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#the holy trek trinity

1shirt2shirtredshirtdeadshirt · 2 years

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Back at it again at the Krispy Kreme The Motion Picture Novel. AKA The Slash Bible.

The first (canonical) mention of Spock being mind bonded to Kirk occurs when Spock is getting called out by the Vulcan Elders during Kolinahr.

Elder T'sai mind melds with Spock to begin the ceremony, but she uncovers Jim's thoughts running through Spock's mind in the process. She can hear Jim's thoughts on Vulcan from Earth through their bond.

Hence the discovery that Spock has a canonical mind bond with James T Kirk:

Later on the Enterprise, Spock finds himself having to confess the mind bond when confronted by Jim.

It makes sense why earlier in the passage, Spock makes a terse comment about McCoy being there and wishing to have some privacy alone with Jim. (Oh my God).

Spock relents, talking in private with Jim and Bones. Jim won't leave him alone and is adamant for answers, so Spock is internally going "FUCK! I can't lie to him. Here goes it, then".

He ends up having to come clean and reveal to Jim (in front of Bones) that they are indeed Vulcan mind bonded.

The gag of the century.

Bonus: Them revealing to each other (and Bones) that they were nonstop thinking about each other and Jim is all "Yeah, so I guess I sort of got used to not having to function without you and got to needing you. Whoops LOL my bad":

Double Bonus: McCoy serving "how dare you come crawling back here after devastating our boay, he's desperate for God's sake just look at him" sassy Southern Doctor and 100% threw Spock under the bus for failing Kolinahr because of Jim Kirk.

Spock: We're mind bonded fyi, totes casual just thought you should know, not like it only happens to soulmates or anything, no big deal just keep it chill OMG Stay OUT of my PERSONAL LIFE, CAPTAIN.

McCoy: Why couldn't Spock respond to him? Kirk could hardly risk begging . . .*McCoy, salty on behalf of Jim* "Emotion, Spock? . . . Is it possible you failed?"

(Goddamn Leonard Horatio McCoy you didn't have to smoke our guy so hard)

McCoy really snapped off and called Spock out on his feelings when talking to Jim like, "this is what you get for hurting our boay. Don't let me catch you slippin' again."

Heard your Jim Kirk boner got you kicked out of the Kolinahr there, brother. Don't get to acting big like it didn't. McCoy absolutely slaps Spock down a peg for Jim and I live.

In conclusion: James T. Kirk and Spock are canonically mind bonded and came out in front of Bones, who was a sassy bitch about the whole affair as usual.

Source: Star Trek The Motion Picture Novel by Gene Roddenberry.

(AKA the Sacred Text AKA Receipts AKA The Slash Bible AKA no really, Gene Roddenberry just BOOM invented slash because he felt like it and dumped it on us all like that in one gigantic mic drop.)

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qhsnap · 2 years

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I am ABSOLUTELY OBSESSED with Seven of Nine. If any of you are out there rping her, PLEASE bring her to meeeee <3333

#ooc #i love her so much omg #if i hadn't already made Q i might have made her my Star Trek muse #or Julian Bashir #my holy trinity of weak spots <3

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tylermileslockett · 1 month

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The Sisters Graeae (#4 in my "Quest firnthe Gorgon Head" series)

As Perseus was the son of Zeus, the gods heard his prayers. Athena answered, offering strategic information on the only ones who knew the locations of the The Gorgon sisters, were in fact, another set of three sisters; the sisters Graeae. These are three gray haired old hags with swan like bodies, who share but one eye and tooth between them. Hermes, God of travelers and ally to mortals, also offered his guidance to the distant realm. After many weeks of difficult trekking, Perseus found himself on the island of Cisthene, in the craggy land of the sisters Graeae. Sneaking upon the women, he waited until they passed their one eye between them, snatching it away, and threatening to heave it into the sea. The Graeae gave in, revealing the location of the Gorgon sisters. But it would be no easy task. The gorgon sisters had golden wings, bronze hands, snakes for hair, and worst of all, their gazes turned men to stone. Perseus would need sacred weapons for such a mission. And, according to Athena, there was only one group who could provide them: the sea nymphs.

With the 3 sisters we can see the first of many examples of the “triple goddess” archetype in Old world mythology. Some are represented with one body and three forms (triple bodied Hekate) while most are three individuals. (i.e. “The Morai” (fates), “the Horai” (seasons) “The Furies,” “The Hesperides,”(graces) and “the Gorgons.”) We can see other examples from other ancient cultures, like the Norse “Norns” or the Christian holy trinity of the father, son, and holy spirit. Even Shakespeare, a student of Greek myth and poetry, chose three witches to prophecy to Macbeth.

Like this art? It will be in my illustrated book with over 130 other full page illustrations coming in June to kickstarter. to get unseen free hi-hes art subscribe to my email newsletter

Follow my backerkit kickstarter notification page.

