#This godforsaken series has changed me

[toastthewolfie]

ok so I finally read all the books of the “Legend” series by Marie Lu after reading rebel first by accident and all I can say is..

WHAT THE FUCK

bro I’m never gonna recover from this—

UGHHSHSJHHSEUBDUEDBUSHDUEHDUE THOMAS AND METIAS WHAT WE COULD HAVE HAD.

ALSO THE ENDING WITH DAY AND JUNE DURING CHAMPION????? ALSO THE SCENE WITH DAY PROTECTING EDEN EVEN THOUGH IT MEANT HE NEARLY FUCKING DIED

THE THIRD BOOK REALLY HAD ME LIKE

#legend marie lu #yeah I’m not okay lmao #This godforsaken series has changed me #Specifically the third book. #I’m. #yeha.

[veritable-trash]

maybe it's never truly over

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x Fem!Reader(nickname used but no descriptors!)

Summary: It's been a long time since you've seen each other. For you it hasn't been long enough but for Miguel things are a bit more complicated.

Word Count: 1K

Rating: E - for eventual smut, friends to enemies to friends to lovers i think??? this chapter is tame just seeing if people are interested in what i might decide to cook up <3 :)

A/N: alright alright alright like literally everyone i watched spiderverse and have now descended into the black hole of being obsessed with every character from that movie but this one right here????? yes yes i like him very much. anyways wrote this for fun think i might try another series and see what comes of it. this is not sticking to any canon(lol miguel would be PISSED but this is my multiverse bitch!) because there's such a depth to his character that i want to just play with in this story potentially.

anyways if you like this little intro and want to read more and see where these two little weirdos spin their way off to reblog, send me thirsty thoughts about this man, comment to your heart's content about how his body is shaped like a dorito and i want to eat HIM!

also @dameronscopilot wrote an absolute SPICED piece for Miguel so go read that now if anyone sees this!!!!!

enjoy :)))))))))

masterlist weeeeeeeee

~~~~~

There was something different about today. 

Air shimmering like it was about to crystallize and crack at any given moment. 

Like the world was gonna stop all of a sudden and dissolve into some weird cosmic puddle. 

But not for you. Never for you because even when things felt like they were about to snap, crackle, pop, your life tended to stay a bit boring. It had been a long, long time since you’d felt any kind of twinkle in your life, and you didn’t mind it. The last time things had fizzled like that you’d been left a bit shattered yourself. 

Even still, the niggle at the nape of your neck wouldn’t let up. even the sidewalk seemed to wobble under your feet as you traversed the packed streets of Nueva York. Your palms can’t help but start sweating, heart kicking up its pace as the people around you seem to crowd and crowd and crowd. 

Alley. You need to find an alley and fucking breath. 

You turn in fast on the tight corridor, the smell of garbage helping to clear the dizziness in your head but it still isn’t gone. The feelings still there. Why won’t it just fucking leave you-

“Lyla I got it. Just check the other dimensions and report back to me I haven’t seen any signs of them here.”

And now you know why this an entire day has been like walking through jelly.

Because the second Miguel O’Hara turns around and sees you, everything absolutely shatters.

It’s been years, maybe over a decade since he’s seen you, but you’ve seen plenty of him. The magazines, the news, online, every god damn street corner of this godforsaken city conveniently reminds you of this Dorito-shaped dip shit man. 

Nothing changes in his demeanor, to an unseasoned eye, but you remember Miguel from before. Gabe’s older brother Miguel, mama’s boy Miguel, your best friend Miguel, and his eyes can’t hide the things you know deep in his heart. 

You don’t even know what to say. There’s nothing left in your brain, just him, still staring, but now from new heights, with new scars, and it scares the shit out of you.

And pisses you the fuck off.

“So what? You go radio silent for over ten years and now you’re gonna stalk me in some alley like creep? Very on brand Miguel but I thought you would have fucking grown up by now.”

His shoulders tense and you can’t stop the way your lips curve as you sense you’ve gotten to him, even if only a little. But then he’s turning away, slowly walking down the alley towards the brick wall and you realize he’s not going to say anything to you. That he’s going to just leave again without a single fucking word.

“Miguel if you don’t turn the fuck around right now and say something to me I will beat the shit out of you I swear to god. I know your weak spots don’t make me fucking use it!”

(it’s just under his ribs, but only on the right side)

“Bichito, pleas-“

“Don’t you dare fucking call me that. Don’t you fucking dare. You lost the right to call me that when you disappeared on me. Fuck you Miguel, honestly I don’t even have anything left to say to you just fuck off.”

This time his face face does crumple just a little bit and you preen at his pain. Suck it into your lungs as the boy who trampled your heart finally gets a taste of how you bled. 

You turn back to the chaos of the street and throw yourself into the people, away from Miguel and all the bullshit, earth shattering happening behind you. It’s been a long time since you’ve needed Miguel O’Hara and it’ll be an even longer time before you come back around to his antics.

Probably never.

