#nancy is the on field reporter

[crewmannumbersix]

but baseball is pretty good, too

Relationship: Robin Buckley/Nancy Wheeler

Word Count: 13,058

Chapters: 1/2

Summary: LA Dodger's social media manager Robin Buckley navigates her best friend starting at first base, trying to set said best friend up with the rock star throwing out the first pitch, and her embarrassingly large crush on SportsNetLA's on-field reporter, Nancy Wheeler.

Read it on AO3.

#ronance #stranger things #st4 #robin buckley x nancy wheeler #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #robin x nancy #baseball au #robin is dodgers social media manager #nancy is the on field reporter #steve plays first #eddie is the rock star throwing out the first pitch #dustin does analytics #max is the ballgirl #jonathan is team photog #argyle is stadium dj #wooooooo #sapphic #sapphic baseball

[abstractnaturaldisaster]

is it over now? (was it over then?)

part two

part three: you search in every model's bed for something greater

Steve had been doing his best trying to go back to some semblance of normal after Eddie walked out of his life. It wasn't easy and he spent countless nights dreaming up how he could have handled it differently or made Eddie stay or call Robin immediately and beg her to let him tell Eddie (Steve knew she would have but he hadn't wanted to ask her). He knew he could have done countless things differently but the result probably would have ended up the same. At the end of the day, Eddie didn't trust him and at the most basic crux of everything nothing else really mattered.

He was happy for Nance and Robin though. That was the big secret of it all. Robin wasn't ready to come out publicly and Steve offered to let Nancy stay at his place so that if there was any press it would be tied to him and not Robin. Eddie came over at maybe the worst time before he had been able to clear everything with Robin and Nancy was still sleeping off the jet lag from whatever Eastern European country she was reporting in that month. Steve and Nancy had an on again off again thing as kids when they were both getting famous in their own fields having grown up in the same small town. Steve knew Nance was bigger than him but it still stung when they finally admitted it to each other.

Thankfully, the next project Steve was on he met Robin who was the light of his life and his soulmate. He'd been pretty convinced they'd get married at one point until Robin drunkenly admitted she was gay on the bathroom floor of some random afterparty their heads a little fizzy from the champagne. Their relationship quickly pivoted from romantic to platonic and Steve was more than happy to play arm candy to stave off any rumors Robin was sick of circulating. As the years passed and Robin and Steve's circles melded together, Robin and Nancy started gravitating together and even Steve couldn't deny they were kind of perfect together. He'd happily agreed to lend whatever subterfuge he could to keep the two out of the tabloids. Unfortunately he hadn't really thought about bringing his boyfriend in on the plot until a little too late. Fuck him for thinking Eddie would trust Steve though, right? Steve was trying to be more positive as he didn't want to burst Robin and Nancy's new relationship bubble with his grumpy attitude. Instead he was doing what he normally did after a bad breakup -- wallowing and forgetting it happened.

Tabloids followed him around and accused him of sleeping with everyone including Robin’s secret girlfriend but in reality he was mostly at home only scheduling nights out every so often to give the girls some privacy at his loft. Nancy had convinced Robin to head out to the Hudson Valley to have some alone time outside of Steve's apartment so Steve was using his night at home alone to rot on the couch flipping through channels until he spotted a familiar flash of dark curls hammering away on his guitar apparently playing some new single.

Steve was livid. He would’ve been pissed if he had found out about the song in a more low key way way like scrolling through TikTok or getting a text from Robin but he was fucking livid because he found out about the song when Eddie fucking Munson was on Jimmy Kimmel.

Apparently, Eddie had thought it would be fun to release an unexpected single ahead of his band’s rumored fourth album. Steve knew Eddie had to have seen the tabloid fodder after he started going out again making headlines about how his and Robin’s relationship was on the rocks and Steve was auditioning most of the city to take her place. However, he hadn’t expected for Eddie to believe all of the rumors about him. 

Steve's relationship with the tabloids had always been trying. From his very public breakup with Nancy (who everyone asserted won because she immediately starting seeing Jon) to his "slut era" before "settling down" with Robin and more recently to speculating on his relationship with Eddie and what happened with Robin. Steve and Robin had a pretty long discussion about how to handle Eddie and if she wanted Steve to keep Eddie quiet so they could continue playing up their relationship. Robin had given her blessing but Robin wasn't quite ready to come out to anyone outside their tight nit circle of friends even though Steve and Eddie quickly became inseparable. Eddie had understood when Steve told him about Robin's agent and how it was helpful if there were at least rumors of the two dating even though it couldn't be farther from the truth. While they hadn't been super public with their relationship fans of both Steve and Eddie speculated in comments to pictures and stories the two posted but the boys never confirmed anything other than a few cheeky hearts here and there.

Steve had learned about Eddie because one of this kids he grew up babysitting was a huge Corroded Coffin fan and begged Steve to bring him as his plus one to some award show the band was also nominated at. Steve tried to explain to Dustin that is was not common to just run into famous people while they were heading to the carpet but of course the universe proved him wrong and they were right behind Eddie Munson himself. Dustin never had any sense of social propriety so he went right up to Eddie and introduced himself. Steve had pretty quickly fallen for Eddie's quick wit and how kind Eddie was to one of Steve's kids. Steve hung back in the wings but became enamored with the man from afar. Later when they found themselves at the same 30 under 30 event Robin all but pushed Steve into Eddie to force him to finally talk to him. They pretty quickly fell into the rhythm of exclusivity and from there it was a short road to boyfriends.

Early on in their relationship, Steve had thought Eddie and him had gotten over the hump of his history with the press. When Steve and Eddie had started going out on dates without trying to be coy about anything, there was lot of rumors that Steve was cheating on Robin. It had taken a lot of long nights and talks but Eddie seemed to trust that so much of Steve's public persona was presented by reporters who were only looking for a story. Steve thought they'd moved past believing rumors about each other that the press loved to spin. Eddie's song made it pretty clear Eddie believed every shitty headline or tweet or deuxmoi that had come out about Steve fucking his way across town.

It wasn't like Steve could have even tried to set the record straight with Eddie. Steve had tried to contact Eddie shortly after reorienting a very confused and awake Nancy after Eddie slammed Steve's apartment door. Steve didn't tell Nancy exactly what happened but he did tell her that Eddie broke up with him. She held him as he sobbed and realized each way he had to contact Eddie was gone. He'd blocked his number, blocked all of his socials, turned off any messaging Steve could think of.

Steve was devastated Eddie thought Steve was the man the tabloids presented him as even thought he'd worked really hard to make sure all his found family knew he wasn't that person. Apparently Eddie had forgotten all of that. It certainly wasn't helping that Eddie's song was already a Tik Tok trend and Steve was enough of a masochist to scroll through the sound. Steve found far too many edits of him and Eddie timed to the chorus.

Steve felt like he couldn’t escape it or figure out how to at least tell his side of the story. Anything he said would just make him seem like an asshole for moving on so quickly or trying to cover up for cheating on his ex, so Steve kind of resigned himself to private wallowing.

In the end, it wasn't even really all of that that hurt Steve the most. Steve couldn't help but fixate on that one line.

at least I had the decency to keep my nights out of sight

Steve was heartbroken that Eddie had already moved on. Steve may have been going out and putting on a smile at whatever club or restaurant he was passing time in that night. As much as the magazines wanted the world to believe Steve was finding a home in a new girl's bed every night, reentering his notorious bad boy era, Steve went home alone or found himself with Nancy and Robin cuddling on his couch. In Steve’s less than proud moments late at night when he lay awake staring at the ceiling, he’d pull up Eddie’s public insta and may or may not have set up a google alert for any references to Eddie or his band. None of that prepared him for the reality of hearing Eddie croon about his new relationship with someone who wasn't Steve.

Steve had been trying to keep the specifics of their breakup from Robin and Nance. He knew they'd both feel terrible and with no real way to contact Eddie it wasn't worth dragging Robin and Nancy down with him. After going down a Tik Tok rabbit hole listening to people say all kinds of terrible shit about him and doubting his sincerity with Eddie, Steve slunk out of his room to where Nancy and Robin were finishing up their Thursday night movie.

"Steve?" Robin asked as soon as she saw Steve wrapped up in his blanket, eyes puffy and red.

"Rob, I need to talk to you about something." Steve sat across from his friends, tucked his knees into his chest and got ready to dive into the reasons Eddie actually left.

part four

@lololol-1234 (we're getting close to the happy ending i promise)

(if you saw this version earlier when i forgot how i had these two fools meet, no you didn't)

#steve x eddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie fic #steddie #pls don't be mad at steve #i promise it will all make sense #eddie is not a reliable narrator #don't worry robin will fix it #angst #angst with a happy ending #rockstar eddie #actor steve #was it over then ficlet

[hottpinkpenguin]

Knees - Boromir X Fem!Reader

Oneshot, word count: 3,167 Summary: You've tried to keep your feelings for Gondor's favored captain a secret, and done a damn good job. Until now. Warnings: angst, fluff, heavy steam, implied oral sex A/n: the poem in this oneshot borrows heavily from the lyrics of 'Old Gods' by Emily Scott Robinson (highly recommend her music if you enjoy Nanci Griffith, James Taylor, or Joni Mitchell)

Boromir could feel the beginnings of a headache pulsing at his temples. The din of the crowd milling around the Tower Hall was grating on his last nerve. His father had insisted on an extravagant banquet to celebrate his recent successes as the High Warden of the White Tower, but Boromir would have preferred to rest and spend the evening strolling through the streets of Gondor unbothered. Eager to get away from the crowd, Boromir strode out of the busy throne room onto the south facing balcony.

The night air was warm and smelled of jasmine. Boromir took a deep inhale, leaning his hands on the rail of the balcony and gazing out over the Pelennor Fields, the expanse of grassland that stretched out from Minas Tirith’s feet towards the banks of the Anduin. Boromir strained his eyes against the dim twilight; he thought he could make out the parapets of Osgiliath, Gondor’s first capital, now little more than a ruined river crossing. Faramir was there, as commander of the city’s garrison. Boromir had ordered his brother to oversee repairs to the old city to prepare for the coming battle. Beyond the dark smudge of Osgiliath’s long-vacant towers, an ominous blackness loomed over the land of Mordor. His thoughts turned bleak as he wondered what was stirring behind the mountains in that black land. Scouts reports had confirmed that orcs were-

Boromir jumped at the tinny clang of something metal hitting the stone floor in a darkened corner of the balcony. Instinctually, Boromir’s right hand grasped at the hilt of his sword and unsheathed it in barely more than a breath. He crouched into a warrior’s pose, his sword held out in front of him and his features steely as he looked for the source of the noise.

The quickness of his movements startled you almost as much as your clumsiness had startled him. You were glad for the darkness as you felt your face flush with embarrassment at your discovery. You hadn’t expected the High Captain of Gondor to skip out on his own banquet; in fact, you’d been counting on having the balcony all to yourself, so you’d be able to write in peace. There certainly wouldn’t be anymore of that, now that the small candelabra you’d been using for light was in two pieces on the stone floor. 

You leapt to your feet, muttering apologies and trying to keep your heart from beating out of your chest. You’d never been so close to Boromir before, and certainly not alone in the dark. Your mouth went dry at the realization. 

As one of the Steward’s personal scribes, you’d spent most of your life in the Tower Hall of Minas Tirith. On occasion, your work brought you into close contact with both of Denethor’s sons. Faramir was something of a friend to you, despite the difference in your stations. You both shared a love of the written word and his quiet temperament mirrored yours, making you fast friends. But it was Faramir’s older brother, the handsome and lordly High Warden, that made you go weak in the knees. It had been that way since you’d been old enough to notice such things.

You’d always admired him from a distance and kept your desires to yourself, confiding your feelings only in the pages of your journals. Nothing would come of your infatuation, you knew; Boromir was next in line for the Steward’s role, which was the closest thing Gondor had to a king. His title required him to wed someone of noble birth, and you knew his father would have nothing but the best for his favorite son. While your family was not poor and your duties as a scribe were a great source of pride to them, you did not have the aristocratic heritage needed to be a worthy match for the High Warden. And even if you did, he’s never looked twice at you, a harsh inner voice reminded you, causing your fragile heart to crumple at the reminder.

“Forgive me, my lord, I didn’t wish to disturb you.” Your voice sounded small and pathetic, and you felt your cheeks blaze with renewed embarrassment. 

Boromir relaxed at the sound of your voice, dropping his sword and chuckling softly. 

“You shouldn’t make a habit of startling armed men, you know,” Boromir chided you gently as he bent to pick up the fragments of the broken candelabra at your feet. He was so close that you could see the seams on his blue brocade tunic. When he stood, the candelabra in his hands, he stood almost a half foot taller than you. If you’d been bold enough to hold his gaze, you would have been forced to incline your chin up at him. But you kept your eyes fixed intently on the gray stone floor, hoping he couldn’t hear the erratic thudding of your heart in your chest. He was so close you swore you could feel the faint tickle of his breath on your temple. Your skin erupted in flames where his breath danced over it.

“I’ll make a note of that, my Lord,” you stammered in reply, barely able to keep your voice from breaking. 