Thank you for supporting independent artists! 🤘❤️🏛😁

#greekmythology #greekgods #pjo #mythology #classics #classicscommunity #myths #ancientgreece #danae #perseus #medusa #gorgon #classicliterature #classicnovels #tylermileslockett #greekmyths #darkmyths #darkfairytales

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pricelessemotion · 1 year

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Starstruck and Metal | E.M.

Summary: [4.3k] you meet eddie for the first time. it doesn't go quite like you expected.

Pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x fem!music journalist!reader

Warnings: none!

Notes: huge thank u to my bestie chuck for beta reading 🫶 also if you solve the crossword hint i love u

previous chapter | series masterlist | next chapter

InStereo magazine was not The Rolling Stones, but it was a start. The modest music magazine had a humble following, enough to earn some hums of recognition whenever someone made the mistake of asking what you did for a living. Most days, it’s great. You relish in the joy of working in a field some people only dream of entering. The leap from column writer to main article was a large one, but you insisted that you were ready. Your first assignment as a music journalist and of course you got stuck with Eddie fucking Munson.

Any self-respecting music journalist, anyone with some skin in the game would have laughed in the face of their editor. But instead, you smiled. You nodded enthusiastically, mimicking the bobblehead that has since been removed from your desk. When you decided to become a music journalist, you wanted to write about people who were changing the field. Instead, you were being tasked with writing some puff piece being used to save a wannabe rock star’s reputation. God forbid you gain the reputation of being a difficult woman–in a male-dominated industry no less–by turning down such a great opportunity.

Even if that opportunity included spending a day with Eddie fucking Munson.

You paid out of pocket for the cassette of Corroded Coffin’s debut album that was currently underscoring your drive to West Hollywood. You refused to meet the frontman without having listened to their music beforehand. They were good. A little rough around the edges, but it was to be expected. Outside of the occasional headlines, you hadn’t heard much about Eddie or his band. Corroded Coffin was making ripples, not waves. Of course, no one really cared about the music when they could be reading about who and what their lead vocalist was doing.

Still, you find yourself parking outside of a humble ranch-style home in a neighborhood full of similar housing that likely cost a fortune to live in. The modest proceeds from Corroded Coffin’s tour have obviously paid off, considering that nice area and affordable don’t usually exist in the same sentence when talking about LA housing. The June sun is beating down on the empty street, and you’re thankful that you decided to wear a T-shirt and jeans. You tell yourself that the sweat collecting on your brow is from the heat and not nerves.

Double-checking that you have the right address, you slam the door shut on your sedan and take a deep breath. The air feels cleaner here, less smoggy. You’re not sure if it’s because of the altitude or the tax bracket of the people who live here. Probably both. You reach into your purse and feel around for what you already know is inside. Pen. Notepad. Tape recorder. The holy trinity for a music journalist.

There were very few topics that Eddie wasn’t willing to talk about. You guess that when you’ve had your insides strewn across the pavement for everyone to see, you don’t bother trying to uphold any semblance of mystique. Beginning the daunting trek toward your assignment, you remind yourself of two things:

1) Don’t ask about his father

2) Don’t ask about what happened in Hawkins, Indiana in 1986

The first rule seemed simple enough. As far as the public was concerned, Eddie Munson came to Hawkins at the age of 12 to live with his Uncle Wayne like how a fully formed Venus sprang up from sea foam. He wasn’t and then he was. End of story. The fact that Eddie’s management went out of the way to make sure his father wasn’t brought up only made you more curious.

The second rule was a little harder to accept. Anyone who knew anything about Eddie Munson wanted to know about 1986. Despite the fact that his highly publicized murder charges and subsequent exoneration are part of what caused Corroded Coffin to skyrocket to fame, he’s remained very tight-lipped about the whole situation. He plays off every question about it in interviews with a smirk and a sly comment. Just charming enough to get away without answering. Just vague enough to keep people guessing. Maybe his publicist wasn’t such a waste after all.

Eddie Munson opens the door a few moments after you ring the bell. Using a ringed hand to shield his eyes from the midday sun, he squints at you. A pair of sweatpants hang low on his hips. He has a severe case of bedhead despite the fact that the time on your watch indicates that it’s nearly two in the afternoon. The confusion that draws his brows together also indicates that he has absolutely no idea who you are. Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you state your name and purpose before realization graces his features.

“It’s you! Shit, yeah! You’re here for the– the thing!” He tosses a careless look over both of his shoulders before widening the opening. “Come on in.”

