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munsonsmixtapes · 21 days

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https://www.tumblr.com/munsonsmixtapes/747871761169793024/does-anyone-have-any-steve-or-eddie-requests

U ASK AND U SHALL RECIVE🫡

Eddie and reader layin in bed, reader half asleep, laying on Eddie’s chest with her leg on his waist(yk like the cute little thing where he’s holding her thigh on him?)

And he’s reading the lord of the rings, and starts muttering aloud, and the reader goes “just read it out loud”

And he’s just 😀 “huh”

then reader goes “you’re already practically saying it out loud, just read it to me”

Eddie swears he couldn’t fall more in love, like he thinks you’re already perfect but your Laying on him, In His bed, In his home, asking him to read you his favourite book?!

He’s going to get a ring tomorrow!

Or just give you one of his and slip it on your ring finger while reading or explaing the plot up to that point🤭

Thanks so much for your request!

Eddie x fem!reader

word count: 1,184

cw: none!

There were many things you loved about Eddie. You loved his sense of humor even though no one else seemed to get his jokes. You loved how smart he was and how he always seemed to have interesting facts on hand. You loved how passionate he was about the things he loved and that he had countless books about it all. But the thing that you loved most about Eddie was the fact that he always seemed to read everything aloud.

Whether it was something he had gotten in the mail or a message he had gotten on his beeper, it didn’t matter. It seemed to annoy everyone else, but it was something that you had grown to really like about him. You wanted to hear his voice any chance you got, even if the words directed towards you. Especially when you were falling asleep and he was reading one of his books. It had become your favorite lullaby.

Lately, though, you had noticed that he had been doing it less and less. He would no longer whisper along with the subtitles on the TV or mumble the words that were written in his books. Everything was quiet, his voice no longer filling the house you shared. You hadn’t realized how much you had missed it until he stopped.

The two of you were snuggled up in your bed on a lazy Sunday. You were snuggled up into his side with your leg draped across his waist exactly where he liked it. One hand was resting your bare thigh while the other was holding his very beat up copy of Lord of the Rings.

You rested your chin on his chest, admiring the way he has his hair tied back and the glasses he always wore to read. He hadn’t even noticed you looking at him, his lips moving as his eyes scanned over the words in his book. He had read it so many times that you were convinced that he could have quoted the entire thing word for word.

His eyes finally locked onto yours and he set his book down, now favoring you. His now free hand rested on your back, leisurely rubbing it, something he always did to show his love for you without having to say the words.

“What?” He asked, looking down at you, his brown doe eyes boring into yours.

“Nothing,” you shook your head. “I just love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart,” he replied, a smile kicking up at the corners of his mouth. “Now are you going to tell me what’s really on your mind?”

Sometimes you hated that he was always able to read you like a book. How he could somehow read your thoughts, knowing exactly what was going on inside your brain before you did. Perhaps that was why you worked so well together. He always knew what you wanted or needed and was prepared to give it to you.

“It’s just-” you cut yourself off, trying to get your thoughts together.

“Hm?” His eyebrows furrowed and his tongue poked through his lips, a telltale sign that he was deep I thought.

“You’re not reading aloud anymore.” A pout made its way onto your face, your lip jutting out. God, you were just so cute.

“I’m not what?” You had said the words so softly that he hadn’t heard the last part. He wanted to know what you were so upset about so he could fix it. He hated seeing you so upset.

“You’re not reading out loud anymore.” You were now straddling his waist, his hands moving to rest on your thighs.

“You’re right,” he nodded. He didn’t think you had even noticed let alone missed him doing it now that he had stopped.

“Why not?” You let out a little whine, your hands resting on his chest. It warmed his heart that you liked hearing his voice so much.

“Well-I guess I just figured that it annoyed you.” He chewed on his bottom lip-something he always did when he got nervous. You were quick to pull it from under his teeth. Your hand rested on his cheek, rubbing along the skin with the pad of your thumb.

“Why would I think that?” You eyebrows furrowed. “I love it.”

“You do?” His hand moved up to rest on top of yours.

“Of course!” You let out a laugh, wondering why he had been so confused that you had enjoyed hearing him reading. “I love hearing your voice.”

“I’m sorry, honey. I was just letting the guys stupid comments get to me. They hate when I do that so I just assumed you did too.” His band mates had complained so many times about him reading their song lyrics aloud and after hearing the complaints so many times, he had just jumped to the conclusion that you had hated his little quirk as well. He supposed he should have asked, but it made him feel too vulnerable despite how long the two of you had been together.

“Well, you were wrong. So you can do it around me as much as you like. In fact, I require it.” At that, Eddie was quick to take you into his arms, peppering your face in kisses as you let out little giggles. He then finally captured your lips between his in a lingering kiss.

“Now read to me, Eds.”

You curled yourself up into his side and he was quick to pick the book up, turning it to the first page so he could start from the beginning. He held the book to where you could see it as well and cleared his throat before he read the first page. One page turned into two and before the two of your knew it, he had flown through the first book and had moved into the next.

You could have stayed right there for the rest of your life and been content. It was just you and your man and his huge stack of books that had been practically begging to be read. You thought Eddie really was meant to read aloud. He put on a different voice for each character and used his hands as he spoke, really enveloping you in every single story he read.

You fell asleep after a few hours, but that didn’t stop Eddie. He continued to read, knowing that if he had stopped, you would have had something to say about it, somehow noticing from your deep sleep. He couldn’t believe that he had actually thought you had hated hearing him read. And that you had loved it so much that you had noticed when he stopped.

He looked down as he started the third book, looking down at you with so much love. He had really lucked out with you. No one had loved him so much that they were content listening to him read when they could have done anything else. At that moment, he just knew that he wanted to marry you and was going to have to take time to go buy a ring.

#eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fluff

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aledethanlast · 10 months

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I want to clarify something about my Lawyer!Andrew post:

Andrew is not doing this to impress people. In fact he actively doesn't want to impress people. He is done being a superman who holds everyone's lives in his hands. It's not good for his mental health when he's doing it and it's not good for anyone when that he fails, because the law is too big and some of these fuckers are just legitimately dumber and more guilty than his literal murderous mafia husband.

Anyways. Andrew wakes up in the morning, goes to his closet and shoves aside the 15k dollar Armani suits so he can put on the two piece he got at Macy's (then tailored to fit, cause he still has standards), and a matching tie.

He goes to the office. Brad asks him if he heard about the latest draft picks. Andrew stares him down until Brad goes to Andrew's desk and drops a quarter in the "Asking Andrew about Exy" jar. Andrew's coworkers seem to think that he's gonna buy the office a Foosball table with the jar money. They are wrong. It is for a new cat tower. Also, no Andrew hasn't seen it, but he got the rundown from Neil and Kevin, so he knows enough to tell Brad not to bother with a season pass for the Sealions this year.

He has two cases to deal with today. The first is a vehicular manslaughter charge. The client is pleading self defense, and that the victim was a stalker. Andrew likes her because, despite bursting into tears every time they have a trial prep session, she actually listens to instructions and knows when to shut the fuck up. He's confident.

The second is grand larceny. The guy is so super incredibly guilty but Brad gave him this case because he knows Andrew loves police misconduct cases and this one is just so full of protocol breaches that Andrew only had to show Neil the file for him to burst out laughing.

Janet says he has a call waiting. Janet is the highest paid paralegal in the county, because she also filters his celebrity mail. Technically Neil's pr firm still represents him, but Janet knows to turn down the DA's gala invitations without needing to argue with him.

He picks up the phone. It's the DA. The man invites him to the police gala because he knows Andrew ignored the emails. Andrew assumes the man was banking on Andrew giving a polite refusal he can wheedle or harangue into compliance. The man is new to the job, so Andrew will forgive this embarrassing miscalculation.

They spend the next hour discussing court dates for a certain case. Andrew's client for that one is disabled and only has partial aid, and he won't let them set court dates that they know she won't be able to attend. The DA, despite his embarrassing naivate, seems to be on the same page in this regard, so hopefully this will go well when they bring the matter to the judge.

In the span of this phone call, two of Brad's clients come into the office, and within five minutes of walking in are made to contribute to the jar. They don't get their questions answered, because he's on the phone, and they're not Brad.

He has court tomorrow. Court is annoying, because it's a room full of strangers who hear his name and forget why he's there, and he's not allowed to bring the jar. Court is a chore, because he has to walk people through their own idiocy, and then occasionally convince the room of just how stupid or brilliant it actually was.

Court is also, maybe, just a teensy bit fun, because whatever the stereotype of a lawyer is, Andrew really isn't it, and that makes people take him a lot less seriously until he starts quoting their words back to them faster than the stenographer.

(Janet also filters job offers. They tend to crop up every few months.)

(It used to be more fun, back in the early days when Neil would sit in sometimes, until he remembered just how horrifically boring the whole thing is. But that's fine. Andrew is happy having his own thing.)

But really, court is easy. It's a place where your word has weight, where promises are binding, and when everything is going to shit, nobody looks at Andrew like he's the freak for keeping his head.

#the foxhole court #all for the game #aftg #andrew minyard

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lunamoonbby · 1 month

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Hurt to comfort...it's just soap saying that reader can be annoying and a handful cause of her ADHD

Reader is female and a marine biologist

The use of wifey and lovie to refer to reader

This also based of me and my experiences with ADHD

What if simon is married to a reader with ADHD(the inattentive kind) and they also say the most random things too like quotes from movies and TV shows or thing they make up on the spot

So imagine Price, Soap, and Gaz are at Simon's and reader house to hangout and they're all talking about something like the game that's on TV and Simon asked wifey for her opinion and she give him her opinion and before she can finish her thought she's like "what should I make for dinner?" And Simon has to be like "lovie focus to what were you saying" and she's like oh right and finishes her thoughts and when it's all quiet she says, "I like apples and bananas...but I don't actually like bananas, the texture throws me off and smell is too pungent....but I do like banana bread...I should make banana bread...OH I haven't had corn bread in awhile" and price, soap, and gaz are like where she'd get the corn bread from and ghost is like, "I could get the ingredients to make corn bread and banana bread tomorrow" and wifey is like "yes please".

Wifey and ghost start to cuddle and wifey is like "I have to use the bathroom" and he let's go of her and she get distracted and starts doing something else like preparing a turkey and cheese sandwich for her and Simon cause she got hungry and if she's hungry simon is hungry and ghost notices that shes doing something else and he's like "don't you have to use the bathroom" and reader is like "oh yeah that's right" and she goes and soap is like, "I don't know how you do it LT but she would annoy the hell out me to the point I would yell at her" and everyone goes silent ghost is about to rip soap a new one until he sees wifey with tears coming out her eyes and she squeaks out an "oh" and runs up the stairs totally forgetting about the sandwiches and to not annoy anyone else cause she thinks if soap is annoyed at her then that means everyone else is annoyed and it's only a matter of time before ghost yells at her for her adhd tendencies.

She hears ghost yelling at soap saying he knew what he signed up for when he decided to get with his lovie and it's never a dull moment with her ADHD tendencies and it keeps him on his toes and that she can be random at times but he loves his wifey for who she is that she's the sun to his storm, and so he goes up stairs to check on her and he's like "lovie just know I would never yell at you and that I love you and your little ADHD tendencies and you aren't annoying anyone, so come let's go down stairs and say bye to the guys and we can watch a movie."

they go down stairs and before soap could apologize and wifey is like,"that's why you can't keep a girlfriend" gaz, price, and Simon are laughing and soap is like, " yeah I deserve that and I just want to say im sorry and I never should of said those things in the first place" and reader like "apology acknowledged...that doesn't mean I accept, just be nicer to people" and soap is like, "ok I'll be more nicer from now on and not just to you but to other people as well" and the guys leave bidding a fair well.