“Please, Y/N, how long have you known me? Dispense with the ‘my Lord’ nonsense, I beg you. I’ve heard enough of that tonight.” The sound of your name in his voice sent a thrill running up your spine. You hadn’t realized that Boromir knew you apart from the dozens of other faces he saw on a daily basis around the halls of the Steward’s quarters. That fact, coupled with the High Warden’s closeness, scattered your thoughts like marbles on a smooth floor until you didn’t trust yourself not to press yourself against him, twine your fingers in his hair, press your lips to his, run your hands along the planes of his stomach, pant his name until you were breathless, grab his-

You audibly let out a small, breathless gasp as you tore yourself away and bid your feet to run. You knew that if you stayed that close to him for one more second you would do something irreparable and shameful. All you heard as you left, practically sprinting away into the relative safety of the well-lit throne room, was the blood pounding in your head. It drowned out the sound of the night breeze, the sounds of the party, and the sound of Boromir calling after you…

**********

Boromir watched as y/n scurried away like a frightened animal into the banquet room once again. He must have misread the signals, must have misinterpreted the tension in the air between them. Boromir wasn’t used to being rebuffed in his advances; most people were swayed by his easy charm, his skill with a sword, and his title at the very least. But y/n seemed immune to him, always preferring the quiet company of Faramir. Feeling frustrated and embarrassed, he called out after y/n, but his voice was swallowed up by the sounds of merriment in the throne room. 

“You damn fool,” Boromir cursed to himself as he ran a regretful hand through his hair. He tossed away the broken pieces of y/n’s candelabra, anger at his misstep boiling in his chest as he made to stride off. It was then that he saw it, resting precariously on the balcony’s railing. A small, leather-bound journal. 

Boromir hadn’t noticed it earlier, although he recognized it instantly. Y/n always carried such a journal. Aside from Faramir, it was y/n’s most steadfast companion. 

Boromir froze, eyeing the diary, a conflict raging within him. He knew that whatever contents the journal held were private and to open it constituted a violation of honor. The thought twisted like a knife in his gut. But, on the other hand, Boromir had always longed for a peak into y/n’s mind. For reasons he couldn’t quite articulate, Boromir knew that there was beauty there, if only he could access it. 

He hesitated for only a moment, casting a wary glance back towards the banquet hall. If y/n saw him, Boromir’s far-flung hopes would be dashed forever. No one was looking, and y/n had disappeared into the crowd. It was now or never.

Like a man dying of thirst, Boromir grabbed the journal greedily and cracked it open, his eyes roving the pages and drinking in the words. It was a journal, but so much more. There were smatterings of poetry: some of it original, Boromir deduced, but some of it copied down from y/n’s work in Minas Tirith’s library. Every so often, Boromir found a sketch. Most of it was of Minas Tirith, drawn from the vantage point of the mountains that rose up behind the city. A few horses, children, nondescript landscapes. They were beautiful renderings, detailed and delicate in the linework, incredibly lifelike. 

He continued to flip through the journal. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but in his eagerness to scour the entirety of the book he found he couldn’t focus on any one page for longer than a moment. 

Not until he found his own likeness staring out of the page up at him. 

Boromir recognized himself in y/n’s drawing immediately, although the pen-and-ink Boromir seemed finer somehow. Boromir’s heart pirouetted in his chest as he drank in the drawing, trying to decipher where it was that y/n’s drawing deviated from reality. Y/n had captured the line of his jaw perfectly, even the small scar above his right eyebrow. His hair was rough and unkempt looking, as if he’d just returned from a horseback ride, and he wore his simple fighting leathers. The eyes and lips were a perfect mirror to his own, but still there was something about the drawing… 

His eyes slid down the page to where, at the very bottom of the drawing, he saw a single line of small, impeccably neat handwriting:

A King in a long line of Stewards

Boromir felt the breath hitch in his throat. The sentiment was simple but beautiful, and it touched something very deep inside him. 

The feverish hunger to devour the journal’s contents in a single gulp from moments before slowed and dwindled to something much more tender. Boromir flipped the page slowly, the same neat handwriting covering the backside of the sheaf of paper where his portrait was drawn.

You must be a trick of the memory that the old gods are playing on me,

You travel with my love over plains, mountains and seas.

Your blue eyes are there when I close mine, 

Your voice chases me while I dream,

My heart cries out in the darkness for you,

The roots of the world shake with its scream. 

I’ll drown in this desire and choke on this need,

Say you’re mine once and I’ll fall to my knees.

Boromir read the lines more times than he could count, luxuriating in the words until he could hardly breathe. He knew y/n’s words when he heard them, although he’d never heard anything close to this. Never dared to hope that anything approximating this was in y/n’s heart. His mind danced with a misty light, his heart suffused with warmth. He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, using the fading light of the banquet inside to read the lines over and over again until he had them memorized. 

At some point he surfaced from his reverie, his heart beating erratically against his ribs. He stood up from where he’d sat against the railing, smoothing the front of his tunic and the sides of his hair. With a final inhale, he strode off purposefully, weaving through the thinning crowd of Gondor’s nobility, ignoring their greetings. He didn’t hesitate until he found himself standing in front of y/n’s door. Shakily, unsure of what he was about to say, he knocked twice. 

**********

You heard two soft knocks at your door. You glanced at the moon outside, surprised that anyone would pay you a visit this late. It was nearing midnight, you guessed. There was a fluttery feeling in your chest coupled with a pit in your stomach that you hadn’t been able to soothe with either tea or a warm bath. You felt as if you were losing your mind by inches. You’d spent your entire life, more or less, in Boromir’s home and you’d crossed his path hundreds of times before. Why now were you suddenly undone like a smitten child? Your feelings for him weren’t new, so why were you abruptly unable to control them?

You tried to push those thoughts from your mind as you crossed your chamber and unlatched your door. You suspected it would be Teithand, the master scribe. On rare occasions he gave you a special assignment and made a habit of visiting your private chambers to discuss the details of these duties at all hours of the day or night. 

But the figure darkening your doorway wasn’t dressed in the long, cream robes of a scribe, but instead in the formalwear of Gondorian nobility. 

Boromir smiled at you, and the sight of him, leaning casually against your door frame and close to you set your heart ablaze again. The thoughts you’d tenuously strung together shattered and your breath hitched in your throat. 

When you saw the small journal clutched in the High Warden’s hands, however, your stomach fell into your feet. Horror and something deeper than shame consumed you in an instant. 

You hardly had time to process what was happening before Boromir stepped into your chamber confidently. He tossed your journal onto the bed behind you, his now empty hands coming to the small of your back and the side of your face as he caught your lips with his.

You froze. You’d lost all semblance of coherent thought. The whiplash of emotions had left you feeling terrified. Thankfully, your body reacted faster than either your head or your heart. 

As if you’d done it a thousand times before, your lips moved in sync with Boromir’s and your hands tangled in the thick strands of his auburn hair. You gave yourself over to instinct as your mind dissolved under the pressure of his lips. His breath washed over you - warm and ragged - as the two of you pressed your bodies against each other, eager to melt together in the quiet dark of your chamber. His hands roamed over you, tentatively at first, but faster and firmer as you responded to his touch with neediness. You heard a small, desperate groan escape from the back of his throat; the sound of it almost sent you catapulting over the edge of the logic. 

You caught yourself in the instant before you lost all control of yourself, breaking the kiss and pulling back just enough to catch his eyes. 

“Boromir, what is thi-”

“I’m yours,” he whispered back, cutting you off with his words followed by another kiss. This time his lips refused to stay contained to yours. He tipped your head back, exposing your neck to him as his mouth moved along its length. The places where his lips connected with your skin burned like a brand. You felt a heat building deep inside your core. 

“I’m yours, Y/N” he said again. This time it was him who had the sense to pull away. You were panting, and you would have been self-conscious if it weren’t for the fact that he too was on the verge of gasping. His hands came to either side of your face, framing them as his eyes bored into yours. 

“Aren’t you…” Boromir’s question died on his lips, replaced by an impish grin. He raised an eyebrow at you, his eyes moving between your face and the ground beneath your feet. Between the confusion starting to coalesce in your head (what the hell is going on? the rational part of you screamed) and your body alight with desire, you didn’t have enough wherewithal to decipher his meaning. 

“Aren’t I what?” you asked dumbly. A sliver of anxiety spliced its way into your chest… maybe what you were seeing in Boromir’s eyes was just the neediness of a lord looking at someone he knew was game for a tumble in bed, and not the mirror image of your satisfaction at the fulfillment of a long-denied devotion. 

“Going to fall to your knees,” Boromir replied, placing a soft, gentle kiss on your lips. It was almost a question, as if he were asking you. The brazenness of his request startled you, but the heat in your core blazed in response. There was also something familiar about his words…

“In your journal… you wrote, ‘say you’re mine once and I’ll fall to my knees’… I’ve said it twice now, and yet here you stand.” He chuckled softly, his lips dancing along your jaw and over your cheeks as you tried to catch up to his meaning. 

Then, like a clap of thunder, it clicked. The poem. You’d written it over a year ago, the night after Boromir had left Minas Tirith with a garrison of Gondor’s guards to ride to an outpost at the southern border. You’d almost forgotten your words - you’d written so many of them, all of them for him. 

You let you a small laugh in surprise and a hint of embarrassment.

“Didn’t anyone tell you it was rude to read another’s writings, my Lord?” You emphasized the last two words, shooting him a wicked smile as you made good on your written promise and sank to your knees in front of him. Your fingers went to work on the lacing of his trousers, the urgency of the moment rekindling between you. Boromir caught your chin with his thumb and forefinger, forcing you to catch his gaze. He looked breathtaking, standing over you. A King in a long line of Stewards, you thought as you drank in the sight of him. 

“Call me Boromir,” he said simply. “I won’t have you calling me ‘my Lord’ for the rest of our days together.” His tone was casual, but you could hear the intention of his words. You hesitated only momentarily before returning to the task at hand. You broke into a smile, wide and triumphant, and although your attention was focused elsewhere, Boromir’s expression matched yours exactly…

#boromir #boromir x reader #boromir x y/n #boromir x you #boromir imagine #boromir fluff #boromir lotr #sean bean #lotr fic #lotr imagine

[unfinishedslurs]

Spiderman au (stoncy)

Jonathan makes sure to check that the ally is well and truly empty before he pulls his mask up. Christ, he wouldn’t have become Spider-Man if he’d known how hot the suit would be. And not in the fun way people like to joke about. He chugs his water, and debates pouring some over his head. Sadly he needs it to hydrate. He slowly drinks the rest like a good superhero.

That’s still insane to him. Even after years of experience, he still sometimes thinks he’s going to wake up and it will all have been a bad dream.

Nancy told him she got into investigative reporting after her best friend went missing. She was found a year later, body deteriorating inside the restricted area of a government lab that had faces a chemical leak. A leak they tried their best to cover up.

Her first article is under someone else’s name. He’s read it. It’s incredibly good for a seventeen year old burning with righteous fury. It’s obvious that she was meant for this, built for finding the cracks and burrowing deeper until she pulls the ugly truth. 

He respects her deeply. He just wishes that he wasn’t the crack she’s focusing on.

“You’ve spoken to him though, Jonathan,” she says, eyes pleading. “If anyone could get me an interview, it would be you!”

And have her recognize him instantly? No thanks.

“Nancy, seriously. He doesn’t want an interview.”

“But if I could just talk to him-”

“No, Nance.”

He knows her first regret will always be Barb. Her second, though? The ex-boyfriend who also went missing after agreeing to some extremely shady treatment for his terminal cancer. Unlike Barb, she never got closure for that one. She still doesn’t know what happened to him. She tracked him as far as the facility they’d taken him to, but it exploded long before she got there. Presumably with Steve inside. 

He knows she still holds out hope. They never identified his body she’d whispered to him once after too many drinks at an office party. I checked the records. They don’t know for certain if he was still in it.

The next day she told him she knew it was a stupid wish. Even if the explosion hadn’t killed him, the cancer would have by now. But he knows Nancy. She’ll never stop wondering.

“So how’d you get yours?” Deadpool asks, swinging his legs cheerfully over the ledge.

“My Chimichanga? You gave it to me.”

He can practically see Deadpool roll his eyes behind his mask. “No, smartass. Your powers.” 

That’s a loaded question. If he’s too specific it would be easy to find out who he is. But it’s not like it would be with anyone else, is it? Deadpool’s a hero too, no matter how much anti he puts in front of it. And they’re friends, or something like it. Friendly enough for him to let the other man slap his ass at least.

“I got bit by a radioactive spider.”

“No,” he gasps, whipping his head towards Jonathan. “No fucking way. Seriously?”

“I’m being completely serious!” He promises, starting to laugh. It really does sound ridiculous out loud. “I was on this field trip at the place my mom’s ex-boyfriend worked at, and it got out and bit me!”

“Field trip? Oh my God, you were a fucking baby. No wonder your mom broke up with that guy.”

That sobers him up quick. “He was actually a really nice guy,” he says quietly, looking down at his hands. “He, uh…he died, actually.” Saving my brother, he doesn’t say. The failure still bleeds in his chest. He should have been stronger. Bob didn’t deserve the way he died, ripped apart by the Green Goblin because they’d been after him.

His mom doesn’t blame him, but she should.

“Shit,” Deadpool swears, reaching towards Jonathan as if to comfort before thinking better of it and pulling away. “Shit, I shouldn’t have said that, sorry. Me and my big fucking mouth.”

“It’s more trouble than you’re worth,” Jonathan agrees, and ignores the protest that gets. “What about you? How’d you get your powers?”

Deadpool takes the deflect with grace, eager as Jonathan to get the awkwardness behind them. “Oh, me? Great story, you’re gonna love this. So I was dying from cancer, right?”

He wasn’t expecting that, almost choking on the chimichanga he’d taken a bite of.

“Gross, man. Chew it, don’t spew it.”

“You have cancer and you’re out here doing all this?”

“I had cancer,” he corrects. “Terminal. There was no saving me, yanno? And I…well, I got desperate.”

Jonathan sucks in a breath. He knows exactly what kind of things desperation lead to.