Eddie closes the door behind you and rushes down the hallway in order to put some real clothes on, leaving you standing in the empty living room. The inside is surprisingly clean for someone who’s gained the reputation of being a hot mess. It smells like cigarettes, weed, and lemon pledge. The lemon scent is strongest as if someone was trying–and failing–to use it to cover up the previous two. A record player is tucked into a corner, the vinyl still spinning. A line of electric guitars is propped up against the back wall, each of them no doubt costing more than your monthly rent. One of the stands is noticeably empty and you glance to your left to see a beat-up acoustic resting on the couch. On the coffee table, there are piles and piles of scrap sheets of paper. For most of them, the handwriting is too illegible to read or it’s been crossed out. Eddie seems to write lyrics like he lives his life: fast and all over the place.

Stepping closer, something along the upper corner catches your eye. Slyly lifting up a pile of paper, being sure not to disturb the configuration, you find that your suspicions are correct. Eddie received the same copy of Sub Rosa as you did. Obviously, it didn’t go over well. He’s used a pen to black out his eyes. Much to your amusement, you see he’s also drawn horns and a tail. The hand that’s flipping off the camera is illustrated to be holding a pitchfork.

That’s not the full extent of Eddie’s doodling, though. On the bottom right-hand corner of the magazine, there’s a smaller picture of him standing next to a certain brown-eyed beauty. You’re quick to note that he’s drawn a crude halo and angel wings on his long-legged companion. They’ve been scribbled out as an afterthought, making the halo look more like a crown of thorns.

So, you think to yourself, he’s a little immature. You can work with immaturity. Immaturity means that he won’t be as guarded as some of the other celebrities your coworkers have had the misery of meeting. In fact, from what little you know about Eddie, you wonder if he even has any guard at all. He did leave you alone here with stacks of potential songs for his band’s next album. If you were a better journalist and a worse person, you would probably take the time to decipher his chicken scratch and see if you could glean any insights into his creative process. But you don’t. Instead, you release the stack of papers and wait.

For a moment, you don’t know what to do with yourself. You’ve never been inside of a famous person’s house before. You’re not sure if you should sit down and make yourself comfortable or if Eddie has something else planned for the two of you to do. The specifics of your assignment were intentionally vague, most likely to accommodate Eddie’s spontaneity.

Venturing further into the living room, you come to stand in front of a shelf. Brushing your fingers across the collection of vinyl, you tilt your head to read the names along the spines. There are the usual suspects–Dio, Metallica, and Judas Priest–but what surprises you is that, in the midst of all the metal and hard rock, there’s an array of old-school country music. At the end of the lineup is the most surprising one of them all; Sentimentally Yours by Patsy Cline. It’s exceedingly worn, cracks and creases litter the empty sleeve. If you were a betting woman, you would say that the record is currently on the player across the room.

A muffled crash followed by a string of curse words breaks you out of your reverie. Eddie opens the bedroom door with the finesse of someone who is obviously used to being the center of attention. He’s traded his sweatpants and tank top for a pair of ripped black jeans and a v-neck. It felt reassuring to know that you hadn’t underdressed for the occasion.

It also gives you a moment to drink in the blinding light that was Eddie Munson. He’s leaner in person. Though he always looked lithe in every photograph you saw of him, his frame seemed more imposing and large. Maybe all the stars just look that way when they’re so high above you.

He was taller, too. The boots on his feet surely aided in that, given that the soles were at least an inch thick. Still, you didn’t anticipate how much you would have to tilt your head up just to look him in the eyes.

There, standing in Eddie Munson’s rented living room, you realize something; You’re absolutely starstruck.

Although you had turned up your nose at the prospect of interviewing him and regarded his reputation with the same disdain you reserved for bad drivers and shitty landlords, you were still a person after all.

With all of the stars around, it’s easy to think of Los Angeles as the center of the universe. But you are not a star or anything even close to it. You’re some space debris, hopelessly floating and waiting for something bigger to come around and influence you with its gravitational pull.

Eddie is a heavenly body. You can’t help being pulled into his orbit.

“So, I see you’ve found my collection.” His voice is still rough with sleep. The sound makes you weak in the knees.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to snoop.” You mumble, tucking Patsy Cline back into the shelf. “You’ve got some really good stuff here.”

“Don’t worry about it. Actually, that reminds me, I have something for you.” He swiftly turns and stalks back towards what seems to be his bedroom, motioning for you to follow him.

The blood rushes out of your cheeks. The terms of your interview suggested that you would have a lot of access, but this was different. This was up close and personal. Your feet seem to have a mind of their own because while you’re still wrapped up in the fact that you’re gonna see Eddie Munson’s bedroom, you’re already following him down the hallway and through the open door.

It’s about as messy as you would expect. The furniture is all pale wood and earth tones, fitting the mid-century modern stylings of the rest of the house. You suspect that Eddie took the time to clean up a little while you were rifling through the stacks of paper. The bed is haphazardly made. There’s an ashtray on his bedside table, filled with the remains of a few cigarettes.

