#joe hills fanfiction

[nenestansunsthings]

"Hey. You're Joe Hills, right?"

The man who turns to him to looks far too normal, a casual guy with long hair and green glasses and gloves. Quackity can't imagine why they beat Wilbur. Why her people campaigned so hard for him, why they had hundreds in the lead for hours upon hours until the polls closed and Wilbur lost to her. When the guy smiles cheerfully towards him, the question only becomes more poignant.

"Yup! That's me! Joe Hills, from Nashville, Tennessee." He offers their hand to shake, and in a flash Quackity takes it. Her grip isn't strong, and he blinks in surprise when Quackity's own is firm. "And you're Quackity, right? Good job with your poll!! That was a real close win, but your people pulled through right where it mattered!"

Quackity waves it off. "I never had a doubt. Of course my fans wouldn't let me lose! I'm the sexiest red bird around here, after all!" Unbidden, his wings flutter. "But heyyy, that's not what I came here for. I came here for you! We had an alliance, didn't we? Come on, hi-five, amigo, we did well today!"

Joe blinks. "We had an alliance?"

"Uh, yeah? What, don't tell me you didn't know." He scoffs. "Your fans didn't tell you? I heard you were out there campaigning yourself. Posting shirtless videos and everything! Just my kinda guy." Cheerfully, he slings an arm around Joe, pleasantly surprised when the guy doesn't even flinch. "I thought you agreed to the alliance yourself!"

"... Oh, that alliance!" Their eyes light up in recognition. "Yeah, I saw a few people talking about that. People get really excited in my chat, y'know? Though they were pretty torn." He shrugs. "I mean, Grian's a friend of mine, even if I have no clue how he thinks. But yeah, that was all them!"

Quackity can't help but stare. "You didn't know they were allying against a friend of yours?!"

"Nope! They just kinda do what they want." Joe laughs, the sound tinged with fondness. Something in that makes Quackity's gut churn uncomfortably. They just… do that? Ally against friends? Work with people who they think will stab them in the back later? And all in the name of someone who doesn't even know what they're planning? "I think it's great that they all got together to support you! But hey, there's only one person I'm hoping will win, and you know who it is! I wouldn't be campaigning for myself if I didn't want that win."

"Ha! Yeah, I know how it is." He grins back, golden tooth gleaming brilliantly. "Don't feel too down when I thrash you, alright?"

"We'll see about that!" Normally, Quackity would be on edge from that kind of declaration, but there isn't a shred of hostility in her vice. There's only delight, friendly competition. "I have faith that my viewers will pull ahead, and that I can campaign hard enough to convince people! I've been working really hard, after all. Even bought some new rainbow eyes, just for the occasion!"

"Wait, what."

Joe blinks, and when their eyes open again they are joined by a hundred others, flickering with a thousand colours and all seeing- staring- beholding. Just before he can think the word watching, they flutter shut.

"That's not the right word for me, just to be clear," Joe chastises him. "Watching. I'm not a part of that group."

Quackity has no goddamn idea what she means. So after a moment of stunned silence, he continues.

"... Do your fans think the eyes are hot?"

"I think they're sexyman enough to win the contest," he says, which clears up nothing. "But, most importantly, I think they'd vote for me anyway! Even without my beautiful, glowing, rainbow-checked eyes. Which are, by the way, divinely beautiful, and should be appreciated."

"Hey, man, if you're the kind of guy to buy new eyes for a competition, they'd better vote for you." Quackity shakes his head. "What, did they bribe you for it? Say they'd vote for you if you blinked in rainbows? That's not a healthy relationship, man, you gotta get out of there."

Joe snorts. "No, this is all for me. But thanks for worrying! If my people ever start demanding I grow new eyes before they tip me, I'll just find new people." He waves a hand nonchalantly. "I don't think my viewers would do that, anyway."

"... Hm." Quackity hesitates, settling a few feet away from Joe. "... I dunno, man. I mean, they made that alliance without you, didn't they? Hard to think you could trust 'em after something like that. Not a lot of unity in that kind of campaign, especially if there was some kind of in-fighting about voting me over your friend."

Some tiny, tiny part of him feels a little sick at the thought. But it dies down quickly enough. This isn't the first time he's brought people to blows over loyalty, after all.

But Joe looks unbothered. "They're good people. They'll figure it out for themselves. And they understand why people would vote you over Grian, or why their friends would support you."

"Oh?" Quackity raises an eyebrow. "You talk like you've seen it yourself. Did they shake hands and make up and write songs about their reconciliation? I'd love to see that- you encourage their poetry, it looks like. They've gotta have some skills."

"Nah, nothing like that. You're thinking too big, Quackity HQ." Their sunny smile shifts, softening at the edges. "They're just friends. They don't hate each other for wanting a different person to win. If this was something important like politics- which is very important, remember to vote on both a local and national level to support what's best for your community!- then it might be different. But this is fine."

He scoffs. "Please. I've seen the posts. Some of those guys came out swinging against me."

"And they know it's an exaggeration!" she assures him. "Just look around. All across this great land of Tumblr, there are people reminding each other to be kind. To be civil. To watch whether their feelings are turning into hate, and to take a step back and breathe if things go too far. Sure, things have gone too far. But that happens in all kinds of events, not just this one. And mostly, our viewers want to be kind."

"Man. You're a real ray of sunshine, aren't you." Quackity looks away. "But that's not really what I mean. It's more…"

He's not sure the words are right on his tongue. He says them anyway.

"They're supposed to be united," he tries. "I know you all wanted a Hermitsweep. Your people rule the polls. Doesn't it scare you, that they can split so much behind your back? Isn't it weird, to trust them with this?"

For a second, Joe is silent. Quackity grits his teeth, turns- but the faint green glow of his checkmarks is dim, and there's a twinge of honest fear in his eyes.

"... To be honest, it feels weird." He rests his head on their knees, fingers wrapped tight around her arms. "Just a little bit. I didn't expect this much. And the competition last round was a lot, let me tell you."

Quackity snorts. "I was there, man. No need to tell me. So much voter fraud…"

"And bribery! Don't forget bribery." Joe laughs. "But I do trust them. Whatever they do. I'll be disappointed if I lose, obviously, but it happens. It's hard to really be angry when you think about the core of all this."

"Popularity?" he jokes.

"Well, a little. I've been told Scar is not a sexyman, just a sexy man. Still not sure what criteria people are voting by. But mostly, I think it's love."

"Love?" Quackity raises an eyebrow. "What made you think that?"

Joe sighs. "I dunno. It's just… it's the only thing that it could be, really. This contest doesn't mean anything. There's no prize. All it is is just people wanting the entertainers they love most to win. And look at everything they've created for that goal."

Quackity knows. He's seen the swathes of art, the stories, the people getting out drawing tablets or phones or paper and camera to thank people who voted in their favour. He's seen old artworks shared years after their making. He's seen silly powerpoints, walls of text, analysis and promotions of videos from the starts of careers. It's a little terrifying, really, in the same way angels are.

He's pretty sure Joe would know, too.

"Yeah, not every one of my viewers joined your alliance. Even with my personal campaigning, none of them brought it up to me. But whoever they voted, whether it was Grian because he's someone they fought to see this high up or you because they wanted to share the support your people offered me, they voted out of love. Because they love me, or they love you, or they love whoever else they wanted to win."

"... They love you, huh?"

It's an odd thought. Quackity's well used to heartbreak, to abandonment. To people only staying because he had something to offer. But in this silly contest, with tens of thousands of people cheering for him…

"They love you too," Joe says with a smile. "So I'm happy you won. I'd say you're a pretty worthy opponent."

Quackity barks out a laugh, turning to Joe with fire in his eye. "A worthy opponent? You'll be taking those words back when I win. My people love me, don't they? So I'm sure as hell they'll put their money where their mouth is."

"Oh, we'll see." A thousand eyes open, turning a rainbow gaze upon him. He meets their stare head-on. "After all," Joe Hills says, "You were right about one thing. We want a Hermitsweep."