Deadpool huffs a laugh. “Yeah,” he agrees, even though Jonathan hasn’t said anything. “Stupid of me, I know. Shoulda just kicked the bucket like a respectable motherfucker. But no, I just had to track down some shady research facility that promised to try and find a cure for me. You know how that goes, right? But, well…” He raises a fist, dropping it slowly down before he opens it near his thigh, making an explosion noise with his mouth. “Rock fucking bottom, amiright? I was gonna die anyway. Why not add human experimentation to my bucket list?”

“So it worked?”

“So it worked?” He mimics, in a high-pitched voice that sounds nothing like Jonathan. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”

“How’d you get superpowers from it?”

“I was getting to that. So it worked, right? But the cure they used…it wasn’t designed to stop the cancer. Not really. No, what they did was turn me into a mutant. I’m basically an X-Men by now. X-Man? Point is, not dying did not come naturally. And once they brought it out of me, they made sure to test it. Again, and again, and again.”

Suddenly his chimichanga doesn’t look too good anymore. He hands it to Deadpool, who takes it with enthusiasm.

“Thanks, man, how’d you know I was still hungry? Anyway, I escaped, obviously. Took the whole organization down with me. By the time I left, whole building was in flames. Now I’m hunting down the survivors.” He takes a bite. “Y’sure you don’ wan dish?” He asks through a mouthful of food.

“I’m good.”

He swallows. “Your loss, I guess. This is fucking delicious. Sorry to be a moodkiller and run, but I’m afraid I have an appointment with a very small, very blind landlady. Toodles!” 

He leaves Jonathan there at a loss for words. He can’t even make a sound to protest. All he can do is watch as Deadpool jumps straight down from the roof, only barely bothering to slow his fall so he doesn’t break his leg. Not that it would matter much if he did. Jonathan stays on the roof, processing, until he hears a woman cry for help a few streets away. 

He hits his web-shooters. Crime never sleeps in the city. 

It’s only when he’s in bed that he realizes he’s heard that story before. 

The next time he sees Nancy, he’s a mess. 

“You ready to shoot?” She asks, setting a coffee on his desk with a smile. It falters when all he does is stare back. “Jonathan?”

Ready to shoot? Right. Photography. His job. His job he works at with Nancy. Nancy, whose ex-boyfriend may or may not be the guy who has slapped his ass and flirted with him on numerous occasions. Fuck. He’s going insane. He’s losing his fucking mind. Deadpool probably isn’t even Steve and all this will be for nothing. 

“Your ex-boyfriend,” he blurts out. She rears back, startled. “He had cancer, right?”

“Steve?” She shakes her head, not in disagreement but in confusion. “What does he have to do with anything?”

“Did he?”

Her mouth twists in displeasure. He doesn’t blame her, that was a terrible fucking way to start “Hey, your dead boyfriend might not be so dead after all!” He wishes he could bang his head on his desk without cracking the table. “I’m not talking about this.”

“Nancy, wait,” he starts, and she shakes her head again.

“I’m going to see if Fred is free, actually,” she says, and hurries away. He groans, and lets his head fall onto his desk anyway. One tiny crack won’t matter, right?

It’ll fit in with all the others.

Nancy avoids him for the next week. By the time he sees Deadpool again, he’s even more of a mess.

“Spidey!” He greets, blood dripping off his sword. “I know I ask this every time, but I just gotta check, man. You seen anyone named Brenner around?”

“Still a no, sorry.”

He sighs, wiping off his blade before sticking it back in the sheath. “Worth a shot.”

“Do you ever talk to people from your old life?” Jonathan blurts out. “Before you became a superhero?”

Deadpool shrugs nonchalantly, but he can’t pass off the tension in his shoulders. “They all think I’m dead,” he says. “It’s better that way.”

“Didn’t you have a girlfriend? Or friends? Parents?”

“Friends, not really. Parents, no. Girlfriend…she’s better off this way.” He says, counting on his fingers. He laughs bitterly. “I stopped talking to my parents before I even got diagnosed, and my only friend was my girlfriend. I dumped all the other ones for being assholes after…well, some shit went down, and they were real dicks about it, that’s all I’m gonna say.” He turns to Jonathan, suspicious. “Why the third-degree?”

“What’s dying like?”

“Pretty chill, actually,” he says. Jonathan turns to look at him, and he gets the impression Deadpool is grinning. “Don’t get me wrong, the dying part? That fucking suuuuuucks. But Death itself isn’t so bad. I usually just chill with Her for a while before She sends me back.”

“...Her?”

“Oh yeah, The Lady loves me. We’re besties.”

“You’re besties,” he repeats flatly. “With Death.”

“What? Like that’s so hard to believe, Mr. Radioactive Spider?”

He’s got him there. “What’s Death like then? The…Lady, or whatever.”

“Well, first of all, she’s a massive lesbian.”

Jonathan should have known nothing that came out of his mouth would be fucking normal. “I’m leaving.”

“No, wait!” Deadpool grabs his arm. “I’m being serious! Death is a lesbian, she loves birds and prefers to go by Robin, and we’re apparently soulmates.”

“…are you a girl?” 

“No?”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“C’mon, Spidey, open your mind.” If he could see his face, he knows that bastard would be smirking at him. “We’re not romantic. She actually hated me at first. I mean we’re literally tied together by the universe. Whatever souls are made of, hers and mine are the same.’

“Is that Emily Bronte?”

“Look who paid attention in high school english!” 

He misses his bed. 

#Spiderman au #stoncy #nancy wheeler #steve harrington #jonathan byers #photographer jonathan #i kept seeing all these posts like ‘Steve is Spiderman’ ‘Eddie is Spiderman’ well I would like to submit my take #Jonathan byers as spiderman #Nancy as both reporter mj and Vanessa (is that Deadpool’s gfs name?) #Steve as deadpool #Robin as Lady Death bc I saw something that said in the comics deadpool can’t die bc death is in love with him and I said hmmm I can stobin #I had a lot of fun writing this can you tell #stranger things fanfic

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

❄️ Let it Snow

A big snowstorm hits Hawkins leaving Eddie and yn trapped in his trailer for a night... Will long-hidden feelings finally come to light?

Warnings; Angst to Fluff, cuteness ❤

Likes or reblogs are always appreciated 😘

I don't give anyone permission to copy my work.

Winter fics start now 🎄💞 ❄️

❤

Her relationship ( if you could call it that) with Eddie had started in a haze of one of their usual arguments followed by mindblowing sex.

For the last two months, it had been much of the same. They would argue, have sex, lather rinse repeat.

It's not like she planned to fall for him or anything, Eddie had been a pain in her ass since middle school.

There was just something they both saw in one another that made them fight like cats and dogs and pushed each other's buttons.

Chrissy had told her once that she and Eddie had a lot of sexual tension and it was obvious they both wanted each other which made yn nearly choke on the milkshake she was drinking.

She denied it absolutely wasn't that at all, sure Eddie was handsome and all but he drove her up the wall. There was no way she wanted him.

God, she was an idiot.

This latest argument was because she was tired of sneaking around and wanted to come clean to her friends that she and Eddie were... seeing each other.

He refused.

"Oh, yeah that will go down great sweetheart. The freak and the princess, I'm sure people will have a field day with that one".

As much as Eddie pretended he didn't care what people thought that was obviously a load of bullshit.

So she argued that she didn't care what anyone thought and he countered that they were just a physical thing, that was all and her heart broke.

"Well, if that's how you feel then I'll just go then"

"Fine!" he yelled and that was that. Whatever they had was over. She bites back tears and heads into school.

When she was alone with Eddie it was like they were in their own little bubble. Eddie would be so soft, sweet.

Then at school it's like they hated each other. Like they didn't spend every night wrapped in each others arms.

It was tiring pretending that she didn't feel so much for him. Nancy approaches her and asks if she has heard about the snowstorm heading Hawkins's way that night.

They discuss it while heading to class and she freezes a little when she sees Eddie walking her way.

She missed him so much already but she knew he didn't miss her.

❤

After school, she is in the process of cleaning out her car when she finds Eddie's D&D notebook wedged in the backseat.

Knowing how much this means to him and that he will need it for Hellfire Club she decides to take a quick drive to his to drop it off.

The snowstorm is gathering strength as she heads out but visibility is still good. It will be a quick drop off and that's it.

Well, it should be. Just as she gets to Eddie's her car stalls. Great! Eddie has been on at her for weeks to get her car serviced, no doubt he will say I told you so.

When she knocks on the door he answers looking as grumpy and down as she is.

"Just dropping off this" she gestures to the notebook in her hands and his eyes light up.

"Fuck, I've been searching for that all day" he takes it eagerly and smiles at her then it disappears.

"Thanks for bringing it" she nods and tries to avoid looking into his big brown eyes, those were her weakness and he knew it.

"I should get going, can I use your phone though? My car stopped working. Need to report it, not that anyone will be able to get out tonight"

He frowns as he eyes the weather, the snow is fiercer now, the wind bitingly cold and beginning to gain speed. The snow was accumulating fast on the ground so she would have to get home quickly.

"You can't walk in that". Eddie tells her annoyed but there's worry in his eyes too.

"It won't take me long" she argues and he groans.

"No, you'll freeze. Do you always have to be so damn stubborn?" She steps inside her anger flaring.

"Why do you care? We are just sex right so why do you care what I do?" he softens.

"Sweetheart... Oh no, he was not getting reeling her in with sweet tones only to break her heart again.

Hearing enough she walks out and attempts to walk away but within minutes she is freezing and soaked with the snow.

Eddie catches up to her and she doesn't complain when he hurries her back into his trailer for warmth.

"Stubborn woman" he huffs as he shrugs out of his jacket but his angry demeanour soon melts when he sees how cold she is.

"I've got a Hellfire shirt that's in your size, he blushes. Made it just incase you ever wanted to watch a campaign" he tells her and her heart warms at his cuteness.

He helps her out of her wet jacket and jumper and she slips into the Hellfire shirt and he gives her one of his own hoodies, it's oversized and so comfy and warm.

She snuggles into it, it's like being in a hug from Eddie. His fingers stroke over her hair and she smiles up at him.

"Thank you, Eddie".

"Anything for you princess" he murmurs softly and she feels her heart skip a beat. When he acts like this it makes her think he could feel the same way.

He was so confusing. Eddie's phone rings. His uncle is stuck at work due to the storm so he is having to ride it out there.

She can tell Eddie is worried and her instincts to comfort him take over as she rubs his shoulder, it takes some of the tension in his body away.

"Your uncle will be okay Eddie, he's tough" she assures him and he rests his head against hers.

When he's calmer he takes a peek at the storm outside. It's growing wilder and the wind is howling. It's practically blizzard type conditions.

Eddie notices her shivering and goes into the hall then comes back with thick blankets which she takes gratefully.

They set up the blankets in his room and she feels herself grow anxious, she loves snow but this storm is relentless.

Eddie grabs a book from his shelf and begins to read to her.

The Hobbit. She smiles and snuggles into one of Eddie's pillows. Both have them can instinctively tell what the other needs without saying anything.

Especially if the other is anxious or upset.

She pulls away still hurting by what he said, sensing this he strokes her cheek.

"Im sorry about what I said sweetheart, this isn't just sex. I think we both know that what we have is so much deeper than that" he tells her softly.

She nods and cuddles into his chest.

"I don't care what my friends think Eddie. The truth is I've fallen in love with you and if they can't handle that then tough. I want to be with you. You make me happy" his eyes light up and he kisses his forehead.

"I love you too. You know that right? Tried so hard to stop but I can't, you make me happy baby, the thought of being with you always is something I've dreamed about"

"We need to stop worrying about making others happy and ourselves miserable Eddie. High school social politics does not dictate what makes me happy or who I love. No way"

He kisses her smiling and she gets cosy as he begins to read to her.

The storm soon becomes background noise as she focuses on the story, giggling at Eddie's voices he does for each character until eventually they fall asleep.

❤

It's quite late in the morning when Wayne arrives home. The storm has settled and he can't wait to get to bed and get some coffee in him.

He's sure Eddie is fine but he worries and wants to check his boy is okay. Probably sleeping in with school being closed today he chuckles.

He heats up some coffee and checks Eddie'z room, smiling as he sees Eddie snuggled up with yn.

They had been seeing each other for a while now, Eddie thought he was being sneaky and that Wayne didn't know but Wayne saw the bright smile on his nephew's cheeks and the dopey grin he would get when he saw yn out in town.

Or the fact he could hear them giggling in Eddie's room. Yeah, the boy couldn't hide shit.

Still, it was nice to see him happy and in love.

Yeah, Wayne knew that too. He clears his throat and Eddie wakes up and smiles brightly.

"Uncle Wayne, I'm so glad you're okay" his face softens as he stares down at yn who is sleeping peacefully on his chest.

"This is my girl yn" Wayne chuckles and ruffles Eddie's hair.

"I know son you can't hide anything from me. I'll make us all some breakfast before I take a nap yeah?"

❤

After meeting Eddie's uncle properly she was even more determined to show the world she was very much with Eddie.

So on the Monday, she wore the Hellfire shirt Eddie gave to her, his leather jacket slipped around her shoulders as he had his arm wrapped around her shoulders, a beaming smile on his features.

She joins the Hellfire table and sits on Eddie's knee as the whole cafeteria is silent.

Jason calls over to her.

"Yn? what the fuck are you doing with the freak?" she glares at him.

"Eddie is my boyfriend Carver. Got a problem? Tell someone who cares. So just deal with it yeah?" he gapes and she turns away ignoring him and gently kissing Eddie on the temple who is chuckling at Jason's expression.

The Hellfire boys welcome her to the table happily and she feels at peace that she can finally be at peace with the man she loves.

#eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson angst #eddie munson

[fastcardotmp3]

anyways The West Wing AU with Steve as the overworked and bedraggled, snarky press secretary with insufferable duo Eddie and Nancy as the reporters who always somehow have a HunchTM about what's going on inside the administration and never leave Steve alone in search of quotes and inside scoops.