Simon and reader are cuddled up on the couch watching a shark movie and reader pointing out all the inaccuracies and Simon is having a blast watching his lovie get mad until lovie sees a sandwich in the movie and is like "the two sandwiches I was making!!!!" And Simon is like "don't worry I dealt with that before I checked up on you let me go get them" and he comes back with the 2 and lovie is like "one is for you, cause I figured if I was hungry then your hungry" and eventhough Simon isn't really hungry he still eats the sandwich cause his wifey was thinking about him when she was making her self a sandwich.

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ventismacchiato · 1 year

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40 just playing the part — after party !

epilogue

scaramouche x g!n reader

notes: still in the future, tw: fluff, suggestive content, this is just a little smth to wrap the au up neatly

You exchange smiles and polite nods as you make your way past the staff and fellow actors backstage, clutching your award in your hands against your chest. There was residue sweat stuck on your face from the fluorescent lights of the arena and your mouth was dry from all the speeches you did. But you had your mind on one thing, better yet one person. Your fiancé whom you hadn’t seen in a week due to opposing schedules was finally under the same roof as you and the night was nearing its end before he was swept away on yet another flight.

After what feels like a stressful eternity you finally spot a tuft of indigo hair in the distance making its way to sneak into a dressing room to get away from socializing. Typical.

You maneuver your way through, catching the door with your heel and slipping into the dressing room. You look around, it was barren. You narrow your eyes, had you gone insane from not seeing your lover for so long you were hallucinating him?

Just as you were about to turn around to leave disappointedly you felt a pair of arms snake their way around your waist and a firm chest press against your back.

“Hey,” Scara greets, his chin on your shoulder as he plants a kiss on your neck, “Congrats.”

You turn around, quickly wrapping your arms around him and going straight for his lips.

“You too,” you grin, eyeing the trophy identical to yours with his name imprinted on it sitting by the mirror, “I had a running bet you’d cry on stage, you lost me a hundred.”

“I can cry for you in bed later,” he murmurs, his hands caressing your hips as his lips trail your jaw, “I don’t have to leave until tomorrow afternoon.”

“Good,” you say, sliding your hands underneath his dress shirt impatiently.

“My mom was in the crowd today,” he says against your lips, taking the trophy from your hand to set it on the table so he can gently press you against the dressing room door.

“Took her long enough,” you smile before you feel the door behind you push against you in an attempt to open.

You and Scara quickly separate from one another and try to fix yourselves as your manager, Jean, walks in. She eyes Scaramouche’s undone collar and your disheveled hair with a heavy sigh.

“No comment from me,” Jean says, shutting the door behind her, “I’ve received the news.”

“About…the project?” you ask, sharing a look with Scara.

“Yes,” she smiles, waving her phone.

You and Scara had been trying to book a role in your ideal marriage location so you guys could finally tie the knot whilst working. But everytime something comes up to prevent it. Whether it be a last minute location change, you both having to film in different spots, or your friends not being able to fly in. It was torture.

“You guys finally got it,” Jean announces, “The project starts next year. I’ll leave you both to…celebrate in your own ways,” she knowingly says, shaking her head as she slips out of the dressing room.

“It’s finally happening,” you grin the moment she’s gone, squeezing his elbow and yanking him closer.

“Fucking finally,” Scara sighs, letting himself begrudgingly be wrapped in a hug.

“You’re stuck with me.”

“Fuck you.”

“Those better not be your vows!” you chastise.

“What do you want me to say?” he hums, pressing himself against your back to lower his lips to your ear, “You are the bane of my existence, and the object of all my desires.”

“Now you’re just quoting one of your movie lines.”

“I meant it though.”

You bite your lip to fight the smile threatening to show itself on your face, a childlike bundle of glee in your stomach at his words.

“You want me so bad.”

“Shut up.”

“You mispronounced I love you.”

“It goes unsaid, you already know I do.”

୨⎯ THE END ⎯୧

just playing the part !

masterlist — prev

synopsis: you and scaramouche are both drama majors and have been at each other’s throats vying for the same lead roles since high school. but when you’re both cast as each other’s love interest in your second year you’re forced to be civil with your academic rival and see him in a new light. are his feelings for you true or is he just playing the part?

author’s notes: hi! tysm to you all for reading and keeping up w this work, it means a lot to me that sm ppl enjoy smth i wrote on a whim :) and if ur rereading this or are a reader in the future ty to you too! i appreciate all the silent readers and everyone sending me asks/comments (even tho i cudnt reply to them all i loved reading them) i hope to see you all in my notifs in the future but if not i’m glad you gave my writing a chance <3 ily! have a great day/night mwah

taglist: @monochromaticelliot @kaedear @stxrgxzxr @shirmxie @elakari @lacy-lady @linn-a-a @one-offmind @kithewanderingme @quepasoash @leathernourishingshoepolish @mangobee @lxry-chxn @dameofthorns @kunihaver @kythe1a @elysiasbae @hikaru-exe @tokkishouse @raiihoshii @cherrybeomgyu @kunikuzushiit @thenightsflower @lilneps @goodthingimsam @lovelyiez @euhla @beriiov @abvolat @kittycasie @b0bafl0wer @bubblyclouds @atlatcaheart @artssleepy @baelloraa @tartagli-yuh @satowaluverr @hangesextra @scaranaris-lil-niko @caffinatedcoma @wheneverthesunrise @hajimeseyo @itsyourgirlria @hyunrei @redactedhimbo @caliginous-skies @vinskyspuff @miissfortune @criminalinthemaking @scaramouches-girlfriend @scrmgf [1/3]

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discount-shades · 1 year

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Contract Spouse Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Living the Lie

A/N: to quote M*A*S*H “War isn’t Hell. War is war, and Hell is Hell. And of the two, war is a lot worse.”

Pairing: Jake Seresin/Reader (nicknamed Pip)

Warning: Angst, war, PTSD, civilian deaths, child death, nightmares

Length: 2100 ish

Summary: Jake and Pip settle into living together.

Previous Masterlist Next

Two weeks after you had settled into Jake's house in San Diego you were on the phone with Sami. Your almost daily phone calls with Jake had been replaced by phone calls to Sami. You look up from the pasta you were stirring on the stove as Jake walks through the side door. He goes to greet you but cuts himself off when he sees you are on the phone.

“Who is it?” You read his lips as he mouths the question and you mouth the answer back. “Hi Sami,” he calls out.

“Jake says hi,” you say with a resigned sigh. Relaying a conversation between the two siblings when you were on the phone with Jake had started very soon after the wedding and now that you were living with Jake, the habit had immediately resumed in reverse and you had long since given up trying to get them to talk to each other. Jake now sports a smile identical to the one Sami always had on her face during these conversations.

When you finally hang up the phone you roll your eyes at Jake. “You guys are ridiculous, I hate you both.”

“No you don’t,” he grins as he heads to his room to change out of his work clothes “You love us.”

“That's the problem.” You mumble to yourself as you dump the pasta into a serving dish and set the table before sitting down to dinner.

“I got two more quotes on redoing the roof,” you tell Jake between bites of alfredo. “I think we should go with the second, they’re more expensive but have better reviews and can begin sooner.”

“Whatever you think is best.” Jake shrugs, relieved you had taken over the repairs he had been too busy to arrange.

“And the contractor for the hot water tank called, he had a cancellation and can come replace ours tomorrow.” Jake just nods in confirmation and you fight a sigh.

The house that Jake had bought a few months ago, though overall in good shape, had needed a few updates and you had quickly taken over organizing them. Talking about hiring contractors over dinner makes you feel more married than you have ever felt before. The monotony of cohabitation made slipping into the rhythm of life together automatic.

Living with Jake was easy. You worked together seamlessly, easily dividing household chores and responsibilities. Chatting in the evenings, watching tv, or just sitting in silence reading. The two of you just fit together. He had even tolerated you reorganizing every drawer and shelf in the common spaces with minimal cursing over not being able to find things.

Life continues in the same thread. You and Jake grocery shopping, going for walks, cooking, and doing dishes, just easily living together. But as time went on you were finding it harder and harder.

Everyday you had to stifle your imagination as you pictured him coming through the door and giving you a kiss. The little part in your heart that you could never squish down was still hoping that one day Jake would look at you and fall in love.

The logical part tried to keep your breathing steady when Jake would brush past you in the kitchen. Tried to keep you from melting into his touch when he placed his hand on your lower back when you were walking together in public. Tried to keep from staring when you were together.

It didn’t help that Jake frequently walks around without his shirt. Whether it was first thing in the morning, after a shower, or after a run. You loved and hated it. When you said goodnight and went to your separate rooms you wanted to follow him into the master bedroom and finally end your embarrassingly long dry spell. You should have hooked up with your cute neighbor in your final days in Austin. Maybe that would have made things easier.

– – –

“Jake,” your voice startles him out of his sleep. He can hear you tapping gently on his door before easing it open. “We have a problem.”

“What's wrong?” he mumbles sleepily as he sits up in bed, squinting in the hall light shining through the open door. The rain from earlier is still lightly falling outside. “What time is it?”

“It’s a little after midnight, The roof is leaking.” You tell him, hair pulled up into a sloppy bun and pillow creases on your cheek. “I woke up in a puddle, it's coming through the light fixture above the bed.”

Jake mumbles curses. He had been sleeping soundly and would have likely been able to sleep the whole night if the roof hadn’t leaked. He helps you move the bed and set up a big rubbermaid bin under the leak to catch the dripping water while you strip the wet bedding off the mattress and throw it in the bathtub. You flip the breaker and he carefully removes the light so the water can fall directly into the bin without pooling, you dutifully hold the flashlight.

After you follow him into the attic to see where the leak is. Fortunately it is only in one spot and the rain has slowed to a stop. Using the towels you had so neatly organized, you help him mop up all the water you can. You place another bin under the main leak but it has slowed to a drip. Working next to you in the dimly lit attic, Jake realizes he never would have noticed the leak so soon if not for you.

“When are they supposed to fix the roof?” Jake asks you.

“Monday,” you say sadly and he sighs. “If you leave all the information for me I’ll call the insurance company tomorrow.”

He follows you down the ladder with the wet towels and throws them into the washing machine. You follow with the towels from your room. Your teeth chattering and he looks at you for the first time and notices that your pajamas are soaking wet.

“Pip you're going to get sick, go change.” You roll your eyes at him but comply and grab a dry pair of pajamas and head to the bathroom so you can leave your wet ones in the tub. When you come out of the bathroom he meets you in the hall. “I dumped the bin in your room, we should be good to go back to sleep.” You nod but don't follow him; grabbing your pillow you turn to go into the living room.

“Where are you going?”

“The couch.” You stare at him in confusion. “My mattress is soaked.”

“Yeah but mine's not.” You stand there staring at him and he suddenly feels like he has overstepped. The look in your eye is unreadable but you just agree quietly and follow him. When he reaches the bed and you crawl in beside him he feels his stomach clench. He can't remember the last time he slept next to someone, it's been years, definitely before the nightmares started. What if he moves and hits you, or says something he doesn’t want you to hear?