#quackity #quackityhq #joe hills #joehillstsd #quackity fanfic #joe hills fanfiction #mcyt sexyman propaganda #mcytblr sexymen poll #sun art #hi guys. guess who is SO normal about the quackity joe poll #i have. emotions #also im so sorry if theyre not written right i did my best

[12u3ie]

tommyinnit fans: oh no, he's writing fanfiction about himself and his friends! and its intentionally terrible! i can't stand it!

joe hills fans:

#this is your regular reminder about the joe hills writes fanfiction series #except instead of on wattpad its in minecraft books #twelves rambles #twelves shitposts #joehills #joe hills #tommyinnit

[joehills]

“I don’t come in here and tell you how to do your jobs” is not a thing I can truthfully say in almost any context, especially when visiting the Organization for Transformative Works’ AO3 offices.

#joe hills #fanfic #joehills #joehillstsd #joehillssays #fanfiction #hermitcraft #minecraft #there are like seven videos like this in a playlist only the most discerning viewers can discover #Youtube

[waz-glowstone-here]

Finally got the determination to watch a Joe Hills episode for the first time pretty much ever and noticed him streaming like 2 minutes before his stream ended. His glasses and shirt and kind of hair are transparent, and now the end of his stream is glitching out for me so that it's on an infinite loop of "keep adventurin'...stop- streamin'" in irregular intervals which has been going on for me as I type this post. Is this the Joe Hills experience?

#/pos #joe hills #joe #I kind of like this experience #i want the keep adventurin stop streamin to continue forever #i don't know if it'll stop if I X out of the tab :( #also I say pretty much because technically I HAVE watched a Joe video before but it was the video where he sat down and wrote fanfiction in #a Minecraft book and quill #and also that was several years ago when I watched it #so I don't remember much

[skiter-cat-slaying]

Hermitcraft fans. I’ve seen a lot of fics where they have a rule of “no asking for backstory” and it’s always taken so *seriously*. These are the Hermits. They joke about e v e r y t h i n g.

They would totally joke about it like

(they are playing detectives)

Detective Ren: Where were you last night, miss Joe Hills

Joe Hills, the most open man ever: Xisumaaaa!! He’s asking about my paaaasst!! Rule breaker Ren!

or something like

“Dude wtf were you doing in your life that made you refuse to build castles scar”

and scar would get all fake solemn: “well.. at a very young age, castle’s ate my parents……”

or angsty!

“lmao why are you so secluded all the time”

“… I-”

“oh crap sorry I didn’t mean to upset you–”

Thosr are wayore fun than the writer just stating the rule and only touching on it when it’s important to the main character! And I’m not saying I hate the “no backstory unless person gives the okay” rule, it’s a solid rule, but it could be way more fun.

I might just want more silliness in angsty times….

#Hermitcraft #joe hills #rendog #writing #fanfiction #writing tips #fanfiction tips #It would add character guys #please i’m desperate #(Not forced)

[phantomstatistician]

Fandom: Abbott Elementary

Sample Size: 285 stories

Source: AO3

#barbara howard #melissa schemmenti #gregory eddie #janine teagues #gerald howard #ava coleman #jacob hill #zach #joe #taylor howard #abbott elementary #fanfiction #ao3 #statistics #phantom statistician #barbara x melissa #melissa x barbara

[aesopsharpmybeloved]

No More Hiding

Things get a little uncertain for Father Paul and you, after you are caught red handed by no one other than Beverly Keane.

Requested by anonymous

I'm back and I am healthy (almost). I got a bit out of practice, so this may be a little wonky, but I hope you'll forgive me :) Also, please check out this post, I am open to some nsft Father Paul content, teehee.

No More Hiding - 3.7K

tw: suggestive themes (mention), humanising Beverly Keane, cheesy as heck, a lot of triple dots

What is it with priests on Crockett Island? Beverly thought, gravel crunching underneath her feet as she walked away from Saint Patrick’s church hastily. Bev Keane was a lot of things, but stupid wasn’t one of them - she was aware there was some funny business going on with the young priest who arrived on Crockett almost a year ago and that writer lady, but she could never be entirely sure. Until today, that is. Bev felt a fresh wave of anger as she remembered the scene she witnessed no more than ten minutes ago.

—

How could she have forgotten her bag? Bev shook her head at herself. She went home after wrapping up the daily mass on Saturday, and when she tried to reach into her handbag to pull out the keys to her home, she froze. There was nothing hanging on her shoulder. How did she not notice? In her head she suddenly saw the image of her bag, sitting on a table in the back of the church, entirely forgotten. With a sigh and an eye roll, Bev turned around and began walking towards Saint Patrick’s again.

She entered through the back door, and immediately saw her canvas bag, exactly where she’d left it. After grabbing it, Beverly was just about to go home again, but then:

A giggle.

A soft, feminine giggle sounded from the main room of Saint Patrick’s. Curious as to what’s going on there, The teacher crept towards the door leading to the front and put her hand against the handle. Very, very slowly, she pushed it and pulled the door open, just a little. She peeked out. The sight before her shook her to the core and Bev felt fury immediately settling in.

Sitting in a pew closest to the altar was Father Paul, still in his green chasuble, and next to him was (F/N)(L/N). Which, Beverly supposed, would be fine, if the priest (the PRIEST for goodness sake!) wasn’t currently pushing his tongue into her mouth and her hands weren’t messing up his raven hair. The teacher was frozen to the spot as she watched the two people exchanging passionate kisses, sometimes producing soft pleasured hums. What finally snapped Bev out of her shock was the sight of Father Paul’s hand settling on (F/N)’s knee, before pushing her skirt up as it moved forward onto her thigh.

Beverly pushed the door open all the way and coughed loudly. With malicious satisfaction she watched the couple practically jump away from each other and turn their heads in her direction, their eyes widening in horror. “B-Bev?!” yelped the priest, his face turning red, as did the young woman’s. “T-this- this isn’t what it looks like!” his hand, which left the girl’s thigh was now outstretched towards Beverly in a surrendering manner. Despite the furious storm within her, the teacher felt strangely calm as she took calculated steps towards the couple.

“Father, if you insist on indulging yourself in breaking your holy vows, it’d be nice if you had at least enough respect not to do so in God’s house,” she said, her voice cold as ice, her expression stony. The priest coughed: “Bev I-...W-we were just-” “ Don’t! Don’t… ” the teacher hissed and began walking off through the front of the church,clutching her bag in a vice grip. She shut the door with a bang.

Father Paul watched Beverly leave and winced as the old wooden doors banged shut. You then saw him wilt before your eyes. He put his elbows on his knees and placed his face in his hands. Your own hand found his shoulder and began stroking it, trying to comfort him, despite knowing that not even your touch would be able to comfort him now. Still, the priest leaned into your hand and soon raised his head to hide his face in your neck instead. You slowly stroked the hair at the nape of his neck.

“We’re screwed,” said Paul against your skin, his voice soft and tired. “Yeah,” you whispered back.

—

Bev’s idea of going home was long forgotten as she stalked across Crockett Island, glaring daggers at everyone who dared as much as acknowledge her, the teacher was seething with rage. What was it with priests on Crockett Island? She knew the old Monsignor Pruitt hadn’t exactly been celibate either, and that the island’s doctor Sarah Gunning had been the result. She found out during one of Monsignor’s episodes, when he’d weep softly and call for Mildred, apologising for not having been there for her. For their daughter.

Back then, she acknowledged this, not knowing how she felt about it. On one hand, the Monsignor went against his vows, sired a child who was then raised by a different man, and obviously never stopped lusting for said man’s wife. On the other hand, what was there to be done now? The Monsignor was old and frail, dementia claiming his mind little by little, and Mildred Gunning? Well, she was in no better state. George Gunning was long gone and Sarah was a grown woman, who grew up in a happy family with a loving mother and father, blissfully oblivious she was the illegitimate child of their local priest.

However, it was different now. God, Bev wished she hadn’t forgotten her bag in the morning. Suspecting something fishy is going on is better than actually knowing it - makes it easier to ignore. But now she knew. She knew Father Paul, a priest who was supposed to be Crockett Island’s spiritual leader, image of morality and virtue, was fornicating with a heathen, a faithless woman, who like a succubus seduced the holy man to sin.

Bev was already forming a plan in her head, a plan to inform the dioceses about the blasphemy happening right there in God’s house, if not to outright get the priest excommunicated, to at least stop this illicit affair. But then she heard a sound behind her, a girl’s high-pitched laughter. She turned around.

