their own cars, but the island's road transport infrastructure isn't really suited to the needs of the long-distance motorist. Fortunately, the NWR has them covered. Special car-carrying trains now run regularly between the Motorail terminals at Vicarstown, Killdane and Tidmouth. While you still have to book in advance, it's a small price to pay for having the convenience of a car at your disposal, without the insanity that comes from having to drive it all the way across Sodor.

Of course, while the NWR's Motorail trains are available to all motorists (local and foreign) the majority of their customers are Mainlanders - the typical Sudrian would just as soon leave his car at home altogether!

#thomas the tank engine #the railway series #sodor #island of sodor #ttte headcanon #ttte analysis #north western railway #vicarstown #vicarstown bridge #barrow in furness #car ferry

45 notes · View notes