~~~~~

He fucked up. 

Miguel didn’t know how he’d dropped the ball this hard, but he’d fucked up big time and for once it didn’t involve some stupid fucking multiverse drama. 

It involved you. 

You, the girl from down the block who used to wrestle Gabriel and make flower crowns out of the flowers growing between the cracks in the concrete. 

You, the girl who stayed up till the sky started to turn pink again listening to him rant on and on about his shitty dad and his shitty life.

You, his Bichito, his little bug, his best friend, the center of what he thought was his tiny little universe so many years ago. 

But he’d left that behind. Thought that he could find something else, find something better, finally be happy in ways he’d never even dreamed of.

And look at where it had gotten him. 

He wasn’t ever supposed to run into you again. He was supposed to be vigilant, cautious, knew that running into you would derail him a thousand times over and he had bigger things to be focusing on. Multiverse-altering, dimension-destroying things to focus on.

Yet the universe had dropped you both in that alley and something deep in his chest rippled with feelings he couldn’t seem to find a word for. It was fucking terrifying and he wasn’t going to let it fester. 

He had things to do. Universes to fix. An ever growing mantle of responsibility hanging of his shoulders.

A constant reminder of his fuck ups and the reality that he wasn’t going to let himself slip up again. 

And yet as his claws carry him up and onto the rooftops of Nueva York, Miguel O’Hara has a terrifying suspicion that he may no longer be able to stay away. 

~~~~~

hehehehAHAHHAHA god i love this twisted little sad sack man who just wants to be all rough and tough. anyways haven't written in ages and this character has gotten me at least sorta interested in writing so i just wanted to throw this out there, get something moving, even if i go back into dormancy for another millenia.

well heart eyes for you guys and forehead kisses for anyone who reads i hope your day is a dream <33333333333

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara #across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #oscar isaac characters #he is so hot yes yes yes he is so sad yes yesyes #previous tag was literally a little song and dance moment #anyways hot man i want him goodnight

[hypnostheory]

A guide to Hyp’s Writing

Okay so I have enough fics now that I feel like I can make a little guide here. So here we go:

“Hyp, I want something sweet”

something good and right and real - After the election, Henry explores Alex’s childhood room. He finds trinkets of a young Alex that intrigue him, including a crown that gives him some ideas.

and that’s the way i loved you - Alex accidentally fell hopelessly in love with his roommate and fuck buddy Henry. He tries to plan the perfect confession, but when have any of Alex’s plots worked perfectly?

heartbeats under coats - Alex, a DC lawyer on his way back from a work trip, is stranded in New York after a freak blizzard grounds all flights. He gets the last available hotel room on the island, but a freak error means the room is double booked. Unwilling to leave the other stranded, both men agree to share the room and wait out the blizzard together.

“I want something with action and intrigue”

trouble’s gonna follow where i go - Henry thought it was silly to hire an American to be his personal guard. He didn’t care that the man had an excellent service record, the highest level of security clearance in the American government short of the president, or a black belt in six forms of martial arts. A foiled assassination attempt changes that opinion, but Henry’s gratitude is not a passive thing – Alex’s going to have to work for it.

wanting me dead has really brought you two together - Rebel smuggler Alex is caught by his nemesis, Alderaan Senator Jeffery Richards. His prompt assassination is put on hold when Richard’s bounty hunter reels in a bigger fish; Senator Henry Fox of Naboo. Turns out, Alex has more than one rival on board the ship, but he’s going to need to work with Henry if they don’t want to get killed.

move fast (and keep quiet) - Alex is a spy tasked with securing a case of diamonds being auctioned off by black market smugglers. Henry is a rival spy who happens to be tasked with receiving the same case of stones. When Henry wins the auction, Alex has to retrieve his target, no matter the cost.

“I just want something really smutty!”

you handle it beautifully - Alex, discovering Henry is having a hard time getting out of his head enough to enjoy sex, has a clear solution: recreational drug use! While on the road to self-discovery and self-actualization, Henry surprises Alex more than once.