What she saw made her stop. It was Leeza Scarborough, laughing and squealing as she drove circles around Warren Flynn on his own bicycle. The youngest Flynn was looking at her fondly, his gaze filled with pride: “I told you you could do it!” Oh… Leeza regained the feeling in her legs during one of Father Paul’s sermons. Since then, she came out of her shell so much, yet she still remained a good, devoted Christian, never missing a single daily mass. She was smiling and laughing more, but still she prayed harder than anyone else. She even found it in her heart to forgive Joe Collie, the man who crippled her in the first place! Beverly would never!

Speaking of Joe Collie, Bev only now realised she was standing a short distance away from the general store, where said man was currently chatting up their Muslim sheriff. After Leeza forgave the town drunk, he… he actually stopped drinking. He began attending the AA sessions Father Paul started, along with Riley Flynn, and while Bev was sure he was bound to relapse, to her utmost surprise he actually stayed sober since then. He looked a little different, his clothes were cleaner, his hair and beard neater. He even started working again, on one of the fishing boats. He looked like he dropped a few pounds too. The biggest change was his face. He too was smiling more.

Bev bit her lip, deep in thought, reminiscing of the past year. Since Father Paul came to the Island, there was a change in atmosphere. After Leeza’s recovery, it was like a religious renaissance had happened. The church was usually nearly full on Sundays and more people started attending daily mass as well, Bev had to start ordering more than double the usual amount of communion wine and hosts, and even had to get some low-gluten wafers after several inquiries. Some of the people who moved away after the spill actually came back to their old homes, because the fishermen began returning from the sea with full nets of fish and crabs, just like they used to many years ago. The community was blooming.

The teacher looked around. In the gazebo of Crockett Island’s little park sat Riley Flynn with Erin Greene and her daughter… Their daughter, essentially. The child wasn’t Riley’s, yet he treated her as his own, loved her as his own blood. He moved into the Greene home and Annie even mentioned once that Erin was in the middle of divorcing her ‘nasty work of a husband’ so she could marry Riley instead, so they could become a proper family once and for all. The little girl, whom Riley Flynn was currently bouncing on his knee, had two godparents, and since only one of them had to be a practising catholic, it was Ed Flynn and the other was nobody else than (F/N)(L/N).

(F/N) had also started to help out in the school, taking upon herself some of Erin’s classes so the woman could focus on her little girl. The children actually really liked her. Bev would often hear laughter from the other classroom and most of the kids left it with a smile on their faces. When she wasn’t helping Erin, she was usually helping someone else, assisting Sturge in some maintenance work, helping Annie with inventory in the general store, even joining the Flynn men for a few fishing trips! Bev saw her once at the docks, and had to admit the young woman looked quite the natural in her work clothes.

Her previously malevolent intentions turned into conflicting thoughts. Beverly had to sit down. In a much slower pace, she finally walked home. Bev’s home wasn’t exactly filled with many decorations or personal effects. There were a few photos here and there, of her parents and her, when she was a little girl. There was a photo with Monsignor Pruitt, where she was bracing him by the arm, smiling into the camera. The older priest had his hand gently placed against hers, a kind smile on his own face. Bev rather missed the old man.

Despite the fact that the Monsignor too succumbed to the temptation of flesh, he never stopped being a good priest. And a good man. He never once refused to offer a helping hand, he was always ready to be of support. He was a rock for Beverly when she lost her parents, much too early. She could rely on him when she was all alone, when she had nobody else. Maybe that’s what really drove her to church so much… Most things in her house were of religious theme, verses were framed on her walls, there were crucifixes placed throughout the entire home, Bev only had records of gospel music laid by the old record player which belonged to her mother.

Beverly sat down in her armchair, the room so quiet  one could hear a pin drop. The truth was that Father Paul, despite his immoral indulgence in carnal desires, was still a good priest. He took care of his parish, took care of his flock. Always ready to help and provide support… just like the Monsignor.

And (F/N)? Beverly scoffed unhappily. As much as she wasn’t fond of the girl and the fact she seduced a holy man, she had to admit that (F/N) was… a part of Crockett Island now. She came when everyone else left, this was her home, and the people accepted her as their own. She was popular. Beverly was not, she was aware of that. She knew that most people only tolerated her because she played such a big part in the church, and because she taught their children. She didn’t have friends, or a family, but she had this. And that was good enough for her.

However, if she were to… if she were to report Father Paul Hill to the dioceses, if she managed to actually get him out of Crockett Island… She probably wouldn’t be tolerated anymore… No, Beverly would be hated . There was a big possibility the people would be more willing to accept an uncelibate priest whom they adored, rather than have this beloved priest taken away. And God knows who’d take his place then? If it came down to taking sides, Bev had no qualms that people would actually take hers and not Father Paul’s. She’d then drop lower than Joe Collie, who was slowly but surely gaining more sympathy ever since he became sober. She’d be the town pariah. Not Joe, not Riley, but Beverly .

She put her face into her hands. Was she going to actually ignore this? Was she really just going to let them continue committing sins? Then again… everyone sinned, didn’t they? To sin was human after all, and the heavenly father forgives all those who try to make amends. And Father Paul and (F/N)(L/N)... they made amends constantly by all the work they put into this small community… The teacher sighed deeply. She supposed she could try to just … ignore it. She didn’t agree with what they were doing, but she could ignore it, for the sake of everyone else… Speaking of everyone else, Beverly wondered who else knew of this little affair. Erin Greene? Possibly, her and (F/N) were joined at the hip. And if Erin knew, then Riley Flynn maybe knew as well. Who else?

It was decided then. Bev looked up and released another deep sigh. In a way, she felt… lighter? Calmer? What was with this feeling of acceptance? She should still be angry, she should be hating every moment she allows this to continue, but she just wasn’t. In a way, she was… content. It was better for Crockett Island if Father Paul stayed, and, well, Bev reluctantly supposed it was better if (F/N) stayed too. She didn’t even realise the corners of her lips were turning up slightly. Sighing for the last time, she got up from her chair and walked to the record player. Maybe there were still some of her mother's old records somewhere, Bev thought, maybe she could use some non-gospel music for a little change.

—

Any day now, you and Paul expected some nasty letter from the dioceses, or maybe a surprise visit from the bishop. Or a phone call, inquiring whether it was true that the priest was in a forbidden affair with a woman.. But nothing happened. You haven’t really discussed what would happen to your relationship, because the thought was too terrifying, but you became so much more careful about it. You didn’t dare to touch one another unless you were in the rectory or your house, doors locked and curtains closed. You wouldn’t hold each other’s hand during walks, you didn’t feel safe expressing any physical affection even in front of the friends who knew of your relationship.

It sucked, not being able to snuggle up to the priest when you were outside in the woods, definitely alone, but unwilling to take any risks. You missed his warmth, the smell of him when he held you close, you missed the stolen kisses. You wouldn't even go to the Uppards, even though you’d never be caught there, especially by Beverly. It sucked.

On the other hand, you learned how to show affection in public through other ways. Like a deep look into each other’s eyes and a single slow blink - like a quick peck on the lips. A smile and head slightly cocked to the side - an ‘I love you’. It wasn’t the real thing, but it was lovely nonetheless. A week passed, then two and… nothing. No letters, no phone calls, no visits. In fact, it was very quiet. The priest served his homilies as usual, Bev helped him as she always did. She talked to him and treated him the same as ever, as if she never caught the two of you, as if it had all been a bad dream.

Yet, the two of you remained cautious, always checking over your shoulder. By the third week, you were going mad. As you lay in your bed, mind for once calm and quiet after a tender lovemaking, with Paul drawing little patterns on your bare back with his fingertips, you suddenly spoke: “We should talk to her.” “Hm?” asked Paul, and turned his head a little to look at you. “To Bev,” you clarified. Paul sighed and closed his arms around you. “Why?” he asked finally. You adjusted yourself in his hold and rested your chin on his collarbone to look into his eyes: “Well, it’s been a while. If she told someone, the dioceses… they would’ve been here by now, wouldn’t they? Or call, at least? She’d be smug about it, I think. But she’s, you know… normal. Well Bev-normal anyway.”