Eddie using his charm to get under Steve's skin as he chases him through the halls of the press office only to get his chest wrenched open by Steve's overwhelming and earnest desire to be a strong wall of defense between his fearless leader (President Joyce Byers obviously) and a press corps who at times does not trust a woman who wears her heart on her sleeve in office, especially during a national crisis

Nancy Wheeler, who has been forcefully grounded from working in the field after one too many close-calls with a Demogorgon (because it's me, so this is all definitely happening during an active supernatural apocalypse situation, like that's the aforementioned crisis, can you imagine the potential for worldbuilding of a nation overrun with monsters and the kinds of ways that would affect policy making and overall governance come ON) and Nancy has SEEN the mess, so she is constantly finding her way to the ear of Robin Buckley-- Communications Director and closest Nancy can get to the policy makers-- to try and instill the wisdom of her experience on the frontlines to these people.

Lumax are obviously JoshDonna need I say more the banter, the way they keep each other grounded, the all-consuming passion both for the work and each other.

President's eldest son Jonathan Byers falling in love with his mom's body man, her very own Charlie Young-- Argyle. He is family without question, he is trusted beyond belief!!

And Joyce falling in love with the head of her Secret Service detail, Hopper??? Her primary goal is protecting the people of her country and his primary goal is protecting HER??

Basically I'm having visions of a White House forced into a high security lock down during a wave of Upside Down invasions in which everyone inside is fighting for their lives while also trying to do their jobs AKA trying desperately to organize aid for the rest of the country who is going to give this to me

#dot post #I was like tww au but then it's like tww is SUCH an ensemble show it has to be All Hands On Deck #steddie #steve x eddie #stranger things fic #ronance #jargyle #lumax #jopper #tww au

[eightfifteen]

Just clearing out my drafts so here's a masterlist of how literally everything happens at eightfifteen.

arcade True Vision - it's not shown in any meaningful way, but as Joyce was picking Will up at 9, it's easy to assume that it could have been 8:15. Especially as they put a lot of focus on Will's True Sight getting activated at 8:15.

The True Sight at the end of 2x01. Not only do they focus on the clock at the Byers' house to show it's 8:15, they ALSO have El say it's 8:15 when Hopper gets home at the exact same time the vision is happening, highlighting the hour and making sure the audience takes note of Eight Fifteen. AND the track 'eight fifteen' is playing.

Halloween - once again, Will had to be back by 9 (just like at the arcade). But more importantly - the camera shows it's 8:04/8:15 when he talks to Mike.

Then in Season 3, everything happens at NINE fifteen - aka Eight Fifteen if you account for daylight savings.

When Mike is with Eleven, the clock shows it's 8:20. When he eventually gets to the movies, they just missed the previews, which usually takes about 15 minutes so if we assume the movie started at 9, the actual movie would start at 9:15, which is when the gate gets opened (power outage) and when Will feels the MF again for the first time.

Then in the woods during castle byers' destruction, they show Jancy entering Mrs. Driscoll's house at 9:15 which is when Driscoll starts going crazy.

At the same time, we see El and Max going to Heather's, except the clock there shows it's around 8:20, even though 'blue meets yellow in the west' happens right before that (aka 9:45)? It's a fancy clock so I think it's possible they might have just forgotten to adjust it to daylight savings, which means it could have been 9:20 - though it's definitely a little late to have dinner.

And that's when Will feels the mindflayer again. Which is nothing, as it's implied it's just B*lly/the mindflayer/Vecna recognising El or something.

Aka that night is a bit of a mess, but we know at least that the UD was most active (aka Driscoll crazy) around 9:15, and that Will either felt the UD because it was 9:15, or because Billy recognised El. But considering that every night this week Will has felt the UD at 9:15, it stands to reason that it is more likely that that's the reason.

BECAUSE the next day, the sauna test happens "around nine". aka Will left "a little after 8". Indicating that by the time they have Billy locked and loaded, and Will feels the MF activate Billy, it is 9:15

THE DAY AFTER THAT, they're in the hospital with Driscoll, and that's when the MF flesh creature is in the hospital and Will feels its presence. During the entire fight between Jon, Nance and that reporter guy, they show like FIVE different clocks and even make sure to move it ahead with every scene. Will only notices the fight towards the end, when the lights start flickering after Nancy killed the guy and it starts shifting into the ooze monster. When Will notices something wrong, it's 8:55. Noteably, he doesn't grab for his neck this time - this time he notices the lights flickering first, meaning it's not his usual MF 9:15 spideysense.

AKA all of season 3, while the gate was continuously open, on top of the regular disturbances Will felt when the mf was close by (like in the field with the rats), he also felt a wave of MF activity every night around 9:15, or they just really wanted to highlight how almost everything happens around 9/9:15.

It's different in s4, because here the main focus becomes 4 o'clock because that's the hour associated with Vecna and his Upside Down. And also, Vecna famously does not adhere to the rules so he can attack anyone at any time because he's making new portals/gates with no connection at all to Will or possibly even Will's UD.

I still haven't found good download links to s4 so i can't scan through it like i can with the earlier seasons, but interestingly

mleven breaks up at 8:15 (in the morning, but still)

#eightfifteengate #eight fifteen #stranger things #analysis #just clearing out drafts

[carolinemillerbooks]

New Post has been published on Books by Caroline Miller

New Post has been published on https://www.booksbycarolinemiller.com/musings/is-trump-more-to-be-pitied/

Is Trump More To Be Pitied?

Watching a reporter interview historian Timothy Snyder one evening, I sat up in my chair when he laid out his thoughts about  Donald Trump’s strategy for the current 2024 Presidential election.  Snyder presumed the former president knew he would lose the contest and was taking unpopular positions against Social Security and the Affordable Care Act not to secure victory but to lay the groundwork for a second insurrection. Insane as the idea sounded, I couldn’t dismiss it out of hand.  A distorted mind might seize upon the claim of being victorious in defeat. Trump had tried it before.  The fear that history might repeat itself set my little grey cells spinning.  The media has paid little attention to the state of Trump’s mind, choosing to focus on the age of his opponent, Joe Biden. Those who speculate that the incumbent is too old to run for a second term forget that a scant three-year difference lies between the two contenders.  Reporters would serve the public better by exploring the difference between an aging brain and a demented one. Biden’s speech gaffs, which many hold against him, aren’t entirely due to his age.  As a child, he stuttered. The impediment reasserts itself on occasion. But it is also true that as a man of 81 years, he speaks slowly and takes mental pauses. These are signs of a brain aging normally, not evidence of one that has lost its reason. Bidne’s verbal mistakes are a far cry from Trump’s failure to distinguish Nikki Haley from Nancy Pelosi or for him to speak as though he were running against Barack Obama. Ronald Reagan’s conduct during his final years in office might be a better measuring stick with which to compare  Trump’s behavior.  The  40th U. S. President also exhibited memory gaps and confusion during public appearances.  Alzheimer’s was never confirmed during his time in office, but members of his staff did report they saw signs of the disease before he returned to private life.    Psychologist, Dr. John Gartner makes no bones about Trump’s mental illness.  He warns that the former president’s outbursts aren’t those of a strong leader flexing his muscles.  They are the tantrums of a diseased brain.    Though he was never Trump’s doctor, Gartner insists what he offers is not an opinion but a diagnosis based on reality.  Others in his field agree but few have spoken out so publically. Gartner believes his colleagues have failed to do so because they are intimidated. Like physicians practicing in anti-abortion states, they’ve come to fear there is a good chance they would lose their jobs if they went on the record, not to mention other forms of retaliation… Some journalists may have remained silent for the same reason. Gartner points out that they make little of Trump’s slurred words, invented words, unfinished sentences, and blank, expressionless pauses. Instead, they characterize the Presidential election as a competition between two old men.  When Regan took office at the age of 73, he was the oldest President to that date. Whether the early stages of Alzheimer’s had set in, we shall never know, but he was wise enough to surround himself with honorable men and women. By contrast, the roll-call of Trump’s many cohorts is a list of disreputables. Should Trump return to power, that number is likely to grow, boding ill for the country. Nor can we overlook the many felony counts against the former president. His legal woes have left him strapped for funds. Winning re-election, he could erase the federal charges against him with a presidential pardon, but he has no power to absolve himself from state charges.  Without sufficient funds to defend himself, Trump is vulnerable to opportunists who are ready to give him cash in exchange for undue influence.    Opportunists are the people we should fear, not members of the Christian Right as many have assumed.  The latter’s objectives are too out of step with the majority of voters.  Their brief hour on the stage will be less than a hiccup in the course of history.    When money and the levers of government become too cozy, says John Grey in his book The New Leviathans, it threatens democracy and encourages the rise of more and not less totalitarianism.   ( “Who’s Afraid of Freedom?” by Helena Rosenblatt, Foreign Affairs, March/April 2024, pg. 154.) The dynamic is simple, the author explains.  Like other animals, humans are addicted to pleasure. Money satisfies that addiction but the pursuit of it has consequences. Those with the most wealth imagine they are better than others–a perspective that encourages them to imagine people in lower economic circumstances are less human. From there, Grey posits, it’s a short hop to inhumanity, a place where the poverty of others is a justification for eliminating them.   (Ibid, pg. 154)  Whether that causal connection between money and tyranny is direct, I don’t know.  But, science has affirmed that wealth and compassion exist in an inverse ratio.  In a capitalist society, greed, if left unchecked, could end in a tug-of-war between those with enough money to influence the government and the majority who are governed by it. A 2019  Gallop Poll confirmed that dynamic.  Concerning the federal budget, the wealthy preferred to see service cuts to social security to sustain it.  A majority of Americans disagreed. Money has a loud voice in politics, though most of us wish it weren’t true.  Nonetheless, we must accept that Trump’s financial setbacks put him at the mercy of oligarchs. No longer able to pose as one of them, he suffers the humiliation of a man stripped of his theater.  His delusions are exposed, and he stands naked before us.  The only words to suit the occasion are these. Thou shouldst not have been old till thou hast been wise.   (King Lear, 1, v.)

#age and the U. S. Presidency #demented v. aging brains #Donald Trump #Dr John Gartner #Helena Rosenblatt #Joe Biden #John Grey #money and tyranny #oligarchy #Ronald Regan #Social Security #the 2024 Presidential election #The Affordable Care Act #The Christian Right #Timothy Snyder #Trump's legal woes #Trump's mental illness

[fandsart]

Heavy agree on the Nancy might fail as a reporter. Like we never really see her putting together an article we only see her investigate, we don't know if she can write. Also like you said it's more about her proving to be right than crafting a cohesive story or building a network. Her comment in s4 about actual reporters who work for a real paper was just so out of pocket. Like wdm those guys don't know their ass from their elbow, Nancy was fired because she violated work guidelines and they have much more work experience than her.

I'm gonna use this ask to also respond to this comment by @yxlenas because this isn't my main blog so I couldn't respond as my known self on that post

I don't think it came out of nowhere. In season 2, the whole point of that is to publicize it. I can see how that leads to the passion to keep that up. Especially learning from Murray about getting angles on the situation and how people will want to view it. It was all very investigative reporter

As for you nonnie, we can possibly assume that she can write because we see her critiquing Steve's essay, though I have seen people (who know what they're talking about) go over Steve's essay and be like "What is she talking about? That essay is fine" So maybe she doesn't actually know that much about formatting, or you could also argue that she just holds really high standards

Everyone working at the newspaper had more experience than her and know the kind of thing that's worth reporting and what people respond to. They know what they're doing, so of course they aren't going to respond to an issue that's been being covered up by the government for years. Nancy was only right about that for plot reasons, and there are reasons the actual reporters didn't look into that story

When these reasons are revealed to Nancy she acts like it's a complete injustice they didn't tell her about it, but they did already tell her to drop it. They shouldn't have needed to tell her more. Frankly, they shouldn't have even needed to tell her that much, because going after stories was not her job. Imagine being a security guard at an art museum but coming in every day with your own paintings and begging the curator to put them up. Like, girl, that's not your JOB

As for the things she says about them to Wayne I do think they were just basic reporter tactics. It's a competitive field so I kind of get it, and while Hawkins is small enough that there isn't much need for that, it also gives Nancy more opportunity to use them affectively, since the only other reporters in town wouldn't have pulled that manipulative shit, because they don't view her as competition. Because, another point, girl you work for a school newspaper. How much credibility do you think that really holds?

If she wants to be a reporter she needs to work on her people skills. I just imagine her meeting up with Murray again after season 4 and talking about her experiences with it, because he's an investigative journalist, which is very similar. And him just being like "Sweetheart, you are so dumb. You really flubbed your chances of being great during that internship."

#I had to write all this twice because I hit control z once and the whole thing deleted #ask #answered asks #anon ask #fandsart

[beardedmrbean]

CHICAGO (WLS) -- Former Chicago Alderman Ed Burke was found guilty of all counts except for one in his federal corruption case Thursday.

The former Chicago alderman faced 14 counts, including racketeering, bribery and attempted extortion.

The case against the once-most powerful member of the Chicago City Council centered around him using his public position for private gain.

"Burke has his hand out for money. He tied the giving of official action by him to the giving of money in 3 different corrupt episodes," said US Attorney Morris Pasqual.

Burke and Peter Andrews were in the packed courtroom Thursday. Andrews was hospitalized for an unknown illness Tuesday. Andrews is co-defendant and a former 14th Ward aide for Burke.

Andrews was found not guilty of all his charges.

Charles Cui was present virtually because he is "ill." Cui was found guilty of all counts.

Burke's wife, Anne, and their two daughters and other family members were also present.