the only thing on my mind series - Piercer!Alex teaches Henry about the inner workings of BDSM in mid-90s New York.

secret moments in a crowded room - After getting a concerned call from the man's PPO, Henry makes an effort to ensure his body double Angus is getting properly socialized. Alex is hesitant to spend time with the Henry-shaped clone, but he quickly finds himself getting charmed by the man. Angus gracefully slides from strange phenomenon to friend.

“I just want a quick one shot”

like it’s patrón - Henry meets Alexander at a gun range, but it’s not the first time they’ve met. Alex calls in a raincheck.

where every wish comes true - Alex gets locked out his apartment on Christmas Eve. He's forced to take refuge in his neighbor and occasional fuck buddy Henry's apartment, and together the two get into the Christmas spirit with the help of a festive costume and a silk ribbon.

here the whole time - Married and bonded, Henry and Alex decide it's about time to get off suppressants and start enjoying their bond fully.

“I’m here for the angst”

you were more than just a short time - David the Beagle passes. Alex is there for Henry through his grief, and through the start of moving on.

look at this godforsaken mess that you made me - Rafael Luna gets through the election by the skin of his teeth. The other two Bastardos notice.

where others gave you scars series - Henry, after living in America, realizes some of the things he’s been living with aren’t normal. Alex teaches him that his pain isn’t in his head, despite what his family thinks.

#firstprince #red white and royal blue #henry fox mountchristen windsor #alex claremont diaz #hyp writes

[sunonyoreface]

He Knows - Simon “Ghost” Riley Pt. 6

Probably my last post before the new year. Thanks for reading!

Hi there, this is a series about Simon Riley from COD. This series does not follow any of the established plots or timelines from the games. While I use the names of some characters, they are different from the ones in COD.

Summary: You’re held captive by 141 for reasons unknown.

Word count: 1100

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader

Warnings: military setting, violence, explicit language.

“Are you sure she’s sleeping?” A low, husky voice whispers at the end of my cot, near the fireplace.

“Hasn’t moved in an hour. Breathing’s been consistent. She’s sleeping,” Another barely audible man responds. I know immediately I shouldn’t hear what they’re about to say. This conversation is trouble. This conversation is dangerous. This conversation is about me.

My ears perk up at their voices and it takes everything in my bones not to physically react to their words. I’ve been lying here for what feels like hours. I drift in and out of consciousness, but ultimately don’t feel safe enough to get any significant rest. Gunshots from the Ultranationalist’s attack on the base still ring in my ears. And despite being surrounded by some of the most efficient and deadliest soldiers to live – men who were willing to risk their safety to ensure my own – I don’t feel comforted by their presence. Their intentions, the intentions of the entire task force are still unknown to me and that’s exactly how they want it to stay.

I’m to be left in the dark. Whatever information they have is important. Important to their end goal and important to me. Because for some godforsaken reason I am tied up in this whole thing, yet they won’t tell me how or why. Whatever their reason is, it's strong enough to hold me here captive under the guise of being a prisoner.

The tiny cabin is deadly silent. The fire has died down and the remaining sleeping men breathe lightly. The cold night seeps in from the windows, but the combination of the fire, sleeping off the ground in a cot, and hiding under the wool blanket Ghost gave me has left me feeling the warmest I’ve felt in days. Despite this and my utter exhaustion, it still isn’t enough to sleep.

“Today was too close,” the concern is evident in the man’s voice. I listen hard, real hard and think I can make it out to be Soap’s Scottish accent.

“They weren’t supposed to know so soon,” I recognize the anger in Ghost’s raspy voice immediately. Something tells me that the other men aren’t supposed to hear what they’re talking about either, but I don’t know why they didn’t move out of earshot to the shadows of the kitchen instead. Maybe surveillance is harder from afar or maybe it doesn’t actually matter if the others hear. I can’t be sure.

“Well, how’d they find out?” Soap asks.

“I don’t know,” his answer is blunt and there’s an edge to his voice that’s ready to cut. There’s more to the story that Gaz told me today. I can’t stop my thoughts from running and wondering if any of his story was even true to begin with. How much of what they’ve told me is made up? What were we really doing at that base?