Paul nodded and closed his eyes. “Hm… That’s going to be very uncomfortable,” he said at last. You pulled yourself up to press a kiss against his perfect mouth, making him smile softly. “Yeah… but we’ll face it together.”

—

It was… very very awkward. You were sitting on the uncomfortable metal chairs in the recreation centre, you and Paul next to each other, Beverly Keane opposite of you. You were so nervous. The priest grabbed your hand, which was gripping your knee painfully, in silent support. Bev frowned for a bit, but didn’t say anything. You took a deep breath, it was now or never. “Miss Keane, we wanted to talk to you about what you saw in Saint Patrick’s some time ago. There’s no point in lying. What you saw was exactly what it looked like, Father Paul and I, we… we’re lovers. And have for a long time.” Paul nodded next to you and squeezed your hand tighter.

Beverly nodded as well: “I’ve gathered as much. Why are we here?” You swallowed in nervousness and took a breath to answer, but Paul beat you to it: “You are a very devout woman, Beverly. I am breaking my vows. Yet, you still… help me in church, you treat the two of us the same… You didn’t tell anyone?” Bev’s eyes were piercing, you felt quite tiny under her scrutinising gaze. Finally, she looked down at her hands which were neatly folded in her lap: “No, I didn’t… Not really for your sake, though. I don’t approve of this. I didn’t tell anyone because… Crockett Island relies on you, Father. And, to a certain amount, on you as well (F/N)(L/N). I will keep quiet about this… However, you must know that if I… caught you, someone else will too, eventually. So you may, at the very least, attempt to be… decent.”

You bit your lip. Bev was right, it was only a matter of time before the relationship would be found out. But then again, you didn’t think there were that many people left to find out. Over the months, you received more and more knowing looks, from both friends and acquaintances. One time a woman named Betty, who ran the island’s teeny-tiny beauty salon and attended Sunday masses pulled you aside to tell you what a lucky woman you were, having a good looking man like that. In fact, the only person you were seriously hiding your love from was currently promising she’ll keep her mouth shut about it. It was nearly surreal.

After some more awkward and uncomfortable talking, during which you revealed to Beverly that your relationship began after the Easter vigil (by which she was surprised, since she suspected something was going on much earlier), you parted ways in a rather civil manner. As you left the rec centre, Paul took your hand in his right away, leading you to the woods for a stroll. You smiled and leaned into him, thankful to feel his warmth again.

Over the following weeks, you settled back into your routine, except you were way more relaxed. Someone saw you holding hands, or sharing an embrace and a kiss from time to time, but they never once commented on it. Well, most of the time. One time you pressed a kiss to Paul’s cheek when you thought you were alone, in front of the general store, just to hear a wolf-whistle behind you. “Knew it,” came Joe Collie’s voice, as he left the shop and walked away jovially, Pike following behind him with a wagging tail. “He didn’t know shit,” said sheriff Hassan, leaning against the doorframe, “I knew, though.” You stuck your tongue out at him, making Paul chuckle.

—

Hard to believe it had been a year already, you thought as you stood by the gazebo, a sooty cross drawn on your forehead. There were more people attending the Crock Pot Luck this year, as the town’s population grew slightly. You observed them fondly, feeling at peace. Feeling utterly home. One year ago exactly, you were sitting at one of the tables, sipping wine and chatting with Father Paul. Back then, you only ever allowed yourself to think of him in secret, today he lived in your mind rent-free and you were far from being mad about it.

Speaking of Father Paul, a pair of long arms wrapped themselves around your waist from behind and soft lips brushed against the back of your neck. You smiled and put your hands over his. He came around, keeping one arm around you and pulled you close for a real kiss. And what a kiss it was, sweet and passionate at the same time, and it filled your heart with utmost joy. When you pulled back, you noticed a number of people looking at the two of you. Some of them had a knowing expression and a smile on their faces, some were wide eyed, but said nothing. Others simply returned to minding their own business. Bev Keane was one of the latter. You smiled at your lover and he mirrored you.

“No more hiding, huh? You asked quietly. His smile grew: “No more hiding.” You stroked his smooth cheek. “The secrecy was kind of thrilling though,” you teased. The priest chuckled, “we can do a little bit of hiding, as a treat,” he promised. You giggled airily and pressed one more kiss to his lips before grabbing his hand and leading him to one of the tables.

No more hiding.

Hello again! Hope it wasn’t that horrible lol. You can check out this story and the entire series on AO3. Thank you for being patient with me <3 

Tagged: @i-was-ok-then-i-saw-hamish​

I will feed you a sugarcube and scratch your head for feedback ;-;

Also, please, if you're on insta, go and report account named 32181045, who hacked Hamish's account, got Hamish deleted and gloats about it in their stories.

#fanfiction #midnight mass #father paul #father paul hill #father paul x reader #father paul hill x reader #fluff #human!beverly keane #beverly keane #erin greene #riley flynn #sheriff hassan #joe collie #leeza scarborough #beverly keane has a heart #beverly keane is human #debitchization of beverly keane #humanization of beverly keane

[crazycatfics]

An Armadillo?

Claws scrabble against hard stone floors as Ren ducks under the table. Skidding. Into the wall with a dull thud.

Doc looks down at the wolf and sighs, “What happened?”

Ren prances paws tapping against the flooring.

“Show me.” Doc says nudging him forwards. “Let’s see what spooked you.”

Ren slowly slinks out from under the table and leads Doc towards the door. As they step out into the night Ren Growls softly at a bush. A small tan creacher rolls into a ball protecting itself.

“Ugh, what is that thing.” Doc murmurs as Ren tucks behind his legs.

After a moment of silence the animal untucks from it’s ball and starts to crawl back into the underbrush. Doc snaps a photo of the armored animal and sends it to the world group chat.

DocM77: Anyone know what this thing is?

JoeHills: It’s an armadillo.

JoeHills: They carry Leprosy 

Hissing Doc pulls Ren back, “Let’s stay inside tonight."

Ao3 Link Below the cut

#NHH PROMPTOBER 2023 #Prompt 1 #conventional spooky animals #hermitcraft #fanfiction #rendog #werewolf ren #Docm77 #Joe Hills #hermitblr

[canned-goose-feathers]

snacks, hidey, locust :0 ?

Pies? Sure. Weird quests? Not out of the ordinary. But if she finds out that Ren is behind the locusts, she'll be having a word with him. Or a few.

Cleo picks another locust off the back of her neck and mercilessly crushes it. This is ridiculous. No one else seemed very bothered but, then again, no one else was a walking bug buffet. She hisses as one nips at her arm.

That's it.

ZombieCleo: I've had it with these things

ZombieCleo: I'll burn down the whole server

joehillssays: That seems like a bit of an overreaction but I support you in all your endeavors. 

ZombieCleo: The bugs

joehillssays: Oh. 

ZombieCleo: They're driving me batty

joehillssays: Ah, I was wondering if anyone would bring that up. I have a theory about the locusts that I think may solve your problem. 

ZombieCleo: go on

joehillssays: Well, bees have a queen, kind of like a monarchy but not really. Locusts, on the other hand, aren't bees, so they don't have a queen. 

ZombieCleo: ??? 

joehillssays: So, by that logic they must have a king! Because as everyone knows, flying insects all abide by a monarchy system. They'd have to, I can't imagine what democracy among bees is like. 

ZombieCleo: joe please what are you talking about

joehillssays: Hold please. 

Before Cleo can really think about what Joe could possibly be talking about, she hears the signs of fireworks and a soft landing nearby. The man himself runs up.

"Howdy, Cleo!" he says.

"Hi Joe."

"So as I was saying, all flying insects abide by the monarchy system. So that's bees, locusts, you know that kind of thing. This also implies currently, the Hermits are flying insects, which does make sense as we do fly—"

"Hold on," Cleo stops Joe (probably for the best, he was turning a little red), "are you implying there's a king locust?"

"Yeah, of course there is."

"Right," Cleo says, holding back from rolling her eyes. "Well, I'm sick enough of these things I'll try pretty much anything. Any ideas where to find this king locust?"

Joe purses his lips. "Well bees have beehives, but I've never heard of locust hives. Don't they live in the ground?"