As the verdict was read, Burke had his chin on his folded hands, his gold watch glinting in the courtroom lighting. He was staring toward the front of the courtroom. His family had their heads hung behind him.

Burke nodded slowly as the jury was polled, with a deep frown on his face.

Burke's wife stepped forward and put her arm on her husband's back. They leaned together, and he kissed her on the cheek.

Burke appeared to be deep in thought, stunned by the verdict. He left court in a crush of reporters and arrived back at his Southwest Side home shortly after 4 p.m. Burke will next be due in court for post-trial hearings in February and March. His sentencing is set for June 19. He faces a maximum sentence of 20 years.

Burke attempted to extort money from the Field Museum for the benefit of a close family friend. In another scheme, Burke attempted to extort the owners of a Burger King in his 14th Ward to steer tax appeal business to his private law firm.

But the heart of the government's case centered around the Old Post Office. He was found guilty of using his public position to shake down the Old Post developers to use his law firm. Former alderman-turned-government mole Danny Solis secretly recorded Burke several times discussing the scheme.

The jury, made up of nine women and three men, deliberated for 23 hours before reaching a verdict.

Legal experts have said the case was a complicated one to figure out because there were three defendants and a mountain of evidence. In addition, Burke faced racketeering charges, which former Assistant U.S. Attorney Nancy DePodesta said could be the most challenging for jurors.

When Burke obtained his law degree from DePaul University in 1968, federal racketeering laws hadn't even been put in place. Thursday afternoon the laws intended to take down Chicago Outfit bosses and America's top hoodlums have toppled a man long thought to be untouchable.

As Burke ran the finance committee like a king, dozens of his city council colleagues were arrested, prosecuted and jailed for corruption. Burke went unscathed until November 2018, when the FBI raided his office.

It then became clear that federal agents had much more on Burke than previously thought.

The jury was given over 350 pages of jury instructions on Monday, along with evidence that included close to 40 witnesses and over 100 recordings.

Hundreds of the videos were covertly recorded by Solis, but his primary target was longtime Illinois speaker of the house and Democratic powermaster Michael Madigan.

Madigan is scheduled for trial in Chicago in April. With Burke's fall, Madigan knows a jury fully believed Solis and trusted what they heard on his tapes.

In all, there were 19 different counts that applied to Burke, Andrews and co-defendant Cui.

Cui's sentencing date is June 17. Andrews has been dismissed.

In a statement, Chicago Mayor Brandon Johnson said, "Elected officials are responsible for serving with honesty and integrity, with a moral responsibility to their constituents to uphold and abide by the law. In the case that they fail to do so, it is imperative that they are held accountable. That is what the jury decided today."

Former Chicago Mayor Lori Lightfoot released a statement, saying:

"With this jury's verdict, Ed Burke should rightfully be remembered as a man who elevated personal ambition and greed over doing the people's work. "Along the way, Burke has had many, many enablers: the pernicious practice of aldermanic prerogative which, despite efforts to eliminate it, persists to this day, especially in zoning and development decisions. The other elected officials who, over the years, looked the other way as Burke systematically monetized the Finance Committee for his own personal benefit. And the party who gave Burke control over judicial nominations, so that decades of jurists became beholden to him. "But like many before who feasted on their gluttonous power, Burke was felled because this total lack of accountability made him foolishly think he was invincible. So he grossly overplayed his hand. He dug his own grave and jumped in. "Only time will tell if the lessons of Ed Burke's ascent and spectacular fall will lead to desperately needed reforms begun, but not nearly finished, around transparency and accountability. But meanwhile, with this verdict, rendered by a jury of his peers, the tyranny of Ed Burke is over. I like to think somewhere, Harold is smiling."

#nunyas news

[love-kurdt]

Thick Skull (byler): I

word count: 454

“This unprecedented weather will pass within the next few days,” weather reporters claimed. “We’ll be back to normal soon,” they reassured their hometown with the certainty of a civil war. Men, women, and children sat in their homes, eyes glued to either their television screens or their windows, watching as the ground opened up, mysterious grey matter flurried through the air, and their surroundings died slowly.

That was six months ago.

It was a miracle that the people of Hawkins, Indiana were so ignorant as to what was truly going on. They had no idea that there was a psychotic, previously human creature from an alternate dimension planning to consume the entire town, then possibly the state, and the world. That information sat between a group of twelve teenagers and five adults, plus a bunch of deceased soldiers from a secret prison camp in Kamchatka, Russia.

The camp was the least of their problems now; the captured police chief, Jim Hopper, was back home. It was a shock to everyone; especially to his daughter, Eleven. After an adventure involving an arrest, a top secret training base in the Nevada desert, the man who abused her for her entire childhood, and a rescue via four boys in a pizza van, she returned to Hawkins without any expectations. That was until her dad walked into her bedroom, with a shaved head that matched her own, and a “hey, kid.” With that, her life was complete again. An added bonus appeared when she saw her adoptive mom, Joyce, holding hands with her dad that day in the field. She and her brothers, Will and Jonathan, agreed that this was a long time coming and they were glad that their parents made each other happy.

Not soon after the dust started to fall, some Upside Down particles had made their way into Hopper’s cabin through one of the gigantic Mind Flayer-sized holes in the roof and begun to spread across the walls, making it unsafe for the Hopper-Byers family to live in. Karen Wheeler opened her doors, much to the disdain of Ted, and the house was packed from then on. And no one really minded.

Everything seemed great, considering what was going on. Joyce and Hopper were together, and Nancy and Jonathan were reunited. Max was out of the hospital and recovering with the Sinclairs. Dustin found a way to transport Cerebro onto Steve’s roof, where he and his mom, Eddie, and Robin had moved for safety. Eddie made it out of the Upside Down (barely) thanks to Steve, and Robin finally gained the courage to talk to Vickie. Argyle… found some mushrooms. Mike slowly but surely repaired his friendship with El.

And Will was there.

next part

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#byler #byler nation #byler fic #byler fanfic #byler tumblr #will byers #mike wheeler

[streamafterlaughter]

New Kid

gif credit

Chapter XIII: That Time of Year

masterlist | chapter XII | playlist

summary: winter break is finally starting to feel like just that, a break. You and your closest friends enjoy the Hawkins festivities to the best of your abilities.

tags: FLUFFY FLUFF FLUFF!!!!! some minor angst, mentions of parental abandonment, gn!reader, idiots in love, basically all just filler and tying loose ends these next few chapters. hang on tight y’all

a/n: cute lil chapter that made me happy to write. i hope u enjoy it! 1985 is almost over, and so is this fic. it’s getting really difficult to write tho bc i don’t wanna say goodbye!!! Disclaimer: I do not give permission to have my work reposted on other sites. Reblogs are more than welcome, but please inform me if you find my work elsewhere unless otherwise stated.

Eddie’s POV

He’s hunched over his desk that’s been haphazardly wiped clean, his tongue sticking out the corner on his mouth as he sketches. The idea came to him in a dream, the first night in a long time you hadn’t been sleeping next to him. He dreamt of you on stage, but instead of The Hideout, you were ten feet above him in front of a crowd of thousands. He hasn’t recognized the song, he’s never heard you play an original, but the energy of the dream made him feel electric.

He pulls the marker up again, leaning back to see the drawing: a silhouette of two people, hands clasped as they spin, surrounded by fire. He leans back down, fixing a few lines before finally standing up. “It’s done!” He announces.

“Lemme see!” Dustin pushes off the bed, and Steve follows him closely. The two hover over the desk, inspecting Eddie’s creation.

“Eddie, this is great! Y/n’s gonna love it!” Dustin beams, and Eddie gives him a small smile.

“I uh, I don’t get it. Why are they on fire?” Steve cocks his head, like a different angle will answer his question.

Dustin sighs. “Must we explain everything to you? Y/n’s band is called Death Dance, Approximately. They’re dancing, they’re almost dying. It’s pretty clear.”

“Dustin, don’t use that tone with your father.” Eddie chastises, shoving the boy playfully.

“Oh! Okay, that makes sense.” Steve rests his hands on his hips, still looking like he doesn’t get the illustration.

“So,” Eddie claps his hands together, startling his friends. “Christmas is days away, what’s the plan?”

“Figured we could watch movies at Mike’s? Binge eat cookies and eggnog, exchange some presents, eh?” Dustin suggests, the glee readable in his expression.

Eddie turns to Steve. “And after, when the children are sound asleep in their beds dreaming of sugar plums or some shit?”

Steve shrugs. “We can go back to Y/n’s, spike the eggnog?”

“Sweet.”

“Now, though, we have a snowball war to win!” Dustin pulls his cap down, preparing to face the cold.

“To the forts!” Eddie declares, and reaches for his leather jacket.

—

Your POV

You and Robin pull into the parking lot of the Hawkins High soccer field, wrapped in layers of coats and carrying a giant thermos of hot cocoa. The boys have a snowball fight planned, and you have been tasked with snack duty.

“These kids go all out, huh?” As you enter the field, you take in the war zone before you. Two forts are already built, giant mounds of snow surrounded by bright orange cones meant for scrimmages. Eddie, Steve, and Dustin are shaping snowballs on the far side of the field, while Lucas, Will, Erica, and Mike huddle together to strategize.

“Oh, yeah. You get a bunch of DND nerds together, they’ll take any opportunity to make something usually mundane, supremely dramatic.” Robin crosses her arms over her chest, trying to shield herself from the cold as the two of you approach Max, Eleven, Jonathan, and Nancy on the bleachers.

“Status report?” You ask, spreading out a blanket on the metal bench behind the couple.

“Will has been wounded twice, Eddie is treating the whole thing like a campaign, and Steve still has terrible aim.” Nancy reports, as if she’s writing an article on the battle of Bunker Hill.

“Mike is dead.” El adds, and you can’t help but chuckle at her nonchalance.

You pass the thermos to Nancy. As she accepts, you hear the familiar maniacal laughter of your boyfriend. You look up just in time to watch him hurl a snowball, hitting Lucas square in the chest. “AHA! BOW BEFORE YOUR DUNGEON MASTER!” Eddie turns to strut back to his post when another flying sphere nails him between the shoulders. The culprit, his victim’s own sister, avenging Lucas’s death. “I- I’ve been hit. Please, before I go,” Eddie begins, his voice taking a similar cadence to how you’d imagine a Shakespeare play being performed. “Tell Y/n, tell them,” You’ve had enough of the sidelines. You leap from your seat, abandoning your blanket and speeding down the bleachers, the cold wind sharp against your face.

“Tell me what, darling?” You call, falling to your knees beside your fake dying boyfriend. The snow seeps into your jeans, for you didn’t prepare for participating, and clasp his hand in your glove.

“Y/n! I must be dead, I must have died, did she tell you? Did Lady Applejack pass along the message?”

You try not to giggle, wanting to continue the dramatization Eddie’s created. “You haven’t left yet! Please, do share what you wish to say!”

Eddie inhales sharply, as if the words he wants to say are causing him pain. “Avenge me, Y/n. Avenge my death. Avenge our love. Please, don’t let me die for nothing!” He exclaims before pretending to take his very last breath. You sniffle, wiping away a very real tear caused by the cold, and rise from his limp body.

“You.” Your voice deepens. You stand slowly, ready to retreat to the fort where Steve and Dustin frantically form a stack of snowballs. Erica’s eyes widen as you straighten, standing over her like a mother would her disciplined child. “You will pay for this, Applejack.”

Erica takes a step back toward her fort, the snow crunching under her boot. “We’ll see about that.” She turns on her heel and sprints before you can grasp at the snow.

—

Eddie’s POV

After what feels like days of throwing snowballs, the Realm of Darkness and the Village of Wisdom finally come to a truce. You say a silent thank you to the universe, as you’ve begun to lose feeling in your toes.

You transport the kids to their respective households before backtracking to Eddie’s trailer with the rest of your friends. You’ve snagged a corner of the couch, wrapped in a big, fuzzy blanket. Steve and Robin sit on the floor against the couch, while Nancy and Jonathan have split the space of Wayne’s recliner. Eddie plugs the Gremlins tape into the machine, and takes his place beside you on the couch. You let him untuck your feet, sliding his own into the warmth of the fleece.

“Wanna little extra warmth?” Eddie offers you his flask, a mischievous smile on his rosy face, and you nod. He pours about two shots’ worth of vodka into your mug, then offers it to Steve. The flask makes its way around the room, and the six of you drink and talk as the movie plays behind you. Eddie feels his heart warming as he sips, the alcohol induced sentimentality taking him into a warm embrace. You’re snuggled into his side, and he can feel every time your body shakes with laughter at something someone else says. The trailer hasn’t always been a place of warmth, but tonight, Eddie feels at home.

—

Your POV

The days leading up to Christmas Eve are filled with holiday extravagance. Your mother insists on taking pictures with Santa, just like every year before, even though you’re a fully grown adult. You and your father pick out a tree, a tiny pine with sparse needles, because even ugly trees need love. You leave Mike’s early to set up for the more “adult” Christmas party, taking extra time to make holiday themed alcoholic beverages.

Your friends arrive at your house at eight sharp on Christmas Eve eve, which you and Eddie have dubbed Freaksgiving. He carries his armfuls of presents, insisting he doesn’t need help, while the rest of your friends trail behind him, one or two gifts in each of their grasps.

Eddie rings the bell, and you open the door to greet the rest of what you consider family, the warm air wafting from inside, smelling of cinnamon. You’d declared a rule: for everyone to wear the ugliest holiday sweater they could find. Yours is a cardigan, green and red with fleece polar bears stitched on each side, clinking glasses of eggnog. You chuckle at the collection before you: Eddie’s is blue with a caricature of Jesus with an eggnog mustache that says “Happy Birthday, Big Huy!” Robin’s has a drunk Mrs. Clause on hers with Every damn year stitched in bright yellow, Nancy’s is covered in bells, and Jonathan’s lights up.

