written for the @steddiemicrofic prompt: 'pool' | wc: 442 | rated: G | cw: mild alcohol use (and cussing I guess? do we warn for PG-13 language?)
“Get in on this, Steve,” Robin says directly into his ear, way too loud. She’s had most of a Long Island iced tea; her face is bright pink.
“In on what,” Steve says, shoving at her.
“Nancy thinks Eddie’s gonna strike out again, but I believe in tru-u-ue lo-o-ove,” she warbles, clinging to his arm like a tipsy limpet. “So we’re betting. Five bucks. Who’re you siding with.”
It’s not like Steve hadn’t noticed Eddie talking to some guy, he'd just thought—
He swats at her again, futilely. “Yeah, I’m sure some random asshole at a dive bar is his true love.”
“Please, that’s probably Eddie's idea of a metalhead fairytale. They’re gonna make scuzzy little musician babies.”
“Do we have to talk about the birds and the bees, Robin?” He glances over at Nancy, listing against Jonathan’s side. Steve fights the urge to push Robin away again, but he shifts uncomfortably. The four of them probably look like interlopers here—tourists.
Nancy’s not flushed like Robin, but she looks a little looser than she’s let herself be in a while. It’s nice.
Nancy’s smiling as she watches Eddie and the random asshole. “Eddie’s not doing too badly this time. Guess there’s someone for everyone.”
“Don't bias Steve,” whines Robin. “I want his money.”
“I’m not gonna bet, this is stupid,” says Steve. “It’s shitty to start a betting pool on Eddie’s—love life, or whatever.”
“They’re just having fun, man,” says Jonathan. “We all just want Eddie to be happy.”
“Sure. Some random asshole’s gonna make him happy.” Steve leans back against the bar, folding his arms.
“Steve.” Robin’s staring at him. “Oh my god, Steve. Wait. Steve.”
He winces.
“Steve,” she says. “Do you—”
“No. Shut up,” Steve says.
Jonathan glances from Steve to Robin to Eddie, and back to Steve. “Oh, shit,” he says. “Dude. Uh. Not to like, betray any confidences, but. You should tell him.”
“Wait, what?” Steve blinks. The jack and coke he's been nursing might be hitting. “You mean…”
Robin shoves him hard enough that he almost overbalances. "Go get your man! Team True Love!" She’s not even trying to be quiet. Across the bar, Eddie jumps a little and turns to stare back at them.
Steve’s face warms. He waves, like a loser, and Eddie’s expression goes from confused to something else. Something new.
Eddie touches the random asshole’s arm, but whatever he says makes the guy laugh and fuck off, so that's okay.
As Steve pushes away from the bar and starts to walk towards Eddie's growing smile, he hears Nancy saying, "I think this means you owe me," as Robin shrieks, "Oh, like hell—"
Mujeres Libres, or Free Women, was an anarchist women’s organization in Spain that aimed to empower working class women. It was initiated in 1936 by Lucía Sánchez Saornil, Mercedes Comaposada and Amparo Poch y Gascón and had approximately 30,000 members.
In revolutionary Spain of the 1930s, many anarchist women were angry with what they viewed as persistent sexism amongst anarchist men and their marginalized status within a movement that ostensibly sought to abolish domination and hierarchy. Conditions for Spanish women before the Spanish revolution were oppressive, in the sense that they could be forced into arranged marriages without their consent and single women were not allowed to leave their homes without a male chaperone. Furthermore, working conditions were difficult for women because their salaries were half what male workers received. The limited rights allowed to women were only offered to middle and upper class women, and not offered at all to the working class.
The organization was based on the idea of a “double struggle” for women’s liberation and social revolution and argued that the two objectives were equally important and should be pursued in parallel.
From the amazing documentary Living Utopia: Anarchism in Spain. [video]
do i have other prompts and ideas that i ignored to do this? yep. am i doing this to procrastinate doing my psych final? hell yeah. have some good ole geralt projection and dont @ me lmaooooo
Warnings: geraskier, big sad geralt - alludes to past manipulative relationships/how society at large treats witchers, crying jaskier, emotionally illiterate geralt lmao, could be read platonic or romantic
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Geralt frowned when Jaskier called him ‘his witcher’ to the innkeeper. He didn’t want to belong to anyone, as much as he’d been desperate for it when he was younger. He had agency on his own, for the most part, and no symbiotic relationship was ever going to have enough benefits to make him give that up.
But Jaskier wanted him.
He wasn’t entirely sure if he wanted him as a trophy, or a muse, or a bodyguard, he just knew he was wanted and he didn’t know why. The uncertainty made him nervous.