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oneforthemunny · 2 months

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summerween |modern!eddie munson x reader|

prompt: eddie is itching to decorate for halloween. the only problem is, it's still summertime.

still on my fall shit, and still on my fluff shit. very fluffy and sweet for these two (i love them). short little fall ficlet. all fluff. language, that's really it. just fluff.

“It’s not even August.” You stare him down from your place behind the counter, arms crossed your white tank top, adding emphasis to your statement. It was hot, late July hot, too hot for Halloween decorations.

“Getting started early this year, sweetheart.” Eddie grinned, flashing a dazzling smile that had your chest swelling, cheeks tingling with warm rushes of emotion. “Never too early to get started.”

“This feels like too early.” You scoffed, rolling your eyes. Despite your protests and snide comments of how many weeks away October was, you still helped Eddie clean. Vacuum and mop, wipe down everything the way you always did before decorating.

“Kids aren’t even back in school, and you want to decorate?” You lifted a brow, cringing at the thud of the totes collecting a cloud of dust in the air from the dusty storage unit they’d been homed in since last November.

“Yeah, c’mon, it’s the most wonderful time of the year.” Eddie trilled dramatically, tearing the lid off the first box. A plethora of black and orange and purple figurines poked out, a waxy, plasticky scent following from the stored heat.

“Besides, everyone’s started putting stuff out. I keep seeing it on Instagram, people are finding all this cool shit. I wanna get what we have out, and then I was thinking we could go shopping tonight. Or tomorrow, just dependin’ on when we get done.” Eddie rambled excitedly, pulling out the tangled garland, eyes meeting yours with a sickly sweet pleading gaze.

You rolled your eyes, snatching the garland in dramatic irritation, sitting down on the couch to unravel it. “We’re putting all of this out today? What if I had other plans today?” You challenged, lifting a brow. You didn’t have any, of course, Eddie had already asked you that yesterday when he’d planned this.

“I’ll help you do them, baby. I promise. We don’t have to go shopping tomorrow if you don’t want to.” Eddie hummed sweetly, brown eyes rounding in the most adorable way towards you. “I just thought we’d go to Fort Wayne tomorrow. Take you shopping over there.”

Your lips pursed, too stubborn to relent so easily, but melting under his affection the way you always did. “There will be a million fuckin’ kids there tomorrow, Ed, school starts back in a week.”

“We can go first thing in the morning.” Eddie countered, proudly setting a plush ghost pillow next to the others. “Before it gets insane. I’ll wake up early for you.” He winked playfully.

Your lips rolled, fighting back a grin, chin ducking towards the garland. “Yeah, right.” You muttered. “You’ll sleep ‘til noon.”

“Nope. I’ll set twenty five alarms if I have to.” Eddie declared, unwrapping the glass figure carefully, wadding the paper back up. “You have my full consent to dump cold water on me if I don’t wake up after the third snooze. That’s what Wayne always did, and it always worked.”

You snorted lightly, facade breaking and a grin taking over your scowl. “Cold water? Like in a Disney Channel movie?” You lifted a brow, a snarky tease still in your tone.

Eddie grinned, dimples creasing deeply. “Yeah, I was a heavy sleeper. ‘Specially after I hit puberty, ya know? I think it was my seventh or eighth grade summer, I started playing Neverwinter Nights and would stay up all night. Then when school started, I didn’t stop, and I’d stay up the whole night and Wayne would be so pissed at me in the morning.” He shook his head lightly.

“One morning I wouldn’t get up, and I thought he’d finally just left me, was letting me stay home, and he came back, like, five minutes later with this popcorn bowl of ice water and dumped it on me.” Eddie snorted in laughter.

You barked out a laugh, an edge to your giggle that had Eddie blushing, his own laughter bubbling thick in his chest. “So that’s how he got you to get up?”

“Worked like a charm.” Eddie nodded, a half grin pulling at his lips.

“Good to know.” You lifted your brow, lips curled in a devious little grin. Eddie’s knees weakened at the sight. “I’ll keep that in mind the next time you sleep through my cousin’s gender reveal.”

Eddie rolled his eyes lightly. “Baby, that was- c’mon, even you agreed that it was insane that they had it at ten in the morning. Who has a party that early?”

“Parents, Eddie.” You huffed. “Adults.”

“Alright.” Eddie shook his head, trying to diffuse a fight he could sense was looming. “Hey, look, I forgot you got this.” He pulled the bright pink ceramic ghost out of the tub.

“Oh, I forgot about that.” Your face lit up, pulling the final knot loose of the garland’s chords. “Put her on the shelf- no, on the other side, Eddie.” You clicked your tongue in annoyance, nodding harshly towards the empty shelf on the TV stand.

Eddie flicked on the switch, the dim bulb fluttering to life before sticking it on the shelf, proudly. Normally, he thought pink decor- especially Halloween- killed the vibe. It was supposed to be scary and dark and gloomy and moody, not pastel. Until he met you. Then pastel pinks, oranges, purples, all made their way into his dark and gorey decor. Happy, cute ghosts with his grim reapers and skulls.

“Did you get this at Target?” Eddie pushed the ghost so it was center, spine straightening as he stood.

“Mm, I think so.” You hummed, hooking your foot on the edge of the tote, sliding it closer to you. “Maybe Home Goods.”

“I think they have that huge Home Goods in Fort Wayne, don’t they? We could go there tomorrow. Look for more.” Eddie slid beside you, throwing a hand over your waist, squeezing your hip gently just to feel you squirm. His lips pressed to your jaw, soft and pillowy, leaving a burning heat of excitement in their wake.

“Fine,” You relented, melting into his affection, letting him pull you into him victoriously. “But I want to go to Anthropologie too. I want to see if they have those cute witch glasses I saw.”

“Yeah, we can do that. We’ll hit the mall first then Home Goods.” Eddie muttered, nose nuzzling against your cheek.

“I think they’d be so cute on the bar cart, don’t you?” You hummed, nodding towards the tiny gold bar cart in the corner of the kitchen.

A new edition to the apartment. Eddie had searched high and low, finally found the one you wanted on Facebook Market and drove all the way to Muncie to get it. You had been so excited when he showed it to you, beaming in a way that was rare but felt exhilarating to be the reason for it. Right now, it was donning a tequila theme, one you saw on Pinterest and had to match.

“Yeah that would be. You know, Gareth used to date this girl, Ayesha, and she always got this wine called Witches Brew. It had a cool lookin’ label on it, that would be cool to add to it too.” Eddie tucked his chin down to look at you.

“Ooh, that would be cool.” Your eyes lit up, just enough to have Eddie’s chest swelling with pride. “Isn’t there a Total Wine near the exit? We can stop and look there.”

“Sounds like a date to me, baby.” Eddie squeezed you closer to his chest, fingers barely brushing your sides so you squirmed. He paused for a moment. “Are you sure you’re ok with me putting this up? I-I can wait if you really don’t want me to, I just, I’m just excited ya know-”

“-I know.” You turned, shifting in his arms to look at him. “It’s fine.” You sighed dramatically, a teasing in your tone.

“At least if we get it up now, we can see what we need to add. Get it before it sells out.” You muttered, spinning the tiny fake spell book in your hands. Eddie grinned, eyes shining with excitement.

“But,” You lifted a finger, face dropping back to something serious. “Not outside yet. Only inside.” You pointed your nail at him threateningly. “Don’t want the neighbors to think we’re total freaks.” Eddie snorted, arms wrapping around you, pulling you closer to his chest so you were chest to chest, nearly nose to nose. “Please, a little late for that, babe.” Eddie snorted loudly. “They already know we're total freaks, what do you mean? They’ve definitely heard us being total freaks before- oof!” You cut him off, smacking him with a bat shaped pillow.

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bettyfrommars · 1 year

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Might be too much in line with I'm on fire.. but what about classic a classic motorcycle riding drifter.. that is more than meets the eye... maybe more monster than man and that's why he drifts... idk if that's enough maybe he's drifted into small town USA and he meets reader at like a Truckstop/ Diner that's across from the one hotel in town and over days of her waiting on him (EDS) they strike something up... spicy.. if you will.. maybe he finds her delectable and she finds him mysterious & charming idk just spit ballin

The Drifter

missed connections

out on the highway

blurb 1 blurb 2

monster!drifter!Eddie x dinerWaitress!Reader

18+ONLY, smut, blood, oral (f receiving), mention of drug and alcohol addiction, mention of physical abuse by an ex, mention of PTSD, emotional trauma, 2 lost souls finding each other, a killing, monsterfuqqing, but it’s also a really sweet, fluffy story if that makes sense. wc: 4.2

A/N: I was so excited to get this ask! I had to really pull back on the length of this story because I could've kept writing it forever and will most likely bring back Eddie The Drifter again in some oneshots. I did a quick re-read, but sometimes I just need to post these before I obsess over them for too long.

(Also, when Eddie is thinking about how "damaged" they both are, that is his perception, not mine. I think they are both perfect.)

Eddie had been drifting for a while. He didn’t want to know anyone, and he didn’t want anyone to know him. He hadn't been the same since the physical and emotional trauma he’d suffered in The Upside Down. Steve took him by the arm once and told him he understood what he was going through—that they all understood—and that he wasn’t alone. Eddie knew Steve and the rest meant well, but they couldn’t understand, and he was convinced no one ever would. Trauma affects everyone differently and for Eddie, it started to turn him into his father, and that was what scared him more than anything. Dark and brooding with a short fuse, there was a beast living inside of him that had not been there before the ordeal with Vecna; or perhaps, it had just been sleeping.

He lost his temper with Dustin once, and at the time, he thought he was having a very normal reaction to the situation. It wasn’t until he recognized the fear in his younger friend’s eyes–the way he backed away from Eddie and put his hands up as if he needed to protect himself—that Eddie knew he had to go. After years of silent struggle and becoming a hermit more and more, he decided to hit the road.

He started out in his van, sleeping in it, getting odd jobs wherever he went, staying in town just long enough to make some money, and then he was in the wind again. He called Wayne from payphones and sent postcards back home to Hawkins once in a while, but not often. In his mind, they were better off without him.

The second year he was on the road, he ended up getting involved with a biker gang and doing some jobs for them that paid well but were on the wrong side of the law. Before the Upside Down, he’d been more of a lover than a fighter. Sure, he had to defend himself a few times, especially from his old man, and he never took shit from people without giving it back, but ever since he almost died, he’d acquired some type of superhuman strength. There was a transformation that happened in him now, fueled by the adrenaline of his rage, and in the past decade, he’d been paid to hurt more people than he could count. The problem was—he’d started to like it.

Eventually, he was able to trade in his van for a Harley FXS 80, and he carried most of his early possessions with him. He put the rest of what he owned in a storage unit in Oregon, and he’d planned to circle back there again one of these days to get it all when he decided to settle down—but years later, he was still on the road. He’d been using his bedroll to sleep out under the stars the past couple nights, but the clouds told him it was about to rain, and he decided he could use a shower and a real bed for the night.

Red River Junction was less than a dot on a map, a truck stop town with a place to eat, a place to sleep, and a place to pump your gas, set right plop in the middle of nowhere. You’d grown up in a town not too far down the highway, and you were still there, in the same trailer your mother left to you when she passed. You worked at both the Sundown Motel part-time, and at Margie’s Diner, and in your free time, you dreamed about leaving town and never coming back.

You heard the rumble of his motorcycle before you saw it; chrome pipes growling to a stop as the rider found a place for his bike in the lot. A motorcycle, or even an entire MC, pulling into the junction was nothing new. You were the only stop for gas and food for a good fifty miles.

You were staring for so long out the window as he dismounted and took his helmet off, that you overflowed the coffee cup you were refilling and the elderly customer scoffed at you. He had long, curly hair tied back in a ponytail and bangs that had grown out just long enough to tuck behind his ears. Black leather jacket, and leather chaps over his jeans. Your attention was immediately drawn to his jewelry: the small hoop piercing in his ear and the chunky rings across his knuckles. My Boyfriend’s Back by The Angels played softly from the jukebox while you made your way to the front to greet him. The kitchen was slammed with only Big Joe behind the grill, and Leslie was the only other waitress, but she was on a smoke break.

You fumbled the big plastic menu in your hand when he took his sunglasses off to nail you with those star-flecked eyes. “Just one for lunch?”

He tucked his sunglasses into the front of his shirt and looked around. “You still serving breakfast?”