“I’m not supposed to smoke inside. Shh.” He brings his index finger to his mouth, pink lips barely brushing the skull ring he’s wearing. “Don’t tell anyone.”

You let out an airy laugh. Being reprimanded for smoking inside is the least of Eddie’s worries and you both know it.

Eddie’s nimble fingers skim the top of the dresser, brushing aside even more sheets of scrap paper. A couple of guitar picks plummet to the floor, but he pays no mind.

“I heard that metal isn’t usually your thing.” He remarks, still sifting through the clutter.

That much is true. While you dabbled in a little bit of everything, not only as part of your job but also as part of your interest in music, metal wasn’t usually the genre you gravitated towards. In fact, the most metal album that you had listened to recently was written and produced by the man standing in front of you.

“It’s not, but I’m open to everything.”

“Aha! Here it is.” Eddie holds up the cassette like it’s the key to the universe. Handing it to you, you can see that the writing on the sides is reminiscent of what you saw in the living room, though slightly neater. You’re familiar with some of the bands listed, but the songs don’t ring a bell. “I thought I would broaden your musical horizons.”

You gawk at him. For someone whose job is about words, you can’t find any. He took the time to make you a mixtape?

“Track five is a personal favorite.” Eddie says, leaning towards you and tapping the tracklist, obviously unshaken by your inability to form a coherent thought.

“Thanks. I’ll give it a listen.” You manage to choke out, tucking the cassette into the front pocket of your purse.

Looking around the room, you see that there’s a battered copy of The Lord of the Rings on his bedside table. The corners are frayed, and you’re certain that you could accidentally tear the cover off of the paperback if you’re not careful. Cautiously, you trace the spine with your finger, waiting for Eddie to say something. To tell you that it’s the one thing that’s off limits. But he doesn’t. He just stands there, watching you. Opening it, you can see Property of Eddie A. Munson written underneath the title in a childish scrawl.

“You like books? I mean–you’re a writer, so of course you like books–I mean, have you read that one?” Eddie is visibly flustered, the words coming out of his mouth at an alarming rate. It almost makes up for the way he rendered you speechless moments ago.

“I’m more of a Dune girl myself. But, I love The Lord of the Rings. My dad used to read it to me before bed every night.”

“Yeah?” A small smile tugs at his lips before he practically whispers his next words. “Mine too.”

A flash of something you can’t quite decipher crosses Eddie’s face.

“Right! Where are my manners? Would you like something to drink?” He shuffles out of the room like his life depends on it. You’re still reeling at the fact that he brought up his dad unprompted. Keeping a brisk pace, you put the book down and follow him into the kitchen.

“We have…” He trails off, opening the door to the refrigerator. “Nothing.”

He shuts the refrigerator and dashes to the table by the front door. He mumbles to himself before grabbing a few things, shrugging on a jacket, and finally turning to face you again. A pair of sunglasses covers the half of his face that isn’t plastered with a mischievous grin. From the tips of his fingers hangs a set of car keys.

“You hungry?”

–

You should’ve known that Eddie Munson would try to kill you within 20 minutes of meeting him. Lifting up the garage door, he reveals that the car keys were in fact, not car keys but keys to a motorcycle. The vehicle in question is an absolutely stunning deathtrap. It shines so beautifully that you can see your terrified face in the warped reflection.

Putting his helmet on, Eddie straddles the bike and looks at you.

“C’mon.” Eddie smiles wolfishly, tilting the spare helmet towards you. “I’m a safe driver. Promise.”

You’re still standing frozen. His wolfish grin melts into something more patient.

“Hey, if you don’t want to take the motorcycle, just say the word. I’m not gonna make you do anything you don’t wanna do.”

Despite the sincerity in his voice, you can’t help but take the words as a challenge.

“No, it’s fine. I’m fine.” You profess, though the shake in your voice is evident. Grabbing the helmet out of his hands, you ignore the way your face heats up when your fingers brush.

Eddie takes gross advantage of California’s lane-splitting laws, leaving you clinging to his leather-draped torso for dear life. Outside from the occasional shout of assurance that you can’t understand, the ride is quiet but for the roar of the bike and the wind in your ears. You’re vacillating between being absolutely terrified of crashing and secretly relieved at the fact that you didn’t have to make small talk on the drive from his place to wherever he was taking you.

You were very close to liking Eddie Munson. Now, you were sure that he was sent as some kind of karmic punishment.

“Parking in L.A. is always a pain. That’s why I love this baby,” He gingerly pats the handles as he kicks the parking brake down. “She can fit basically anywhere.”

You hum in agreement, mostly just happy to have made it to your destination in one piece. While Eddie hops off the bike with ease, you have a little more trouble. Swinging your leg over, your toe catches on the fuel tank, causing you to stumble and nearly fall to the ground. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see that Eddie is biting back a smile. He offers a calloused hand out to you. You brush it away out of embarrassment, planting both feet firmly on the ground and taking in your surroundings.