It’s awkward. As soon as he lies down beside you he feels the need to move and eases himself over to his other side. He can hear you rolling over when he does. You don’t say anything but he can tell you are tense. Maybe he shouldn't have insisted you share his bed. “Do you want to build a pillow wall?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” You roll over again and he can feel your eyes on him. “Good night Jake.”

“Goodnight.” You stop moving but he can tell you are not asleep by your breathing. He listens and tries not to move but he can’t sleep if you are awake. He feels the bed shift every time you move and shuffle your feet. He stares into the dark hyper aware of you beside him, pretending to sleep before he finally breaks the silence. “Are you awake?”

“Yeah.”

“Can’t sleep?”

“My feet are cold,” you tell him. “I can’t sleep with cold feet.”

Jake bites back a sigh and says the thing he doesn’t want to do. “You can put them on me.”

Your soft laugh almost makes it worthwhile. “I don’t think you mean that,” you counter. And he reaches down to feel your feet and immediately regrets his decision when he feels how icy they are.

“Come on,” he says resignedly and urges you to roll over so you can press your feet to his warm legs. When you settle he finds himself focusing on your cold toes to distract himself from the warmth coming from your body lying beside him.

As your feet warm he can feel the tension leave you as you relax into sleep, your breath slowing and evening out and soon he finds himself drifting off as well.

– – –

Maverick is carrying a lifeless Rooster in his arms. He is standing in the desert. Rubble and fire from a destroyed building around him. Blood is dripping down Rooster's extended arm and steadily falling from his fingertips and onto the dry sand. Jake stands, blood pounding in his ears with every drop that hits the ground. Maverick is speaking to him in a language he can't understand, repeating the same phrase.

When he realizes it’s weird to see Maverick cradling Rooster so easily everything seems to blur and when it clears there is now a father holding his young son in front of him. The boy's eyes are open and staring blankly at the sky. The man speaks but it is Maverick's voice he hears, “You shot at the wrong time, his death is your fault Hangman.” The man advances towards him brandishing the body of his dead son repeating the words in Maverick’s voice, becoming angrier and more grief-stricken with every repetition as Jake retreats, his heart pounding, unable to escape.

– – –

“No!” Jake sits up gasping. His heart is hammering wildly as he tries to breathe. He feels like there is a weight on his chest, contracting his lungs and keeping his ribcage from expanding. The image of the boy burned into his retinas.

“Jake?” The soft sound of your voice startles him and he flinches when he sees you move before pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. Trying to rub away what he saw. Your hand is hesitant as it brushes against his back, gently moving and pressing his t-shirt into his sweat soaked skin. He wants to tell you to stop, that he doesn’t deserve comfort after what he did. He wants to get up and leave, but he doesn't. He just sits there frozen and focuses on the feeling of your warm hand smoothing over his spine as his breathing steadies. When the chill sets in he strips off the sweaty shirt and lies back down on his back.

“Nightmare?” you ask quietly already knowing the answer. He nods even though he is not sure you can see him. He’s told you about the nightmares, never why or what he sees but you know he has trouble sleeping. You're the only one who knows.

You lie on your side and he can feel your eyes in the dark. Unable to rub his back you place your hand on his chest and resume the relaxing motion. But the feel of your hand on his bare chest is too much and he stops you, flattening your hand to his heart. When you go to pull away he reaches up with his other hand and clutches your wrist, unwilling to let you go.

“Don’t go.” The words slip out before he can stop them and he clenches his jaw to keep from speaking more. He can feel you nod you head beside him. You slowly begin flexing your fingers and he relaxes the hand flattening yours and you begin to gently scratch his chest with your finger tips. He finally lets out a shuddering breath and shifts his grip on your wrist so he can feel your steady pulse.

“Breath with me,” you whisper. “Focus on my breaths.” he lies beside you and listens to you breathe and focuses on the feeling of your warm hand pressed to his heart and the gentle caress of your finger tips. He feels the butterfly kiss of your lips on his shoulder and his skin burns. Your soft breaths moves over his skin and his heart aches.

When your fingers stop moving he knows you are asleep but doesn’t let go of your hand, eventually he falls into a dreamless sleep listening to your soft breaths.

#jake hangman seresin #jake seresin #jake hangman x reader #jake seresin/reader #jake seresin x reader #hangman #hangman/reader #top gun hangman #top gun fanfiction #topgun maverick #topgun hangman #top gun x reader #hangman topgun #topgun

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butmakeitgayblog · 17 days

Note

Too hot too cuddle for professor au!

I got several for this one, but this is the only one with specific au so I'm goin' with it 😌

////////////////

"I'm calling off tomorrow."

"No you're not. There's only two weeks left, you have to go."

"Why?"

"Finals are coming and all that. Think of the kids."

The night goes quiet as the too-warm breeze from the swivel fan at her side makes another circuit of the room.

"... Fuck them kids."

Clarke smiles at the grunt that's half-muffled into a pillow, her foot reaching out across the bed to nudge a calf that lays bare and sticky with a dusting of sweat. "You don't mean that."

"Right now I do," Lexa whines and readjusts for the tenth time in as many minutes. "It's too hot to move. It's too hot to think straight—"

"When have you ever done that anyway?"

"It's too hot to wear clothes."

"Now that I'm not complaining about," Clarke hums, reaching over to caress the curve of her girlfriend's perfectly crafted bubble butt.

She glances down at the toes that flex under the bit of sheet draped over Lexa's ankles and not another inch higher, because despite them both foregoing their normal nighttime attire and it really being too hot for any kind of bedding, Lexa had staunchly insisted that, quote, 'Sleeping with my feet uncovered just feels... wrong.' Unquote.

"Don't even think about getting frisky, Ms. Griffin" Lexa muffles into her pillow again as she reaches back to blindly point behind her in Clarke's general direction. "It's too hot for that too."

Clarke grabs the vaguely menacing finger and kisses it. "Just try and get some sleep, baby."

"Who can sleep like this?" Lexa lifts her head just enough to let out dramatic series of sobs before flopping back down. "I can't even cuddle my own girlfriend without it forming a gross, sticky skin paste."

Which was true. They had tried. And had predictably failed, much to Lexa's misery.

"We'll cuddle tomorrow night, baby. Right after the A/C guy leaves."

"That doesn't help me sleep tonight though, now does it?"

Clarke looks over to the mass of sweat-frizzed curls that lays splayed over the pillow beside her. "You're worse than Madi sometimes, you know that?"

"If Madi were here right now, she'd back me up."

"Mmm, technically if Madi were here right now, I think she'd just be horrified at seeing you splayed out butt-ass naked."

She laughs at the disgusted sound of Lexa's grunt as the hand in hers is yanked away.

"I should have failed you when I had the chance."

Clarke ignores her girlfriends antics and rolls over onto her back, sighing as the fan makes another pass and cools the fine sheen of sweat that coats her body.

The heat hangs over her like a cloud, thick and humid, seeping into her pores and settling heavy in her bones. She gives in to its weight, letting it pull her down into the sleepiness that had clung to her like a haze for the entire day.

She's just about to drift off into a restless, sweat-soaked slumber when she feels the bed shift as a hand drifts over... and lands right on her left breast.

Clarke doesn't even bother to open her eyes, just smiles and scootches over a bit, so the hand can lay in a more comfortable position to cup her.

"Better?"

The hand holding her breast gives a sleepy squeeze.

"... S'better."

#anon #prof/stu au #teach me #writing prompt

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mostlysignssomeportents · 6 months

Text

Big Train managers earn bonuses for greenlighting unsafe cars

Tomorrow (November 16) I'll be in Stratford, Ontario, appearing onstage with Vass Bednar as part of the CBC IDEAS Festival. I'm also doing an afternoon session for middle-schoolers at the Stratford Public Library.

Almost no one knows this, but last June, a 90-car train got away from its crew in Hernando, MS, rolling three miles through two public crossings, a ghost train that included 47 potentially explosive propane cars. The "bomb train" neither crashed nor derailed, which meant that Grenada Railroad/Gulf & Atantic didn't have to report it.

This is just one of many terrifying near-misses that are increasingly common in America's hyper-concentrated, private equity-dominated rail sector, where unsafe practices dominate and whistleblowers face brutal retaliation for coming forward to regulators.

These unsafe practices – and the corporate policies that deliberately gave rise to them – are documented in terrifying, eye-watering detail in a deeply reported Propublica story by Topher Sanders, Jessica Lussenhop,Dan Schwartz, Danelle Morton and Gabriel L Sandoval:

https://www.propublica.org/article/railroad-safety-union-pacific-csx-bnsf-trains-freight

It's a tale of depraved indifference to public safety, backstopped by worker intimidation. The reporting is centered on railyard maintenance inspectors, who are charged with writing up "bad orders" to prevent unsafe railcars from shipping out. As private equity firms consolidated rail into an ever-dwindling number of companies, these workers face supervisors who are increasingly hostile to these bad orders.

It got so alarming that some staffers started carrying hidden digital recorders, so they could capture audio of their bosses illegally ordering them to greenlight railcars that were too unsafe for use. The article features direct – and alarming – quotes, like supervisor Andrew Letcher, boss of the maintenance crews at Union Pacific's Kansas City yard saying, "If I was an inspector on a train I would probably let some of that nitpicky shit go."

Letcher – and fellow managers for other Tier 1 railroads quoted in the piece – aren't innately hostile to public safety. They are quite frank about why they want inspectors to "let that nitpicky shit go." As Letcher explains, "The first thing that I’m getting questioned about right now, every day, is why we’re over 200 bad orders and what we’re doing to get them down."

In other words, corporate rail owners have ordered their supervisors to reduce the amount of maintenance outages on the rail lines, but have not given them additional preventative maintenance budgets or crew. These supervisors warn their employees that high numbers of bad orders could cost them their jobs, even lead to the shutdown of the car shops where inspectors are prone to pulling dangerous cars out of service.

It's a ruthless form of winnowing. Gresham's Law holds that "bad money drives out good" – in an economy where counterfeit money circulates, people preferentially spend their fake money to get it out of their hands, until all the money in circulation is funny money. This is the rail safety equivalent: simply fire everyone who reports unsafe conditions and all your railcars will be deemed safe, with the worst railcars shipped out first. A market for lemons – except these aren't balky used sedans, they're unsafe railcars full of toxic chemicals or explosive propane.

When cataclysmic rail disasters occur – like this year's East Palestine derailment – the rail industry reassures us that this is an isolated incident, pointing to the system's excellent overall safety record. But that record is a mirage, because the near-misses don't have to be reported. Those near-misses are coming more frequently, as the culture of profit over safety incurs a mounting maintenance debt, filling America's rails with potential "bomb cars."

Rail mergers and other forms of deregulated, anything-goes capitalism are justified by conservative economists who insist that "incentives matter," and that the profit motive provides the incentive to improve efficiency, leading to lower costs and better service. But the incentive to externalize risk, kick the can down the road, and capture regulators rarely concerns the "incentives matter" crowd.

Here's an incentive that matters. Rail managers' bonuses – as much as a fifth of their take home pay – are only paid if the trains they oversee run on time. Inspectors have recorded their managers admitting that they have quotas – a maximum number of bad orders their facility may produce, irrespective of how much unsafe rolling stock passes through the facility.

Inspectors have caught their managers removing repair order tags from cars they've flagged as unsafe. Inspectors will log orders in a database, only to have the record mysteriously deleted, or marked as serviced when no service has occurred. Some inspectors have seen the same cars in their yard with the same problems, and repeatedly flagged them without any maintenance being performed before they're shipped out again.