"That's cicadas."

"What's the difference?"

"Not a clue."

Joe shrugs and bats away a locust. "They get quieter at night. Maybe we can follow them to their nest?"

"A stealth mission, I like it." Cleo grins widely. 

It turns out that the stealth mission also involved killing half the day. Cleo explicitly bans Joe from working on his poetry anymore (it wasn't that it wasn't good, it was, it's just that she can only hear the same line in different accents so many times). Joe ends up going over some plans for his base while Cleo carefully works on her bullet journal. 

In hindsight, setting up an entire arts and crafts session may have not been the best idea while waiting to start a stealth mission.

Cleo elbows Joe and cuts off his whine with a finger to the locust cloud moving away from them. They're up and in the air in . . . Well, not very quickly. Cleo wasn't just going to leave her journaling supplies out in the elements, after all. A mad dash to put everything away and they're finally rocketing off after the insects. 

"Should we hang back so they don't see us?" Joe yells over the wind. 

"Joe, they're bugs. They have terrible eyesight."

"How do you know?" 

"They have compound eyes, so they can see more but they don't have depth perception, so they have to move closer— you know what? I'll tell you later."

"You know, several species of spiders hunt via sight— although those are arachnids so they don't really count I guess. Dragonflies are also known for their excellent eyesight, and I don't even know what kind of monarchy system they abide by—" 

They continue to discuss the eyesight of certain insects as they follow the swarm. Flying a bit higher helps to see where the swarm is headed; the locusts funneling into a hole in the ground. At Cleo's direction, they land once the skies are clear and Cleo peers down the hole. She grimaces. 

"I hate small spaces," she groans. 

"I'm claustrophobic!" Joe says cheerily as he climbs down the hole. 

"Don't you sleep in a pinball?" Cleo ducks down to follow him. 

"...Anyways!" Joe ducks his head and shimmies into the small space. 

The tunnel is rough-carved and damp. Cleo has a much harder time fitting through than Joe does, but eventually it opens up into a cave. Cleo can see the flit of bugs through the air. As Joe lights a torch, Cleo can see the massive cave is lined with locusts on every available surface. Joe nudges her and she follows his gaze. There, in the center of the cave, is a locust at least twice as big as a horse. 

"You're joking," Cleo whispers. "How did you, I mean. There is actually a king of locusts."

"Of course there is," Joe says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "You know all this about eyes and stuff, but the hierarchy of flying insects is new information?" 

"Joe, maybe we should keep it down."

"Bugs don't have ears. At least I don’t think. Anyway, like I was saying." Joe pulls out a few sticks of TNT. "Bees have queens, locusts have kings. Wasps probably have, like, Tsars or something, I'm not sure. Hold on, let me put this down."

She watches with bated breath as Joe creeps far closer to the resting king than she would. He sets down a few pieces of TNT near it, then hurries back up to where Cleo is waiting. 

He gestures to the TNT. "Zombies first, please."

That almost makes her laugh. Cleo pulls out her bow, lights the arrow, and draws. 

Everything, predictably, goes to shit. 

The explosion rocks the cave, but the King isn't dead. It is, however, very upset. The cave erupts into chaos as locusts take flight. 

"Go, go, go!" Cleo yells over the sound of wings. The crawl back up out of the hole is considerably faster than when they came down. Cleo fires a rocket as soon as she's clear of the hole with Joe right on her heels and the swarm on his. 

"Joe, I think we might be in a bit of trouble," Cleo yells back to him. 

"I am very aware of that situation! Follow me, I've got an idea."

Cleo turned to follow him. Probably not the best idea, given that the last idea he'd had got them chased by a swarm of locusts, but seeing as there weren't many options, well. Joe dips down the side of a mountain and turns sharply, disappearing below the treeline. Cleo follows best she can. Joe's hand is on hers the second she lands and he pulls her through the trees until she's pulled into a dark cave. Joe turns on his heel and piles stone up at the entrance until they're bathed in darkness. 

Cleo pulls out a torch and lights it to see . . . a bed? There's a bed. And a chest. And unlit torches. Altogether it looks like a very small bedroom. 

"Welcome, Cleo! Don't mind me, cowering as I always do in the Just In Case Exclusive Emergency Bunker number seven." he says with a flourish, grinning like a madman. He drops his hands and says "I might have to work on that acronym."

"You have seven of these?" Cleo gapes. 

"I have ten," Joe says, "this is just the seventh one. It does pay to be prepared for every situation. Oh, I should start a service for that, maybe like 'Hermit Hidey Holes' or something. It's like camping, but sudden!"

"Joe."

"Oh, pardon my manners, I'm a terrible host. Do you want some snacks?" He opens the chest to reveal it's packed to the brim with foodstuffs. Cleo doesn't even know what to say. It feels like a really, really weird dream. She picks up some jerky and a few cookies. 

"Are you alright?" she reaches out to touch the back of her hand to his head. "You haven't fallen recently, have you?" 

"I mean I fell off a tree yesterday. Though with the respawning thing I doubt that's an issue. Why? Do I look like it? " 

"Being prepared is very out of the ordinary for you."

"I'm going to try not to take offense at that." He snags an armful of snacks and plops down onto the bed. Cleo joins him. 

She's halfway through a cookie when she looks over to him, a thought occurring to her. "Are you really claustrophobic?" 

"Nah," he says around a mouthful of pie, "Just thought that would make you feel better if you heard I was terrified."

She laughs a little. "That's very thoughtful of you. So . . . What are we doing about the bugs?" 

"That," Joe says crawling up onto the mattress and curling into the mountain of pillows with a breathless, nervous laugh, "can be a great problem for someone else to solve. I'm going to bed."

#hermitcraft #hermitcraft fanfic #hermitblr #mcyt fanfiction #joe hills #zombie cleo #Joehills #ZombieCleo #Goose Scribbles

[the-dark-abyss]

Hi tumblr enjoy my final fic of 2023!

For a discord server's secret santa :D

I had so much fun writing this!!

#abyss writes #hermitblr #hermitcraft #grian #goodtimeswithscar #joe hills #hermitcraft 6 #christmas #xmas #ao3 fanfic #fanfiction #secret santa #fluff #look guys i finally wrote fluff

[nenestansunsthings]

[crossposted on ao3 as tales of the hillsclan!! enjoy :>>]

The Hillsclan is an odd clan, full of strange cats who are less warriors than they are weavers of tales. And their leader is the strangest of them all.

Hillstar is a not a large cat, his fur long and trailing as he moves, and he dreams of things no cat can understand. She follows laws that are not the warrior code's, and her clan learns the unspoken rules well, turning cold eyes and raised hisses to any who break them. It is said the hills echo with an immutable difference, one that draws to it wandering minds.

Now, the cats are not unfriendly- Hillsclan is full of welcoming meows and excitement at new faces. But for all their amiability, it is a different world in those green dens in the hills. They hold meetings often, sundown and sunup almost daily, and the hills are thrice-divided into dens of warriors without distinction. They are nowhere near twoleg territory, but rumour tells that Hillstar was a kittypet themself, and with how Hillsclan cats know twoleg rituals so well it is more and more likely. They wander further than most cats would dare, mingling with other clans often at the behest of their leader, and they sing strange songs and tell strange tales of the ghosts they see in the night.

The clan cats brag about their ghost to others- their jhost, they say, though they tell none what the J in it means. Perhaps their leader knows something of it. Hillstar must- after all, the ghost is said to speak through them, tinging their brown fur with a pale blue glow and their green eyes with something brighter, like lightning crackling through the sky. The ghost wears an impeccable thread of beetle wings that flutters oddly light behind them, and meows of creatures roaming the night, green or black or rotting that wear the shapes of cats to hide the danger they pose. The other clans have never seen such creatures, but the tales ring true anyway- has an elder mentioned seeing them in the corner of his eye, long ago? Has a rogue spoken of those rotting things in her last words, bleeding out from claw marks no clan cat would give them? Perhaps, perhaps- the beetlewing ghost grins, and the hills come alive with stories.