You had expected Eddie to take you to one of L.A.’s finer dining venues. Somewhere with fancy mood lighting and clientele with pockets so deep that they don’t even bother to put the prices on the menu. His management was footing the bill, after all.

The building that sits before you is none of those things. The diner is old and slightly dilapidated. Graffiti mars the stucco that hasn’t already crumbled away. The neon sign that says Zazie’s! blinks drowsily, more of an eyesore than eye-catching.

Eddie opens the door for you. As the bell above it jingles, you’re hit with a rush of conditioned air and canned nostalgia. The walls are covered in artifacts from a bygone era of poodle skirts and letterman jackets. A lonely jukebox sits in the corner, playing a soft hum to a Billie Holiday song you have long forgotten the name of.

A plump woman sits behind the counter doing the crossword in the newspaper. Likely, the same one you were doing that morning. A thoughtful look is etched into her soft features, and you wonder if she’s also stuck on 57-down: Idle during the heist. The ten-letter space confounded you so much that you were almost late. Luckily, it doesn’t seem like Eddie is the type of person to care too much about punctuality. At the sound of the bell, she looks up, squints, and smiles.

“Is that you, Toto?” The glasses that sit on the tip of her nose are attached to a chain around her neck. She lets them fall to her chest, her voice bright and amiable.

“You know it is, Dorothy!” Eddie gushed, an award-winning smile back on his face.

They fall into easy conversation, making it obvious that he’s a regular here. You keep glancing at him trying to find hints of ingenuity but there are none. Eddie regards the woman with the warmth and respect that you would expect from a boy scout, not a rockstar.

Sliding into a booth, Dorothy hands you both a menu and leaves to make a fresh pot of coffee.

“You have to try the french toast, it’s divine.” Eddie barely steals a look at the laminated folder before folding it back up and putting it down on the table.

“I’ve never really been a french toast person. I don’t know if I wanna risk it.”

Eddie gives you a pointed look, sunglasses slipping down the slope of his nose. “You rode a motorcycle. How much more risky is a plate of french toast?”

“Maybe that was all the risk-taking I had in me for one day.” You force yourself to shrug noncommittally. You don’t know why breakfast food is the hill you’ve chosen to die on, but you’re going down swinging.

“Well, you already trusted me with your life.” Eddie takes the sunglasses off and tucks his fist under his chin, forcing you to look into his deep brown eyes. “Think you can trust me with this?”

Suddenly, all of the fight in you disappears. There’s that sincerity in his voice again. You realize then that the best and worst thing about Eddie Munson is how genuine he always sounds.

“Yeah, I do.”

The smile on his face is so bright that you feel compelled to look away. Eddie orders for both of you. It’s enough food to feed a small army, but it seems that Dorothy is used to it because she leaves the table with a wink and says if y’all need anything just holler!

“Do you mind?” You say, pulling out the notepad and pen from your purse.

Eddie freezes for a fraction of a second. It’s almost imperceptible. Almost. In the small amount of time you’ve known him, it has become abundantly clear that Eddie wears his heart on his sleeve. Recovering quickly, he gives you the go-ahead and smiles. For the first time today, his grin doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“So,” You begin, clicking the button on your ballpoint. “I have to ask. Toto?”

Eddie barks out a laugh. He goes on a whole spiel about how he was having a terrible day and walked into the diner feeling homesick and hungry. When he first came to L.A. he felt like Dorothy stepping into the technicolor world of Oz. Once the novelty wore off, he found himself missing when the world used to be so black and white. Upon telling the wise waitress, aptly named Dorothy, she lovingly told him, Toto, I’ve a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore. The nickname stuck ever since.

The story almost sounds rehearsed. A perfect sound bite that shows how you can take the boy out of the Midwest, but you can’t take the Midwest out of the boy. And yet, you feel inclined to believe him. Eddie just seems to have that effect on people.

The food finally arrives and you’re amazed to find that Eddie’s eyes are not bigger than his stomach. He talks about music and his band in between bites of pancakes and hashbrowns, both of them drowned in an inch of syrup. He speaks of his friends back in Indiana with a certain fondness, but you can’t help but notice how avoids naming his hometown. He also never refers to Hawkins as back home, instead saying where I’m from.

Conversation between the two of you flows as easily as the never-ending coffee from Dorothy’s pot. It’s almost too easy to forget that this is an interview. Remembering yourself, you take a moment to ask Eddie one of the harder-hitting questions you have in your back pocket.

“What about Evelyn Chau?”

Eddie winces. The open book that was sitting before you shuts tight with a resilient slam. The mouthful of pancakes and syrup seems to turn to sludge as his chewing slows. Despite having no regard for table manners earlier, he points at his lips and holds up a finger to indicate that he needs a minute to swallow.