Former managers from Union Pacific, CSX and Norfolk Southern told Propublica that they operated in an environment where safety reports were discouraged, and that workers who filed these reports were viewed as "complainers." Workers furnished Propublica with recordings of rail managers berating them for reporting persistent unsafe conditions the Federal Railroad Administration. Other workers from BNSF said that they believed that their bosses were told when they called the company's "confidential" work-safety tipline, setting them up for retaliation by bosses who'd falsified safety reports.

Whistleblowers who seek justice at OSHA are stymied by long delays, and while switching their cases to court can win them cash settlements, these do not get recorded on the company's safety record, which allows the company to go on claiming to be a paragon of safety and prudence.

The culture of retaliation is pervasive, which explains how the 47-cars worth of propane on the "bomb train" that rolled unattended over three miles of track never made the news. There is a voluntary Close Call Reporting System (operated by NASA!) where rail companies can report these disasters. Not one of America's Class 1 rail companies participate in it.

After the East Palestine disaster, Transport Secretary Pete Buttigieg pushed the rail companies to join, but a year later, none have. It's part of an overall pattern with Secretary Buttigieg, who has prodigious, far-reaching powers under USC40 Section 41712(a), which allow him to punish companies for "unfair and deceptive" practices or "unfair methods of competition":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/10/the-courage-to-govern/#whos-in-charge

Buttigieg can't simply hand down orders under 41712(a) – to wield this power, he must follow administrative procedures, conducting market studies, seeking comment, and proposing a rule. Other members of the Biden administration with similar powers, like FTC chair Lina Khan, arrived in office with a ranked-priority list of bad corporate conduct and immediately set about teeing up rules to give relief to the American public.

By contrast, Buttigieg's agency has done precious little to establish the evidentiary record to punish the worst American companies under its remit. His most-touted achievement was to fine five airlines for saving money by cancelling their flights and stranding their passengers. But of the five airlines affected by Buttigieg's order, four were not US companies. The sole affected US carrier was Spirit airlines, with 2% of the market. The Big Four US airlines – who have a much worse record than the ones that were fined – were not affected at all:

https://prospect.org/infrastructure/transportation/ftc-noncompete-airline-flight-cancellation-buttigieg/

Rather than directly regulating the US transportation sector, Buttigieg prefers exacting nonbinding promises from them (like the Tier 1 rail companies' broken promise to sign up to the Close Call Reporting System). Under his leadership, the Federal Railroad Agency has proposed weakening rail safety standards, rescinding an order to improve the braking systems on undermaintained, mile-long trains carrying potentially deadly freight:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/11/dinah-wont-you-blow/#ecp

The US transportation system is accumulating a terrifying safety debt, behind a veil of corporate secrecy. It badly demands direct regulation and close oversight.

If you are interested in rail safety, I strongly recommend this episode of Well There's Your Problem, "a podcast about engineering disasters, with slides" – you will laugh your head off and then never sleep again:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0BMQTdYXaH8

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/15/safety-third/#all-the-livelong-day

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roanniom · 2 years

Note

ughhhh your surprising hc’s about eddie have me WEAK!!! just pda with eddie, being that sickeningly cute touchy couple… that’s all i want man

Not PDA exactly but this is where I went with it ♥️

Feels Good

Eddie Munson x Reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ ONLY, smut, hand job, semi-public sex, dirty talk, slightly subby!Eddie but not exactly dom/sub dynamics just flustering our boy real good (in my world Eddie is 100% a switch and you can quote me on that)

Eddie Munson wants you to touch him. Full stop. That boy wants your hands on him at all times. Wants you to reach for his hand as you walk through the parking lot after a Hellfire session. Wants you to slot your body against his up under his arm as you slide in beside him in the booth at the local diner.

Eddie Munson is happy to be the one to initiate the physical things in your relationship - and he often is - but he goes out of his mind at the thought of you needing him. Just needing him and his body and the things it can do for yours.

So on the day you reach out over the center console of his van and place a hand on his thigh, he has to keep his whole body from convulsing. He looks down at your hand against his jeans and back up at the road before flitting his eyes over to you. You don’t even seem to notice. You’re reclined in the passenger seat, face forward and staring at the road, a small smile of contentment on your lips. Like you aren’t making him want to crawl out of his skin from the pleasure of your touch.

“What’s uh…what’s going on, baby?” He asks, having to clear his throat. You look over at him lazily.

“Hm?” You seem utterly unaware of what he’s talking about. Eddie keeps his eyes on the road but smirks.

“Felt like putting your hand on something to claim it for later?” He nods in the direction of your hand on his thigh. You cock your head to the side and chuckle.

“Just felt like touching you, is all.” You begin to slide your hand back and forth over the taut denim. Each time you slide back a little higher. Your voice takes on a more teasing lilt now that you have an idea of how it’s affecting him. “Do I have to have a reason to touch you, Eddie?”

Eddie swallows thickly.

“Baby, I’ll be honest. If you touch my dick right now one of two things will happen - I’ll either crash this van or I’ll pull over and fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”

“Well you can’t afford a new van,” you say cheekily, tiptoeing your fingers up towards the growing bulge in his jeans. You lean over the center console and up to whisper in his ear. “And it’s my day off tomorrow, so I don’t need to walk.”

The tires are squealing and breaks are screeching before you can even think of how Eddie’s going to react. He’s got you pulled into the backseat before another heartbeat passes and he’s on you. Got you pushed down with your back against the pile of blankets he keeps back there for when he takes you to the drive in or Lover’s Lake.

“Eddie!” you squeal around a laugh as he mauls you with kisses all over your face and neck, his hands caressing and squeezing and groping literally every part of your body he can reach.

“Mmm Princess,” he moans back into your mouth appreciatively before moving down to suck at the place beneath your jaw. You laugh again and try and push at his shoulders.

“Eddie, stop.”

His body goes immediately still and he leans back to look in your eyes.

“You-you want me to stop, baby?”

At the clear uncertainty on his face you rush to shake your head.

“No of course not,” you say, pressing your lips to his in a bruising kiss. His instant concern and willingness to cater to your comfort has your body tingling and you deepen the kiss quickly. Eddie’s the one to pull away, however.

“Getting some mixed signals here, sweetheart,” he says with a good natured chuckle. “What’s going on in your pretty head?“

You take this moment to gently push against his chest and shoulder. He lets you manipulate him till it is his body laid back against the blankets. He watches you with confusion etched in his brow but you kiss it away. You stay kneeling at his side and begin sweeping your hands over his shoulders, his chest, down the lengths of his arms, his abdomen.

“Just felt like touching you,” you repeat your earlier statement. “Remember?“

Eddie’s eyes widen with comprehension and a deep blush begins to spread across his cheeks and down his neck. He feels the heat rising in his skin and feels a bit ridiculous. He’s fucked you silly in every square inch of this van, and most of the trailer at this point. He’s no stranger to your body and your love. But there’s something about the way you shift to maintain eye contact with him when he tries to look away that has his heartbeat increasing. You want to do this for him. Your participation and your enjoyment are always his top priority but there’s something about your selfless insistence in focusing on him that’s got him blinking up at you.

“You sure? Because I’d also be down to do all the work, m’lady,” he says, adopting an affected accent and sitting up, grabbing your hips. But you know him. You know he puts on accents and gets silly to try and keep from being vulnerable so you push him back, but allow his grip on your hips to haul you on top of him in the process.

Now you straddle his lap but you’re still above him. Again, he blinks up at you, ruffled.

“While that’s a tempting proposition, I’d really rather focus all my attention on this.” You lean down slowly - so slowly he feels like his brain is glitching - and begin to kiss the side of his throat.

The kiss becomes a nibble and soon you’re sucking on the tender skin, all while your hands continue to take in the hard planes of his body. Eddie’s breathing picks up. You notice the increasingly harsh rise and fall of his chest and his face gradually becomes warmer. He’s flustered by the attention. His hands stay obediently on your hips and you’re pleased he isn’t trying to fight the onslaught of affection you’re throwing at him.

When you begin to move back, straddling his thighs now instead of his lap, kissing down his chest, he does try to sit up to follow you. You push him right back down.

“Let me, baby,” you coo. He’s flustered, yes, but there’s no denying he’s turned on. You’d felt his erection beneath you before you’d even seen it and now that you’ve moved back you can see how hard he’s straining in his jeans. You tsk and run a sympathetic hand over his bulge. “This can’t be comfortable. Let me take care of that for you.”

You pitch forward and ruck up his shirt with one hand, exposing his tattooed abdomen. Placing kissed down the length of his exposed skin, making your way down his happy trail, your hands get busy unbuckling his belt and opening his jeans. It’s slow work, and when you grip him through his boxers Eddie grunts.

“Fucking Christ.”

He can’t even watch you as you peel the fabric down and expose him in all his swollen, leaking glory. His eyes are fixed on the ceiling of his van, squeezing shut with a groan when your hand wraps around him. Your thumb circling the wet tip to smear the collecting precum.

“Look at me, Eddie.” You say the words gently but his eyes fly to you as if you’d commanded him. His eyelids flutter at the sight of you.

Straddling his legs. His cock in your hand as you slowly start to move it up and down. You must have spit in your hand or something when he wasn’t looking because the drag of your palm against his length is perfectly lubricated and the wet shick shick shick of you fisting him fills the van.

Your other hand is placed on his lower belly. Definitively. Possessively. The sight of that hand on his skin - the feel of your warm pressure there - almost does more to him than the hand jerking his cock.

“Holy f-fuck, Princess.”

You hum in response to his stuttering. Lean down to place a kiss to his tip just as your hand twists and jerks in its upward motion.

“You always take care of me so well, Eddie.” Your words are matter of fact. Looking back at him with big eyes filled with nothing but adoration. “You make sure I’m happy. Make sure I’m fed. Make sure I cum.”

At your words Eddie lets out a whine. It’s a sound he’s never heard himself make. You’ve never heard it either but it lights up a part of your brain that makes you desperate to hear it again.

“You’ve made me cum harder than anyone else. I can’t even make myself cum as hard as you can.”

There’s that whine again. You chuckle to yourself at the way this is undoing him because of course. Of course your Eddie - the man who pleasures you for his own pleasure - wants to be told how good he makes you feel.

“I think your cock just got harder, Eddie. I didn’t even know that was possible.”

“It’s always possible with you,” Eddie explains with a strained chuckle.

“Did you get harder because you like hearing that you’re good at fucking me? Or was it because you like hearing how much I enjoy it?”

“That you enjoy it.” Eddie’s answer doesn’t even take a second. He’s honest and fast with his response. “I just want you to enjoy it.”

You speed up your hand on his cock then and he lets out a deep moan.

You’ve jerked him off before, so this is nothing new. But there’s something about the focus of the moment. They way you’re giving and he’s allowing himself to take. He’s not fighting with you for dominance like he usually would. He’s fully absorbing your adoration for him and it makes you want to flood him with even more.

“I always enjoy it. You’re so good to me, Eddie. So good for me.”

His hips stutter violently then and a smile spreads across your face. Eddie loved to praise you in bed and you loved to get praised. You always tried to reciprocate but it’s hard to do so when you’re getting fucked brainless all the time. So right now, with your wits about you, you decide it’s time to return the favor.

“You like hearing me say you’re good for me, huh?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Yeah. Well good, because you’re so good for me, Eddie. You make me feel so good with your perfect hands and your perfect cock. And fuck is this cock perfect.”

He’s looking away again. Unable to process all of your words. His eyes are squeezed shut against your praise and you take the opportunity to speed up you fist.