“All day long,” you assured him. Seats at the counter were all full, so you offered him a booth, and he slid in without another word or glance in your direction, taking the menu from you with a grunt. You tried not to stare at his scars: the angry, purple one on his neck, and the deep white slash across his chin. His hands were also flecked with scar tissue from various fights, and punching through mirrors every time he hated his own reflection.

50 year old Leslie was tying her apron and chewing gum when you moved behind her to grab a cup and saucer for his coffee. “Another grumpy one,” you whispered over the sound of clinking silverware and scattered conversations.

Leslie raised her eyebrow a few times, resting her elbow on the counter. “Hell, he can get grumpy with me any day.”

Eddie didn’t say much while you waited on him, and you didn’t think he was paying any attention to you, but he saw the way you splashed a bit of vodka into your soda can behind the counter. He also caught the way you used that same liquid to toss back a couple pills you scooped out of your apron pocket just before you turned to grab some hot plates from the kitchen hatch. He didn’t judge you for it or think it was odd being that he’d spent the past ten years trying to find ways to dull his pain.

He thought you were too beautiful for this deadbeat town; too sweet, too kind. He noticed the bruise on your forearm and the vacancy in your eyes and he felt an instant kinship with you: the damaged recognizing the damaged.

When you came to clear his empty plate, he asked you if the Sundown Motel was a decent place to stay. It was the only motel for miles and he didn’t care how decent it was, he just wanted a reason to keep talking to you.

“Sure, it’s great,” you shrugged. “If you like bedbugs and carpets that look like a violent crime took place recently.”

He met your eyes, and there was a moment of levity there that lightened both of your spirits if only for that moment.

“I’m cool with bedbugs,” he brushed his tongue between his lips. “It gets lonely on the road, it’s nice to have some company.”

He told you his name was Eddie after he read yours off of your name tag, and when you came back from seating a table full of seniors who were on a bus tour to the casino, he was gone.

He left you a generous tip, though, and after hours of getting tipped in quarters and loose change, it felt good to have some solid cash in your pocket. His motorcycle was gone too, and you wondered if he’d decided to hit the road or stay the night.

You told yourself to forget about him, that he was just another drifter you’d never see again, but the evening had other plans for you.

You were supposed to have the night off from both jobs, but Susan at the front desk of the motel begged you to come down and work the check-in desk for an hour while she went to pick her kid up. You wished you could say you had some big plans, but that was absolutely not the case, and so you rolled your car up to the back lot behind the dumpsters and changed out of your orthopedic shoes and into something less drab.

You thought it would be an easy hour to space off and read a book, but ten minutes after you clocked in, two guests locked themselves out of their room. It was a two-tier motel, and as you made your way up the concrete steps with the husband and wife in question behind you, fumbling with the keys, you caught sight of Eddie a few rooms down, and your heart jumped into your throat.

He was sitting in the plastic chair in front of the door to his room, smoking a cigarette, stripped down to jeans and a wife-beater. His hair was still wet from his shower, hanging down his shoulders, showcasing the patchwork of scars that covered his flesh.

He didn’t make eye contact, but he saw you. In fact, he knew you were on your way a few minutes before that, because he heard your voice, and it made him stay and light another smoke. He flicked his ash and waited for you to let the couple into their room.

On your way back to the stairs, the soda and snack machine blocked your view, but once you rounded the corner, there he was again.

“Is your room satisfactory, sir?” You put the keys in your pocket and stood tall, pretending to act professional.

Eddie met your eyes then, staring up through his lashes, and one side of his mouth lifted in a smirk. “Disappointed I haven’t found any bedbugs.”

You coughed a laugh, swaying on your feet. “Give it time. They come out at dark.”

Eddie didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, but he’d also learned never to miss an opportunity with how transient his life was. His attraction to you was not purely physical, which was a rare occurrence for him.

He shifted in his seat, a silky curl of gray smoke passing from his lips. “Are you free later tonight? Can I buy you dinner?”

Suddenly shy and baffled as to why he’d have any interest, you lowered your chin and shuffled your foot.

“I-I’ve got a boyfriend,” you cringed as you said it. Tony had cheated on you and left you more times than you could count. He took off a couple days ago after he knocked you around, and you had no idea where he was, but you continued to hold onto this strange sense of loyalty for him. Perhaps it was because you were convinced he was the best you could do.

“Did the tough guy do that to your arm?” Eddie asked in a low mumble, his eyes lingering on your bruises.

You covered the marks with your other hand, reflexively. “He’s been under a lot of stress lately,” you always felt like such an idiot when you defended that loser, but you didn’t know how to stop.

“Well,” Eddie smashed the butt in the ashtray by his chair and stood up to full height. One nipple under his white tank was hard, but the other one seemed to be missing. “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

You were too stupefied to move, you just stood there holding your arm, waiting for him to go back into his room.

But Eddie paused in the doorway and turned to give you one last look. “You deserve a lot better, sweetheart. If he puts his hands on you while I’m around, I’ll fucking kill him.”

—------

You thought about Eddie’s words for the rest of your shift. When it was over, you drove the ten miles back to your trailer, took a shower, and found yourself driving back to the motel, as if your will was no longer your own.

“What are you even doing?” You hissed aloud to yourself as you parked behind the Sundown in your usual spot. It was dusk now and you accepted the possibility that he’d probably invited a different woman out to dinner by then, but any amount of reasoning couldn’t stop you. You checked the scene first, looking up from the main parking lot to catch the flicker of the tv in his room to let you know he was, indeed, still up there. His motorcycle was safe in its place, too, and you realized you hadn’t even prepared what to say. You were an anxious mess, but you were also hungry for him in a way that was foreign to you.

You hadn’t known much comfort or safety in your life, but you felt those things when you were around Eddie.

After standing at his door for a good 5 minutes, you finally found the courage to knock.

Eddie opened the door while your knuckles were still on the wood. His eyes looked you over, offering a buck of his chin in appreciation. “Well, well. You are a gorgeous bedbug.”

Your cheeks burned hot at the complement. “I had some free time, so I thought I’d just check and see how you were doing, if you have everything you need.”

Eddie braced his shoulder against the door jam, giving you a squint. “So, you came to check on me while you’re off the clock? Damn, that is good service.”

You flexed your hands, forcing a laugh, trying your best not to just turn around and run away.

“Are you hungry?” Eddie raised an eyebrow. “Do you want to come in? Cause we can —”

“I’m not hungry.” You answered, bolting inside of his room when he extended his arm as an invitation, before you lost your nerve.

“Neither am I,” Eddie agreed. But, he was craving something else.

He locked the deadbolt and made sure the curtains were closed.

—-----

There were very few words left to be spoken as your lips collided with his, meeting with equal levels of urgency. You kept trying to kiss him deep and desperate while your hand palmed him through his jeans, but he held you off a bit with soft pressure. He cupped your face and caressed your cheek with his thumb while he kissed you, giving individual attention to your top lip and then the bottom one. He kissed down your neck, flicking his tongue out every so often to taste you, making you gasp—you’d never been worshiped with someone's mouth before.

Breathing heavy, he started to unbutton your shirt. “Is this okay?” He asked, wondering how far you wanted to take it.

“Yes,” you gulped. “Please.”

Once you had his shirt off, you bent down to kiss and lick his scars—it was an unspoken act of acceptance that made Eddie’s cock twitch. You weren’t used to being cared for in bed, and Eddie could tell by the way you hurried to push your jeans down and bend over so he could take you from behind.

“Not like that,” he whispered, using strong arms to lower you to the bed while he shimmied your jeans off. He got on his knees and scooped up your hips, nudging your pussy through your underwear with his nose, and then he planted kisses across the wet spot and along your inner thigh. The animal inside of him loved your scent; he wanted to bury himself in it, and he couldn’t help the growl that escaped him.

You fell back on the bed and covered your face with one hand. “Wait, I’m—not many people have done that—I’m not sure how to—”

Eddie finger pulled your underwear to one side, exposing your slippery lips for his tongue to flick. “Do you want me to stop?”

You arched back at the sensation of his mouth on you. “No, no, please don’t stop,” you urged, putting your hand on his head to gently cup his ear, the one with the silver hoop.

He moved away just long enough to pull your underwear all the way down your legs and off, maintaining eye contact with you. He didn’t rush, he took his time, and kissed his way back up your legs to the prize.

The gentle and precise way he swirled his tongue on your clit had you stammering his name with a few curses in between. As his attention to your bundle of nerves built your arousal and it spilled down your slit, he dove his mouth down a few times to taste it and drink you, shivering at the pleasure it gave him. He couldn’t help it, he had to reach down to grab his cock so he could fist it while his mouth brought you closer. The taste of your hormones in your slick had pre-cum wetting his tip already.

Tony had only gone down on you a few times, and he never really seemed to enjoy it. But Eddie was one of those who could eat a peach for hours, as they say.

“Right…there…” you hushed, startled as you felt the wave of an orgasm rise. Eddie zeroed in on that spot with just the right pressure, fluttering his tongue as he sucked. His other hand milked his cock in long strokes, taming the beast from cumming too soon, moaning warm breath against your cunt.

“Eddie!” You cried out just as the release took you and wracked your body, like a spring popping out of a tight coil, unraveling. Eddie pressed his mouth closer to lap you up, feeling your body vibrate as he held your hip in place.

He only broke the seal made by his mouth once you were too sensitive, and your limbs dangled off the bed for a minute, unable to move.

It didn’t take long for you to start coaxing him up on top of you, spreading your legs out, begging for him to be closer. He met your kiss with deep, soul-searching need, and you whined at the sensation of his tip sliding up and down your slick. But, then he hesitated, and pulled up to meet your eyes.

“Inside of me,” you begged, nodding. “I need you inside of me.”

And yes, that was what Eddie wanted too, but now there was another problem.

Eddie’s ears pricked at the sound of footsteps outside the door. He sniffed the air, trying to identify the presence. He slid off of you and stood, watching the door while he pulled his jeans up and zipped his stiff, aching cock into place behind the denim.

Shuffling up onto your elbows, you were about to speak, to ask what was wrong, but Eddie silenced you with a finger to his lips. He tossed your jeans over and motioned over his shoulder for you to put them on in the bathroom.

There was something about the whole situation, and Eddie’s sudden silence, that unnerved you, and so you scampered off the bed as quietly as you could and did as he asked.

There were no lights on in the room, except for the infomercial on the mute TV, but the bright moon illuminated the walkway outside enough for him to catch sight of someone pacing out there.

Finally, there came a heavy knock and a voice.

It was Tony, and he shouted your name. “ARE YOU IN THERE? HUH? You fucking whore!”

You buttoned your jeans and all of the blood ran from your face. Eddie turned his head to look at you. The adrenaline of pure fear pumped through your body as you froze in place.

Eddie put his hand out, motioning for you to stay right where you were, behind him.

Tony pounded on the door again. “YOU CAN’T HIDE FROM ME! One of my guys said he saw you go in here with some fucking dude. IF YOU’RE FUCKING SOMEONE ELSE I’LL KILL YOU, you goddamn bitch!”

By “one of his guys” Tony meant one of the other drug dealers in town, who were generally crawling all over the motel, leeching off of the clientele. Eddie looked deceptively calm as he stood at the end of the bed, breathing slow, and you walked over to grab his arm, to warn him that Tony was a crazy motherfucker, and you’d just go with him so Eddie wouldn’t get hurt.

But Eddie motioned for you to hide, so you did.

“Hold up, man,” Eddie was moving now, heading to undo the deadbolt and you cringed, pushing back as tight as you could between the wall and the bathroom door.

Once the door was unlocked, Tony stood there heaving, looking Eddie up and down. Tony was big in a stocky way, but not big like Eddie, and he enjoyed that flash of fear that lit over his adversary’s eyes at first glance. Sure, the guy had some obvious prison ink, but that didn’t mean shit to Eddie.

“Where is she?” Tony demanded, pushing in.

“Where’s who, man?” Eddie was being so casual about it, and you were trying not to scream.

Eddie shut the door and quietly locked it behind him

Tony’s eyes darted around the room, and then he spun on his heel; his eyes were pinned and doped-out. “Don’t act dumb, man. My fucking girl. Someone said they saw her come up here.”

Tony walked up to Eddie and started poking him in the chest. “Tell me where that fucking whore is before I make you my bitch.”

Nothing could have prepared you for what happened next—for the transformation and the carnage. You witnessed it all through the crack in the bathroom door as if you were watching a horror movie.

Eddie changed, in an instant; the muscles in his shoulders and arms bulged, the teeth in his mouth turned jagged and sharp, and his eyes went completely black. His massive, clawed hand wrapped around Tony’s throat, lifting him up so that his feet no longer touched the ground.