Hillstar himself tells stories of constructs unknown, made of a material brighter than anything before and pulsing with the sun's glow. Their dreams are full of grey paws batting a round stone around like a moss ball. In the expanse of their leader's den is an attempt to create that of which they dream, made for now of stripped bark but soon to change to stone and shell and light. The cats that follow him know not what that machine does, but they build with her anyway, wondering at the glow they say sparks from its chaotic lines. Some learn, or do their best to, and Hillstar has never been one to refuse when asked for a story. Especially not one she is so fond of. The creation- the machine, she says, a word only kittypets have ever come close to understanding- is being built, grander with every addition. A project built day by day, with cats' own paws, is the greatest project of all.

The Hillsclan is friendly, and the leader is too. But they are not known well, barring the stories that surround them. And perhaps it is fitting- compared to rising forests and raging streams, the quiet of the hills is something that fades in the memory. But the hills are alive, and they are full of stories. It is only fitting that its clan is so happy to hear them.

#mcyt #warrior cats #joe hills #im. not sure what to tag this #hermitcraft x wc #i guess? #joe hills fanfiction #sun art

[inej-ruination-ghafa]

GET HIM TO SWAP OUR PLACES

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Alt Ending | Masterlist

Warnings: mentions of pregnancy, major character death, bleeding, depression, ptsd, children, single parents, poor childhoods

Summary: after Eddie's death hits you like a shockwave, you aren't sure what to do that will make you feel whole again

Wordcount: 3.3k

You'd held him in your arms, screaming until your voice was sore. Your clothes were stained with his blood and your hand were soaked red. 

When Steve Nancy and Robin came over, they couldn't believe rhe sight in front of them. They hadn't expected ro see you sobbing and holding Eddie's lifeless body. 

Robin had knelt by your side and you looked up at her, your eyes red and puffy from crying and your whole body shaking. She placed a hand on your shoulder snd you just continued to cry. 

Steve had pulled Dustin up, the young boy sobbing into his shoulder. Steves eyes were still trained on Eddie's vacant face. He almost expected him to look up at him, a smirk on his face as he questioned why Steve would ever imagine him dead. He hated ro admit it, but he missed Eddie. 

Then the ground started ro shake and they remembered why they had came back in the first place. They had ro leave. They didnr know what was going to happen now that vecna was dead and they decided ro leave. 

"We've gotta go," Steve said, his voice choked up, almost like he hated ro say the words because he knew both you and Dustin were grieving. 

"I can't leave him here," you said through your sobs, your voice breaking as you looked down at eddie. 

You couldn't stop looking at him, the reality finally setting in that he wasn't coming home. 

"I've got him," Steve said as he pulled away from Dustin, coming down to your side as he placed his hand on your shoulder, "You've got to let him go,"

You sobbed, your hand going to reach for the guitar pick necklace he had grasped in his hand. 

You couldn't imagine letting him go, of ever taking your hands away from him. You reluctantly let Steve jail him up, the man, with the help of Nancy, dragging his body away from you. 

You couldn't hold in your sobs at the sight, the warm tears streaming down your face as you watched the two pull jom away from you and you reached out with one hand, almost like it was going to bring him back. 

"Come on, we've got to go," Robin said and that was the moment tou realised you were shaking and your legs felt like jelly, you were so in shock that you were sure you wouldn't be able to walk out.

Two days later you had to pretend that everything was normal, that you were okay. 

Your mum had died in the 'earthquakes'. She had visited Wayne, left Anna with him and then drove to the trailer park to stop you from doing whatever you wanted to do. 

She didn't make it and you only found out yesterday. You lost everything within 24 hours.  

You walked into the school hall, sucking in a deep breath as you looked around. Everything reminded you of him. The walls where he graffitied corroded coffins on when he didn't graduate - which the two of you were then forced to clean up over the weekend. The bleachers where you had snuck in during sophomore year to make out. 

You held in your tears as you looked around, feeling the emptiness of the room. Everyone seemed cheery, upset over the events, but they seemed like they were holding it together. They didn't know of the sacrifice your boyfriend had given to this town, they never would. 

Dustin stood by the door, holding Anna in a baby carrier next to him. You had wanted a second alone to take it all in and he had offered to look after her for a minute. 

It was almost like she knew her father wasn't here anymore. She was restless, unable to go to sleep and you wondered if it was because he wasn't there. Whenever she'd be unable to sleep, he would get up and just hold her and it wasn't the same anymore, you weren't able to comfort her in the same way. 

You were living with Dustin and his mother Claudia who you knew from when she babysat you as a child and then when you would babysit Dustin and Will when they were children. 

She had welcome you in and you were so glad she had given you a place to stay. Wayne had moved into a friend's house and you hadn't spoken to him since the accident, you could face him. 

You looked at your little girl. She had a smile on her face, the same dimples as her father and when you looked at her, you could almost see him. 

She had curly and unruly hair already growing on the top of her head, similar to her fathers that she always used to love. Sometimes you would gently run a finger over her hair, the texture just like Eddie. He always used to say that when she had enough hair, he was going to style it just like his and you would laugh and shake your head. 

They had the same big brown eyes and it was just like looking in his eyes again. You used to joke that despite the fact that you carried this child, she looked nothing like you and he would just shake his head, muttering that she was nearly as beautiful as you were. 

You only had four months with the three of you and it wasn't enough time. There was not enough memory, not enough videos of him in the morning rocking her back to sleep or enough photos of the three of you. 

"He wouldn't shut up about you," Steve said, smiling to himself, "It was kind of annoying actually," 

"Really?" You asked, tears burning in the back of your eyes but you pushed the away, you had cried too much in the last two days. 

"He talked about you like you had hung the stars. He'd tell me that one day I'd find it too, a family," he explained. 

You couldn't speak, your throat too dry as you looked away from him. You didn't want everyone to think you're an emotional wreck. 

Steve could see how much you were hurting and he felt awful that he hadn't been able to save Eddie. He reached over, placing a hand on your shoulder. 

"He really loved the two of you and he made me promise that if he didn't make it out that I'd make sure you two were okay," Steve explained. 

"Thanks Steve," you said, upset. 

You looked over to Dustin who was sitting on the bench, playing peekaboo with Anna in her carrier. 

“I'm gonna go sort my stuff out, see what I can donate,” you said, a half hearted smile on your face as you picked up the two big boxes, waddling into an empty classroom. 

You recognised it instantly, Miss Clicks class. You had shared this room with Eddie and knew that he had been here ever since. You dropped the boxes off at her desk before walking over to his desk, sitting down. 

You looked down at the table, breath hitching in your throat as you saw a small heart carved into the corner, your initial and his drawn inside. You remember that was senior year and you had dared him to do that, you didnt realise it was still there. You choked out a laugh, tears welling in your eyes as your fingers traced the indent. 

You got back up again, walking over to the desk and beginning to sort out the boxes. 

You hadn't looked through the boxes yet, it had been too painful but you were beginning to think that you should have done that in a more private place because now, in the middle of your old high school classroom didn't feel right. 

This was some stuff from evidence that they had taken and stuff that you had managed to salvage from the wreckage of your trailer. Years of memories had been destroyed in a matter of seconds and this was all you had left, three boxes. 

You found miscellaneous polaroids that you were cherishing. Just looking at his face again made you feel warm, just looking at his smile made you feel that it was all okay. 

There was one of him getting his bat tattoo and you chuckled to yourself, thinking about how ironic it was seeing as that was what led to his fateful end. He had a wide grin on his face as he sat in the chair, pointing at the tattoo. 

You didn't want to relive all these memories because you kept thinking about the fact that there were going to be no more memories with the two of you. 

Then you pulled out his hellfire shirt, it was cold but as you looked at it, you could almost see him wearing it, coming home from a long campaign and throwing his bag to the side and just pulling you into his arms, whispering 

You could almost see him making it back in your junior year, holding up a sketch to you as you studied for midterms. You had laughed, throwing a muffin at him as you scolded him for not revising for this, ‘it was important’ you had said and he had just sighed, picking up a pile of flashcards as he rolled his eyes. 

You could almost see him in it the day you told him you were pregnant. He had stumbled in on you in the bathroom holding the test after he'd gotten back from school. He had fallen to his knees next to you and you had scrunched your hands into the shirt, both of you silent as you figured out what to do. 