“You’re so pretty, Eds. You know that? Fuck.”

You hear his breathless chuckle in response, but that’s it. Your boisterous, talkative Eddie Munson has been reduced to a quiet, shivering mess.

“I mean it. You’re so fucking pretty. I just want to touch you all the time.” You shift so that you’re back to straddling his lap, his cock (with your hand still on it) right between your legs. You lean forward so your other hand can slide from his pink-blotched throat, up the curve of his jaw and into his hair. His eyes open, a bit unfocused and disoriented, but locking wit yours nonetheless.

“You can touch me whenever you want.”

“I intend to,” you breathe, and lurch forward to kiss him.

Eddie whines into your mouth and begins rutting upwards with his hips. It’s jostles you, but you just keep pumping him, pulling him closer and closer to climax with each tug. Some sort of dam breaks and suddenly he snaps, all of the words stuck inside of him as you overwhelmed him with your touch spewing out of him now all at once.

“I-I want you all the time, sweetheart. You put your hands on me and - fuck! I feel like I could fucking explode anywhere. It just feels so - oh god.”

“Feels good, Eds? Yeah?”

“Sooo good. You feel so fucking good. Make me feel so fuck good.”

He’s whimpering now and the sound has you soaking through your underwear. The pulsing between your legs is insistent now. Your stomach clenches with need and you’re rocking back and forth in his lap with each pump of your hand on his cock. But you stay patient. You know Eddie will insist on taking care of you afterwards whether you as or not.

“You gonna be good and cum for me, Eddie? Huh?”

He’s said those words to you before but never heard them directed at himself. He spasms in your grasp and whines.

“I want to be good for you.”

“You’re so good, Eddie.” He grips the back of your neck and pulls you into his chest, holding onto you for dear life. You place kisses to his hot skin through his shirt. “So fucking good.”

“I’m…I’m gonna cum, baby.” His words are strangled and you make sure not to let up, pumping his cock until he’s cumming all over your hand, his hot spend spilling out on his stomach and yours.

“Mmmm so good for me,” you hum against him and his stomach contacts wildly at the praise.

“H-holy fuck,” he stutters again.

When he finally loosens his grip on you, you let go of his softening cock and pull away.

“What - where are you…?” He reaches for you blindly as you get up and move to the front seat, wiping yourself off with an extra fast food napkin you found in the center console. Settling into the driver’s seat you look over your shoulder and smile at his disheveled and debauched appearance.

“We’re on the side of the road, Eddie. I’m driving us home.” You say it like the answer is simple. As the van rumbles back to life and you shift it into gear, Eddie struggles to sit up.

“I mean I can do it -,”

“Lay back down, mister. I’m perfectly capable of handling this hunk of metal.” You chastise playfully. He drops back down on his elbows and laughs as your eyes find his in the rear view mirror. “Besides. I need you to rest up. You’re supposed to make it so that I can’t walk tomorrow, remember?”

~*~

Tiny tag list: @millenialcatlady @sacklerscumrag @theoncrayjoy chaoschaoswriting copycatkillerfics @cowboy-kylo lassie-bird softpshycopath katsukis1wife spookyreidd

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson thots #stranger things smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader #fem!reader

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steddieasitgoes · 7 months

Text

written for @eddiemonth Day 16 Prompt: Library & Curious a/n: This one might be my favorite one I've written yet! It's set at the start of season 2! read on ao3 | link to my ao3 Edde Month series

Eddie’s well aware there are a lot of stupid classes that Hawkins High requires its student body to take. Algebra (there’s no reason for the alphabet and numbers to mix, except in very rare cases, like D20 type cases), Physics (what more do they need to know beyond what goes up, must come down), French (as if anyone from Bumfuck, Indiana could afford to go to France — okay maybe some can, but Eddie’s certainly not one of them that’s for damn sure), goddamn Physical Education (only way he’s running is if someone is chasing him, thank you very much). But the stupidest class of all has to be Study Hall.

An entire class dedicated to doing work for other classes? What kind of idiot dreamed this one up? Instead of letting them out an hour early, some guy, probably in a suit because all bad ideas come from guys in suits, decided to hold them hostage to do more work. It’s ridiculous. Not to mention, it’s one of the few times, outside of lunch, that the grades get to mingle with each other. Sure, lots of studying goes on in between freshmen drooling over seniors and sophomores paying juniors for last year’s test answers.

The only time Eddie actually liked study hall was during his sophomore year when he had it first period and could do all the homework he neglected to do the night before. It’s the only time it actually made sense. And the only time, thus far in his high school career, that Eddie actually turned in more assignments than not.

But now, he’s a senior stuck with study hall as his last class of the day, and he wants to die. Okay, maybe not die die. But die in the sense that he’d rather risk bodily harm escaping the hellscape that is the Hawkins library during 6th-period study hall than sit here. His freedom is so close — nothing but a few windows and a brick wall separating him from the brisk late-October air. Eddie can’t risk it, though. He’s already reached his detention quote for the semester, and if he wants to keep using the drama room for Hellfire meetings, he has to sit in this damn library seat and at least pretend to get some work done.

Which, honestly, isn’t the worst thing in the world. At least it gives him time to work on his latest Hellfire campaign without the prying eyes of Jeff and Gareth or the unnecessary questions from Freak. Sure, he’s supposed to be working on an essay for English Lit, but he doesn’t think Ms. Washington is going to appreciate his take on Frankenstein, so he’ll worry about coming up with a dumbed-down idea another day.

Besides, even focusing on his new campaign is hard enough with the idle chatter going on that the librarian is either pretending not to hear or is too tired of shushing them for.

It’s the usual sort of study hall gossip. Who’s screwing who. What teacher is going to pull a pop quiz tomorrow and become the biggest asshole at Hawkins High. The occasional nervous whispers of the geeks actually studying.

It’s all mindless chatter that drifts into the background when the topic of Tina’s Halloween Bash comes up. That’s the real gossip of the night. Who got the keg, and what other alcohol is being provided? Who is going to be the best dressed? What couple is going to get caught screwing in Tina’s parent’s bed? Are there going to be any good fights or breakups?

Eddie rolls his eyes. Jesus H. Christ, can’t anybody be original around here?

Unfortunately for Eddie, there’s no escaping Tina’s Halloween Bash since he’s been summoned to provide some extra party favors, as the “cool” kids like to call them. Eddie, never one to back down from being a thorn in a “cool” kid’s side, always responds with the same spiel: “Drugs. What you want is drugs, right? Or should I go raid Melvald’s for you?”

Whatever. Money is money, and Eddie can take all the money he can get his grubby hands on if he wants to get out of this shit-hole town when he graduates in June.

Glancing at his watch, he tips his head back in a silent groan of annoyance. Only ten minutes have passed since he slunk into the uncomfortable library seat. Christ, why does time move so slow, sometimes? Eddie tries to focus on his Hellfire notes in front of him, and he’s successful for all of thirty seconds before something catches his attention in the corner of his eye.

Nancy Wheeler and the former Hawkins High King, Steve Harrington, are whispering to each other by the pencil sharpener. He rolls his eyes. Of course, no one else in the library is paying them any mind. And why would they? Harrington fell from grace last year, and Wheeler isn’t exactly the “look at me” type. Still, Eddie finds them morbidly interesting in a way he finds all the tragic heterosexual couples in this stupid small town interesting.

Before Eddie has a chance to fall deeper into his cynical outlook on this stupid Hawkins High couple, Wheeler starts tugging Harrington toward the private study room in the back of the library. It’s a move that shocks Eddie to his core. Don’t get him wrong, he’s heard all bout Harrington’s little trysts in that very room over the years (thank you gossip mill for the very cheap porn), but he never would have assumed Wheeler would be the one tugging him toward it.

It’s that detour from who she’s supposed to be that has Eddie peeling himself off his chair. At least, that’s what he tells himself as he saunters toward the stack of books in the back of the library closest to the private room. If he hears moaning or anything remotely sounding like they’re hooking up, he promises himself he’ll leave. He’s a freak in many ways, but a creep, he is not.

Glancing over his shoulder, Eddie can see the two of them in the small room. They’re close but not close enough to be doing anything beyond talking. From the look on her face, doing anything of that sort isn’t even on her mind.

Interesting.

Eddie creeps closer.

“Barbara. It’s like nobody cares. Except her parents. And now they’re selling their house.”

“Nance—“

Wheeler rants about something, but he misses most of it. Only catching the very end.

“It’s destroying them.”

No shit, Eddie thinks with another dramatic eye roll. Of course, losing their only daughter is destroying them. The Hollands are one of the few families around here that actually have a heart. At least they did before Barbara tore it from them by running away. Or so the story goes. Eddie’s always been a bit suspicious of Holland’s disappearance. He knows the runaway type, and a straight-A girl, with a well-off family who loves them like Holland had doesn’t fit the bill.

“I know. Okay? I get it,” Harrington says, glancing away from Wheeler to peer out the window. Eddie grabs the first book on the shelf and buries his face in it. It must fool Steve because he starts talking again. “But listen, there’s nothing we can do about it.”

“Yeah, we could tell them the truth.”

“This isn’t some game, Nance. If they found out that we told any…” He trails off again, and Eddie reaches for another book.

Eyes peering over the pages, Eddie watches as he shuts the blinds before presumably returning to Wheeler. With the blinds shut and their voices even lower, he can no longer hear what they’re talking about. Which is a damn shame because Eddie’s never been more curious about what the disgraced King was about to say than right now.

+ + +

“M’telling you guys. It was weird,” Eddie says through a mouthful of Doritos.

They’re hanging out in Gareth’s garage. Jeff sits in the old recliner while Gareth stays perched behind his drum kit. Freak is running late, as usual, though Eddie’s not too pressed about it today. Too distracted filling the boys in on what he overheard in the library.

“I don’t know man; it sounds like she was just concerned about her best friend,” Gareth says, lightly tapping his drumsticks on his snare.

“Yeah, those two were inseparable, remember.”

“All the more reason why it’s weird she’s been mopping around lately. Obviously, she knows where Holland is. Or what happened to her.”

“Not this again,” Jeff groans, sinking further into the recliner.

“Yes, this again,” Eddie retorts, throwing Jeff an intense glare. “This town is weird as shit. If the Byers kid can come back from the dead—“

“I thought they proved it wasn’t actually Byers they found in the quarry,” The Freak says, finally joining them in the garage.

“They did, but Eddie still thinks—“

“Shut up!” Eddie shouts, taking a moment to throw a Dorito at all of their heads. “Let me level with you for a second, okay? Yeah, sure, they said that kid wasn’t Byers, but they never said whose kid it was, which is weird. And then right after that, they “find” Holland’s car? It’s too coincidental, man. You know a story isn’t right when it’s too easy.”

“This isn’t one of our campaigns,” Gareth sighs. “Sometimes things really are just accidental coincidences.”

Eddie shakes his head, running his Dorito-stained fingers over his face. “Nah, man, m’not buying it this time. Harrington and Wheeler know what really happened to Holland. And I think they’re responsible for it.”

“So, what?” Jeff asks, leaning forward so his elbows rest on his knees. “You think they made her disappear or something.”

“Maybe Harrington got Holland knocked up, and his family gave her money to leave.”

“See!” Eddie shouts, slapping his hands together as he jumps on the balls of his feet. “Freak gets it! That’s the kind of thing I’m talking about.”

“Okay, but if Harrington knocked Wheeler’s best friend up, why would she still be dating him?” Jeff asks.