There’s an uneasiness that has grown attached to my bones. It aches like growing pains as it works its way into the marrow and from there into my bloodstream. Every instinct I have tells me I’m in danger. There’s no pharmaceutical capable of numbing this kind of trouble.

“Does Price know?” Soap asks. His voice is louder than it was before and there’s an urgency to his tone. I’m not the only one left in the dark. Information around here comes on a need-to-know basis. Ghost is the only one of these men who “needs to know”. It’s a stark reminder of whose rank is high enough to be considered in the loop.

“If he does, it’s not something he’ll disclose over dispatch,” Ghost whispers as he keeps a close watch on the other men. Any change in their breathing and the conversation’s done. He won’t risk a potential eavesdropper. Little does he know.

“Think there’s a mole?”

“That’s a dangerous word to throw around. Don’t use it so lightly,” Ghost warns him.

It’s silent for a moment as they consider their next words.

“We’ve lost our edge,” Soap whispers.

“I know.”

“They’re going to come after us now.”

“I know.”

“After her,” his voice tightens.

“I won’t let that happen,” Ghost snaps. My whole body feels as though it's vibrating, shaking with such intense fear that it’s all I can focus on. In reality, I lie as still as stone. I don’t want to think about what they’d do if they knew I was awake. Who the fuck are they talking about? The Ultranationalists? How the hell am I tied up in this whole thing? My heart races and it feels like there’s no oxygen making it to my lungs.

A tiny thought scratches my brain. A thought that wants to confirm the suspicions I’ve had all along. But I push it down. I can’t take any more.

“Our resources are limited,”

“We’ve made do with less,” his voice is brittle, ready to crack. “We just need to wait for Price.”

“Then what?”

“Then we reassess our circumstances based on his intel,” Ghost’s response is straight out of a textbook. It’s robotic. It’s hiding something.

“Think we can still leverage her?” Soap’s words are cautious. My blood runs cold and for a moment I forget to breathe. What does he mean by “still”? What the hell am I leverage for? It takes my entire will to hold my position. I have to manually force myself to breathe. Each breath feels tight and laboured. I worry it looks unnatural, that they know I’m faking.

“If today’s retaliation is any indication, then I’d say she’ll be more than enough,” goosebumps rise on my skin as a sense of unease takes control of my body. This whole situation is so utterly surreal that it has to be a dream.

Their conversation lulls and my ears pick up on a quiet set of muffled footsteps approaching on the carpet. I almost can’t hear them, but I sense someone standing over me now. A man’s large, ungloved hand brushes against my neck as he grabs a strand of hair and gently wraps it around his fingers.

“I don’t blame them,” the deep voice rumbles at my side. “There’s just something about her,” he murmurs as his thumb brushes along the lock of hair.

“How far do you think they’re willing to go?” the other man says, still standing at the end of the cot.

“As far as we can push them. Makarov is close. I can feel it,” his low voice rumbles next to me.

“But we don’t have the element of surprise anymore.”

“No, but we have her,” he drops the strand of hair and takes a step back. I feel his eyes slowly rake over my body as they examine every inch. “And she’s all we need.”

PT7:

https://at.tumblr.com/sunonyoreface/he-knows-simon-ghost-riley-pt-7/frutyvgwyrsl 

#COD MW2 #cod imagine #MW2 #MWII #mw2 imagine #soap cod #soap x reader #simon ghost riley #cod ghost #ghost imagine #ghost x reader #ghost fanfiction #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley imagine #simon riley cod #cod fanfic #simon riley fanfic #he knows

[cacoetheswriting]

pearl: october 1980

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader word count: 2.2k summary: eddie has a conversation with the girl of his dreams.

content warnings: best friends to lovers, part of a slow burn, a lil mutual pining, adult language, use of pet names, oblivious idiots, self-doubt / insecurities - if i missed anything, pls let me know!

pearl masterlist <- part of this lil series, but can definitely be read as a standalone.

When it came to starting a conversation with people, Eddie sure as hell was not the confident type.

Middle School didn’t allow for a lot of practice, especially since as a person with interests that differed from the norm, he was shunned quite early on into a category he couldn’t, and often still can’t get out of no matter how hard he tries: freak.

People weren’t lining up to spend time with him even in a platonic capacity, and they sure as hell didn’t want to get to know him in a romantic way.