You muffle a scream with your hand, watching Tony gargle and spit, his limbs flailing.

Eddie’s lips stretched to speak around his fangs. “She’s not your girl anymore,” he growled.

Eddie strangled Tony with one hand until he lost consciousness, and then he threw him to the bed like a rag doll, pouncing on top of him. He proceeded to rip his throat open with his teeth; blood squirted on the wall and across the door where you were hiding, misting you in the face.

When he was finished, you made your way out of the bathroom.

Eddie was still a monster as he got off the bed at the sight of your approach. His clawed hands twitched at his sides, his hair dripped with blood, and his skin from nose to chest was bathed in crimson. His black eyes assessed you, waiting for you to scream or try to run—-but you didn’t.

You got close enough to touch him, to run your hand up his chest to feel the blood between your fingers, and then brush some bloody hair behind his ear.

Eddie frowned, wondering why you weren’t afraid of him, wondering why your desire for him didn’t seem to falter.

You parted your lips, watching the red drool drip from his teeth. “Are you okay?"

Your mouths found each other again, tasting the tang of your own blood as one of his fangs pricked your lip. You each did frantic work of unzipping each other’s jeans as Eddie scooped you up to lay you on the floor.

While the last few pumps of blood shot from Tony’s artery, monster Eddie spilled his seed inside of you, throwing his head back with a howl.

Now, there really had been a crime committed in that room, and Eddie would need to be on the road again, gone by daylight.

Maybe this time, you’d be going with him.

#Eddie Munson #Eddie munson fic #Eddie munson monster #monster!Eddie #drifter!Eddie #requests #biker!Eddie #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson x reader #diner au #truckstop au

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hanmaitani · 21 days

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Survivor's Guilt

PAIRING - Oikawa Tooru x Reader WC - 1.5K GENRE - Angst SYNOPSIS - it never gets better just easier. what didn't kill me never made me stronger sometimes it just made me wish it would have. cause i'm not a fighter i haven't been for a long time. the mourning and missing turned into survivor's guilt when i started moving on too.

PREV PART | MASTERLIST | NEXT PART

It had been three months since Tooru left you.

You’d only seen him in person in passing. Had had less conversations with him than fingers on one hand.

You almost didn’t mind it.

There was the one time that he pretended like you weren’t even there, if he’d actually seen you or not you didn’t know but he’d made sure to call a greeting to everyone except you.

That one stung.

Three months.

It wasn’t that you didn’t care about him anymore. More like trying to convince yourself that he wasn’t you problem anymore.

You could get on without him. You could. You’d done it. Pulled yourself off the bottom of the pit he’d dropped you into and crawled your way out. Quickly, throwing yourself full swing back into you life.

This time without him.

You were currently with none other than the three best friends of the man you were trying to forget the existence of.

The three men that you’d spent so much of your time with for years now.

“So what’s been going on with you?” Makki asked as he sat easily next to you on top of your desk. The one you'd put together on your own not that long ago.

Mattsun was poking through the stack of boxes to your left, ones that you'd just pulled out of storage, trying to downsize the unit you'd had to get. Iwa stared into your empty fridge with disappointment.

Your apartment was a mess, really, the time to unpack the new boxes having never really come about. Mostly from your insistence of sleeping more than you'd needed to before.

“You any better?” Makki asked sincerely, throwing an arm around you as he tugged you closer, a familiar gesture.

You sighed, scrunching your nose up at the question. “It’s not better,” you leaned against Makki, your head falling on his shoulder as you watched Mattsun pick open a box, “but it’s easier I think.” Mattsun tilted his head at you, as Makki hummed in acknowledgement.

“We could still kick his ass?” Mattsun suggested as he came to stand in front of you. He smiled lightly but you shook your head in disagreement. “You’ve got bruises, you know.” He poked at a bruise on your thigh and you swatted his hand away.

“Slipped when I was moving my dresser.” You mumbled, fingers tracing the biggest of many bruises, another thing you'd convinced yourself that you could do on your own.

“Should have asked for help.” Iwa chastised. “And you need to buy food.”

“I don’t have time,” you mumbled. “I didn’t wanna bug you guys, I’m sure he needed you more.”

Makki tapped your head in disappointment. “You know what they say.” He chuckled, giving you another squeeze as he looked at your partially-unpacked apartment. “Time heals all wounds.”

You scoffed and shook your head. “No,” you whispered, ignoring the way they looked at you, sadness tinting their vision of you. You pulled one of your knees up to your chest, bracing your heel on the desk to keep it there as you wrapped your arms around it. “It doesn’t really heal it. It isn’t healed. Just sometimes I forget how much it hurt at first. And as time goes on I forget more often.”

Mattsun moved to sit on the other side of you, throwing an arm over your shoulders on top of Makki’s. “All the cliches kind of suck.” He hummed in acknowledgement and watched as you nodded your agreement. You stopped leaning on Makki and set your chin on top of your knee as Iwa turned his attention fully to the rest of the group. “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger and all that.”

You hated that one most of all.

Mattsun was poking into a box from next to him on your desk, showing Makki some of your desk decorations that you hadn’t put out yet as he came across them.

He meant no harm bringing it up.

But what didn’t kill you, it didn’t make me stronger. It just made you wish it would have.

You’d spent days in bed, trying to cope with the loss. You hadn’t even cried at first. Just laid there.

You didn't text him. Not really, not like the first time he'd left. You'd tried to avoid it.

But you wanted to so much.

To beg more. To yell more. To cry to him. To tell him you still loved him more than anything.

You wanted the hugs that he used to give that you always went to when you felt like you needed to breathe again. You’d used to drive anywhere, 30 minutes out of your way, just to get a hug.

You wanted to fight with him, to fight for him. For the both of you.

But you seemed to have lost your fight.

You tried. Tried to find the girl that you used to be. The one that bared her teeth and bit remarks out. That got what she wanted because she could fight for it. The fighter.

You weren’t her anymore. You’d stopped being her slowly. Sinking down into the girl that let Tooru talk you into everything. That didn’t argue with him because she was afraid to lose him. You weren’t a fighter like that anymore. Not with him.

Iwa caught your attention, pulling you back from your mini zone-out and back to the three boys who were there to pick up a borrowed vacuum and to check in on you.

“Y/n?” he whispered, softly asking for your attention. You hummed and looked up at him, tilting your head just enough to lock eyes with him. You could see Makki and Mattsun watching you carefully from either side of you. “Are you alright?”

No, of course I’m not.

You wanted to scream it. To cry about how much it hurt to be mourning a relationship you thought was going to be the rest of your life. To be dropped in what was supposedly a split second decision. What it felt like to feel like you’d never meant anything to Tooru.

“I’m just tired, Haji,” you responded, pushing out a small smile. Iwa didn’t look convinced by your lie so you continued on. “Just working a lot to make sure I can afford the rent on my own. Rebuilding my savings after dropping it all on a deposit.” You knew all of them were looking at you concerned but you just smiled, squinting your eyes at them to make it cover your whole face, a trick you'd learned. “I’m alright, just tired. Honestly.” You lied straight through your teeth.

The three of them didn’t stay for long. They’d helped you unpack a box. Mostly because you would take something out of Makki and Mattsun’s nosy hands and set it in a spot you deemed appropriate.

It was nice to laugh with them again. To have a moment not alone.

But now?

You laid on your couch and stared at the ceiling of your apartment. Your phone was next to your head, abandoned from where you’d been scrolling social media just minutes prior.

You were alone again and it was like it all just came creeping back. They’d made you talk about Tooru. You had tried your best to avoid the subject. You didn’t even know if you cared anymore.

Well, you knew that you cared that he left.

But was it that Tooru was gone?

Or was it how he left?

You’d heard a little about how he’d been doing. He’d had a couple issues with his car, with money. You’d laughed out of spite to yourself when you’d heard. Served him right. You’d struggled and pulled yourself out of the hole he’d thrown you in.

You’d survived the wreckage that your relationship became.

But you couldn’t tell if you missed him or just having someone.

You’d known, the second you saw him that he would break your heart. That he would never be yours, not really.

You’d been grieving the loss of him. The loss of the constant he’d forced you to let him be.

When had you stopped thinking about him all the time?

There was a tightness that wound up into your throat. A feeling of guilt gnawing away at your bones.

Your phone lit up, a message from a a dating app you’d drunkenly downloaded and made a profile for a week prior.

You swallowed a lump in your throat.

How could you have downloaded that?

Were you really trying to move on? Without even thinking how he would feel?

The sinking feeling in your gut started to eat its way up your throat and pooled water across your lash line. The guilt of everything freezing you.

What were you doing?

Did he care?

Did you even care if he did care?

a/n a/n thanks for coming to the free therapy of fictionalizing my irl breakup experiences. yes this actually happened. partially based on "Good Grief" by Leanna Firestone

TAGLIST - OPEN

@all-in-the-fandoms @pearl-blue-musings @winniethepooh-lover

#oikawa angst #oikawa toru angst #oikawa x reader #oikawa toru x reader #oikawa fanfiction #oikawa toru fanfiction #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #𓇻 Desiderium

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sirfrogsworth · 10 months

Text

Wishlist Haul

All I asked for were pants, and those are coming Saturday. But you all came through in a big way with my wishlist and helped me solve some problems that have really been bugging me lately.

One of my biggest current issues is my decision to use my M1 MacBook Air as my main computer until I can move my PC upstairs at some distant time in the future. Which means I need to ask a lot more of it. And it is capable, as these Apple Silicon devices are amazing and very zippy, but I only got 256 GB of storage because I thought this would just be a secondary computer while I was taking care of my dad.

So I need storage. And if you do photography and use Lightroom, you know you need *fast* storage. In the days of spinny disc drives, going back and forth between images was maddeningly slow. I already hate the process of culling photos and picking the best ones. And sometimes you'd need to find 5 winners out of a few hundred. And when it took 3 seconds to switch between every photo, I wanted to die. And honestly, it could still be better.

But one of the best solutions is a super fast SSD. Which I had. I bought it right before my parents got especially ill and was planning to install it in my PC. But my priorities changed and I just never found the energy.

The problem is that was an internal NVME SSD. I needed it to be external.

Which is where this little thingie comes in.

This is an NVME enclosure, and if you are looking for cheap, fast external storage, this is so much better than those external SSDs they overcharge for. For $200 they give you a 2TB drive that can read about 2000 MB per second. Or you can get a 2TB NVME and this enclosure for the same price and get 3000 MB per second. Not only that, but it is upgradeable. In a year when 4TB is $100, you can plop that in. And the Mac's Thunderbolt 4 has a max speed of around 5000 MB/s, so there is room to improve there as well. Though sometimes advertised speeds are not reality speeds.

The only thing you need to be aware of is these drives run hot. You're going to think there is something wrong with them. Like, they top out at 90C. Which is nearly 200 degrees in freedom units.

I wanted a convenient way to mount my drive, but I didn't want 200 degrees on the back of my screen, so... MAGNETS!

And I can stack a few more if that section starts feeling too hot.

So, I have that problem solved. I can now use this as my main computer and work on my photography.

Next up... fashion!

I'm going out more and I want to look a little more presentable. I thought these two tone shirts looked a little more fashionable. And they are very comfortable too. I have a red one that I think I'm going to wear on my trip. I know you can't see the two tone well in the picture, so here is the product photo of the red one.

Next problem?

Well, it's maybe not a problem so much as something cool I wanted. A black light!

My mom had all of this uranium glass and I had no idea my salt shaker was marginally radioactive all these years. I really wanted to take a proper photo of some of the glass before it all gets sold at auction. So this should be a fun experiment.

I will say, if you don't have uranium glass, don't get a black light. You will want to burn your house down. It does not matter how clean you think you got something... you didn't clean it enough. And I have all of this dry flaky skin on my feet. It doesn't hurt. It doesn't bother me. You can't even really see it unless you look really close. But when I shined the light on my feet they looked like they had some undocumented disease. I will not be sharing a photo of that.

But the depression glass, that's super neat.

Some proper photos coming soon I hope. Maybe after my trip.

Next problem!

My key fob. This thing is a piece of shit.

Even if it looks cool under a black light, it is THE WORST.

It's cheap plastic, it takes a stupid watch battery, the symbols on the buttons all wore off. And all of that I could handle, but for some reason this fob has an effective range of about 2 feet. I literally have to be standing next to the door before it will work.

I had a black fob that worked much better, only the plastic casing was falling apart. But I taped it up as best I could and hoped it would not fall apart. Then I went to get my tires changed and they needed the fob to do some special reset of the pressure sensors and the battery died before they could. I went home to try and change the battery, and the entire thing basically disintegrated on me.