“And why would they both be hiding her from her parents?” Gareth adds.

Okay, so maybe these are valid questions, but Eddie doesn’t appreciate the doubts they’re throwing at him. “I don’t appreciate you doubting me,” he says plainly. “You’ll see. M’gonna figure this out.”

“Right, just like you figured out that Ms. O’Donnell was actually failing you for a reason and not because she had some vendetta against Wayne for not dating her.”

“Hey. That was a good theory, okay. One I still think is true, by the way.” Turning his back on the boys, Eddie crosses the room and tosses the empty bag of Doritos into the trash bin before heading towards his badly parked van.

“I thought we were practicing!” Gareth shouts after him.

“Just let him go,” Jeff sighs. “He’s impossible to work with when he’s in conspiracy theory mode.”

Eddie flips Jeff off, climbing into the van. “I’ll see you boys tomorrow.”

+ + +

Eddie’s been at Tina’s party for an entire hour and a half, and there’s still no sign of Harrington or Wheeler. Not that he’s actively searching them out, of course. He’s just had some downtime in between upselling Hagan for the world’s shittiest pot he could get his hands on, and explaining to some cheerleader how Special K hits differently if you snort it. Plus, his supply ran out about ten minutes ago, so he’s just buying time before someone notices him lingering and kicks his ass to the curb.

He’s about to save himself and whatever jock gets thrown his way the trouble, when he spots Harrington and Wheeler arguing by the punch bowl. He’s too far away to hear what they’re saying, but he has a sneaking suspicion it has less to do with the conversation he heard in the library and more to do with Wheeler’s drunken state. Case in point: the red liquid she just spilled all over her blouse.

Chasing after her, Harrington cuts through the crowd and makes his way toward one of the bathrooms. Eddie waits a minute before following them down the crowded hallway. Thankfully, no one is in line for this bathroom — still too early in the night for the alcohol to have hit their bladders — so he’s first in the unofficial bathroom line. Leaning casually against the wall, Eddie angles his ear closer to the door so he can hear inside.

It takes a minute for his ears to tune out the music and nonsense chatter, but when they do, he can clearly hear Wheeler slurring her words.

“You’re pretending like everything’s okay. You know, like we didn’t… like we didn’t kill Barb.”

Eddie’s never experienced shock before, at least, he doesn’t think he has; the early days of his life are a little hazy around the edges, but that’s the only word he thinks fits what he’s experiencing right now. Part of him wants to shove his ear closer to the door to continue listing, while the other part of him wants to run for the hills, screaming in victory. And if he’s straight with himself, maybe screaming in fear a little, too. Harrington and Wheeler murderers? Who knew?

He knew, that’s who!

He knew there was something shady going on between those two.

Pressing his ear closer, he can hear Wheeler slurring more words, though he’s not exactly sure what she’s saying. Honestly, he doesn’t really care what she’s saying. He’s listening for Harrington’s response right now. What does the mighty King have to say about the bomb she’s just dropped?

“This is bullshit,” she slurs.

“Like we’re in love?” Steve asks.

Huh, clearly, Eddie missed a step or two in his shocked state. He’s not exactly sure how the conversation strayed from them killing Holland to their, clearly, toxic relationship, but the fact it did is all the proof Eddie needs. If they didn’t kill her, Harrington would have been vehemently denying her claim. And yet, he sounds like a kicked puppy dog right now because she doesn’t love him.

Join the club, Harrington.

The doorknob starts to jiggle, and Eddie bolts. It’s not that he’s afraid about coming face-to-face with the two who apparently killed Holland. It’s just that, well, he needs a minute to think about the information he’s just learned.

+ + +

With Gareth and Freak both busy supervising their siblings around Hawkins and Jeff on candy duty for his family’s house, Eddie has no one to share the good bad news with. RIP Holland and all that, but he’s sitting on some serious dirt right now.

The good part of Eddie’s brain knows he should head straight for the police station. Pull good ole’ Chief Hopper aside and gloat about how he did his job for him. But Eddie’s spent enough time at the stuffy station to know no one is going to believe him especially not against Harrington and Wheeler. He’d have better luck marching in there and turning himself in for her murder. Not that he’s going to do that.

He supposes he could tell Wayne about it, but he doesn’t need to be dragging his uncle into any more of his messes. And since Eddie has no proof beyond overhearing a drunken confession, a mess it’ll surely turn into.

So, he opts for the third option and heads out to Skull Rock to do some thinking.

Maybe Freak is right, and it was some sort of jealous rage brought on by a Holland-Harrington pregnancy. Or maybe Holland saw something she shouldn’t have; the possibilities are endless, and Eddie’s imagination is limitless.

Eventually, he circles back to what he’s supposed to do with this information. Should he turn them in? Maybe not Wheeler; she seems like she’s experienced enough guilt as it and the girl has a bright future or whatever it is the teachers are always talking about. Harrington, though? Harrington, he should turn in, right? I mean, he didn’t even seem phased when Wheeler brought up the murder. Eddie’s watched enough horror movies to know that’s psychopath behavior right there. Besides, it would be nice to see the King behind bars. But then again, he hasn’t been the King in a while. And Harrington’s never really done anything to Eddie beyond standing idle while Hagan threw slurs at him. But he’s not hanging out with Hagan anymore, so maybe he should cut him some slack.

Though they did murder someone.

Jesus H. Christ.

Maybe this is why they say curiosity killed the cat — Eddie’s head is throbbing. He’s about to take another hit from his joint when he hears leaves crunching in the distance.

Shit.

Someone’s coming.

Snubbing out his joint against the rock, Eddie tries his best to make it seem like he’s just here, escaping the busy Halloween night. Which, like, he definitely is, but he can’t be too safe. Especially not when there are two teenage murderers on the loose.

“She thinks m’bullshit? She’s bullshit! Bullshit.”

The voice is unmistakable.

Jesus H. Christ could tonight get any weirder.

Eddie’s only escape is to run deeper into the forest, and he’s not about to do that so he makes himself comfortable on top of Skull Rock like a fucking sitting duck. Searching the pockets of his vest, he yanks out a pack of cigarettes and his lighter. Neither of which he was looking for. Of course, he left his pocket knife in his van. Stupid. So stupid!

There’s a moment of silence before Harrington emerges from the clearing. The moon is bright above them, making Steve’s tear-stained cheeks and red-rimmed eyes glow in the otherwise dark forest.

Maybe he is feeling guilty after all.

“Ah, fuck,” Harrington groans, stumbling to the ground.

Eddie watches as he rolls around for a moment, struggling to find his footing. If Eddie were a mean person, he might let Harrington suffer. But something about his behavior reminds him of a wounded animal, and Eddie’s always had a soft spot for bruised and broken things.

“Shit, Harrington, you okay?” Eddie asks, jumping down.

Eddie’s boots crunch against the leaves, startling Harrington. He manages to pull himself into a seated position and brandishes a near empty beer bottle in Eddie’s direction. “Stay back!”

“Woah, man,” Eddie yelps, hands raised in surrender in front of him. “Don’t kill me.”

“Oh, s’you,” Steve says, slumping against the tree behind him. He tosses the beer bottle aside and runs both his hands over his face. “Jesus. Why does everyone think I would kill s-someone?”

“Uh,” Eddie stutters, glancing around. Now’s his chance to make a break for it. Put those hours of physical education to good use and sprint to the van before Harrington has a chance to make him his next victim. But there’s something in Steve’s sad eyes and dejected voice that makes Eddie stay. “‘Cause you have killed someone before?”

“Man, what the hell are you talking about?” Harrington snaps, fumbling to get out of his jacket. “I’ve n-never killed anyone.”

“So, you didn’t kill Barbara Holland, then?”

“No! Jesus, ‘course not. Barb was… Barb was nice. She was good. Like Nance. Better than Nance, maybe. I don’t know,” Harrington whines, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Barb she’s… yeah, man, she’s dead. But I didn’t have anything to do with that. N-not in the way you think I did, at least.”

Harrington’s not making a lot of sense, which only spurs Eddie’s curiosity on more. Closing the distance between them, Eddie hops to a squat in front of him. “But you did have something to do with what happened to her?”

“Shit, man,” Harrington groans, words slurring more more. “S’complicated, okay. I can’t talk about it with you or her parents or anyone. Or else they’ll come for me or Nance or our families and then we’ll all be toast like Barb. And that… that thing that came out of the Byers’ wall.”

Complicated? Jesus H. Christ, Eddie’s never heard anything more complicated than the jumble of words that just left Harrington’s mouth. He can feel his heart racing in his chest, the realization that they’re alone in the woods talking about something someone doesn’t want Harrington talking about.

“What?” Eddie says more to himself than to Steve. “Harrington, what thing in the Byers wall? You’re not making any sense!”

“The thing. You know, the… the,” Steve hiccups. “The thing we can’t talk ‘bout, else they’ll come for us next.”

Someone will come for him and his family if he reveals what happened to Barb? And the thing in the Byers wall? He wants to ask who would come. What would happen? Is he being blackmailed? There are so many questions dancing on the tip of his tongue, but none of them win the war.

“Harrington, man,” Eddie says, shaking his head. “Are you in trouble? Do you, like, need help or something?”

Finally, freeing himself from his jacket, Harrington lifts his head and looks up. There’s a moment where Eddie’s life flashes before his eyes, but then the sad replay of his life is interrupted by Harrington’s hand on his cheek. A dopey-looking grin on his face as he squints up at Eddie.

“You have pretty eyes, M-m-munson. Anyone ever tell you that?” Steve slurs before promptly passing out against the tree.

What the hell has Eddie gotten himself into?

#eddiemonth #eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson ficlet #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington ficlet #nancy wheeler #nancy wheeler fic #nancy wheeler ficlet #stancy #stancy ficlet #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things season 2 #implied steddie #steddie #dani writes

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natjennie · 5 months

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thinking about how much a time loop ghosts fic would rip like. maybe it's carpe diem right. like imagine cap doesn't reveal his story, he chickens out, the clock strikes midnight no one moves on they dance they go to bed they wake up.

the morning clubs and discussions seem vaguely familiar but, he's been dead almost 80 years, they run into repeating themselves sometimes, it doesn't register as weird. but when robin runs in yelling that there's a pattern to when they move on, cap starts to get confused. maybe robin is just trying again, he thinks it's TODAY instead? but everyone is reacting like this is the first time they've heard it. maybe he dreamed last night? but he's never had such vivid dreams. strange. he's on edge all day, coming up with theories, and everyone who talks to him can tell there's something a little off. but he doesn't rush into things, so he tries his best to do things the same as yesterday and not make anyone suspicious, but keeps an eye out for anything weird. and he has nothing, clock, dance, sleep. maybe it was a weird dream? but here robin comes again and now he knows something is wrong. so then like, who would he go to first? how does he tell the different ghosts?

there's loops upon loops where he tries telling some of them but not others, having to learn the specific things to say to convince them it's happening and to get them to help. there's loops where he goes to alison and loops where he doesn't and loops where he tries staying away from everyone all day and loops where he can quote what everyone is gonna say before they say it and then. he starts to think, is this really any different than being a ghost in the first place? he's so tired and nothing is working and. maybe he should just give up. experiencing this day over and over again isnt functionally any different than experiencing mindless other days over and over again for years on end. and then he starts to question himself. has this happened before and he's just never noticed? where there years in there, before alison, before pat's clubs, when he'd done the same day multiple times and just been so used to the monotony it didn't register?

and he falls into this like hole of grief and fear and confusion and mostly he thinks about havers. about how if he was here, he would know what to do. about how he always knew what to do. and for loops and loops on end, he stops counting, all he does is wish havers was there with him. he grips the swagger stick so hard it snaps and he throws it as far into the forest and as deep into the lake as he can just to watch it reappear in his hands and he thinks about anthony. about what he had, about what he lost, about what he still has to gain. and he thinks that maybe his family deserve to know. it's not that he owes it to them, it's not something being dragged out of him, taken, like everything else. this is something he can give, freely, and maybe, just maybe, it'll start to feel a little lighter.

so he decides, tomorrow, or today, or the same yesterday, or however it works. next loop, he'll tell them. he keeps everything as similar as he can to that first day, in case this doesn't work and he has to start changing variables again, and when the clock starts to chime, he tells them. and he grips the stick over his heart and he's ready.