After taking a sip of coffee and wiping his mouth with a paper napkin, he slouches in his seat and crosses his arms defensively.

“What about Evelyn Chau?” He repeats your question back to you but with an unmistakable air of forced nonchalance.

You want to crumble under his pointed gaze, but you don’t. You steel yourself with the reminder that asking uncomfortable questions is part of your job description. Besides, it would raise many more alarms if you didn’t ask about the raven-haired model spotted painting the town with him than if you did.

“Everyone wants to know if you’re together.”

“Everyone.” He exaggerates the word, using his index finger to trace the lip of his coffee cup. “Does that include you?”

The smirk on his face indicates that he’s either messing with you or flirting with you. Maybe both.

“Well,” you demure. “are you?”

“Evie is just a friend.” Eddie’s still perfectly composed, but the familiarity with which he says her nickname betrays him. His face twitches when he catches his slip-up. “A really close friend.”

It’s already too late. He couldn’t convince you that she was just a friend if he tried. A flash of a crossed-out halo and crooked angel wings comes to mind.

You’re about to ask him another question, but Dorothy and her impeccable timing interrupts the moment by placing the check on the table. Eddie throws down a few bills from an old leather wallet, while you’re trying to figure out how you can spin a two-hour diner date into an entire article.

Eddie stretches as he stands up, the hem of his black v-neck raises to expose a tattoo on his right hip that snakes down further than you’re supposed to look. On the other side, you catch a muddled array of purple and red scar tissue. Averting your eyes, you look up and are met with a stony gaze. He caught you staring.

“What do you say we get outta here?”

Because you’re a very stupid, stupid woman, you agree.

likes are appreciated, comments and reblogs are cherished ♥️

taglist: @twisted-wonderland-of-wren

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #mimi wrote ✍️#can i ask you a question?

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atopfourthwall · 3 months

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You, PBG, and ColeyDoesThings are the holy trinity of Youtubers I'm shocked have Tumblr (though the last one makes the most sense)

Come for me reblogging Doctor Who gifs, stay for unhinged rambling about modern Star Trek!

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lipglossanon · 8 months

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i feel like i kinda disassociate when i type and send asks lmao i just get anxious ya know? but you mentioned priest leon and honestly i’ve sent enough detailed asks in to get accurately kinkshamed lol so let’s say after Spain (i’m not a slut for RE4 leon that’s silly 🤭😉) leon quits//retires and becomes a priest right? right. or like he’s seen some shit and becomes a priest after retiring 🤷🏼‍♂️ whichever leon floats your boat. so he’s a caretaker for a little chapel in the woods somewhere and you’re on a trip for christmas (bad weather, closed roads, one bed holy trinity trope pun-fucking-intended) and what you don’t know is a kindly 20 something or if you’re an ~i love DILFS~ leon fan 30 to 40 something (because you might be calling him Father later 😉) moderately unhinged priest is about to make you get on your knees and repent for your sins 🙂🤭

- 💀

(i saw the end of your answers about me writing and i wanted to say i would love to but i’m too scared in case i loose my tumblr again lmao, i appreciate it though <3 also my brain conjured up the idea of stepdaddy leon in a speedo during family vacation to mess with reader,,, enjoy 🤭)

💀 anon, hi! 👋

AGDKL sending in asks is kinda nerve wracking, anonymous or not 😅

Ahhh! 🙈 no but this is fantastic. After Spain, Leon’s like I’m out and the president is so grateful to him that he lets him go so he’s like I want a simple easy job and priest is what he lands on

And so he finds this middle of the nowhere chapel that basically has next to no parishioners (they’re all old and make the trek to the chapel for like spiritual emergencies or like holidays such as Christmas and Easter).

So basically he’s just living in the middle of the woods just keeping to himself when you happen to be passing through (to see family, let’s say it’s Christmas). And you’re car gets stuck cause you forgot to put on the chains for your tires

But you remember passing a little chapel literally two minutes ago so you make the short cold trek to it before it gets too dark and this stacked, hot as hell priest opens up the door after you knock and you’re just like uhh help? 😅

And he invites you in as you tell him your car trouble and he’s listening but his face is totally unreadable so you’re just like I can just call someone and get out of your hair? And uh oh the phone lines are down and there’s no service :( so you’ll have to wait til the morning but in the meantime Leon offers you his bed but you’ll have to share cause there’s no central heat and his little room only has a small fireplace :( 🤭

You’re so flustered and sweet that Leon wants to bite you, just eat you up and it’s kinda driving him crazy cause he hasn’t felt this way before (but he also hasn’t seen anyone younger than 70 in ages lmao)

So when you’re both lying in his bed, you keep squirming to get comfortable which just leads to rubbing against Leon who’s getting hard until finally he just can’t take it anymore 🤭