You could almost see him on that fateful day last week as you sat in your car, him wearing that shirt, his leather jacket and denim jacket. You should have skipped school that day, you should have held him tighter, you should have kissed him once more before he walked through those doors. 

The regrets could go on forever on what you should have done. You could drown in your own thoughts of what you could have done instead that would have had a different outcome but it would just drive you mad. 

You sobbed, falling to the floor in the middle of an empty classroom, holding his hellfire shirt against your chest, it still smelt like him. 

One hand went up to grab the guitar pick necklace that was around your neck and you thought about him. The grief was overwhelming and you felt like you were drowning in it as you were surrounded by all that was left of him.

Dustin walked in and froze, feeling like he shouldn't be here. He shouldn't be the one who had to see you sobbing on the floor, your face buried into an old hellfire shirt. 

He felt like it was all his fault, that he should never have called you, that he never should have gone to find Eddie because maybe if he hadn't, you two would be standing here together, upset about the earthquake like everyone else but thankful that you are here. Maybe he would be alive. 

The regret and the guilt was weighing him down, making his heart feel heavy in his chest as he looked at a widow. He never understood what people meant when they talked about soulmates but thinking back to you and Eddie, he was the other half of you and now you were a broken shell of yourself. 

He knelt down next to you, wrapping his arms around you and you just kept sobbing, your voice broken and painful as you cried out for Eddie. He wasn't here and you were broken. 

You may have survived the upside down, but a piece of you died with Eddie, the biggest piece of you. You were never going to be the same person again. 

"I'm sorry," Dustin said because he was truly sorry. 

He wondered if he should have just left the two of you out of it because maybe if he had, Eddie would be here right now and the three of you would be okay. 

After you had managed to calm down, you walked back out with him to see Anna sitting next to Wayne, the older man smiling sadly at the baby. 

You knew you were going to have to talk to him but you were scared of what he was going to say. 

“Hi Wayne,” you said when you saw the man sitting alone, holding the missing poster in his hand. 

You didn't know how he had felt about all of this, you had been too afraid to talk to him but now that he knew Eddie was dead and that you had been there when he had died, you felt that you owed it to him. 

He looked up at you, tears in his eyes as he looked between you and the sleeping baby in the carrier next to you. He gave you a half hearted smile, neither of you knowing what to say as you sat down next to him. 

“I'm sorry I didn't come tell you, I just needed to wrap my head around it first,” you said and it was true, you weren't sure how you were going to tell him that his nephew is dead without exposing the upside down and putting him in danger. 

"It's okay kid," he said with a half hearted smile before looking down at Anna, "She looks just like him doesn't she?"

You nodded, words getting caught in your throat, "She does, she smiles just like him," You said, tears welling up in your eyes again but you pushed them down, knowing you can't break into sobs again. 

"I miss him so much," you said and he nodded.

"Me too kid, me too," he said, placing a hand on your shoulder, unsure how to comfort you. 

After your heart to heart with Wayne, you decided to head home, not ready to be around everyone again. 

You walked out, holding the baby carrier in your left hand and a box in the other, Dustin was behind you, holding two boxes as you approached your car. 

He put them in, pulling you into a hug before he walked off, promising to see you at home. You stood there, putting the last box in before you heard someone call your name. 

“Mrs Munson!’ they then called out and you froze. You had never legally been Mrs Munson but it always felt like you were, deep down. 

Eddie had always talked about marrying you. He was saving up money for a nice ring and you were going to get married in a nice open space. It was going to be only close friends and family and you didn't want a white dress, maybe a cream or ivory. Everyone that mattered was going to be there, his uncle, your mother, Dustin, Anna of course, some of his band mates, one or two of your friends. Now you didnt get any of that. 

You turned and saw Eleanor Carver, the older mother of Jason Carver. She was a tall blonde woman with streaks of grey through her perfectly done up hair and you sighed. 

“If you are here to call Eddie a satanist too, I don't want to hear it,” you said, buckling Anna into the car, not looking at the woman. 

“My son died,” she stated.

“And I’m sorry for that, but I’ve got to go,” you said as you turned back to her, putting on a forced smile as you walked towards the drivers side of the car.

“I don't think he killed that girl,” she said and you froze, turning on your heel hesitantly to look at the woman.

“You don't?” you questioned, eyes narrowed at her.

“No,” Eleanor said, taking a deep breath, “And I'm sorry that my son has been terrorising your family, had been,” she chuckled to herself, shaking her head as she looked back at you, “Its difficult talking about them in the past tense now isn't it,” 

“Thank you,” you said.

“I hope they find him,” Eleanor said and you froze, breath hitching in your throat. 

She didn't know that he was dead and that you had buried him in an unmarked grave in the middle of the god damn woods. That you didn't get to say a final goodbye as Steve Harrington dug a grave for the love of your life, the man crying the whole time but not letting anyone see. 

“I hope they find him too, cause he didn't do it and i've had enough of people verbally abusing me and my daughter about it,” you said almost bitterly, shaken due to the fact that you remembered they all thought your Eddie was still alive. 

“I can talk to the church about it, I’ve got some friends on the PTA who think he's a criminal, I'll tell them to stop,” she said and you looked at her, brows furrowed in confusion.

“Why are you being so nice to me Mrs Carver?” you questioned.

“Because I was young when i had my eldest whos long gone now in California, and I know how hard it can be,” she explained and you didn't know that she had another child that wasn't Jason, he must have left years ago.

You looked back at Anna who was sleeping soundly in the car and you remember the drive back from the hospital when you sat next to her the whole way back and Eddie drove so slow you were worried you were going to get a reverse speeding ticket. 

“Does it get any better? Losing them?” you asked, the words getting stuck in your throat. 

“It gets better dear, but it never goes away,” Eleanor said, placing a hand on your shoulder, “I’ll be praying for you,”

She was about to turn away and you spoke up, “I'm not Mrs Munson you know,” you said and she looked back at you, “It's just Y/L/N, we never got the chance,”

“You don't need to be married to be his wife you know, I think he'd want you to have the name,” she said with an earnest smile before turning away and walking off. 

You knew Eddie always hated being connected to his father with the last name but he had learnt to love it because it was your daughter's name, his mother's name. 

His mother had been called Anna too. She had died when he was about five and now Anna was going to grow up without a parent as well. 

As you sat in the front seat of your car, your hands on the steering wheel as you looked at the sleeping Anna through the mirror, you thought that although you wanted to swap places with Eddie, you could learn to live in this life without him. 

It would hurt every single day and you were sure you'd never get used to the aching feeling in your chest but you hoped that you'd eventually learn to live again and you'd never forget the love you would always have for Eddie Munson

That you'd always remember the little moments with him like holding his hand in the supermarket or him holding Anna in his arms or your time at school together. 

You hoped you'd always remember details about him, like the way the sun would hit his face in the early mornings or the way he always tasted of cigarettes and mint gum or the distinct texture of his hair. 

You would never stop loving Eddie Munson but you were going to have to learn to live without him. 

A/N, I didn't like this chapter and the way i wrote it but I wanted to get the chapter out. There is going to be an alternate ending where eddie lives and I'll post that before the end of next week :) also thank you so much for reading. This was sort of a guilty pleasure write so it been great to see how many notes and how much reception I've gotten.

Taglist:

If you want to be added just message me or send me and ask or comment, I don't mind

@casteel4evr @plutoneu @0000-lover-girl @kik51199 @xx-hospitalforsouls-xx-blog @eddiesskittle @egobitch @ellathefriendlyalpacaaa @vintagemoss @n-slayaaaaa @ems-alexandra @nightless @heartyhope @jonkentsglasses @natashaashleymarvelromanoff @httpjiikook @xandrahowell

#eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson #eddie stranger things #stranger things eddie #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #joseph quinn #joe quinn #eddie munson x fem!reader #fem!reader #tw pregnancy #tw main character death #eddie munson x wife!reader #mj writes nonsense #running up that hill series

[littleredwritingcat]

Thirst Trap: Chapter 8 - Of Guilt, Tits, & Coughing Fits is NOW LIVE!

Preview:

“How – how did you know my mother?”

You realize suddenly that it's becoming a popular question, and the answer is going to matter a lot in the next few days. There's something about the not knowing that's certainly worse.