The inside looks like this.

The battery retention contact is held on by a tiny dab of solder. And if you pull the battery up even a little, it snaps off. And that's what happened. And to make matters worse, the rubber buttons were falling apart and the unlock button just... fell off.

So I was either stuck with the 2 foot range green one or I needed a new fob. Thankfully, they are only 20 bucks for 2 on Amazon. Unfortunately you need a dealer or an auto locksmith to program them. The lowest quote was $100 for about 5 minutes of work. The dealer actually wanted to sell me the fob as well, which they quoted as $150 for ONE. Same cheap plastic piece of shit and everything.

So, I got all of the parts from the broken fob and I hot glued that battery contact back into place and I transplanted that into a shiny new casing.

Works just like new. The buttons feel much better, I can actually see the symbols, and it has a range of at least 100 feet. And that hot glue isn't going anywhere. Changing the battery might be an issue, but these lasted several years.

Next problem!

An intervalometer is a fancy shutter button for a camera that allows very long exposures. It is detached from the camera so you don't shake anything and it needs a backlit screen because if you are using it, you are most likely in the dark.

My intervalometer is about 12 years old and uses another dreaded watch battery. And the backlight on the screen seems to be dead. So it is pretty much useless.

But look at this!

The light even works in the... well, light! And it takes normal batteries. Seriously, watch batteries need to stay in watches.

I don't know if I will get to take a long exposure in Florida, but I want to have this with me in case I do.

Next problem!

This one I actually solved on my own. But I found these stainless iron (yes, iron!) shims and I covered them with black tape and now all of my most used kitchen items never take up counter space.

Yes, I use magnets and hot glue to solve most of my problems.

Next problem!

My garage door is not very smart. And the remote control for it is huge and does not fit in my man purse.

So I downsized the remote.

But I wanted to fix the non-smart thing as well. A while back my brother got into my garage without me knowing. He must have taken a remote of his own. And I really don't feel like figuring out how to change the frequency, so I now have a sensor that lets me know when the door is open with a phone notification. Beyond that, I can open or close the door from my smartphone from anywhere. And I can give access to anyone with a smartphone in case of an emergency.

I will say, this company is really paranoid about people being crushed by garage doors. The instructions tell you to put up this sign in your garage...

And if you use the app to close the door, you get a light show with annoying beeping...

And I know that these accidents happen in real life. But whenever I think about how that could actually happen, all I can imagine is that scene in Austin Powers...

In any case, I am really glad I have this now. And I also like that if I forget to close the garage door, I can check the app and not have to get up to do it.

OH! I almost forgot. If I want, I can have Amazon place packages inside my garage.

Next problem!

What in the heck do I need galvanized steel plates for?

In product photography you need a diffusion panel called a scrim. If you try to buy one of these already made, they are hundreds of dollars. They are mostly made for movie productions, and those items always have inflated costs.

So most product photographers make their own out of tracing paper or a special plastic called Translum. It's $80 per roll, but lasts forever. I used to hang my scrims from the ceiling. But you can't really angle or move them, so you have to move the object you are photographing instead. Which is just a backwards way to work. So I invented my own scrims with two strips of very thin wood, metal chip clips, these little plastic feet that held up plexiglass barriers during COVID. And to weigh everything down... steel plates.

This is version 1.0 where I glued the plastic rather than affixing it with the chip clips.

The clips work much better and allow me to put different weights of plastic on, or even double plastic, for more or less diffusion. And I ended up not needing that board at the bottom which allows me to curve it as well.

And these scrims let me take this photo...

It's called graduated lighting and it makes things look neat.

I also got a backpack for my trip and shorts, but I am going to forego an explanation of those.

To all that helped, thank you so much. I hope you can see I am putting everything to good use.

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jo-harrington · 2 months

Text

Corroded Coffin Fest - Day 21 - Hate This Town

Summary: The one where Corroded Coffin learns that life sucks no matter where you live.

Word Count: 999 (YIKEEESSSS!!!)

Rating: T

Warnings/Themes: Angst, Friendship, Homesickness, Reconciliation, Open-Ended

Check Out the Main Post for @corrodedcoffinfest here! Even if you didn’t start on Day 1, you can still join!

Tagging: @the-unforgivenn at her request.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

“I hate this town.”

It was something all four of the boys had said at one point or another during their lives.

Eddie, more than anyone, had no problem announcing it to the world. He felt stuck and resigned himself to amounting to nothing, to dying in Hawkins, a failure.

Dave was next, cursing his parents for uprooting his life time and again. Never any stability as they moved him around thanks to his dad’s job. He’s muttered it under his breath often, not only hating the new homes they landed in, but to convince himself that the homes they left weren’t that great anyway.

Jeff and Gareth had both been born and raised in Hawkins. But that also led to a sort of resentment. Seemingly stuck in a loop of close-mindedness. Never any chance for growth or change.

But then they got out.

It took a little time and a lot of effort.

Even if their music didn't get them anywhere, they had to get somewhere else.

Indianapolis became the place at first, a shoebox of an apartment that they all piled into which made it feel that much smaller. They each had odd jobs--serving, retail, operator for the phone company--and rented a storage unit that doubled as their practice space. It wasn't ideal but it was something.

Until they started spending more time working or in traffic or always lost out on gigs to bigger bands.

"I hate this city."

So they uprooted once again and dreamed bigger. Chicago this time. They were smart about it; it wasn't that far of a drive to take a few days off and hit the pavement to find jobs first. The jobs were still odd--coffee shop manager and mail room clerk--but they paid a little better. They rented a whole, albeit small, house with a garage, not just a shitty apartment.

But the growing pains were still there.

"I hate this city," they said when their neighbors alternated get-togethers in their backyards every other night, loud music keeping them up.

"I hate this house," when someone brought a date over to stay the night and the walls were paper thin.

"I hate you," when someone left the fridge open in the middle of the night and the motor went out and their food went bad.

Fights, fights, fights.

They all thought bands broke up over differing opinions or egos or whatever. Not because someone liked to drink straight out of the milk carton.

So they took a break. Just a little one. Their lease was almost up and they'd lived in that little house long enough. All made enough money to have apartments of their own...or at least so all of them didn't need to live together like the Monkees.

"We'll figure it out," Eddie, ever the leader, assured them. "And then we'll get back to playing."

Only a short break turned into a longer; turns out when you lived on opposite sides of the city and work different schedules, you can't schedule time to hang out, let alone have a band together.

"I hate this," Eddie lamented over the phone late one night. "Would you believe me if I ever said I sort of missed the old days? Missed Hawkins?"

"I think you just miss your friends," Wayne offered. "But you're welcome to come back for a visit any time you want."

The next day, he called in sick, packed up the van, and drove back home.

It was strange seeing the town he hated so much through different eyes.

Hawkins seemed smaller. Older and faded, some of that so-called charm everyone said it had just seemed sad now. Houses for sale and unfamiliar shops on Main Street.

He took Wayne out for breakfast and was shocked to find that Benny's was a Denny's now.

"People change," Wayne shrugged. "And so does the world. You think Thacker Tires was always Thacker Tires? It used to be Howard and Sons filling station way back. That's where I had my first job."

Still there were some things that never changed, like the quarry, so Eddie drove up there with his guitar to get some air and clear his head.

He was shocked to find a few familiar cars parked at their old haunt.

"Took you long enough," Gareth greeted when Eddie approached their little group. They were all sitting on the ground; Jeff had his own guitar, Gareth was beating two sticks against a bucket he found, and Dave was hunched over an old paperback.

It was silent as they mostly ignored one another. Occasionally one of them would cave and ask how the others were doing.

It was strange, having gone so long without being fully apart of each others lives. Hearing "I don't work there anymore" and "we broke up" made them feel like strangers, not the close friends they had been.

Then Jeff got to strumming a familiar tune and Eddie joined in with the harmony. Gareth not too long after providing a beat. And finally Dave--self-proclaimed non-singer--with the vocals. Until they were all giggling to themselves.

"I missed you guys," Jeff admitted. "I'm sorry it didn't work out."

"Who said it didn't," Eddie rebutted. "And who said we have to give up, we can try again. We're older, smarter--"

"Debatable," Gareth snarked, earning himself three middle fingers.

"--we don't need to give up on the dream."

"Seems like the only time we can get along is when we're in Hawkins though," Dave sighed in defeat. "God, I hate this place. I don't want to come back."

"No, hey, listen," Eddie thought back to what Wayne had said. "I don't know if you guys hadn't noticed but Hawkins changed. So did we. There's nothing about this town that makes it work. And there was nothing about Indy or Chicago that made us fail. If we want it to work, we have to try. And I don't think we've been trying for a while.

"So what do you say?"

#corrodedcoffinfest #eddie munson #eddie stranger things #gareth stranger things #jeff stranger things #stranger things fic

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vodika-vibes · 1 year

Text

More than Friends

Pairing: Tup x Reader

Word Count: 1643

Warning: Tooth rotting fluff, you have been warned, also mention of a previous abusive relationship.

Prompt: "We could be more, if you want."

A/N: Once more, I'm ignoring the list of prompts I need to write, as well as the request I have, for a different clone. Sorry not sorry.

Divider by Saradika

“Thanks for helping, Tup,” You say cheerfully as your best friend places the final box on the floor of your living room, “I definitely would not have been able to afford the moving company.” You joke as you move between the stacks of boxes, making sure they’re all sorted properly.

“Well, you did promise me food and alcohol,” Tup replies as he organizes some of the boxes, “Plus, it got me out of today’s training.”

“Happy to help,” You grin at him, and step over a tightly rolled rug to join him in the kitchen. And then you lean against the counter and look at the stacks of boxes, “So. Where should we start?”

He leans against the counter next to you, “Mm. Kitchen, and then bedroom. That way if we don’t finish today, you’ll be able to eat and sleep.”

You flash a grateful smile up at him, and then lean against him comfortably, “What would I do without you, Tup?”

“Still be unloading your storage unit,” He counters with an answering grin as he reaches up and lightly tugs on the tips of your hair. “Come on, we’d better get to work.”

You sigh and allow your forehead to thump against his shoulder for a moment, and you smile when you feel his gentle touch on the top of your head. And then you pull back, “Alright. Same box or different boxes?”

“Different. It’ll go faster.” He pushes a box over to you, and then walks over to one of the taller boxes.

Several hours later, with your kitchen and bedroom unpacked, and the living room mostly unpacked, you flop onto your bean bag with a sigh. “I’m never moving again.”

The massive bean bag dips as Tup flops next to you, “Like, from the pillow or to a different house?” He jokes.

“Both,” You reply, turning your head to look at him with a fond smile, and then you laugh quietly, and roll onto your side. You reach out and lightly tug on one of his curls, “Your hair is falling down, Tup.”

“Well, I have been moving around a lot,” He says defensively, as he sits up and pulls his hair out of his bun and combs his fingers through his hair.

“You have, and I appreciate it,” You answer soothingly, reaching for his hair tie. “Here, let me braid your hair.”

Tup pauses, and then he presses the hair tie into your hands, “You are very good at braiding.” He agrees as he moves to sit on the floor in front of you.

“I had a lot of practice braiding my doll's hair growing up,” You say brightly as you lightly comb Tup’s hair with your fingers, and split it into sections.

“Ah, so that's the trick.” Tup’s eyes close as you start gently braiding his hair, “So, I have a question,” He says after a moment.

“What’s up?”

“Is it my fault that you and your boyfriend broke up?” Tup asks, without opening his eyes.

Your fingers pause for a moment, “Of course not,” You lie, “We just grew apart, that’s all.”

“...you’re a terrible liar.” He says with a sigh, “What caused the problem?”

“Apparently I’m ‘too close’ to you.” You roll your eyes, “He was jealous, possessive, and insecure, and I’m sure the break up would have happened anyway.”

Tup tilts his head slightly, “Possessive?”

“Yeah. He didn’t want me talking to you, or anyone with a Y chromosome. Or my family.” You reply easily as you tie off the braid, “There, done.”

Tup runs his hand down the braid, and then turns to look at you, something grim in his eyes, “He was trying to isolate you?”

You smile at him fondly, “So it would appear,”

“Cyare, why didn’t you tell me?” Tup asks, a frown crossing his face.

You laugh quietly and reach out to lightly cup his face with your hands, “Because I know you, Tup. If I told you, you’d get that look on your face, the same one you have right now, and then I’d have to bail you out of prison.” You pause, “Which I would, because you’re my best friend and I love you, but it would still be annoying.”