But with time, Eddie learned to be okay with that.

Especially since, as it turns out, most girls in Hawkins had some sort of ‘bad boy’ fantasy they liked to keep a dirty little secret and he was happy to oblige.

Plus it’s not like he badly needed anyone to actually call his own. High School was apparently a time of self-discovery and what he discovered in the last month was that honestly, he really didn’t mind being the almost invisible freak.

That all changed when you came around.

Your entrance into his life was rather unexpected and Eddie quickly realised that he needed to up his game. Yeah, perhaps he still wanted to be left alone, but that thought took a back burner whenever you laughed.

Honey, the sound of your laughter. Every time he heard it, his heart would skip a beat and his palms would start to feel clammy, sweaty, as he gravitated towards the sound instantly. As he gravitated towards you.

Unfortunately for Eddie, so did everyone else in this godforsaken town. 

Who could blame them? Your arrival right at the start of the school year was perhaps the most exciting thing to happen in Hawkins since that maniac Creel murdered his entire family in the late 50s.

You had quickly become the new it girl and in the blink of an eye, you two were running in different circles. Your reality had become so far removed from his own, any hopes or dreams he had of getting to know you on a deeper level had become just that: dreams.

God knows he still thought about you often.

“Care to share with the rest of the group, Mr. Saltzman?” the teacher calls out, causing all heads to turn simultaneously in the general direction of the distraction. 

This includes Eddie's and he's glancing up from the scribbles in his notepad to focus instead on a few rows ahead where you, the girl everyone wanted to be friends with, sat.

The boy sitting next to you shifts uncomfortably in his seat, shaking his head. 

“We were just discussing the history of Halloween,” you chime sweetly. The teacher doesn’t seem to believe you for a second, but with such a likeable personality like yours, there’s not much else to say.

“Blake here doesn't believe Halloween dates back to the Celts, and the ancient festival of Samhain,” you continue with the quite convincing lie and Eddie's surprised you know these obscure facts, “He thinks I’m bluffing when I say the day marked the end of summer for the Celts, who believed on the night of October 31st the boundary between the worlds of the living and the dead became blurred, thus what we now know and celebrate as Halloween.”

Your confidence certainly is admirable, although why you choose to protect the douche you called a ‘friend’ was beyond the young metalhead.

“I guess the conversation probably could have waited till after class so, won’t happen again. We’re sorry,” you add with a soft smile.

When the teacher returns to the blackboard, resuming the lesson no one was really paying attention to anyway, Eddie observes as you mumble something to Blake before turning your head ever so slightly in his direction. 

The air hitches in his throat as he awaits the standard "What are you looking at, freak.", but it never comes.

Instead, you smile at him and Eddie can feel his face turn a gleaming shade of red — pathetic. He quickly ducks his head down, but can still feel your eyes on him. It takes everything he has to stop himself from looking up again, afraid of somehow making a fool of himself.

Luckily, he manages to keep distracted till the bell rings, but he's not completely in the clear 'cause as everyone disperses in a hurry, you approach him.

“What you doodlin’?”

When he doesn't immediately answer, or meet your gaze for that matter, your hand appears in his field of vision. Your moves are hesitant at first, but since Eddie doesn't protest, you twirl the notebook around on the desk.

“Well shit, Eddie. These are really fucking cool.”

He snaps his head up, possibly a little too quickly, a little too eagerly, but he couldn’t help the act of surprise 'cause he didn’t realise…

“You know my name?”

Your pretty eyes latch onto his momentarily and a smile circles your lips. “Of course I do. As the new kid in town, I had to make it my business to know who’s who since y’all ogled me and my family from day one as if we were from outer space.”

He let out a semi-nervous chuckle as you pause, glancing back down at the notebook. 

“Plus, you’re pretty much the only person in this entire school who’s got a good taste in music,” you state casually, as if it’s no big deal. And to you it’s not. Though for Eddie, your admission causes his heart to flutter inside his chest since no one's ever admitted out loud to liking the same shit as him.