He’s all over you, biting you and sucking marks all over your skin, telling you how sinful it is to tempt a priest and how you’ll have to pay for it with your body 😵‍💫 😵‍💫 he’s just so rough with you, completely animalistic that by the time daylights weakly streaming through the windows of his room, he’s still buried in your cunt as you plead for forgiveness 🥴

Sorry I totally went way overboard with the reply 🤪

And no sweat about writing! I love getting your asks which is basically the same thing 😉 and Leon in a Speedo is 🤤 🤤

#ask box #💀 anon #lipglossanon #lipglossanswers #priest!leon s kennedy

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lesvegas · 3 months

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the holy trinity of star trek autismos are spock, data and odo

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spacefinch · 1 year

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The holy trinity of Scottish characters:

Merida from “Brave”

Shellington from the Octonauts

And Scotty from Star Trek

#Pixar #brave #Merida #octonauts #Shellington #Star Trek #Star Trek Scotty #tell me I’m wrong #actually don’t tell me I’m wrong #that wouldn’t be nice

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sirquestingbeast · 6 months

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In Honor of this Sacred Day, here are some KH Costumes

These are from my discord post. Edited to provide alternatives to the meme-y answers

KH Halloween costumes. Debate me.

Sora: Glamrock Freddy from Five Nights at Freddy's (you can't tell me he isn't a FNAF kid) Riku: Rogue the Bat from Sonic / Zuko from Avatar Kairi: Ice Spice (1/3 of the holy Trinity) / Usagi from Sailor Moon Roxas: Cloud from Final Fantasy 7(Crazy how it's the same story sometimes) / David from Lost Boys Xion: Ariana Grande (2/3 of the holy Trinity) / Samara from The Ring Namine: Billie Eilish (Holy Trinity complete) / Princess Peach from Super Mario Brothers Axel/Lea: Team Fortress 2 Scout (no this isn't a joke answer, its the only answer) Isa: Team Fortress 2 Spy (yes they coordinated) Ventus: Naruto from Naruto Terra: Leon Kennedy from Resident Evil 4 Aqua: Samus from Metroid Vanitas: Spawn from Spawn Xigbar/"Luxu": The Joker from the hit movie The Joker played by esteemed actor Joaquin Phoenix Marluxia/Laurium: Zagreus from Hades Larxene/Elrena: Harley Quinn from Batman Demyx: Goblin King Jareth from Labyrinth Luxord: Gambit from X-Men Vexen/Even: Wouldn't dress up (Night King from Game of Thrones) Xaldin/Dillan: An actual classic Dracula Lexaeus/Aeleus: Frankenstein's Monster but from the book Ienzo: Persona 3 Fuuka (try not to put Ienzo in a skirt/dress challenge failed)

Xemnas: Darth Vader from Star Wars (and he WOULD dress up) Ansem: Maleficent (a sexy one just to piss her off) / Vecna from dungeons and dragons Xehanort: Various variations of William Afton/ Springtrap from Five Nights at Freddy's just to fuck with Sora / various Docs from Doctor Who DiZ: Luxord (now that I said it you can't unsee it)/ Capt. Kirk from Star Trek Eraqus: Doc Holiday (I just want him to be a cowboy) / Indiana Jones from Indiana Jones Baldr: Patrick Bateman from American Psycho Hermod: Elminster from Dungeons and Dragons Vor: Frodo from Lord of the Rings Urd: Shiva summon from Final Fantasy / Ellen Ripley from Aliens Hoder: Madoka Kaname from Madoka Magica Strelitzia: Gwen Stacy from Spiderman no elaboration Brain: Neo from the Matrix Ephemer: Hatsune Miku (fight me on this)/ James Bond from James Bond Skuld: Zelda from Zelda Ira: R.J MacReady from The Thing Invi: Sidney Prescott from Scream Acced: Ash Williams from Evil Dead Gula: Charley from Fright Night Ava: Laurie Strode from Halloween MoM: Sans Undertale from Undertale

#kingdom hearts #halloween #kh headcanons #i'm not tagging all of this

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sheriff-t-money · 9 months

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"I broke my rules for you."

From this meme prompt.

A heavy sigh fell from thin lips that tightly pressed together after its escape. Somewhere to his right, he heard Bobby give a guttural, confused, sob. It broke Travis' heart almost as much as the sight before him.

Kaylee. Everyone's energetic ball of light. Extinguished in a pool of her own blood. 'This is going to destroy Chris,' was the only thought running through his mind. It was the only thought he allowed in his mind. For now.

Amelia's death had nearly broken him as it was. It was only for the sake of the kids that Chris had kept himself together. This? Travis didn't see a way back from this.

And he had let it happen.