Tup blinks at you, and then he flashes a slow smile, “You’d bail me out of jail?”

“Well, yeah. Of course.” You absently stroke his cheek, “Besides, he did a shit job at isolating me.”

“Yeah, because I came to your place and you were so happy to see me that you tackled me.” Tup jokes.

“I-”

“You knocked me over.”

“...I did do that, didn’t I?”

“It was impressive. I was impressed.” Tup continues with a growing grin as he taps your hands, and you drop them from his face, “Your ex was much less so.”

“Well…I never hugged him like that, I suppose.” You admit.

Something gleeful dances across Tup’s face for a moment, “Good.”

You laugh and flop back on the beanbag, “You’re so petty sometimes, Tup!”

He watches you with a fond smile on his face, “Well, I’m allowed.” He moves back to the beanbag, flopping next to you, “You know it wouldn’t have worked, right?”

“Hm?”

“Him trying to isolate you.” Tup clarified, “If you think, for a moment, that I wouldn’t drag an entire squad of my brothers to rescue you-”

You grin at him and shift to drop your head on his shoulder, “My own personal knight in shining armor.”

He turns to look at you, something warm and soft in his gaze. His hand comes up to brush some of your hair out of your face. His fingers linger on your cheek for a moment, and he exhales slowly. He opens his mouth to say something, hesitates, and then flashes a rueful smile, “You owe me food, cyare.”

You grin at him, “Alright, alright. What do you want?” You ask as you sit up.

“Does that Mandalorian place deliver?”

“I think so. I’ll check.” You stand and walk over to the kitchen to grab your datapad, opening it and scrolling through the app.

Tup remains laying on the beanbag for a moment longer. He sighs quietly and presses the side of his fist against his forehead, his eyes squeezing shut. And then he gets to his feet and walks over to the kitchen.

“So, it looks like they do deliver, but we have to order a lot of food.” You say as he joins you, “So I was thinking that we could get appetizers, an entree, a dessert, and the drinks I promised you.”

“Sounds good,” Tup replies as he leans against the counter, and then he places his hand on the datapad and gently tugs it out of your hands, “So…I was wondering if we could talk?”

“Is something wrong?”

“No. Yes? Er…maybe.”

“...well, it does have to be one of those options, I suppose.” You reply, looking concerned, “What’s wrong?”

He takes your hands, slowly threading your fingers with his, “I really hated your ex.” Tup explains slowly.

“I know Tup. You weren’t exactly subtle-”

“No, I-” He sighs, and squeezes your hands, “I need you to listen to me, please?”

“Of course. You have my undivided attention.” You rub soothing circles on Tup’s hand.

“I really hated your ex even before you told me that he was trying to isolate you,” Tup explains slowly, “Because I’ve been in love with you for two years.”

“You-”

“Let me finish, please.” You close your mouth, and he inhales sharply, “I love you. I’m in love with you. I can go out and do my job as well as I can because I know that you’re here, safe, and waiting for me to come back. When I wake up every morning, you’re the first thought that crosses my mind, and you’re the last thing I think of before I go to sleep.” He speaks quickly, his grip on your hands tight, and his gaze searching your face for something, “And I know that we’re best friends, have been best friends for years. But-” He hesitates for a moment, “We could be more, if you want.”

You stare at him, your eyes wide. You slowly pull one hand out of his tight grip and you reach up and you very gently place your hand on his cheek, “You really think about me all the time?”

“How could I not?”

You smile, soft and gentle, “I would like more.”

“...you would?” Tup asks, lightly tugging you closer and slowly pressing his forehead against your own.

“Well yeah. It’s you Tup. It’s always been you.” You smile softly, “I’m just kind of blind sometimes. Will you ask me, properly I mean?”

He smiles then, wide and bright, “Will you be my girlfriend?” He asks, his voice low and breathy.

“Yes,” The rest of your sentence is stolen, as his lips press against yours in a gentle kiss. His lips are warm and soft, and his grip around you firm and comforting at the same time.

He slowly pulls back and presses his forehead lightly against yours again. Tup has a bright grin on his face, “So…did your ex break up with you because you’re in love with me.” He asks, his tone light and teasing.

“That…might have been mentioned, yes.” You admit sheepishly.

His grin grows, “You still owe me food, cyare.”

You huff, though there’s no annoyance on your face, “I suppose this will be our first date, then?”

“That sounds like a plan to me,” Tup leans in and kisses you again and again. “I’ll…go back to unpacking.” He kisses you one last time, and then releases you to return to the stacks of boxes still in the living room. You watch him for a moment, a smile on your lips, and then you finally turn back to ordering your dinner.

#star wars #tcw #Clone trooper tup x reader #tup x reader #x reader fanfiction #star wars fanfiction

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ynscrazylife · 2 years

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Jessss can I pls request a sort of angst fic but like one of the ‘how the avengers would react to...” lists with it being R being like a young avenger but like they get affected by some kinda chemical or weapon or something on a mission and is really sick and no one knows how they can help them bc it’s like alien tech or something that did it? I just think it’d hit a spot in my heart rn and there’s never anyone better to ask than youuuuuu bc you literally know the character’s so well everything always hits lmao

Sick Days

Summary: The Avengers get worried after you get mysteriously sick from alien tech.

Author: You said a fic but you also said a “How the Avengers would react to” list so I wasn’t sure what to write, so I went with a fic. If this is not what you wanted, please let me know!

Request to be on a taglist (or multiple) here! (Taglists are at the end of the fic)

Main Masterlist | MCU Masterlist

PSA: Do NOT copy, steal, translate, plagiarize, republish, etc any of my works on Tumblr or any other platform. Also, do NOT claim any of my works as your own. All of these works are either requests I’ve gotten that people have wanted me to write or original ideas I’ve had for works. If you happen to take inspiration from anything I’ve written and want to write something inspired by that, please a) ask me firstand b) IF I say yes, credit me as inspo in your post by tagging me and link whatever work of mine that inspired you. Thanks.

Being an Inhuman has never really been a problem for you before. It gave you some pretty cool powers and allowed you to join the Avengers team during the five year blip. S.W.O.R.D. had gotten word of when you accidentally activated your powers and, since they were still dealing with half of their agency being dusted, asked Natasha Romanoff if she could take the lead on this one and check it out. She found you, a young teenager at the time, frightened and confused. After realizing that you were an Inhuman, with Captain Marvel’s help, she explained to you what happened. It turned out - you had nowhere else to go, so Natasha ended up taking you in. She had a soft spot for you.

Long story short, once you got a little bit older, Natasha began training you in combat and allowed you to join the team. Once the blip was over and everyone returned, you met the others and were officially declared an Avenger. Despite being the only not-fully-human-person on the team (Thor had gone to the Guardians), you fit in perfectly. Everything was going smoothly.

That was . . . Until patrol one day. Where things took a turn.

“Hey, Y/N?”

You had been patrolling the streets of New York City for a little while now when the voice of Natasha chirped in your ear. Excited, you said, “Hey! Can I finish patrol early? There’s nothing really going on.” As much as you loved patrol, wintertime was nearing and you couldn’t exactly wear a coat with your suit, so you were getting rather cold.

Instead of a positive answer like you had hoped, Natasha chuckled. “Not just yet, kid. We actually just got a tip off from the NYPD. A break-in was reported at a nearby storage unit and none of their patrol cars are close. You’re actually the closest to the situation, it’s only two blocks away. Think you can check it out?” She asked.

Your desire for warmth was overshadowed by your curiosity and more-pressing desire to actually do something. “Who would break into a storage unit?” You asked, confused.

“That’s what you’re about to figure out. It’s two blocks to the east,” Natasha said.

“Alright. I’ll see you afterwards, then,” you replied.

With that, you turned to your right and began walking. Unfortunately, being Inhuman did not grant you super-speed powers. Instead, you had light powers.

You got there in no time. On the outside, everything looked fine. If you were just walking down the street and passing by (which a couple of people were), you wouldn’t have thought anything of it. But you were no ordinary civilian. You managed to sneak inside and used your light powers to make yourself invisible. It was a large floor, with lots of storage units, but it was also quiet, so you took your time inspecting each and everyone.

Reaching the other side of the floor, you were about to report that it must have been a false alarm or something as you couldn’t find anything, when you rounded the corner only to spot a masked man lurking around an open storage unit. Spotting the broken lock on the floor, you knew that this had to be your guy.

Still invisible, you quietly sneaked up beside him, preparing yourself to show yourself and give the guy a chance to surrender, but wanting to stop him from being able to escape, too. Just as you inched close so you were right behind him, the man suddenly turned around and blasted you with the weapon he was holding.

This took you completely by surprise - there was no way for him to have known that you were there! You were flung into the air and hit the wall of another storage unit, before falling to the floor. “Hey!” You yelled as your invisibility disappeared and you struggled to sit up. The wind had been knocked out of you and your head was throbbing, but if there was anything to know about you, it was that you were relentless.

The guy broke off into a run, leaving the rest of the storage unit behind. You stumbled to your feet, trying to follow him, when a combined wave of dizziness and nausea pushed you against the wall. Your vision swarmed and your arms wrapped around your stomach, as you suddenly felt horrible. More sick than you had ever been in your life.

Whatever that guy had blasted you with - it had done something. Something bad.

As much as you tried to fight it, your body sank until you were curled up on the ground. Beads of sweat laced your forehead but you shivered at the same time. You had just the amount of strength to be able to press on your comms. “I need help,” you said, but it came out as a croak. “The guy surprised me. Blasted me with something. Please-”

You weren’t able to get anything else out as you fainted, your body succumbing to the attack of exhaustion, pain, and sickness.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Natasha heard your plea, the feeling of panic crashed into her. “Y/N?” She said when you stopped talking, already typing away at her computer to track your location. When she only heard static, she pursed her lips, frustrated. “Y/N, c’mon!”

“What’s going on?” Clint asked, poking his head into the living room as he had been walking by.

After finding your location and reading your stats provided by your suit, Natasha glanced up at Clint. Despite the hardened, blank look on her face, Clint could tell she was worried by the way she pinched her eyebrows and the frown tugging her lips down. He patiently waited for her to answer, his face growing solemn and more serious.

“Something happened to Y/N on patrol. You need to gather the team. I’m going to go get them,” Natasha said, rising from her seat and going to leave without another word.

As she passed him, Clint gently grabbed her arm. “I’m sure no matter what happened, the kid will be okay,” he said, wanting to provide some comfort. He shared her worry - heck, everyone would, they all adored you - but was able to be more calm about it. A skill he had developed as a dad to four children.

Natasha forced a smile. “I hope so,” she said, and gave her best friend’s hand a small squeeze before leaving to suit up. She couldn’t afford to waste any time.

When she left, Clint had F.R.I.D.A.Y call the team down to the living room. It took a couple minutes, as they were all in various parts of the building, but eventually everyone was gathered. Clint refused to tell anyone the purpose of this impromptu meeting until everyone was there, which was a little frustrating for people.

(People as in Tony)

“Will you just tell us already, Legolas?!” The billionaire exclaimed, as he and the others stood watching Clint pace back and forth, occasionally checking his phone in case Natasha had texted any update.

Finally, seeing Wanda and Vision walk in, who were the last to arrive, the archer explained. Shooting Tony a glare, he said, “Something happened to Y/N on patrol,” he repeated the words Natasha told him. “We’re not sure what, but Nat’s going to find out.”

Everyone’s faces softened. “Something happened? Like an injury?” Wanda inquired, frowning.

Clint glanced over at Natasha’s computer, which still displayed your stats. “Maybe . . .” he trailed off, his eyes catching something on the screen. “Wait - it looks like they’re sick or something. See? Y/N has a high fever.” The rest crowded around him.

As they all watched the screen, Bruce said, “I’ll go get the medical bay set up. Dr. Cho should still be here,” before briskly exiting the room.

“Y/N displayed no signs of illness this morning. In fact, they seemed to be quite well and excited for patrol,” Vision noted.

“They did say they were blasted with something,” Clint murmured, trying to connect the dots.

His phone’s ringtone interrupted the team and Clint scrambled to answer the call. Seeing that it was Natasha, he put it on speakerphone for everyone to hear.

“Y/N’s sick. It’s bad. They’ve already thrown up on our way back and I’m carrying them,” Natasha rushed out almost as soon as Clint accepted the call. They could all hear her controlled breaths as she was walking as quickly as she could.

“Bruce has gone to get med set up for when you arrive,” Steve said.

Remembering how you sounded on comms, Clint asked, “Is Y/N conscious?”