“Anyway, are you going to this Halloween party tonight? I’m thinking of dressing up as Janis Joplin and I could really use someone to be Peter Albin…”

“I’d love to!”

You giggle at his excitement and Eddie's thanking some lucky stars that his rather abrupt reaction doesn’t scare you off.

“I-I mean, I love Peter Albin. Janis too. Dressing up as them with you would be cool," he rambles.

“Cool,” you say and flick through some pages of his notebook and bend over slightly to scribble something down. “This is my address. Come by around six if you wanna make it for dinner, my mom’s making lasagna. Also, if you wanna stay over after the party, we have a spare room so bring a change of clothes or somethin’.”

Stay over at your house... Eddie swallows and does his best not to show how his insides are literally shaking at the thought of: a) going to a party with you, and b) this casual invite to what one could only call a sleepover.

The bell rings, signalling it’s time for next period.

A small part of the metalhead is angry since it means the two of you have to part ways, at least for now, but as he stands to gather his things, to his pleasant surprise, you wait. 

A certain envious feeling spreads through Eddie because he was never good at making friends, yet it seemed to come so naturally to you. Then something crosses his mind. What if this is some elaborate joke? After all, you are friends with some of the worst people this school has to offer, however, he does his best to shake the thought away for now and follows you out into the crowded hallway.

“So, are you a big Joplin fan?” Eddie asks, his best attempt to continue the conversation.

“Pearl is my favourite album,” you reply, “I know that could be a little tame to someone who wears a Judas Priest t-shirt, but I promise I also take devil worship super seriously.”

He snorts at your joke and when your eyes meet his once again, his priorities shift and he swear he's willing to do quite possibly anything to become your friend.

To say you checked your appearance at least forty times wouldn’t be a gross over exaggeration.

You had the outfit planned long before you were even invited to this Halloween party, you knew it was perfect and something Janis Joplin herself would likely wear, yet ever since you asked Eddie Munson to not only join you, but also compliment the costume with his own, you were suddenly feeling nervous.

The curly-haired teen was by far the coolest person in this stingy town — although it didn’t seem like he knew that or like anyone else shared your belief.

His metalhead vibe reminded you a lot of the kids you grew up around, which is exactly the initial reason why you were so drawn to him. Though it took you weeks to finally approach him. Partially because you were scared he’d brush you off, but mainly because ever since you moved to Hawkins with your parents at the brink of August and September, the more popular kids latched onto you like leeches.

“Don’t waste your time with Munson,” Blake would say repeatedly, “He’s a freak.”

Unfortunately for your new group of friends, you didn’t care about social status and it also helped to know Eddie was just as fascinated with you as you were with him. His secret glances and soft smiles when no one else was looking only affirmed that belief.

So you bit the bullet and invited him out.

Bold move on your part. One you were almost starting to regret as you nervously flattened the crinkles of your loose shirt, glancing at the clock on the wall in anticipation.

Eddie doesn’t show up for dinner.

You try to hide the disappointment in front of your parents and eat the meal while actively listening to your dad retelling the events from his day at work.

“Kid, I tell ya, moving here was the best idea your mother’s ever had. Aside from marrying me and havin' you, of course. Wanna know the most exciting thing that’s happened? There was a mixup with our lunch order. Can you believe it?”

You help mom clean up after before going to quickly freshen up, brush your teeth, and grab your set of house keys. After saying a quick goodbye, still thinking about the boy that never showed, you walk outside and are about to begin your journey to the party you no longer wanted to go to when a figure emerges from the shadows.

“Shit,” you exhale and place a hand over your heart, “You scared me.”

“Sorry,” Eddie says sheepishly, running a hand through his brown locks. “I-I wasn’t sure if you were still home so…”

Your brows string together as you take a step towards him.

“How long have you been out here, Eddie?”

“Uhm, at least the last half hour,” he answers, “I noticed the light was on upstairs, but I wasn’t sure if that was your room or not. Figured I’d hang around and you’d either show up or I’d head home embarrassed.” He pauses. “Sorry I didn’t come for dinner.”