“Welcome!” You present the living room to them, covered in warm white string lights, your ancient fireplace crackling with a strengthening flame. You personally despise holiday music, opting instead to play a mix of your friends’ favorite songs. Running Up That Hill by Kate Bush hums softly in the background as Eddie scoops you into his arms, wrapping himself around you like you’re the best gift of the night. “Help yourselves to drinks, and there are cookies in the kitchen! We’ll do presents once everyone’s situated.” You feel good, hosting. You are excited to make your friends feel extra loved today, a holiday that usually makes you sad to celebrate.

Eddie picks a chocolate chip cookie off the serving tray, and closes his eyes as he bites into it. “Babe, these are delicious!”

“Be careful, love! The chocolate chip ones are, um, extra special!” You giggle, and Robin’s eyes widen.

“Did you put drugs in these?!” She bites into her own chocolate chip dessert.

“Not drugs plural! Just a little weed!” You snicker, and pick up your own cookie. Nancy and Steve follow suit, and Jonathan takes two.

-

Eddie’s POV

“Alright!” You announce, quieting the babbles of surrounding conversation. You catch Eddie’s attention, and he looks at you in awe. The holidays have never been good to him. He’s never had the money to get presents for his friends, and even if he did, he’d never had friends to celebrate with. Beyond that, the holidays were a reminder of how alone he’d always felt, watching everyone leave to visit family, or have warm houses to welcome guests with home cooked meals and thoughtful presents.

Eddie feels a tap on his shoulder, and spins to greet you, holding out a small rectangular present for him. “It’s a little rough, but I did my best.” You say, shyly looking at his nose while you speak. He grins, eagerly taking the gift from you, replacing it in your hands with his own poorly wrapped, flimsy present.

“You first.” He gestures, and you tear the paper swiftly, unraveling the sparkly ribbon to reveal his creation. Death Dance, Approximately is written in capital, jagged letters across the top of the shirt, over a couple meant to vaguely look like you and Eddie, holding hands as orange flames erupt around them. You hold the shirt up to examine it, and you’re grinning ear to ear. “You like it?” Eddie asks, feeling the nerves in his stomach.

“I love it! It’s so beautiful, you drew this?”

Eddie nods. “Figured you deserved your very own band shirt. Soon you’ll be selling out of these at shows.” You pounce on him as he says it, wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Thank you, Eddie. So much.” You muffle into his hair, and he chuckles. “Open yours!” You explain, once you’ve removed yourself from his torso.

“Okay, okay!” By now, everyone’s gathered around you and Eddie, waiting expectantly to see the gift you’d come up with. Robin grins eagerly, Steve pokes his head over Eddie’s shoulder, and Nancy watches Jonathan ready his camera.

Eddie peels the paper away, tossing it to the floor to reveal the cassette. “Pretty Boy.” He reads to himself, and he can feel his ears warming. “Can I play it?”

You nod, your face blushing bright red. Eddie walks over to your radio, and pops the tape in. It begins with your tender introduction, before sliding into the song you’d written for him. Eddie closes his eyes, focusing on the sound of your voice, singing only for him. The rasp in your voice gives him chills, and the lyrics pull at his heartstrings like they’re made of rubber. He feels the vibrations in his chest, and the pricks of tears welling in his eyes. He still can’t believe it’s for him, that you’d written and recorded a whole song, a love song, just for him.

-

Your POV

You watch Eddie closely as the song ends, and he finally opens his eyes. Steve holds his face in his hands, and Robin claps giddily as the final chord rings out. Nancy says something, but you don’t hear her over the nervous buzzing in your brain.

“Y/n,” Eddie says finally, taking a step closer to you. You look up to meet his eyes, and you watch as they twinkle with happy tears. “This is all I ever could have asked for, and more.” He lets out a breathy laugh and shakes his head. “You wrote that for me? Seriously?!”

You nod vigorously, taking a step in his direction. “You’re my muse, I guess.” You chuckle.

It must have struck a chord with Eddie, because he’s suddenly running at you, and hoisting you into the air like a rag doll. “You’re fucking incredible!” He exclaims, and your friends all murmur in agreement. “Merry Christmas, love of mine.”

The rest of the gifts are exchanged with ease. You receive a studded belt from Robin, a new denim jacket from Steve, a copy of Ariel by Sylvia Plath from Nancy, and a leather bound journal from Jonathan. You spend the rest of the night watching Christmas specials in your pajamas, the fire slowly dying as the night comes to a close.

-

You say your goodbyes to your friends around midnight, waving them off in their vehicles while Eddie stays behind to help you clean up. “I’d say that was a success!” You declare, closing your front door behind Jonathan, and flicking the porch light off.

“Best celebration I’ve had, though that’s not saying much.” Eddie slides the cookies into a tupperware, and places the plate into the dishwasher.

You frown at his words. “What do you mean?”

He sighs, turning to you with a sad smile. “The holidays are hard. They’re usually lonely, Wayne and I never visit the family, we aren’t welcome anymore.”

You take a few steps toward your boyfriend, reaching your arms out for him. He meets you in the middle, letting you wrap yourself around his waist. “You’re always welcome here, we’re having a family dinner tomorrow. I'd love to have you and Wayne over.” You look up to examine his reaction. “Why aren’t you welcome? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“My mom left when I was a kid. Couldn’t take the way dear ole dad treated us, and didn’t have the means to take me with her. She promised me she’d come back, and she used to send me letters every year. My dad would hide them, get rid of them, whatever, so she stopped writing. Turns out, his family sided with him, even after I tried to tell them what he’d done to us. They blame me for the way he is, and they don’t like Wayne because he chose me over them. Good riddance.” He seems to have convinced himself, but you see right through the hard shell. He misses his family, and it stings to hear him talk so sadly about them.

“Eddie,” You whisper, not wanting to stir the air too much. “You know it’s not your fault, right?”

He meets your eyes, his own still set in the sad puppy expression you’ve come to adore. His smile falters, though. “Im never gonna believe that. But enough about me, huh? I wanna come tomorrow, truly, but… is your grandmother coming?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, letting him change the subject for now. “unfortunately. But I’ll have my dad talk to her, I'm not gonna let her ruin the holiday.”

“I promise to behave. I can’t speak for Wayne, though.” He kisses your forehead, turning back to the dishes, humming his song under his breath. “I can’t believe you wrote this.” Eddie muses, and you aren’t sure you hear him right. “I mean, I can. I definitely can, but for me, I mean.” His cheeks turn red.

“Why not?” You frown, trying not to let the words hurt your heart.

“I’m still not really used to this whole thing where I’m in love, I guess.”

Your frown deepens and you step closer to him, feeling the warmth radiating from his tense body. He watches you, frozen against the kitchen counter. “Well get used to it, Munson. You’re stuck with me for the foreseeable future.” You lift yourself onto your toes and plant a kiss on his pouty lips. “Now let’s go upstairs so I can show you just how special you are.”

-

chapter xiv

taglist @children-of-the-grave @five-bi-five @wiildflower-xxx @beebeerockknot @champagne-glamour || send a message to be added🫶

#stranger things 4 #stranger things fan fiction #strangerthingscentral #stranger things #new kid fic #fluff #angst #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader #gn!reader #steve harrington #robin buckley #dustin henderson #nancy wheeler #mike wheeler #will byers #max mayfield #eleven #jonathan byers #lucas sinclair #erica sinclair

[candied-cae]

And Who Are We At The End Of The World? - Please, Be Gentle with My Breaks - 1

Chapter 16/? - - - Read it on AO3

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16] [17] [18] [19] [20]

Word Count: 5,204

Summary: There's a difference between being broken and having a few breaks. But a lot of these kids and been dealt a lot of blows, and not just from physical monsters of the Upside Down. There's stuff hidden just under the surface that they haven't been able to show just yet.

More ST Fics

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“And in a shocking turn of events, there’s a new story coming from southern Indiana to explain the strange occurrences that have been captivating viewers in recent days. With Hawkins’ own Nancy Wheeler running it.”

The news reporter spoke from behind the studio desk. Lifting up a copy of the very newspaper she was referring to as she read,” ‘The Truth to the Hawkins’ Murders: Eddie Munson’s Impossible Innocence.’ This article explains the convoluted web that led the small-town community to believe one of their own was guilty of a crime he was actually only a witness to. Edward Munson, Eddie, a senior at the high school who runs his own club and plays guitar in a local band, was the victim of a city-wide manhunt as the citizens looked to find justice. His crime? Wandering a little off the beaten path - or being sort of strange, by most folks’ standards - argues Nancy Wheeler.”

An image of Nancy, the school picture taken for the yearbook, appeared on the screen.

“The teenager herself is an honors student, the head of the school paper, and considered one of the town’s most promising young minds. She describes her own investigation, during which she questioned the suspect, his guardian, police officers, and even serves herself as one of many alibis accounting for Eddie Munson’s whereabouts while he was in hiding. She even writes a profile on the subject with comments from local figures including teachers and even the returned ex-chief of police, Jim Hopper, who many believed to be dead until today. Wheeler details the testimony she passed on to the police that they went on to verify against physical evidence. And, as of just earlier this morning, that testimony and the findings in the field have been used to officially strike Eddie Munson as a suspect in the crimes. The current Police Chief, Powell, explained the department’s side of things in further detail during their press release this morning, which we’ll run momentarily, but if you’re looking for more background on what exactly happened, per the people themselves, look no further than a local newspaper stand or try the collections bins outside the Hawkins High School to read these students’ own accounts of what has to be one of the worst Spring Breaks anyone’s ever had. Now onto the footage from this morning’s release…”

Following the mention of Nancy’s article, they played the news team’s recording of Powell outside the police station. Many camera crews had gathered and questions were being thrown at him from every direction. By the end of his statement, there was a little more clarity on “what really happened.” At least as far as the general public was allowed to know about.

The good news rang through thousands of homes that morning. There would still be some objections, of course. People would point to him being a known dealer as proof that he was no good. And Chrissy’s parents didn’t like the truth that she’d been looking to buy drugs that Friday night. Jason’s didn’t like the idea that he’d been the volatile one instead of the town freak. Patrick’s parents had been heartbroken to hear he’d gotten swept up in something too fast and turned on when he tried to walk away.

Most of the popular folks and those close to them didn’t want to accept the “slander” against the people in their inner circle.

But at the end of the day, it was just a couple dozen people and their opinions. Legally, Eddie was home free. The cops closed the case. And if anyone wanted to cause him any real trouble on their own… well, they had a Party that regularly kicks interdimensional ass they’d have to get through first. And they’d be hard-pressed to find lawyers to push a case like this one. Safe to say, it wouldn’t be very easy for anyone to harass him or do worse, if they were so inclined. He had people watching his back.

And one of the households that caught the news running that morning had been the Wheeler’s.

Ted was reclined in the living room in front of the TV while Karen whisked around the kitchen getting breakfast laid out. Holly and Amber were giggling back and forth on the couch between whispers and pointed fingers. Holly sat between Nancy’s legs while the older sister braided her long blonde pigtails, with promises made to the guest that she’d be next, of course. Amber’s parents had been downstairs on the phone all morning, still talking to family and insurance, making plans for how they’ll come back from their share of the disaster.

As the reporter referred to her article, Nancy could hardly believe it. Even when she said her name, it still didn't seem real. But then her picture appeared, and Holly turned around in her hands to look up at her sister, matching the face on the screen to the one sitting behind her. Nancy smiled and scrunched up her nose, leaning in close to her face and swiping little butterfly kisses between the tips of their noses as the girl erupted into further fits of laughter. And that felt real. Holly saw it too.

"Did they say 'Nancy Wheeler'?" Karen called from the kitchen, pride painting her voice.

Ted didn’t say anything.

He watched the news, cast his gaze her way, and continued watching. Didn’t say “sorry” for assuming she didn’t know what she was talking about. Ted Wheeler didn’t really do that sort of thing. But he saw it.

"They did! They did!" Holly sang joyfully instead.

And maybe Nancy felt smug as she tied off her hair band and tickled her sides before the girls switched places.

They did. They said her name, said she was right, and people knew about it. Ted knew just like the rest of them, even if he wasn’t going to admit it.

From the days of “Nancy Drew” only being allowed to run lunch orders to having her name recognized by a real news organization… the latter was a way better feeling.

She did that. While not exactly all on her own, she did that with her own two hands. There wasn’t anyone who told her what to do along the way, no one to steal the credit for the story she hunted down. She found the truth, and even if that wasn’t exactly what she could publish, with what she could she helped someone who deserved it.

She’d thank Robin, of course. And also Steve, Hopper, Powell, Jonathan, and Argyle. Vickie too, she supposed. They all helped make it happen.

But before any of that, she wanted to show it off to the person it was all about.

She ate breakfast with their household carefully crowded around the dining room table. After Mike wandered down from his bedroom sporting a messy bedhead and joined them, that is. But afterward, she’d decided that she needed to see the subject of her biggest story yet.

Nancy arrived at the hospital to find Eddie comfortably laid out in his bed, flicking the channels on the tv with an expression of mild boredom on his face. She slipped into the room quietly and threw down the paper onto his chest. Perching herself in the chair next to him before he’d even looked over to see who came in through the door. His eyes fell to the thin stack of paper on his sternum. Setting down the remote and picking them up with a quick look over the title. A grin spread across his face.

He’d caught the news story before he started looking for more entertaining television, and now he had the real thing right in front of him.

“So there it is…” he mused, a finger running under his name in big, bold print.

“There it is.” Nancy echoed, watching the way his eyes ran down it, taking it all in, not yet reading it word-for-word.