“They’ve been slipping in and out for now. They were passed out when I found them,” Natasha answered.

The team exchanged looks of worry. “Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out,” Tony tried to answer confidently, but his concern overshadowed his tone a bit.

Minutes later Natasha had burst into the tower, you still in her arms. She made a beeline for medical and the rest of the team were hot on her heels. As Natasha had said, you were definitely awake, but unaware of your surroundings nor the state you were in. You were still sweating and shivering profusely and would occasionally mumble something incomprehensible or let out small whines of pain. It broke everyone’s hearts to see you like this - if not for the pressing danger, they weren’t sure they could stand it.

Once at medical, Natasha gently laid you down on a bed where Dr. Cho quickly got to work. The Avengers were allowed to stay in the room (they surely would have put up a fit if not), but needed to stay back so Dr. Cho could work. They all watched as she hooked you up to monitors and assessed you.

“Y/N’s defiantly gotten very sick quite quickly,” Dr. Cho confirmed as she worked.

“It must be that damn blast,” Natasha muttered. “We need to figure out what that was.”

“I can get the storage unit’s company to send us the security cam footage,” Tony offered, but didn’t wait for a response before dashing out.

“Can someone get some cool compresses? We need to bring their temperature down, it’s dangerously high,” Dr. Cho requested as she set up an IV.

Sam and Wanda immediately complied, rushing to get the compresses. They returned and draped them on your forehead, neck, arms, anywhere they could. Up close, they could see how pale and fragile you really were, eyes half-closed. It was scary.

“I’ve given them an IV with fluids and medicine,” Dr. Cho said, letting out a huff. “That and cool compresses is all we can really do for now except to continue monitoring them.” With a gesture of her hand, the Avengers all flocked around you, drawing up chairs to sit. No one wanted to leave your side. “Let me know if their condition changes.” Dr. Cho smiled sweetly at them before leaving and letting them have some privacy.

No one said anything for a little while, stewing in their concern as they watched you. You had fallen asleep, but it didn’t seem restful, with your pinched eyebrows and scrunched up nose. Wanda continued to dab your forehead with the compass while Steve and Sam would occasionally go to get more.

After some time, you woke up a bit and let out a whine. “What is it, hon?” Wanda asked softly.

“It’s cold . . . Can I have a blanket?” you croaked, voice hoarse. You squirmed a bit, pouting.

“I’m sorry, darling, you can’t. We need to get your fever down,” Natasha explained.

Tears at how awful you felt came to your eyes. You curled up on the bed. “Please . . .” you said.

This shattered everyone. Natasha frowned, gently petting your hair. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

You moaned before letting out a few coughs that shook your entire body. Clint went to grab you a glass of water while Steve glanced at the clock. “Shouldn’t the IV and meds have kicked in by now?” He whispered.

Clint helped you drink some small sips of the water while Vision answered, “yes, it should’ve.”

Everyone looked around. “I’ll get Dr. Cho,” Sam decided, keeping his voice low so as to not disturb you.

A couple minutes later, he came back with the doctor in tow. You were still curled up, looking miserable. “Hi, Y/N,” Dr. Cho said. “How are you feeling?” She was pretty sure she knew the answer, but still wanted to ask.

“Hot and cold at the same time . . . My head, throat, and stomach hurts,” you said, voice so small that the others had to strain to understand you.

Dr. Cho nodded and looked over the monitors, frowning. “The meds should have kicked in by now,” she muttered.

Everyone felt defeated and even more worried. What the hell had you been blasted with?!

“Maybe a bath might help? My mom always had us take warm baths when Pietro or I got sick,” Wanda suggested.

The rest nodded. At least it was something. “You feeling up for that?” Natasha cooed, seeing how tired you were.

“I want to try,” you mumbled, trying to sit up.

Natasha and Wanda helped you. They wrapped wrapped one of your arms around them and one of their arms around you, half-carrying, half-leading you to the bathroom. Clint followed behind to be able to open the door.

You leaned against the wall, supported by Natasha, while Wanda started the bath and Clint returned to the rest. The redhead had to keep you from dozing off a few times which worried her a bit about leaving you alone. When the bath was ready, Natasha said, “We’ll check on you every ten minutes or so, okay?”

You nodded, although it was a small nod so as to not aggravate your headache. Wanda and Natasha then left you alone, walking back to the medical bay. When they returned, they saw that Tony had come back, too.

“Did you find anything?” Natasha asked anxiously as she and Wanda resumed their seats.

“There was nothing much the footage could tell us,” Tony admitted, standing in front of the team and Dr. Cho. “We saw Y/N using their powers to make themselves invisible, but it seemed like the guy who attacked them knew that or something because he turned around and blasted them while they were invisible. I’ve talked with S.H.I.E.L.D. about it - Fury says it might have something to do with Y/N being an inhuman.”

This got everyone’s attention. You being an Inhuman had never interfered with anything before, so what was the problem now? “Fury had some of his agents look at the rest of the tech and stuff from the storage unit the guy had been lurking in. Apparently - it’s all tech that belongs to the Kree. It would make sense why it’s effecting Y/N, since the Kree sorta invented the Inhumans. He’s contacting Carol now to see if she might know anything about it,” Tony continued, and then grabbed a chair and sat down while everyone processed this.

“Let’s hope she does,” Bruce said, receiving murmurs of agreement.

They sat around until the ten minute mark hit, when Natasha went to check on you. She returned a couple minutes later, her arm wrapped around you. You looked quite sleepy, and the Avengers would of aw’ed if you weren’t so sick. Your hair was still damp but you were wearing Avengers-themed pajamas.

“They fell asleep in the bath,” Natasha told the team, before helping you get situated back in bed.

Seeing as the sickness wouldn’t be contagious if it was indeed an Inhuman once, a couple of the Avengers gladly cuddled you, wanting to prove some comfort. Really, they all would’ve, if the bed had been big enough. Natasha and Wanda laid down on either side of you and Clint sat at the end of your bed.

Natasha pet your hair while Wanda simply had her arms wrapped around you. Sam was waiting with a glass in his hand in case you got thirsty. When you dozed off for a little bit, Tony couldn’t help but snap a picture. “Sorry, they’re adorable,” he said, not sounding apologetic at all and shrugged.

After waiting with you, Carol drew everyone out of their thoughts by walking in. She was wearing her usual suit, but held a vial in her hands.

Hearing her footsteps roused you and when you could make out the blonde, you smiled. “Carol!” You said, having missed her.

Carol smiled warmly at you. If there was anyone who could break the space captain’s tough exterior, it was you. “Hey, little one,” she greeted. “Long time, no see. I’ve got something for you that will help.” She handed Natasha the vial. “It’s the cure to your sickness. The sickness was invented by the Kree to infect the Inhumans. From what I can gather, the guy was a Kree man who had a device on him that could detect Inhumans - that’s how he knew you were there.”

“Interesting,” Steve mused, as Natasha handed you the vial.

Not caring about how bad it might taste and just wanting to feel better, you gladly drank the entirety of the vial in just a couple gulps.

“It’ll make you quite sleepy, but-” Carol cut herself off as your eyes quickly fluttered shut and you fell into a deep sleep, head falling against Natasha’s shoulders. “They’ll wake up in a few hours feeling better.”

She turned around to grab a chair. “You’re staying?” Sam asked, as they watched her.

“Of course,” Carol said, scoffing as she sat down. She looked at the Avengers. “What, is anyone planning on leaving?”

They all smiled at each other as a series of “no’s” went around. They were more than happy to sit with you and comfort you.

“That’s what I thought,” Carol said proudly, smiling.

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racefortheironthrone · 1 year

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Please innumerate for us the specialized problems of the library sciences.

Let me start with the caveat that my information is based on my experiences at the National Archives more than a decade ago, and policy has definitely changed on this front as we can see from this graph of recent digitization - apparently NARA wants to get to 85% digitization by 2026. (Even still, I'd note that the records of the WPA are <0.001% digitized.)

However, back when I was doing the research that would eventually become my first book, I remember being at the National Archives II building in College Park, Maryland (Go Terps!) and getting really frustrated that all the records of the WPA were only available in their original physical form and that all the guides and indexes were also in paper only and were all from the 1970s, and I asked the archivist why the hell the National Archives hadn't been digitized already.

This is what they told me: if it's handled correctly and stored in the right environmental circumstances, paper can last a thousand years. Carbon copies can last even longer, if they don't rip. (Seriously, the bastard things are like onion skins, they'll split if you look at them funny.) Microfilm is slightly more technologically advanced than paper, but it only lasts 500 years in the right conditions.

We've only had computers en masse since the 1980s, and already there's a huge amount of records (especially from the early years) that we don't have any more, because the hard drives got re-formatted due to higher costs of storage space back in the day, or because old computers got thrown out when they were replaced by newer models and the hard drives are all rotting in landfills somewhere, or because backwards compatibility broke down and we just can't read those file types on our modern computers, or because the actual data got corrupted on the disc, or because some legacy company is asserting copyright against a video game museum, or because some political hack and/or president of the United States decided to violate the Presidential Records Act.

While we thought that the internet would cause an explosion of written records from ordinary people on the scale of the advent of mass literacy, there are vast swathes of the early internet that simply do not exist any more because the servers got switched off when Geocities et al. folded in the dot-com bubble burst or when everyone migrated to Web 2.0, and the Internet Archive tries its best (bless its heart, affectionately) but it can't be everywhere and save everything.

As a result, the archivist told me, digitization is a fraught question: what file format do we use? How do we know that file format will still be compatible and backwards-compatible in 50 years? 100? Longer? Do we keep everything locally or store it on the cloud, and how do we ensure that the storage mechanisms won't fail if there's a blackout or a virus or whatever? Do we digitize everything now, or do we wait until optical character recognition improves enough to the point where digitized records can be searched for words and phrases? Etc.

Keep in mind, I am a public policy historian who studies the 20th century U.S - I work primarily with the official records and the central archives of the richest government in the world. From a library sciences perspectives, this is kind of an ideal scenario, and it's still kind of fucked up. (Let me tell you, the rage and grief I felt when I learned that most of the General File of the Public Works Administration was thrown away by the National fucking Archives and Records Administration in the mid-1950s because they were running out of shelf space in the D.C location and didn't think these records were important...)

Now imagine what it's like at a local historical society or a small liberal arts college, or the national museum of a developing nation for that matter, who do not have the resources for the kind of grand digitization project that NARA started doing five years ago. Think of the sheer scale of historical records that sleep, unseen and untouched perhaps for decades and perhaps for ever, in little cubbyholes all across the world. Among professionals, historical records are measured in linear and cubic feet - think about that for a second, how many pages of paper there are in a foot when you stack them up, and how many hundreds and thousands and millions of feet there are across the face of the world. Think of all the millions of feet of pieces of paper that have been lost to us because of fire or rot or war or time itself.

This is why Peter Turchin is a quack. Historical records are not a standardized little database for social scientists to plug their fucking spreadsheets into; historians don't play that kind of bullshit t-ball, with all our data neatly packaged and handed to us on a silver platter. Our profession is not a social science, it's a goddamn treasure hunt through boxes that were never catalogued or categorized (or that were re-catalogued so many times no one remembers how they were put together in the first place) to find writing that no one has read since the authors died. All of us know that our work, our understanding, will always be partial and limited, because memory is infinitely fragile and the very idea of historical preservation is a mad existential defiance of entropy itself. These records are real, they are fragile - to hell with the Library of Alexandria, remember the National Museum of Brazil? - and they are all that is left to us of the dead.

#history #library sciences #archives #digitization #historiography

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dontmeantobepoliticalbut · 7 months

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The world isn’t on track to meet its climate goals — and it’s the public’s fault, a leading oil company CEO told journalists.

Exxon Mobil Corp. CEO Darren Woods told editors from Fortune that the world has “waited too long” to begin investing in a broader suite of technologies to slow planetary heating.

That heating is largely caused by the burning of fossil fuels, and much of the current impacts of that combustion — rising temperatures, extreme weather — were predicted by Exxon scientists almost half a century ago.

The company’s 1970s and 1980s projections were “at least as skillful as, those of independent academic and government models,” according to a 2023 Harvard study.

Since taking over from former CEO Rex Tillerson, Woods has walked a tightrope between acknowledging the critical problem of climate change — as well as the role of fossil fuels in helping drive it — while insisting fossil fuels must also provide the solution.

In comments before last year’s United Nations Climate Conference (COP28), Woods made a forceful case for carbon capture and storage, a technology in which the planet-heating chemicals released by burning fossil fuels are collected and stored underground.