#ARE YOU LISTENING #i love time loop fics so fucking much #someone make this a full fic i dont want to #i cant write for shit lol but imagine this as a long beautiful fic #like 12k words. all one chapter #a song lyric title. the works.#bbc ghosts #the captain #capvers #carpe diem #my writing #< not really but just in case

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beaniebeensbaby201 · 1 year

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Neteyam x enemies to lovers Omotacaya reader

PLEASE DO NOT COPY MY WORK

Summary; Reader and Neteyam's parents don't get along. Her father doesn't like Jake as he has known him since he was working with the enemy. He had been holding a grudge since he had been using them. So Neteyam and the reader have to sneak around in order to be together without getting caught by their parents.

Neteyam is 19, and reader is 18

The sun was beginning to set as Neteyam's parents were setting the kids ready for bed. Neteyam waited for his family to fall asleep so he could see her. He knew the risks if both of their parents found out they were together.

Their parents didn't get along, as their fathers would always butt heads together. Her father was a warrior, he was forced to listen to his fathers orders as he was the Olo'eyktan, and Toruk Macto.

Her father was jealous, as he was just a mighty warrior that fought alongside Taruk Macto. The young couple would always meet by the bioluminescent river, just a little aways from the Sacred tree. They were almost twenty years old.

"I was wondering when you were going to show up." The young Na'vi girl teased.

The boy just smirked as he yanked her tail lightly as he sat down next to her on a log.

Her blue skin glowed from the river, her face littered with white spots that looked like stars. She respected his family, unlike her parents they did not like the Sully's.

"I wish our parents didn't have us involved in their feud." The girl lays her head on the boy's shoulder.

"It's not fair to us, I mean they'll want to know who we're going to mate with. Tomorrow is our ceremony, we get to make the bow from the hometree and we get to choose our mates for life. But my parents already gave me the 'do not choose the Sully Boy', talk." She air quotes, and her voice depends to mock her father.

"It is our lives, our choice. I see you, and only you. We've been hiding this from our parents for two years, my siblings have been a great help with lying for me, so I didn't get caught. You and Kiri have a strong bond, a friendship that not even our parents can destroy. You and Lo'ak are the best hunters, and you are my right hand woman. You're the only one I want to be my Tsahik." Y/n starts to tear up as her face hides in his neck as she sobs.

"Why can't my father accept the fact that he will never be a Olo'eyktan?" Neteyam says nothing as he pushes a chunk of hair behind her ears.

He loved seeing her hair out of there usual braids, as she had that natural curl from them. She would have her hair down at night, as she likes to do different braids every day.

Y/n's younger sister who was only two years younger was searching for her as their parents were looking for her.

"Y/n!" The couple quickly looked at each other when they heard a voice shout for her name.

"Is that y/s/n?" She whispers, looking at the forest trying to spot a shadow of her sister.

"Neteyam!" The two quickly got up and started to run.

Their families were searching for them, only for the couple to bump into something, or more like someone.

"C'mon lemur boy!" Y/n shouted as Neteyam was falling behind as they jumped in the trees.

"Seriously?" He calls out as she calls him by his nickname.

But they continued to run, only for them to stop when they were caught.

"How many times do we have to tell you that you can not be together?" Jake scolds, the only thing that both parties agreed on.

"With all due respect sir, this is my father's doing. He can not except the fact that he is not Taruk Macto, or that you were a human that is now the leader. He's jealous and can't get it over his head." Jake tries not to smile, as he goes wide eyed. But her father held anger in his eyes, if looks could kill she'd run as far as she could if she wanted to.

"We have decided who we chose to mate with. We're in love with each other mother, I love him. He loves me." Y/n grabs Neteyam's hand, as he gives her a proud smile.

"I will be a Sully, take his last name. Learn to be a Tsahik, you can not take this away from me mother, father." She looks between both of her parents.

"Jake is the only one who could accept it, wanting to bring peace. All you want is to hate him. I will always choose Neteyam, no matter how hard you threaten, or try to keep me away from him." Her father sighs as Jake places a hand on the shorter Na'Vi's shoulder. She looked up at him and he had a look of pride on his face.

"We can't keep them from each other y/f/n. This has to end, make a Truce, you can't hold this grudge forever." Y/n's mother spoke, the two women were standing near each other.

The father continues to stay silent, as the family stares at him for a response.

He walks away, he was mad at the fact that his daughter had chosen a boy that she was told not to fall for. He knew he would lose, as she was stubborn. Y/n turns to Neteyam and places her lips against his. She wraps her arms around his neck as he places his hands on her waist.

"I love you Neteyam." She whispers, they were alone as they left them by themselves.

The two young Na'Vi's no longer have to hide their love.

#neteyam x reader #avatar enemies to lovers #avatar #jake sully x platonic reader #lo'ak sully #lo'ak x platonic reader #avatar the way of water #avatar x reader #neteyam imagines #tumblr fyp

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wingedblooms · 4 months

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Three sisters witches

Thank you to @offtorivendell, @silverlinedeyes, and @psychologynerd for our discussions which inspired this theory. This is a Maasverse post, and as such, there may be spoilers for all Maas series. Please proceed with caution.

“All three sisters blessed by fate and gifted with powers…” (Amren, acosf)

The acotar series begins with three sisters: Feyre, Nesta, and Elain. Given their ironwood origins and the fact that Ironteeth witches in Erilea use it to carve their brooms, many of us suspect the sisters have witch heritage or are connected to witches in some way.

The room was large enough for a rickety dresser and the enormous ironwood bed we slept in. The sole remnant of our former wealth, it had been ordered as a wedding gift from my father to my mother. It was the bed in which we’d been born, and the bed in which my mother died. In all the painting I’d done to our house these past few years, I’d never touched it. (acotar)

In Midgard and Erilea, witches worship the Three-Faced Goddess, and she is sometimes conflated with Fate…

Again, Manon felt that ebb and flow in the world, that invisible current that some called Fate and some called the loom of the Three-Faced Goddess. (hof)

In this quote, Manon feels an invisible current that goes by different names. That current sounds a lot like Urd in Midgard, Wyrd in Erilea, and the divine trio (Mother, Cauldron, Fate/Forces That Be) in Prythian. All of which sound like different forms (usually three) of the same higher being. The Fae believe this being controls fate, including fated bonds. Bonds, like spells, are described in terms of threads. Does this being weave threads of fate together with her loom, like witches seem to believe? She (they?) appears to be inspired by the Norns of Norse mythology, one of which is named Urðr (Wyrd). Together, these wise women preside over fate. In some folklore and literature, they are considered witches, like the Three Witches or Wyrd (Weird) Sisters in Shakespeare’s Macbeth, who deliver a prophecy.

The Three-Faced Goddess is also known, albeit rarely, as the Three-Faced Mother:

Manon couldn’t look at them, couldn’t do anything but close her eyes and pray to the Darkness, to the Three-Faced Mother as she held her hands over the bleeding gashes. (koa)

I’ve talked about links between the Archerons, witches, Three-Faced Goddess, and divine trio (Mother, Cauldron, Fate) before, so this isn’t new, but something caught my attention when reviewing the text recently. Ironteeth witches believe that they return to the Three-Faced Goddess when they die, and they are reborn within her womb. It’s called the Mother’s Womb.

“We’ll collect the dead tomorrow,” Manon said, her voice low. “And burn them at moonrise.” As both Crochans and Ironteeth did. A full moon tomorrow—the Mother’s Womb. A good moon to be burned. To be returned to the Three-Faced Goddess, and reborn within that womb. (koa)

This belief reminded me of the three sisters’ rebirth, particularly Nesta and Elain. We gain insight into this experience in Nesta’s book:

In the beginning

And in the end

There was Darkness

And nothing more

She did not feel the cold as she sank into a sea that had no bottom, no horizon, no surface. But she felt the burning.

Immortality was not a serene youth.

[…]

They would pay. All of them.

Starting with this Cauldron.

Starting now.

She tore into the darkness with talons and teeth. Rent and cleaves and shredded.

And the dark eternity around her shuddered. Bucked. Thrashed.

She laughed as it recoiled. Laughed around the mouthful of raw power she ripped out and swallowed whole; laughed at the fistfuls of eternity she shoved into her heart, her veins.

[…]

Wrapped in black eternity, Nesta and the Cauldron twined, burning through the darkness like a newborn star. (acosf)

While Feyre is not reborn in the Cauldron, we do get insight into her experience. When telling the Bone Carver about what appeared to her after death, she said this:

But if he knew … I turned again to the boy-creature. “There was a choice—in Death,” I said.

[…]

“I knew,” I went on, “that I could drift away into the dark. And I chose to fight—to hold on for a bit longer. Yet I knew if I wanted, I could have faded. And maybe it would be a new world, a realm of rest and peace. But I wasn’t ready for it—not to go there alone. I knew there was something else waiting beyond that dark. Something good.”

[…]

“I knew there was no coming back from what I’d done,” I said, wondering if the blue flame in the Carver’s eyes might burn my ruined soul to ash. “And once I broke their curse, once I knew I’d saved them, I just wanted enough time to turn that dagger on myself. I only decided I wanted to live when she killed me, and I knew I had not finished whatever…whatever it was I’d been born to do.” (acomaf)

Feyre was broken, but she wasn’t finished with whatever it was she had been born to do. Nesta also chose to fight in the Cauldron like a warrior. When we finally get insight into Elain’s rebirth, I am willing to bet that she fought with her own brand of strength.

It’s clear the dark womb of the Three-Faced Goddess is the same divine trio (Mother, Cauldron, Fate) the Fae in Prythian worship. When discussing the sisters in acosf, Amren emphasizes, nothing is a fluke, and the Cauldron—like the invisible current Manon described—can influence others without their awareness, especially those it has reforged. The sisters are blessed by fate with immortality and rare gifts for a reason. What plans does it have for them, and who would it enlist to help them on their path?

“May the Immortal Light shine upon thee, sisters,” said the pale-robed young woman directly in our path. (acolyte, acotar)

From the beginning of the series, various religious influences have played a role in the sisters’ journey. Children of the Blessed are the first religious influence we see, and they are largely reviled as religious fanatics by humans. The acolyte who blesses the sisters wears pale blue robes like Fae priestesses, and it is this blessing that serves as foreshadowing for their immortal fate. The acolytes’ imitation of Fae priestesses also makes me wonder if they are part of the priestesses’ extensive spy network.