“It’s smaller than I thought it would be. It’s such a big deal, thought it’d be like twenty pages long.”

“If I made it that long and no one would read it,” Nancy told him. It was a big story with so many moving parts to overlap just right. It could’ve easily been longer. But even the few pages it took up between the pictures felt like quite a lot.

“I don’t know…” Eddie hummed, flicking the corner of the paper,” Suspect of a triple- quadruple- whatever murder seems like a pretty interesting read. I think you coulda gotten away with padding it out a little. I mean, was there even room to mention my sick, lifesaving guitar skills?”

“Oh yeah, don’t worry, we squeezed in an ad on the back for your little band.” She nodded.

Eddie’s eyes lit up and he quickly flipped the paper over in his hands. Disbelief and shock colored his voice as he started,“ You did not-”

Nancy couldn’t help the teasing chuckle at his disappointed expression when he met the end of the article, no real mention of Corroded Coffin,“ You’re right, I didn’t.”

“Ohhhh…” he dropped the paper onto his lap,” That was a mean, mean trick, Wheeler.”

“I needed the laugh.” She sighed, her eyes catching on his IV before she asked,“ How’re you feeling?”

“Patched up. Not really looking forward to duking it out in the next big battle, but I would like to get back to my leisurely days in the Shire at this point. So, bring on the army. Let’s get ‘er done.”

“Well, we still have prep to do. We’re going to try to do a better job than we did last time.”

“What’s the plan?”

“We’re still putting one together. I’ve been told Murray is making a mess of Steve’s spare bedroom with papers pinned along every wall trying to sort something out. But before we can do any of that, we need to make sure you’ll have your back covered. Need your favorite song.” She nodded, once more reaching for the notebook tucked in her purse with the rest of the list.

“Oh. That makes sense.” Eddie only barely nodded in turn.

“It does. So, hand it over. We need everyone geared up with headphones to make sure our big bad doesn’t get anyone else like he did…”

A quiet came up between them. Max had just been moved into Eddie’s room that morning before her mom had to go to her job. Eddie told Susan he’d keep an eye on her, along with all the other people who’d probably stop by over and over again until she woke up. Nancy took a peak past him at the girl in her bed. “Make sure he doesn’t get anyone like he did Max” was the sentence that went unfinished.

“Favorite song, huh…”

Nancy bristled and looked back at him, clicking her pen to refocus,“ Yes? What’ll be yours?”

“I don’t know…” he mumbled into his hand,” How does someone pick just one favorite song anyway?”

“Just, whatever seems right for you.” She gave a light wave of her hand.

“But there’s so much that would go into a decision like this, Nancy!” he burst out.

“Okay, Eddie, it doesn’t need to be that big of a deal. You can have a couple different options on the lineup, I’m pretty sure we’re all gonna squeeze as many of our favorites on our own tape as we can. But we do need your best guess to make sure someone can help you if they need to.”

Eddie remembered the fear that hit the seven of them when Nancy just stopped answering. They scrambled and panicked and yelled through his trailer, without any clue what to use to help. Feeling so helpless and terrified. Thinking they were about to lose one of their own, right when they thought they were safe. It was up there with facing down the tornado of demobats as being one of the scariest moments of his life.

He knew it was important to pick one. But knowing it was so serious made it even harder to choose. Because what if he got it wrong?

“But, I mean, do I want to pick one of my favorites that I’ve loved for a long time? Like should I pick something from my childhood- is nostalgia gonna help me in this case? Or one I’m really into right now? And this is going to be my soundtrack for charging into war, so maybe I wanna pick one that has a good vibe for that. Or is it more important that it’s something that’ll bliss me out, rather than rev me up? Or-”

“Eddie-”

“Okay! What about- What songs did everyone else pick? How’s the team mixtape shaping up already?”

It didn’t really make sense. What everyone else was going to listen to didn’t really matter for what he should decide on. The “team mixtape” didn’t need to mesh well together.

Nancy shook her head with the thought, but began to answer him anyway,” Well, your little mini-me said he liked ‘Highway to Hell’ because of the cassette you lent him.”

And as if that was the most important topic of conversation - not finding his own savior song - Eddie’s head cocked to the side slightly.

“He did?”

“Yeah? Is something wrong with that?”

He wondered to himself,“ No, I just… I know he’s still getting into my stuff, but I didn’t really peg him for that one. At least not as, like, a favorite or anything.”

Nancy shrugged and continued,“ Well, Dustin and Lucas made more romantic picks. Stuff that reminds them of their girls, of course.”

“Alright, fair enough for those two lovesick nerds, and what’d you choose, Wheeler?”

His whole face quirked up into a strange expression when she answered. Like even more than he didn’t believe Mike Wheeler really liked the AC/DC track, he didn’t believe Nancy Wheeler really liked ‘Take My Breath Away.’

He eventually asked her to clarify,“ You mean that love song from Top Gun?”

“Yeah. What? I like Tom Cruise.” She gave a joking huff and continued when his face didn’t really settle,” Okay, now what?”

“I don’t know. Guess I was just expecting something else.”

Eddie considered it to himself. Sure, Nancy Wheeler, the one he saw around the halls of the high school, would like a love song aimed at her favorite celebrity crush. But Nancy Wheeler, the one that led a campaign through desolate wastelands and commanded her team to make it back home? Twice? Was it really just a slow, drawn-on love song that made that girl feel… alive? Or fulfilled? Impassioned?

He wasn’t sure he bought it. And maybe he should have, because they’ve barely interacted before he was on the lam. But, in the time he’s spent near her since, in the time he’s had to see her exist in a different way than she usually did… well, he became sure that there was more to her than that.

“Maybe you don’t know your Wheelers as well as you thought.” She hummed,” Well? Have you been inspired?”

Eddie picked back up the newspaper and thumbed at the front page. Under his name was a picture of him. Blown up from the ones they’d taken of all the Hellfire members at the beginning of the school year to advertise the club. It wasn’t the one where he tried to look tough, it wasn’t the one where he tried to look wild, it wasn’t even the one where he’d been smiling so stiffly for five minutes that his cheeks hurt because no one would stay still for a clear shot.

It was the one where he turned to the side, looked at Jeff making a dumb face, and laughed so hard he had to brace himself on Bruce’s shoulder. His whole face was getting red because he couldn’t even breathe.

It was a good one. Genuine laughter and joy instead of the character he often played up. “The Freak” was someone he’d grown to know pretty well since it was given a name. But sometimes it felt like he lost track of the other stuff. Sometimes it felt like he barely knew the real guy printed on that page. What was that guy’s favorite song? He honestly wasn’t sure.

Nancy followed his gaze to the image of his own open mouth smile, eyes scrunched up by his flushed cheeks. And in some strange way, she knew what sort of thing he was feeling. Because maybe she knew how it felt to be so unsure of who was really smiling in all her pictures.

“Well…” she broke the silence that had bloomed between them again,” I guess if you need a little longer to figure it out, we don’t plan to waltz back into the Upside Down tonight or anything. But you can’t procrastinate. Because, if Venca comes back before we’re ready for him, you’re not going on the battlefield without a lifeline.”

“Aye, aye, Captain,” he gave her a stiff salute, which she returned with another roll of her eyes.

The two of them ended up chatting a little longer. Nancy had only really planned on stopping by for a bit and then heading off to help the rest of the gang fix up Hop’s cabin, but she found it surprisingly easy to talk to Eddie. They hadn’t really spoken at all before Spring Break, and they hadn’t had any time during to see how well they got along... but turns out, they did.

Plus he did need to know the school’s plans. There were calls rung around town about starting classes back up on Monday. That was news he was a little less eager to hear. Compared to an article trying to repair public opinion of him, returning to the halls of Hawkins High School wasn’t an exciting thought.

He let out a groan and scrubbed his hands down his face,” Shit… I was kinda hoping they’d just call the whole year a wash and let everyone graduate anyway…”

“Come on, it’s just a couple more weeks to push through, and then we’ll all be out of there. Should be way easier than saving the world as an extracurricular.”

“For you, it might be. I’m sure with your stellar grades you could practically check out for finals and still pass just fine.”

“Well, that’s exaggerating a little bit-”

“Whereas, I’m going to have to bust ass between demon fights to even scrape by.” Eddie dramatically slumped back into the bed,” Fuck, man. This next month and a half are gonna be so awful, I’ll actually be able to say it was worse than hell on Earth.”

Nancy looked at him wallowing in his woes for a second before she wondered,“ So why don’t we get through it together?”

Very quickly, Eddie sprang back up a few inches,“ What?”

“Well, I’m still waiting for your answer on what your favorite song is, and it’s always easier to study with someone else there. More fun too. So, surely we can pull each other through finals and safely into graduation.”

“I feel like you’re signing up for the lion’s share of pulling, Wheeler.” Eddie pointed out.

She just raised an eyebrow at him,“ Are you saying no?”

“No! I am not saying no. Nancy Wheeler helping me drag myself through Ms. O’Donnell’s end-of-year essay sounds like way better odds than I was previously rocking with.”

“Oh… you’re stuck in Ms. O’Donnell’s?” Nancy’s voice pitched with pure sympathy. The woman was pretty well known as the one English teacher to avoid getting assigned to if students wanted to pass their classes and have any kind of social life over the last quarter of the year.

“Yup.” Eddie popped the “p” and knocked his head to the side,” I tried to get ‘em to move me into Mr. Fitzpatrick’s instead - you’d think on a third go around they could throw a guy a bone - but the front office still put the witch on my schedule anyway.”

“But you’ll get through it this time,” Nancy assured him. And there was just something about seeing Nancy Wheeler declare such a thing. She seemed so sure about it that he just kind of had to believe her.

But Eddie still shrugged,“ If I don’t, you can just let me bleed out on the battlefield this time. No, siree, I’ve been swearing for years now that I’m going to flip off the principal when I walk across the stage, so Eddie Munson isn’t coming back at all if he can’t shove it to Higgins at the end of all this bullshit.”

“Deal.”

“Deal.”

It was a little bit morbid. To joke about leaving him for dead the next time considering it was such a close call to get him back at all. But it was funny, and Nancy needed the laugh. Somewhere along the way she ended up saying the "thank you" she’d thought about when she was sure it was over for them. For giving Mike a safer place to be a freak, where he wouldn't get hurt. Eddie laughed and said he didn’t do much. He was just some guy who prowled the halls for the other nerds he could snatch up.

Nancy named it a noble calling.

They both laughed some more.

Nancy ended up at Hop’s Cabin with the rest of the crew to get to work later.

She’d been set with Jonathan to work on covering up the empty windows - they planned to get the glass replaced down the road. The kids were mostly unpacking the house of all its items and broken furniture, throwing it out into the clearing in front. El was organizing the things that survived, and Will swept out the dusty, dirtied floors. Argyle had apparently spent much of the morning wandering around the wooded vicinity and exploring the local foliage. But since then, he’d taken t looking over the scrap pieces and making claims like “Yeah, yeah, I could make something work with this…” Seeming to think he was going to rebuild a whole family’s worth of home decor from the trimmings left behind by the meat monster.

Murray was sitting on a box, tugging at wires and making notes of the setup running through the house. Fussing over the electrical while Hopper worked on getting running water out of more than just the kitchen sink. And by the time Robin and Steve finally rolled around after looking over things at Family Video, most of the working day was done. Excuses of well-worn backs from cleaning up the store and figuring out how to run the place filled the air as they leaned against the wall and watched Joyce and Jim bicker about if the shower pipe was actually rusted stuck or just not being wrenched hard enough.

As the sun began to set around them, folks made their goodbyes and started heading back for home again. The boys had plans to go call the other Hellfire members and visit Eddie and Max the next morning. Erica vowed she’d be there too, but Will and El said they’d help Steve and Robin finish sorting the tapes on the shelves and mailing back the ones corporate was supposed to send a list for. And they'd carry all the supplies they were going to buy at Radio Shack for Murray’s idea of combining radio comms with the cassette players. Dustin also wanted to get in on the action with developing, much to Murray's protest.

When Steve and the rest of his houseguests drove up towards his house, there was already another car in the driveway. Two people stood outside on the concrete, their backs to the street, looking up at the house number over the front door while holding a map out in front of them. They both turned around as soon as they heard the beamer and pizza van begin to roll into their usual parking spots and not merely pass the house on the corner lot by.

The taller of the two had to be in his thirties or forties. Short, dirty blonde hair and a defined mustache over his lips, dressed in loose-fitting jeans, boots, and a peach-colored tee-shirt that said “Grand Canyon, 1986” over his slightly muscular build. The shorter of the two was clearly a teenager. He had a curly mop of lighter blonde and was leaner. Sporting light wash denim shorts and a black long-sleeve top, printed with a stylized landscape of, assumably, the Grand Canyon in shades of terracotta orange and red.

The two of their eyes watched him pull into place before they looked at the car behind him. Hopper rolled down his window and shouted out “THERE YOU TWO ARE!” in joyful greeting. The older man’s lips immediately curled into a smile. Haphazardly closing the map and throwing it into the seat of their car, stepping up to those just arriving.

“Almost thought you’d given us faulty directions, American. No one answered the door.” He’d said, thick Eastern European accent on display as he approached.

Hop climbed out of the van and fired back,“ I have a life now that I’m out from behind bars, don’t you know?”

As the stranger laughed, they closed the distance with a quick hug. The kind where they both smacked a hand on the other’s back before they parted. Kind of like old friends, but more like brothers of war. Which is closer to what they were to each other, in some sort of way.

“I take it you made it over okay?” Hopper asked him, casting a look at the boy standing just behind him.

“Oh, yes, it was a smooth drive from California,” he assured,” No speeding, no policemen. But perhaps we made a stop or two along the way. We are first-timers to the country, after all. Said we should ‘see the sights’ while we had chance to.”