“While renewable energy is essential to help the world achieve net zero, it is not sufficient,” he said. “Wind and solar alone can’t solve emissions in the industrial sectors that are at the heart of a modern society.”

International experts agree with the idea in the broadest strokes.

Carbon capture marks an essential component of the transition to “net zero,” in which no new chemicals like carbon dioxide or methane reach — and heat — the atmosphere, according to a report by International Energy Agency (IEA) last year.

But the remaining question is how much carbon capture will be needed, which depends on the future role of fossil fuels.

While this technology is feasible, it is very expensive — particularly in a paradigm in which new renewables already outcompete fossil fuels on price.

And the fossil fuel industry hasn’t been spending money on developing carbon capture technology, IEA head Fatih Birol wrote last year on X, the platform formerly known as Twitter.

To be part of a climate solution, Birol added, the fossil fuel industry must “let go of the illusion that implausibly large amounts of carbon capture are the solution.”

He noted that capturing and storing current fossil fuel emissions would require a thousand-fold leap in annual investment from $4 billion in 2022 to $3.5 trillion.

In his comments Tuesday, Woods argued the “dirty secret” is that customers weren’t willing to pay for the added cost of cleaner fossil fuels.

Referring to carbon capture, Woods said Exxon has “tabled proposals” with governments “to get out there and start down this path using existing technology.”

“People can’t afford it, and governments around the world rightly know that their constituents will have real concerns,” he added. “So we’ve got to find a way to get the cost down to grow the utility of the solution, and make it more available and more affordable, so that you can begin the [clean energy] transition.”

For example, he said Exxon “could, today, make sustainable aviation fuel for the airline business. But the airline companies can’t afford to pay.”

Woods blamed “activists” for trying to exclude the fossil fuel industry from the fight to slow rising temperatures, even though the sector is “the industry that has the most capacity and the highest potential for helping with some of the technologies.”

That is an increasingly controversial argument. Across the world, wind and solar plants with giant attached batteries are outcompeting gas plants, though battery life still needs to be longer to make renewable power truly dispatchable.

Carbon capture is “an answer in search of a question,” Gregory Nemet, a public policy professor at the University of Wisconsin, told The Hill last year.

“If your question is what to do about climate change, your answer is one thing,” he said — likely a massive buildout in solar, wind and batteries.

But for fossil fuel companies asking “‘What is the role for natural gas in a carbon-constrained world?’ — well, maybe carbon capture has to be part of your answer.”

In the background of Woods’s comments about customers’ unwillingness to pay for cleaner fossil fuels is a bigger debate over price in general.

This spring, the Securities and Exchange Commission (SEC) will release its finalized rule on companies’ climate disclosures.

That much-anticipated rule will weigh in on the key question of whose responsibility it is to account for emissions — the customer who burns them (Scope II), or the fossil fuel company that produces them (Scope III).

Exxon has long argued for Scope II, based on the idea that it provides a product and is not responsible for how customers use it.

Last week, Reuters reported that the SEC would likely drop Scope III, a positive development for the companies.

Woods argued last year that SEC Scope III rules would cause Exxon to produce less fossil fuels — which he said would perversely raise global emissions, as its products were replaced by dirtier production elsewhere.

This broad idea — that fossil fuels use can only be cleaned up on the “demand side” — is one some economists dispute.

For the U.S. to decarbonize in an orderly fashion, “restrictive supply-side policies that curtail fossil fuel extraction and support workers and communities must play a role,” Rutgers University economists Mark Paul and Lina Moe wrote last year.

Without concrete moves to plan for a reduction in the fossil fuel supply, “the end of fossil fuels will be a chaotic collapse where workers, communities, and the environment suffer,” they added.

But Woods’s comments Tuesday doubled down on the claim that the energy transition will succeed only when end-users pay the price.

“People who are generating the emissions need to be aware of [it] and pay the price,” Woods said. “That’s ultimately how you solve the problem.”

#us politics #news #the hill #2024 #carbon emissions #green energy #climate change #climate crisis #exxon mobil #Darren Woods #United Nations Climate Conference #COP28 #carbon capture and storage #renewable energy #International Energy Agency #Fatih Birol #fossil fuels #Securities and Exchange Commission #emissions

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canonicallysoulmates · 1 year

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J2 Gold Panel SFCon 2023

If they could take any outfit from any character they've played on any of their shows which would it be?

Jared says he'll answer for Jensen and Jensen will answer for him, and for Jensen he says lederhosen. And for Jared, Jensen answers the white Lucifer suit, and y'all Jared gets so excited that Jensen got it right it's adorable!

Jared also reveals that he actually does have the white Lucifer suit! Because who else is it gonna fit, that was tailor-made for him. So he has a storage unit that's filled with his and Jensen's spn stuff- it's interesting cause when mentioning the storage unit Jared kinda sounds like he starts to say it's one they've shared for many years but instead cuts himself off and asks Jensen if he still has things in there which by the sounds of it he does. I don't know it just stood out to me cause I don't consider 3 years ago to be many years ago.

Anyways, among the spn stuff that they have is things like scripts, s1 and s2 crew gifts, outfits, and the MOL sconces which Jensen also used in The Winchesters.

Jared also has like an ashtray on a pedestal thing that he loves, and he has an outside area where he likes to have the occasional cigar (says he hasn't had one in the past year) but one day they had a big storm in Austin and it had fallen and he was worried about it but it didn't break. x

The next fan doesn't have a question they just would like for them to wish their dad a happy birthday. 🎂

What if they had gotten John back instead of Mary?

Jared jokes that in his opinion the problem is that John spent so much time, so many years facing zombies he might be a little slow 😂. But also Sam would have had to be all angsty a lot.

Jensen says it probably would have been more of a character arc for Sam with dad rather than what Dean went through with mom; it would have been a similar style of art but it would have been more Sam and John.

Jared says that's a good point, and that it might be that for the first 10 seasons, Sam was so angsty the writers decided they need to get Dean angsty.

.................................I'm gonna bite my tongue. x

This next fan makes the mistake of handing Jared her phone so they can see a picture of her boyfriend cause people say that her boyfriend looks like Dean and now that he's growing out his beard he looks like Jensen. At the same time they were looking at the photo a text notification came in from her dad asking about the panel so y'all can guess what happened...Jared replied to it 🤣

Fan should have known better than to give these two little devils access to her phone, they both start messing around on it trying to figure it out so they can take a selfie. The fan shows Jared where to find the camera but he doesn't realize it's on video mode until he tries to take the pic 😂

They are so mischievous I love them 📱

When did they realize this was gonna be big?

Jared quips this morning; Jensen answers it was definitely a sliding scale because there wasn't an episode or a season. That he was talking about this the previous day at the VIP but he thinks around s6 was when they first realized they might not get canceled, and that was 5 seasons with every season not thinking they were gonna renew the show and after season 5 it was like 'oh I think they like the show, I think they're gonna keep it around.'

Jared agrees, and says that's very true also that was when Kripke left and they wondered if it meant they were done but then in s6 the family came back and kept them going so he has the same answer.

Then they say at the same time they renewed their contract for two years.

Jared also adds that for him when Kripke finished his first 5 seasons as the showrunner he was thinking it meant they were done and on the way out but he doesn't recall the first season or the first time this happened but the first time they did Hall H at comic con and looked out and saw it was a lot of people and their faces were on the backpacks.

Jensen mentions they did a lot of marketing for s1, more than they had ever been a part of, but that doesn't always mean success they can market the hell out of things and it be a total flop so it was hard not to get excited about seeing their faces on the side of WB studios, it was really cool but they kept it in check so there was a lot of those things along the way that was really cool and could be a really big deal but he doesn't think they ever let themselves buy into that until they already had 5 seasons under their belt. x

Another non-question, the fan is wearing a shirt that originally didn't include Jared but they didn't like that so they added him with an iron-on decal and her husband thinks it looks like Leatherface so it's basically her showing Jared her shirt x

If Sam and Dean had wings what would they look like?

Jared thinks his would be colorful, that one thing he loved about the show is that the angel wings were intimidating but he hopes Sammy's angel wings would be more inviting. That's lovely 💛

Jensen says Dean's would look like car doors opening. x

And that was the last question but before they leave the stage Jared announces that Jensen bought him an early birthday present which is the shirt he's wearing and they'll be auctioning it off later for charity. Jensen says he literally went and bought Jared shirts yesterday because he knew he was going to show up to the con and not have any- what a sweet husband 🥰

And for anyone curious the shirt reportedly made over 4k at auction! Also after the auction, Jensen signed the shirt but before doing so he smelled it and said it smelled good because Jared always smells good due to him using a lot of cologne, and he loves it. You know how much you have to love someone and their smell, to sniff their sweaty shirt that they've been running around in all day and think it still smells good ❤️

J2 Gold Panel SFCon 2023

#j2 tinhat #this was such a good laidback panel and the husbands were husbanding #mine #noniwtv

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final-girl96 · 13 days

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Broken World: Chapter Forty

Three Months Later

Winter has set in completely. The nights were bitter cold, and the days weren't much better. We were lucky enough that we found a storage unit a few weeks ago. We stayed there for about a week and went through as many units as we could, taking anything useful. But most importantly, we found winter clothes and blankets. The only reason we left was because walkers got in. There have been nights when we slept outside by a fire. It wouldn't be getting any better anytime soon.

We couldn't stay in one spot for too long before a herd would come through. The countryside wasn't any safer than the city with all the walkers migrating from the cities and more populated areas to the countryside looking for food, aka the living. Finding food for ourselves was a big problem, too. We looted every house and store we came by. Any place that was surrounded by walkers we tried to avoid. Daryl went out hunting several times a day to try and get whatever animal came by his path, but even that was becoming hard to come by.

Right now, we were sitting around a fire in the middle of the woods. T-Dog and Rick were keeping watch. We all stayed close together to help keep us the tiniest bit warmer. We're lucky enough that everyone has at least two blankets, plus we found sleeping bags, which helped a lot. None of us really slept; we were always on guard, ready to move. Tonight seemed calm for now. I had a blanket over my legs, tucked underneath me and one around me, pulled tight under my chin.

When I saw T-Dog and Rick coming back, I took both blankets off and folded them, setting them with my stuff. “I'll take the next watch,” I said. Rick stopped beside me, “I don't want you doing it alone,” he told me. I was about to tell him I would be fine but was cut off by Daryl. “I'll keep watch with her.” Rock nodded his head, clapping his hand on Daryl's shoulder.

Daryl followed me away from the camp site and into the woods. I wanted to get the perimeter of the camp. We had taken cans and hubcaps and strung them on rope so we could put them up around the camp to alert us if walkers or anything else was coming. Daryl and I checked the perimeter in silence and continued that silence as we stood guard. “Ya haven't been eating.” I turned my head and looked over at Daryl. “What?” I asked. I heard him. I just don't want to talk about it.

I've been giving most, if not all, my food to Carl. There have been several times that I've caught him giving his mother his food, and she accepts it. Don't get me wrong, I understand she's eating for two but she shouldn't accept all his food. So I've been giving Carl mine to make sure he eats. He's a growing boy, and he needs the nutrients more. It's not like I don't eat at all. “Ya heard me. I know you give Carl your food.”

“Well, he's a growing boy, Daryl he needs to eat. He gives his mother his portion, and she takes it. I get she's pregnant and eating for two, but she should not be except her son's food. Besides, it's not like I don't eat anything.” I turned my head back to scan the dark woods. “Need to eat more than a small piece of meat or a piece of a protein bar.” I let a sigh out and shook my head. “I'm fine. Besides, it's not like we have a lot of food these days, Daryl.”

“I'll talk to Rick about Carl giving his food to his mother.” I shook my head and walked a little closer to him. “Don't do that. Things are already so tense between him and Lori. We don't need to make it worse.” Just by Daryl's body language, I could tell he was conflicted on what to do. “Rick still needs to know. I know Lori is pregnant, but she shouldn't be taking her son's food.” I shrugged, “I know this. But to be fair, I think Carl is telling her that it's extra.”

Five Months Later

Winter was finally turning into spring. The days were getting warmer, but the nights were still cold. Lori was about to pop, and we were still out on the road. Neither Daryl nor I had to tell Rick about Carl giving his mother his food. Rick had caught him one night, and things didn't end well. He and Lori ended up getting into a fight, but when it was discovered, Carl was actually telling her there was extra food, and things calmed down. Lori felt terrible about taking food from Carl and hasn't done so since. Now, she makes sure he eats first before she eats her own food.