Joe smiles through a glower, letting a gust rasp through his body.

“Why do two teenagers ride around on a bike like this together, Y/N? How the hell do you think I knew her?”

Oh.

@everythingbutresolved @plainlo-inthemorning @girlwiththenegantattoo @fatherpaulsimp @thegentlestmaenad @rothko-mirror @jyngerpeach @aherdofbees @agirlinherhead @ebiemidnightlibrarian @meownsignor @choosekindly @dandydevildog @sanguine-sketches @labyrinthphanlivingafacade @waytkayt

#midnight mass fandom #hamish linklater #midnight mass #hamfam #father paul hill #john pruitt #midnight mass fanfiction #thirst trap fic #joe collie #hassan el shabbaz #sheriff hassan #well this took longer to get out than I thought it would #better late than never?

[dont-doubt-dopple]

MCYT March

Apologies for the delay, but here’s your gift finally @codes-and-stuffs for @mcytmarch ! I hope you enjoy it and so sorry it’s a bit on the shorter side, but I wanted to get it out since it’s already late.

Word Count: 1067

~~~~~~~

Joe Hills of Nashville, Tennessee looked at ZombieCleo. Cleo looked right back at him. Joe wasn’t sure if Cleo could blink, so he’d know he’d lose this staring contest for sure. But still … he was still looking at her. She was give that ‘Are you Serious, Joe’ look that he got a lot. He wasn’t sure if being able to read her face and know roughly what she was thinking was a curse or a blessing to Joe. Of course he would never know exactly was going on in Cleo’s head. Probably a lot of residual thoughts of Arson and maybe a curse word or two about their build being 3 blocks off. He wouldn’t want to read anyone’s mind anyways; his own thoughts were plenty company enough.

“Say that again for me.” Cleo finally said, after a slight awkward amount of staring at each other and a lot of lost staring contests on Joe’s part.

“Boatem is haunted.” Joe repeated, a little confused at to what Cleo was confused about. The statement itself seemed self explanatory enough.

“Is it like … the Boatem hole is haunted or …?”

“Nope. Boatem the place is haunted.” He clarified. “The Void of the Boatem hole is actually quite comforting. Like a moment of falling down into space, surrounded by twinkling stars before it consumes you in its embrace.”

Cleo stared at him again, for a significantly shorter amount of time this time. “For the record, you and I have VERY definitions of comforting.”

“Well, my definition of Comforting is based on the Cambridge Dictionary which is ‘making you feel less sad or worried’. Are you more of a Merriam-Webster definition person?”

“You KNOW what I meant, Joe.” Cleo sighed, resting her face in her hand, the left one specifically. “Why do you think Boatem’s haunted?”

“I don’t think. I know Cleo.” He corrected as she rolled her eyes. “It could be haunted or possibly just cursed. More testing needs to be done but my hands are caught up with our castle and the Biggening Moon Experiments, and unlike you I only have 2 hands.”

“My replacement don’t count. I only have two hands attached to me.” Right, he always forgot that bit. She had more hands from varying sources that he was not question, according to her. But just because more limbs doesn’t always mean being able to juggle more. Joe was pretty sure he could juggle more than Cleo if we’re to participate in a juggling contest anyways. “But that’s not … Boatem. Haunted. Why?”

“It’s Haunted.” Joe tilted his head to side in confusion, a habit he had picked up from many of his dogs when he was elected the official Hermitcraft Dogcatcher. He wasn’t sure why dogs did it; he couldn’t exactly speak with them. Besides, if dogs could talk he probably wouldn’t talk to them about why their head tilts when they’re confused. He’d probably ask how he did as a Dogcatcher with a feedback survey as well as what meats they liked best or what places they wanted scratched. He doubted any dog would know why their head turned when confused. Maybe Rendog knew, though he was always perpetually confused on the relationship between Ren and Dog. And now apparently … cyborg.

“Yes, again, you’ve said Joe.” Cleo said, snapping Joe back to the conversation. “But you don’t … usually you don’t have conclusions about things without evidence.”

“Yes, and I have plenty of first hand properly documented evidence on why Boatem is haunted and how I will never return there again.”

“Is it a PowerPoint presentation?” Cleo joked.

“No, but it’s a thoroughly research paper with APA style citations. I don’t know if that’s the most appropriate cause I personally prefer Chicago but I thought it was most appropriate.” Joe pulled out a couple of pieces of paper from his inventory. “Times New Roman 12 point font double spaced as is standard.”

“Wow, okay.” Joe smiled, despite knowing Cleo was far from impressed and didn’t want to say anything. He hadn’t written a proper essay in a while, and if he was being honest this was probably more like a warm-up for the real research findings he wanted to publish on the Biggening Moon Project. He still needed to make time to sit down with Cub to do his interview for the news network. But the Boatem Haunted Theory would probably be good to boost his credibility in the Minecraft Scientific Community. “I’m not reading that. But … why?”

“Well, I believe my findings are important and letting the wider Hermit …”

“No, why is Boatem Haunted?” Cleo interrupted, letting her hand hold her head once more. “You writing an entire paper on it does not surprise me.”

“Oh, oh okay. Well … whenever I go to Boatem bad things happen to me or places around me.” Joe looked down at his work to confirm his findings. “Exhibit A: A creeper spawns behind me because it is too dark and blows up part of Grian’s base.”

“But then … that’s Grian’s fault the base wasn’t lit up.”

“Yes, but statistically speaking Ghosts prefer dark places to avoid being seen. Have you read the established literature on ghost and their habitats, Cleo?”

“No, Joe, I have not.” Cleo stated while rolling her eyes. “Because ghosts aren’t real.”

“Cleo, what’s trapped in Soul Sand, screaming for all eternity, trapped in perpetual horror between grains of brown sand in the Nether?”

Cleo looked at Joe again. This was just about the length of 2 bordering on 3 staring contests. “I would love to know how your brain works, sometimes.”

“Ok. But do you know the answer?”

“Souls, Joe. A somewhat morbid way to ask it, but Souls.”

“And what are ghosts if not souls trapped in the OverWorld rather than the sands of the Nether, wandering with no sense of purpose forever.”

Cleo was silent. Joe wasn’t sure if that was a good silence or a bad silence. Cleo was often silent when he said things like, as she described, ‘nothing that a million monkeys on a typewriter would ever think to type’. As the silence continue and turned into more staring contests, Joe just decided it was best to move on.

“Well, I still have a lot of points to get to while you think, so I’m just going to continue. Exhibit B: Scar.”

#mcyt march #mcyt fanfiction #joe hills #zombie cleo #hermitcraft #hermitcraft season eight #Boatem is haunted #hc8 #Dopple work

[toasted-cricket]

Joe Hills/Oli TheOrionSound, Hermitcraft/Empires Crossover, 2329 words, rated T

Summary: Joe saves Oli. Repeatedly. Oli just wants to repay the favor.

Preview:

“My hero! My knight in shining armor. Oh! Oh if only I had an instrument to play you a song for your troubles, sweet Joe! But alas, this bard is instrumentless.” They hop up from their perch on the bridge and take their hat off, placing it over their heart and dipping their head.

“Oh! Here, you can play my horn for now,” they say, pulling out one of their own hard-earned goat horns and holding it out to Oli. It shimmers as it phases out of their inventory and into the world.

“Ohoho I can play your horn , can I?” Oli flashes a smile and takes a step forward.

“Um well, yeah? Since you’re a bard and all that, you do need to have an instrument.”

“How very kind of you, sir.” Oli takes another step forward and takes the horn from his hands before slipping it into their inventory. They place a hand delicately on Joe’s shoulder. “I’ll take great care of it, I assure you.”

“Well that’s- that’s great news! Glad to know you’ll be taking care of it.”

“Oh yes.”

#joe hills/oli theorionsound #fanfiction #hc x empires #empires shipping #hermitcraft shipping #i made a thing!!

[phantomstatistician]

Fandom: Abbott Elementary

Sample Size: 296 stories

Source: AO3

#melissa schemmenti #barbara howard #janine teagues #gregory eddie #ava coleman #jacob hill #gerald howard #mr. johnson #taylor howard #joe #abbott elementary #fanfiction #ao3 #statistics #phantom statistician