It all began with a push of a single domino. A decision to keep two early-bird counselors in prison cells. It wasn't Max. He had no idea where that boy was currently locked up. It was Laura Kearney.

Motive, means, opportunity.

The holy trinity in law enforcement.

Outwardly, he was as stern and stoic as ever. In fact, he was probably overcompensating. Because he was one second away from a fuckin' breakdown. He'd caused this. He hadn't pulled the trigger, but he had sure as fuck presented the means and opportunity on a literal silver platter.

Where had he gone wrong? He tried mentally retracing his steps over the past two months. He'd be mindful of letting them get too close. Hell, he kept the most important room, his personal armory, locked up tight.

The answer became clear. He'd fuckin' underestimated her. Travis had made it his career to be a damn good judge of people. Hell, in the grand scope of cops, he thought he was pretty damn lenient. Kearney, on first impression, was a typical young adult still finding her way. Plenty of dreams and few answers.

The few interactions he had allowed himself to have with her revealed . . . a few more layers. A deeper complexity. But he had stopped himself there. That night spent having as close to a heart-to-heart as he could muster was a mistake. He'd revealed too much to her.

He'd mistaken her understanding for sympathy.

The fuckin' problem was he had no idea what to feel about this . . . situation. This damned horror story he was submerged in. He had a foot in both sunlight and in the shade. Laura Kearney had killed a monster that would have killed her right back without a thought.

But she had also killed his niece.

And damn it if Kaylee wasn't a beautiful soul. That girl was going to go places instead of being trapped here like her bum of an uncle. Now, she was floating here with the chemicals in the pool slowly eating away at her dead flesh.

Travis' body is aching. He pushes himself up from the kneeled position he was sitting in beside the pool. The rain threatens above. He can hear the distant roll of thunder and smell the moisture in the air.

"Call Pa, Bobby," he says finally, keeping his tone controlled. Bobby's face was wet, leaving red streaks down his neck and the front of his overalls. "She needs to go home. I'll," and he hesitates, quickly clearing his throat to avoid the slight catch that formed in it, "I'll . . . tell Ma."

Travis turns, dark eyes shadowed even deeper, bags under his eyes heavier than normal, to take one last look at his niece. He allows the memory to burn. More guilt to carry to his grave. Another weight to his shoulders.

He won't be able to rest from this. Not even when his body is turned to ash. Guys like him didn't deserve peace.

Turning away, he exits the pool area and starts the long trek home. He only allows himself one thought. A new thought.

'Why the fuck did I break the rules for her?'

#character study [i'm a police officer!]#travis hackett [a good boy]#rp prompt [tarot card]#the quarry rp [what doesn't kill you will make you stronger]#just some writing practice #establishing travis' voice and mannerisms

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lastoneout · 2 years

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favorite movies of the 2010s?

I GOT SO DISTRACTED MAKING EMOTES FOR TWITCH THAT I F0RGOT ABOUT THIS BUT GOD DO I LOVE LISTS

How To Train Your Dragon(it wins hands down if I could only pick one this would be it)

Captain Underpants: The First Epic Movie

Okay literally like 90% of what DreamWorks released that decade SO many hits like Trolls, KFP2, The Croods, Rise of the Guardians, Megamind, we'd be here all day

Same for Disney and Pixar specifically Cars 3, Coco, and Finding Dory for Pixar and Tangled, Wreck it Ralph, Moana, and Zootopia for Disney but so many good films SO MANY

THE PEANUTS MOVIE BY BLUE SKY FUCKING MASTERPICE DON'T @ ME

Marvel gets some wins just 'cuz Guardians of the Galaxy 2 and Thor Ragnarok mean the world to me

Spiderman into the Spiderverse

The Lego Movie, if you know you know

Rogue One my beloved

Star Wars: The Force Awakens my beloved

The Holy Sci-fi Trinity of Gravity, Interstellar, and The Martian 🙏

Star Trek Beyond 10/10 I'll kill anyone who says otherwise

Inception was really good

In This Corner of the World this movie is so important to me for so many reasons I don't even care when exactly it came out I watched it in the 2010s and would die for it

Your Name ofc fucking hell what a movie

Summer Wars

So many others T-T

See the problem is I worked at a movie theater for three years in the middle of the 2010s and saw SO MANY FUCKING MOVIES it would take me eons to make a list of all the ones I loved but these are the ones I can think of off the top of my head. Now if you'll excuse me I am going to go get lost on letterboxed wish me luck o7

#ALSO WATCH IN THIS CORNER OF THE WORLD #MASTERPIECE #BREATHTAKING #I COULD GO ON

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whitewolvesworld · 2 months

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trinity the foundation copyright suggests you do a star trek hand outline like a turkey outline kids do then the thumb is the holy spirit and, the two fingers (next) son-Jesus, two fingers next father-God to describe the trinity copyright

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