Like witches, Fae priestesses worship the divine trio, and in their full garb, they represent the Voice of the Cauldron:

Ianthe had shown me once what the panel looked like when down: only her nose and full, sensuous mouth visible. The Voice of the Cauldron. I’d found the image unsettling—that merely covering the upper part of her face had somehow turned the bright, cunning female into an effigy, into something Other. (acomaf)

Their powers stem from their rituals and they can be deadly, if desired:

Among the High Fae, the priestesses oversaw their ceremonies and rituals, recorded their histories and legends, and advised their lords and ladies in matters great and trivial. I hadn’t witnessed any magic from her, but when I’d asked Lucien, he’d frowned and said their magic was drawn from their ceremonies, and could be utterly lethal should they choose it. (acomaf)

It was a High Priestess who informed Hybern about Feyre’s sisters, leading to their eventual capture and rebirth. Hybern also possessed the Cauldron at the time—did it influence him and Ianthe, weave their actions like threads in a tapestry?

Lucien’s face had slackened. “She sold out—she sold out Feyre’s family. To you.”

I had told Ianthe everything about my sisters. She had asked. Asked who they were, where they lived. And I had been so stupid, so broken … I had fed her every detail.

“Sold out?” The king snorted. “Or saved from the shackles of mortal death? Ianthe suggested they were both strong-willed women, like their sister. No doubt they’ll survive. And prove to our queens it can be done. If one has the strength.” (acomaf)

According to the Bone Carver, dark makers created the Book of Breathings and used the Cauldron to make terrible things. The Book of Breathings can control or nullify the Cauldron, and because like calls to like, only someone who is Made can speak the spells and wield its power.

As three Made sisters with potential witch heritage, were the Archerons chosen to wield the divine trio's power, a Three-Faced Goddess in the flesh? Each sister is associated with a different kind of light, so could they be light makers? And is that ultimately what it means to be Starborn? Blessed by fate, their purpose written in the stars or woven into the Goddess's loom...

The weaver went on, "I have to create, or it was all for nothing. I have to create, or I will crumple with despair and never leave my bed. I have to create because I have no other way of voicing this." Her hand rested on her heart, and my eyes burned. "It is hard," the weaver said, her stare never leaving mine, "and it hurts, but if I were to stop, if I were to let this loom or spindle go silent..." She broke my gaze at last to look at her tapestry. "Then there would be no Hope shining in the Void." (acofas)

...to be threads of Hope shining in the Void.

In acosf, priestesses continue to remain directly in the sisters’ path. They help Nesta in various ways, including scrying and locating the Harp during their dusk ritual. It belongs to the Dread Trove and it is the Trove that Nesta uses to save Rhys, Feyre, and Nyx. Was the divine trio pulling the threads here as well, and if so, to what end? To help another world defeat an old enemy? Combat an ancient death-god and sorcerer? Bring peace and healing through a different sort of world?

Now that Nesta has tracked down three Trove objects, and we know the Cauldron can be used alongside them by those who are Made, it seems inevitable that we will see it again.

“Shall I tend to my little garden forever?” When Nesta flinched, Elain said, “You can’t have it both ways. You cannot resent my decision to lead a small, quiet life while also refusing to let me do anything greater.”

“Then go off on adventures,” Nesta said. “Go drink and fuck strangers. But stay away from the Cauldron.” (acosf)

In the original trilogy, we learn that the Cauldron gave Elain such powers and found her so lovely.

The Cauldron seemed to realize what she’d done, too, as his head thumped onto the mossy ground. That Elain … Elain had defended this thief. Elain, who it had gifted with such powers, found her so lovely it had wanted to give her something…It would not harm Elain, even in its hunt to reclaim what had been taken. (acowar)

Her story might bring us even closer to the divine trio, witches, and priestesses with her gift of Sight. Among the Ironteeth, Bluebloods were especially known for their connection to divine Sight and even had their own priestesses:

“I see now,” Manon said softly, “why my Blueblood sisters still worship you.”

“Do they, now?” The spider remained motionless, but the three behind her crept closer, silent and observing with their many dark eyes. “We can hardly recall the last time the Blueblood priestesses brought their sacrifices to our foothills. We do miss them.” (Manon to the valg spider, hof)

Like a Blueblood, Elain is different from her sisters. She has a different sort of strength. Manon comments that the Blueblood Matron, who represents the maiden aspect of the Three-Faced Goddess, is more priestess than warrior. Her heir, Petrah, is similar to Elain: she is gentle and caring and is rumored to have her head in the clouds. Their clan is full of oracles, mystics, zealots, and they supposedly require more iron to remain tethered to their world.

Elain’s connection to the Cauldron—marked by a mental, iron crown—mirrors her unique strengths and gifts.

She had no mental shields, no barriers. The gates to her mind … Solid iron, covered in vines of flowers—or it would have been. The blossoms were all sealed, sleeping buds tucked into tangles of leaves and thorns.

[…]

If Elain’s mental gates were those of a sleeping garden, Nesta’s…They belonged to an ancient fortress, sharp and brutal. The sort I imagined they once impaled people upon. (acowar)

Rather than a brutal ancient fortress (the Prison?), Elain’s iron crown is covered in vines and sleeping buds. It is peaceful and lovely and full of budding life. So, what might this mean for her role? With her oracular and mystic sight, Elain might be able to move and influence like the divine trio, a rose among the thorns. She could use her gifts, or the Cauldron itself (the flower of life), to weave threads of Hope through protection, healing, and creation. Both Feyre and Nesta have used raw magic to heal and create, weaving their own threads of Hope. Elain may also participate or learn a ritual in the dawn service to help her channel her powers. It’s no coincidence that we’re told about a dawn ritual called groundings before her story. Not when she is described like this:

But even the silence weighed too heavily, and though the shadows kept him company, as they always had, as they always would, he found himself leaving the room. Entering the foyer. Soft steps padded from under the stair archway, and there she was.

The Faelights gilded Elain’s unbound hair, making her glow like the sun at dawn. She halted, her breath catching in her throat. (Azriel’s bonus chapter)

And there she was, a vision of hope and healing, glowing like a new dawn during the longest night of the year.

If you’re interested in related posts about Elain, the divine trio, witches, and Archerons, here are some of my favorites:

Murky Realm of Dreams (Elain's connections to oracles and mystics)

Seer. Wise Woman. Witch. (Elain’s connections to witches, shifting, sight, herbs and healing, rituals, etc.)

Forbidden Secrets (Elriel mapping the secrets of the sister peaks and healing the land)

Sister-Glass Caverns (Prythian’s underground caves behave like sister-glass)

A Rose in the Thorns (Elain moves like the Cauldron)

Elain and the Flower of Life (The Cauldron is the flower of life and Elain is a gardener on a larger scale)

#Maasverse theories #the three Archeron sisters #three witches #Mother Cauldron Fate #Three-Faced Goddess #Hope shining through the Void

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niyanispunk · 11 months

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Putting in a request for some Soft!Joel 🥺

I read this quote earlier today and it said “I’m drunk and I hate everything but you. I love you. A lot.”

And it made me think of Joel and that it would be something he would maybe say and idk!!!!!! It gave me the warm and fuzzies!!!!!!!!

Drunk words, Sober Thoughts

Soft!Joel x reader

Warning/s: none

Words: 877

a/n: Hello love thank you sm for requesting, this is so cute I was actually excited when I was writing it so hope you love it! (unedited)

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It's Friday night, means you get to go off early. You work as a bartender in a bar at Jackson. Friday also means the Miller Brothers are getting a drink tonight, and you can't be more happy seeing Joel after a week after...well after you confessing your undying love to Him, you can't read His reaction Is He mad at you? so many thoughts ringing in your ear then He suddenly storm out and avoid you for the whole week. You and Joel first met when Ellie and Him first arrived at Jackson, you're the one who showed them their new house just a few houses away from yours, your second interaction with Joel was at the bar, A week after they arrived, the first time He talked to you other than just nodding. Since then you two goes patrol together and He visits you at the bar every night.

Wiping the tables and getting ready to go when you suddenly see a Familiar form approaching, "off already?" Joel's brother, Tommy. "hmm" you hum, finishing wiping out "Tough week?" tough week indeed you thought. "Yeah well...where's Joel?" you changed the topic "He's just finishing— Oh there He is" there He is, red flannel rolled up just to His elbows, messy hair as always, His eyes searching for something till they land on you, you're burning— cheeks are red and memories of your last meeting flood back, you found yourself excusing before he even approach you.

You got home early and goes straight to bed, completely passed out on your bed you immediately fell asleep, It's past 12 when you're suddenly woken up by the rocks hitting your windows You walked up towards the window and open it up, there you see Joel, waving at you obviously drunk but stopped when you disappeared, You goes down almost immediately opening the door "what are you doing??" you asked "can I sleep here tonight?" confused, you don't know what gotten into Him "what— c'mon I'm gonna take you home." quickly snatching your coat then helping the unstable Joel to walk.

Joel struggling to open the door, you to the rescue. "lemme—" He suddenly slaps your hand "I can do it." He tried again, failed. it's His time to look at you with those brown orbs asking for you to open the door but when you're about to twist the knob a sleepy Ellie coming to open it for you "ughh...thank you Y/n, you can just leave Him on the couch. " letting you in "I think im'ma stay for a little while, you can go back upstairs." you said giving the kid a soft smile which They return.

When you're done cleaning, you put a clean flannel shirt of Joel on the end of the couch for Him to change when He wakes up and a glass of water on the coffee table.

When you're about to stand up Joel suddenly hold your hand "stay." still half asleep you crouched down again to look at Him better, Him finally opening His eyes "You have a pretty eyes. " after a while He then strokes your hair "Smooth hair too. " He keeps stroking your hair, admiring your facial features "Thought you hated me. " He chuckled at that then suddenly sitting up taking you with Him to sit on His lap surprising you, when you finally got comfortable His hand finds you hair, stroking it again. "I'm drunk and hate everything but you. I love you. A lot." it's your time to cupped His face with one hand and Him leaning on your touch closing His eyes "can you say that again when you wake up tomorrow?" He loosely wraps His arms around your hips burrying His head on your chest nooding. He now take you with Him lying down on the couch sleeps overtaking the both of you.

The next morning you woke up with Him burying His head in your neck murmuring a good morning leaving small kisses now and then.

Turning you towards Him to get a better look at your face

"I love you. A lot." He said with a soft smile. you're grinning ear to ear, hotness creeping up from your stomach to your face, both of your hands cupping His face kissing Him passionately which He immediately returned, Oh how Inlove you are to this man.

"Well good morning to me" Ellie said as They walked in the living room, you both pulled away Joel glaring on Ellie's direction whose now preparing breakfast, You giggling and blushing like you're just caught red handed.

You both walked in the kitchen Isle Ellie handing Joel His coffee and you giving Him medicine for His headache. "So it's official?" Ellie suddenly blurts out "Ellie—" Joel looks at you then back to the kid "uhm—" Is It really official? you two didn't even spoke to each other just unsaid feelings, soft stares— god knows you two would always make an eye contact and then you're lost, lost in those brown orbs of His. "yes." Joel said looking at you as if asking "Yeah kid." You said softly "I knew it, You two we're literally eye fuc—" Joel suddenly cutting Them "C'mon let's eat, food's gettin' cold." you just giggled at Ellie sending daggers on Joel's direction, following Him to the table Ellie followed suit, sitting, you look at Joel's direction seeing a hint of pink on His cheeks chuckling and eating your breakfast peacefully with Ellie asking so many questions.

End.

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#joel miller x fem reader #tlou #joel miller #joel miller x reader #x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x female reader #pedrohub #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal fluff #joel tlou #joel and ellie #joel miller fluff #the last of us

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