We were bouncing back and forth, trying to find a place to settle. There were a few times we found potential places to stay, but each time, walkers would come. There was a neighborhood, one of those up scale ones that were gated. It looked like everyone had been evacuated early. It had been completely empty. We stayed there for a few weeks until a herd of walkers came through and found a weak spot that we had noticed in the fence that wrapped around the whole neighborhood.

Then, there was an old warehouse that had a chain linked fence around it. The same thing happened, a large herd, about half the size of the one at the farm, maybe a little smaller than half, came through. We were running around in circles at this point. At every turn, we ran into walkers. Like right now, we were in a house we just cleared. Everyone was sitting in the living room. Loei had a jar of peanut butter in her hand, Daryl was plucking the feathers off an owl he had killed, and Carl was opening a can of dog food.

We were all hungry and tired. It was non-stop moving and running. When Rick saw what Carl had, he took it from him and threw it in the fireplace, making everyone look up at the loud noise it made. A few minutes later we were grabbing our things and headed out the door to the cars. Walkers were starting to slowly surround the small farmhouse.

Once we were far enough away, we stopped on the side of the road to look over the map. Like I said before, we were just running in circles. While everyone else waited by the cars or went to the small break to wash up Rick, Daryl and I went on a little walk through the woods.

We were supposed to be hunting for food, but we were following old train tracks instead. Good thing we were because when we got to a small clearing in the trees and weeds, we discovered a prison just on the other side. The three of us looked at each other, coming to the same idea. We could probably take this place and clear the yard and maybe a cell block.

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seat-safety-switch · 2 years

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Down on the farm, they used to have a saying. I don’t know what that saying is, because I was raised in a city, by loving parents who wanted more for me than to get crushed by a piece of industrial equipment at age 7. The fools. Ever since I’ve reached adulthood, I’ve been obsessed with the concept of farms. They’ve got storage space for cars. They’ve got shit breaking all day long that needs hack-job fixes. They’ve got storage space, for cars. Big Government isn’t coming by and rattling your cage over parking permits or draining coolant into wetlands, because they’re afraid you’ll murder them and hide their bodies inside a chicken coop. There’s room to park a bunch of cars.

Now, I still don’t live on a farm. There’s a couple reasons for that. Primarily, they’re expensive and smell bad. In fact, most of the farms around here have been silently bought up by enormous, semi-autonomous agriculture corporations, who hire workers to run the farm. No one lives on these farms, they just visit day to day like any average job, poking and prodding the livestock and crops as necessary. For months, the old Baker farm just outside the city limits would be completely unattended, except for one lonely security guard on Friday nights, who would do a circuit of the cornfield in his corporate diesel Cruze hatchback, looking for horny teens. This made the old Baker farm perfect for a little hanky-panky, me-style.

In my mind, I thought it would work like a time-share. I’d park my cars there during the winter, when no one was around, and get them the fuck out of there by the busy spring season. This would save untold hundreds of dollars in storage-unit fees, which was good. I was very tired of the storage companies lording it over us, chuckling and pocketing thick stacks of money as our economy ground to a halt and forced all of our cool junk into their vaults.

If I was really lucky, maybe my little trip to the farm would even make the bylaw officer in my neighbourhood think that I moved away or died, so he’d stop coming by every morning to ticket my shit over his morning Timmies coffee. There was just one problem: most (all?) of my cars didn’t move under their own power. That’s why they were being parked in the first place, because otherwise I’d be rotating them in and out, to throw off Special Constable Frank. I’d need something big to move them, and at the Baker farm, I found just that.

Now, of course I wasn’t “licensed” or even trained in the operation of a vintage ‘71 Chevrolet Titan semi truck, much less the car hauler trailer that I borrowed from the nearby Lexus dealer on the way. If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, it’s that farm life means you have to make do with what you have. For instance, as long as I jammed the shifter really fast into third gear I didn’t really have to up- or down-shift the rest of the trip. Little loud, though.

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thetruearchmagos · 6 months

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On 'Energy Crystals'

Copying this over from a worldbuilding write up I posted on Discord!

Tagging @athenswrites @theprissythumbelina @hessdalen-globe @caxycreations @moremysteriesthantragedies @avrablake @thatndginger

While Energy Crystals are a very modern innovation, the pursuit for a crystal based means of high density energy storage is probably as old as the use of crystals in any of their myriad forms.

To skip the deep dive, 'magic crystals' operate through the highly ordered nature of their composition, a structure which extends beyond the three dimensions of the physical plane and which allows them to warp and rend the very fabric of the Underlay, that little understood realm of energy which permeates existence. In order to 'activate' their properties, however, energy in some form or another has to be supplied, 'forcing' the crystal's internal structure into the needed to act against the oppressive forces of the Underlay; heat, in the past, and these days truly massive amounts of electricity for the most intense applications.

A long noted characteristic of these crystals, however, has been their 'lag'. This effect describes the tendency for crystals to retain a small, rapidly decreasing degree of their powered properties even after their external energy source has been removed. The various physical characteristics of the crystal itself influences the degree of this lag, sheer size chief among them, which has at times been both a blessing and a curse for those using crystals for technical applications.

Still, it is not too difficult to see how a crystal's potential to retain energy might be a useful quality in and of itself. Various bodies have long attempted to harness this characteristic, but to little avail: having spent so long making crystals which efficiently utilised every scrap of energy fed to them to the fullest, it was very hard indeed to make one that would use no energy at all. Most interested parties would thus quickly decide to cut their losses early.

It would take modern developments in the field of micro-crystals and electrical-gate crystals to crack the problem. In the former field, a greater understanding of the internal structures of crystals at the most minute scale gave crystal forgers insight into the causes of crystal lag, and how crystals converted their input energy into work. The latter field was the result of the ability for crystals to act as incredibly efficient electrical conductors, leading to their application in the still nascent electronics and computing machine sector. Here, of course, understanding the interaction between crystal structures and electricity was key, as was minimising the 'waste' of a crystal's energy to activate the sorts of properties that in the past were their reasons for existence.

With the rise in this general understanding of just how a magic crystal worked, the secret to energy storage in crystals would be cracked in the 160s A.S. As with many technological developments, it was the United Commonwealth which would own the invention, lavishly funded from the sizeable cheque book of the Defence Consolidated Technical Establishment, whose leadership foresaw the many electricity intensive technologies poised to enter military use.

#worldbuilding #my worldbuilding #writing #writeblr #writeblr stuff

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saratinz · 1 year

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Fine China

pairing ➩ Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, Natasha x Sam (Modern AU)

warnings ➩ depression, addiction, alcohol, pills, angst, sad ending, cheating

synopsis ➩ Based off 'Fine China' by Lana Del Rey

word count ➩ 1.9k

You stare at the white dress you once loved so dearly. “Yeah, of course you can have it, Natasha.”

“I’m so sorry this happened to you again. I know what I’m asking is insensitive, but this, it really means a lot.”

“It’s okay, Nat. You’re going to look stunning. I’ve been left on my wedding day, twice, think I have a problem, and until I figure that out, I can’t be anywhere near this shit.”

“Thank you so much. God I love you.”

“I love you too. I’m so happy for you.”

“I know this is asking a lot, but will you be my maid of honor?”

“I’d love to.” You put on your best fake smile. But as soon as she leaves, you slide down your wall, screaming to numb the pain you’ve been through in

Four years ago

I wore diamonds for the birth of your baby

For the birth of your son

Steve Rogers always wanted a child, just his fatherly nature I guess. His ex-wife, Margaret, has always been a third in your relationship. You get the call while getting your makeup and hair done, quickly getting off your chair to drive to the hospital. You were shocked that this baby is coming out, considering it a month before his due date. Peggy manages to look gorgeous even while going through one of the most painful things known to man. “Hey sweetheart, can we talk in private for a second?” Steve pulls you into the hall.

“Oh, of course.”

On the same day, my husband-to-be

Packed his things to run

“I’m so sorry , Y/n, my family is the most important thing to me right now.”

“I thought I was your family.”

“I love them.”

“I know that but do you really, y’know, love her that way?”

“I do.”

“You were supposed to say that to me.” You half-heartedly chuckle.

“Can you not joke right now.”

“Fuck you Steve. I gave up everything for you, I listened to you, I stayed with you after you cheated on me and impregnated Peggy, I was even gonna raise a child with you at 25.”

Was bittersweet to say the least

One life begins, one comes undone

You drive away from the hospital, speeding home to drink copious amounts of alcohol.

I've always been a strong woman of faith

Strong like a tree, but the unlucky one

You haven’t cried in years. When you went through your first break-up, you vowed never to cry over a boy again. And you didn’t. But right now, in this situation, you figure that it constitutes a few tears.

I'm going down now

With all of my

You feel broken. After suppressing every painful event in your life for nine years, you finally express your emotions. It’s a rough night, and all you could do was cry until you couldn’t anymore.

Fine china and fresh linen

All of my dresses with them tags still on them

You get a storage unit, and keep everything from your wedding that never happened, hoping that one day, you would get to use it for real.

Fine china and dull silver

My white horses and my ivory almonds

“You’re a beautiful girl, sure you want to mess with this stuff.”

“Give me the goddamn pills, Luke.”

I guess they really got the best of us, didn't they?

They said that love was enough, but it wasn’t

You think of the time you almost broke up with Steve. It was when Peggy found out she was pregnant, but the two of you had been together for a year, meaning that he cheated without a doubt. Your friends tried to help, but the best they could muster was a question. “Do you love him?”

“I do, yeah.”

“Then maybe that’s your answer.”

The Earth shattered, the sky opened

The rain was fire, but we were wooden

All hell broke loose, as all of your friends found out Steve left you. Some of them were understanding, some of them dropped him immediately. One of those being Bucky Barnes, who was the only person who didn’t talk to you like you could break at any moment. And over the next year, you fell in love, the next year you got engaged. And now, three years after Steve broke your heart, you find yourself getting ready to be wed. You can’t believe you’re finally going to live your dream.

I wore diamonds for the day of our wedding

For our day in the sun

You felt beautiful in your dress. “Y/n . We need to talk.”

“Buck, you’re not supposed to see me, it’s like, bad luck or whatever.” You let out a little laugh. You were never the superstitious type.

On the same day, my mother-to-be said she wouldn't come

“My mom, she’s not coming.”

“Oh god, is she sick or something. It would be a little tricky, but we could figure out rescheduling.”

“No, she’s just refusing to come.”

“I thought your mom liked me. Did I do something wrong?”

“No, it’s not you, it’s just, I told her about your little pill problem.”

“What are you talking about”

“Don’t play dumb, I know you’re not on anti-depressants like you say. I may not be a doctor but I have Google.”

It's always been that way with me

No time for change, no time for fun

“Okay I’m sorry for lying, but what gave you the right to rifle through my stuff, and then talk to your mom instead of me about it?”

“I can’t do this.”

“Can’t do what? Wait, you’re not talking about, no, what the fuck James? No, this, it can’t be happening again.”

It's always been that way, it seems

One love begins, one comes undone

“I’m so sorry, Y/n, I can’t do this anymore. I can’t sit back and watch as you kill yourself.”

“Oh my god, so you’re leaving me because I like to relax.”

“It’s not just pills you’re addicted to, you’re addicted to me.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means you’re like a leach, sucking the life force out of me. You’re never satisfied.”

“I didn’t want you to leave like Steve did.”

“I know.”

“You know?”

“I do.”

“I’m never gonna hear you say those words, am I?”

“I don’t know, Y/n, maybe one day.”

I'm going down now

With all of my

“So, I’ll do whatever I have to, I wanna be with you, I’ll get help. I’ll go to therapy, I’ll do whatever it takes, just please. Please.”

“I love you, Y/n, I always will.”

Fine china and fresh linen

All of my dresses with them tags still on them

Back to your storage unit, everything goes. You really thought this was it. You’re a fucking idiot.

Fine china and dull silver

My white horses and my ivory almonds

You try to get clean, and you manage to stay that way for three months. But one day, when you couldn’t stop thinking about Bucky and your sponsor was on vacation, you take a little trip to your favorite dealer. “Hey, haven’t seen you in awhile. You getting sober or something?”

“Went to rehab, stayed off drugs for a guy. I’m just gonna ruin my chance with him, I guess.”

“You sure you wanna do that?”

“Fuck him, I need to think about me.”

I guess they really got the best of us, didn't they?

They said that love was enough, but it wasn’t

“I’m using again Bucky, and I’m not gonna stop.”

“Please don’t do this.”

The Earth shattered, the sky opened

The rain was fire, but we were wooden

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Present day