“Didn’t think defeating monsters beyond all conceivable horror was a good enough reason to get here as urgently as possible?” Murray questioned the man with crossed arms and a judgmental tone.

“What? If the monsters ended up no big deal, figured you’d have the problem all cleaned up by time we arrived. Otherwise, you’d still be in trouble, and I help out now. You all look fine as I last saw you, so first option?”

Hop scoffed,” Like it’d be that easy.”

Eventually, they all run through the necessary introductions; Dmitri and Mikhail to Steve, Will, and El. They all helped unpack what was really Joyce’s car that’d been stuffed with more clothes and personal effects for the journey across half the country. Boxes and bags were loaded into the house along with a tour to the second guest bedroom that the father and son would be sharing in the meantime, while Karen’s provided lasagna started getting reheated in the oven.

They ran through updates about what had been figured out over the last few days and gathered around the dining room for dinner.

Maybe about twenty minutes into casual getting-to-know-each-other topics, Steve thought about music.

“Oh, we’ll need to make sure we have songs for you two too. Nancy’ll want to know-” but then a thought occurred to him that he hadn’t really considered before,” Wait… did you guys even have music over there?” Joyce, Jim, and Murray had mentioned all the sorts of stuff their smuggler had at the warehouse - peanut butter being treated like a controlled substance seemed ridiculous - so how much did they have?

Immediately, Dmitri’s expression fell. He set his fork down on the plate and put his hands together. He was quiet for a moment, but when he spoke again it seemed like his accent was heavier, more sullen than it had been just a minute before.

“Oh no. In Soviet Union, we have no songs. Only national anthem.” He’d said, English more broken and stunted than Steve had heard from him throughout the evening.

Next to him, Mikhail piped up.

“Only national anthem,” he repeated from his father,” Is only song I ever heard in whole life. They made sure, for propaganda to take. Only fascist tune, otherwise peasant revolt.”

Steve was stunned to hear such a thing,“ Wow… that’s…”

But then Dmitri and Mikhail’s grim faces began to break under the pressure. Smiles bubbled up and broke through the surface as they both started snickering.

“Wait a minute…” Steve narrowed his eyes.

“Yes, little American, that was a joke.” Dmitri admitted as the rest of the table fell into laughter around them,” We had music back there. They only tightened up on such things in recent years. I myself much enjoyed The Beatles. Had many albums back home. Mikhail always said I played them too much-”

“Because you did-” the boy tried to point out.

“And you liked tempting fate, nearly trying to get in trouble. He liked the rebellious things. Always running off or sneaking away to some secret concert in those- those rock revolutionaries' circles. Lucky he never actually got caught at any.”

“I am quick on my feet,” the kid said with a hint of a cocky attitude.

Must’ve performed that stunt enough times that he thought he was invincible, but his dad knew much better than that. Dmitri ruffled his hair and told him not to act like a big man when he was still a child. Mikhail rolled his eyes and shoved his dad’s hand away.

They seemed good. Steve hadn’t admitted the thought to anyone, but he’d been a little worried. Russians in their town again, one that used to be a prison warden… it could’ve been familiar. People talked about that kind of stuff, soldiers being shellshocked and triggered even after they made it home. Even if Steve was safe in his house, surrounded by people he knew wouldn’t just let something happen to him, it could’ve made the memories too fresh again. Brought back nightmares he thought he laid to rest.

But, thankfully, so much between Dmitri and Mikhail was different from the bowels of the Starcourt Mall. He met them outside, basked in the warm sunset glow, wearing touristy clothes and smiling with sincerity. It wasn’t like being trapped, inside cold walls and dim lights, surrounded by uniforms and cruel expressions. Steve wasn’t starving and covered in drying blood. Steve wasn’t alone, or thinking that someone was going to die because of him.

It was very, very different. And that made it all the easier to be in. To laugh and joke, because it didn’t feel the same.

And while they might’ve not been able to find the same artists Mikhail had enjoyed back there, they started making plans to get him some stuff to listen to by musicians they had playing in the States. Maybe Eddie’s tapes would be making all the rounds, or maybe he’d like the kind of songs some other member of The Party held on to. They’d just have to explore.

So Mikhail was assigned the homework of playing through tapes like a wine tasting, and Dmitri was going to help with things around the house and Hopper’s cabin.

#This is going to be 'please be gentle with my breaks' part 1 of 3! #We're taking a minute to focus on all of our older teens - letting them bond - and exploring some of the deeper parts of them #And we're kicking it off with some more of that Eddie & Nancy blooming best friendism #I just love their dynamics so much and have SO MANY plans for them #And a shoutout to one of my irl besties for the “we only know the national anthem” joke #She said it while I was telling her about my plans for this fic and it was so funny I had to put it in. #And we'll continue to see some more of the Russians in the background! #Btw - I'm roughly picturing Jeremy Sumpter in Peter Pan (2003) as Mikhail #If that's helpful at all #Next chapter is going to be another Eddie-centric one #But with Steve instead! #Steve Harrington #Eddie Munson #Steddie #Steveddie #Steve x Eddie #Nancy Wheeler #Robin Buckney #Ronance #Robin x Nancy #The Fruity Four #Stranger Things #Stranger Things 4 #Stranger Things 4 spoilers #Stranger Things 4 volume 2 spoilers

[wearealive]

parameddic asked: [ FIND ]  for sender to rescue receiver after they’ve been tortured.

this field came with risks: connor knew that. police officers, detectives, interrogators: they weren't well-liked by the general public, and especially by criminals. they were easy targets for violence. they worked with dangerous people on a day-to-day basis. this is why it was critical to always have a partner. sometimes, unfortunately, it just wasn't enough.

nancy was dead. shot with her own service weapon the moment she tried to pull it on the suspect. that was twenty eight days ago. she was left behind when robert fled with connor. her body was found within the hour. connor had been reported missing by the DPD four weeks ago. the main suspect, robert hardin, was nowhere to be found. he'd returned home to austin without a trace: new hair and style. new car. new name (ethan coltrain, his alias during his short stay in detroit). it was fool-proof, or so he thought.

connor stayed primarily in the basement, only allowed to come upstairs for short periods of time. he stayed obedient at first, in hopes of trying to keep himself alive while waiting to be found. but days passed. then weeks. by the third week, he was becoming impatient. truly scared that he'd never be found. that's when he started to fight back, which proved to be a near-fatal mistake.

things had gotten especially bad over the past 48 hours. connor had nearly made it out, but ran face-first into robert when he opened the front door. he got one breath of fresh air before he was grabbed by the throat and slammed into the wall with enough force to knock him out on impact. when he woke up, the first sensation he noticed was itchiness — rope was tied around both wrists, arms restrained to a steel pipe behind him. a piece of cloth tied around his mouth. it's like something out of a movie, connor thinks. did this shit actually happen to people?

the longer he goes without food and water, the harder it is to stay awake. he conserves all of his energy for when robert comes downstairs. his neck aches from hanging down, but he can no longer really hold it up. one last attempt at escaping leaves connor bruised and bloody - it's when he accepts his fate. he's not getting out of this. he just holds onto hope that he'll go quickly. that he doesn't feel anything.

connor is asleep when he hears the first round of gunfire. he opens his eyes into blackness. it must be late. the shots sound close. very close. a sudden burst of adrenaline courses through him, arms pulling and legs kicking in a futile attempt at breaking free. ❝ help me! ❞ the young man tries, but the cloth is still secured over his mouth. another minute passes and there's a second round. things grow silent upstairs. it feels like an eternity before the basement door is kicked open and connor is struck with a blinding light, strong enough to make him lose his sight entirely for a minute or so. all he can hear is footsteps, a voice that sounds... angry? demanding? it isn't robert, but connor isn't really coherent enough to tell the difference. he tucks his head into his shoulder and screams, kicking at the individual in front of him.

#torture tw #death mention tw #kidnapped tw #idk why i wrote all this you really just need the last paragraph lolol #parameddic #shooting tw #gun tw #tldr; connor basically kidnapped. taken to austin. held in a basement. police find robert and shoot him upstairs. TK finds him downstairs. #connor kicks this shit out of TK lol

[harmonictechnicality]

(a steddie/ronance The Holiday au)

Eddie drags a stool into frame and sits down onto it. “So… are we doing this?”

“Yeah.” Nancy takes a deep breath. “We’re doing this.”

“So, when would you be available to get out of the city?”

“My vacation days start tomorrow… is that to soon?”

Eddie scrunches his face. “Tomorrow would be great. But…”

“But?”

“Last minute plane tickets are high-key expensive. Especially New York to LA.”

Nancy taps her foot, thinking this over. She was on the debate team in high school, so she’s pretty good at striking deals with people. 

“How about this.” She starts, pulling out her iPad. Opening up the calendar app.

“If you’re willing to throw in an extra full day, I’ll purchase your plane ticket. Round-trip.”

Eddie shakes his head. “No way, I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You didn’t ask me. I’m offering.” 

“I don’t even know you.”

“So?”

“So? Nancy, that’s too generous.”

Nancy huffs, blowing her bangs in every direction. This guy is stubborn, but Nancy Wheeler wrote the goddamn manual on Stubbornness.

“Listen, Eddie. I need this vacation, okay? And something tells me that you need this vacation just as much as I do.”

”And look, I don’t take pleasure in talking about my financial situation, but buying you a plane ticket is not going to empty my bank account by any means. In fact, it’ll barely knick the surface, okay?”

Eddie stays quietly engaged in her persuasive rant.

“So if you let me check out of your place on the 27th instead of the 26th, then I’ll lose no sleep buying you that ticket. Does that sound fair?”

Eddie narrows his eyes, smirking to one side of his mouth. “Are you in politics or some shit?”

“Not politics.” Nancy rolls her eyes and laughs. “But I am a reporter, so I guess some shit definitely applies to my field of work.”

Eddie joins her laughter. “Well.. you drive a hard bargain, Nancy.”

“Does that mean we have ourselves a deal?”

“Hell yeah. We have ourselves a deal, all right.”

Nancy mutes herself to squeal for half a second. 

“So tomorrow?” She confirms.

“Book it and I’ll be there.”

They hang up the call after exchanging contact information. Nancy is already throwing clothes into an oversized suitcase, humming a Hall & Oates song to herself.

‘I deserve this,' she says under her breath. Clutching her favorite winter scarf that she finally has an excuse to wear.

No job obligations. No family plans. No boyfriend.

‘I deserve to be unabashedly me for one whole week.’

(The completed fic is now up on ao3 if you want to get in the festive spirit 💚❤️)

#steddie #ronance #steddie fic #ronance fic #fruity four #christmas fic #romantic comedy au #veryyyy fluffy and smooch heavy #everyone is half-baked cookie-gooey in this fic

[conniejoworld]

A reckless Trump put U.S. in danger At the CIA, we were careful with national secrets. The former president wasn’t. By NANCY ROSENBERG In the 1990s, I worked as an editor for the Central Intelligence Agency, where I was tasked with ensuring that intelligence briefs, including the President’s Daily Brief, met rigorous publication standards. In orientation, I learned that often the most mundane facts are very highly classified, not because of the content, but because of the way that information was obtained. This is what is meant by “sources and methods.” For example, the fact that an adversarial world leader had pancakes for breakfast would be classified at the highest level, not because of the pancakes, but because the knowledge of that fact meant that our intelligence community had someone in the room with him as he ate. We also learned that certain locations were known to be popular targets and hangouts of foreign intelligence agents. We were told to avoid certain restaurants in the vicinity of the headquarters at Langley, where foreign agents liked to eat lunch and try to overhear conversations from nearby patrons. It is well known in the intelligence field that Mar-a-Lago has been a target for years, with members buying their way onto the property and afforded easy access to … well, you know. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to imagine adversaries sneaking into rooms and photographing what we now know are some of our country’s most valued secrets. Reports of the contents of the indictment against former President Donald Trump have made my stomach churn with the sickening realization that so many of our country’s friends and allies, as well as our own brave agents, have been compromised by the very person who should have done the most to protect them. The cavalier nature of his handling of these documents means that he either did not know, or did not care, about what that information means. For years, we watched as highly decorated military and intelligence leaders tried in vain to corral Trump. In 2017, one day after he fired FBI Director James Comey, we watched helplessly as a jovial Trump was photographed with Russian Foreign Minister Sergey Lavrov and Russian Ambassador Sergey Kislyak in the Oval Office. We later learned that Trump revealed code-word intelligence during that meeting that had not even been shared with our closest allies. Later meetings with Russian President Vladimir Putin, Chinese President Xi Jinping, North Korean leader Kim Jong Un and Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdogan were tinged with unease in the intelligence community as the president was known to play fast and loose with vital government secrets. The ease with which Trump glad-handed adversarial world leaders was alarmingly compounded by his disdain for our own military and intelligence leaders. One by one, we watched as he denigrated John McCain, John Brennan, James Comey, James Clapper, Jim Mattis — men who have honorably served our country for decades, and who sounded the alarm time and again that Trump was reckless and dangerous. For years, I have stood by helplessly and watched as people I know and love have turned a blind eye to this behavior and this set of facts. They readily accept this “flawed vessel” because of the goods he has delivered, including hundreds of federal judges and a Supreme Court they like. Pointing out Trump’s egregious flaws has seemed only to reinforce their commitment, which feels like a bizarre cult of personality with deadly consequences. Can they now hear what is being said? Can they finally understand the danger and risk to our most valuable assets? I pray that special counsel Jack Smith can lay it out in a way that can finally be heard. Dallas therapist and writer Nancy Rosenberg worked for the CIA from 1990 to 1998. She wrote this column for The Dallas Morning News.