“It’s okay,” a white-lie. “Still wanna go to the party?”

“If you want to.”

Eddie slides his hands into the back pockets of his jeans and you notice then how good he looks under the dim street lamps. Peter Albin, eat your heart out.

“I like your outfit,” you compliment him with a genuine smile and you swear you can see him blush.

“Thanks,” he says with a little more confidence than he’s displayed thus far, “but you arguably look a hundred percent better than me.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks. “Thank you, Eddie. That’s very sweet.”

“You’re welcome.”

The two of you never make it to the party.

Instead, Eddie offers to show me Skull Rock and that’s how you end up laying down on the cold ground, arm-to-arm, somewhere in the middle of the forest. 

Truth be told, if you were with anyone else, you wouldn’t have agreed to this in the first place. An eerily quiet night and the deep dark woods are like a recipe for disaster in most horror movies.

Things felt different with Eddie.

Despite only having three conversations in the span of one day, the doe-eyed boy made you feel safe.

The few hours hiding from the world under this rock also made you realise how much you actually have in common. The conversation flow was incredibly natural. You drifted from topic to topic as if you had known each other a lifetime and in the space of two hours, you went from sitting across from one another to being in the formerly named position — pinkies gently grazing.

His presence next to yours is soothing. It’s also exciting, thrilling even. You hadn’t experienced this sensation before, with anyone, and you quickly find yourself thinking perhaps this could be more than just a friendship.

Until Eddie says, “Friends are hard to come by in Hawkins. I’m glad we’re here and I hope we can hang out more.”

Darkness hides your disappointment.

Short lived, the idea of dating the boy next to you so it’s easy to extinguish the flame inside and convince yourself that perhaps this was for the best.

Relationships end. Sometimes they do so quite badly.

Friendships however, well, they have a tendency to last forever.

“From now on, Eddie, we’ll never not be hanging out.”

pearl masterlist

thank you for reading <3

& tagging some cool people that expressed interest in this lil series: @cactusangie , @spenciesprincess , @capitanostella , @ashlynnkennedy , @ms1oftheboys

#a prequel of sorts— #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x best friend reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female reader #bestfriend!eddie #pearl (eddies version)

[footprintsinthesxnd]

The Good Die Young

Masterlist

Warnings: mentions of graphic themes, war, injury, weapons, sexual images, language, 18+, swearing, major character death. Pairings: Jake Seresin × f!reader. Disclaimer: This is a series reflecting on the true events of the US Marines in WW2. All of the characters are fictional and not based off are original characters (except for Jake Seresin) and they are not representations of the real, brave men who fought in WW2. I have tried to make all the events in this series as accurate as possible but please bare in mind this is fanfiction and i have added/ changed certain things to fit with this.

Pavuvu May 1944

“You’re okay George. You’re gonna be just fine,” Jake promised, pulling the blanket over George’s shivering body. Sweat trickled down his forehead, his teeth chattering like a train on its tracks.

“You okay, Georgie?” Edward asked as he lay across his cot, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth as the medic cleaned another sore on his back.

“Never better,” George whispered hoarsely, staring out from beneath the mountain of blankets, that despite the humid weather we’re doing nothing to bring him any warmth.

“You boys really need to go to the hospital. I’m going to try and pull a few strings, and get you to the hospital at Banika. I’m going to pull some paper and get you boys of this godforsaken place. You game?” The medic asked, looking at the two men in question.

“Hell yeah,” George and Edward replied and Jake smiled at the thought, at least two of his three remaining friends would be safe away from this hell hole.

“Sounds like a great plan. Thanks, Doc.” Jake followed the medic out of the tent. “How long do you think they’ll be gone for?”

“As long as they need to be. They need to rest, as do we all.”

“Well, there’s not a lot of chance of that around here, hey Doc?” Jake laughed and the medic nodded. After all, a good, deep sleep is a valuable commodity that was hard to come by in this place; both of them were well aware that the next battle wouldn’t be far off.

“What are you going to do without us around?” George chuckled, giving Jake his hand to shake. Jake took it instantly, shaking it as if it might be the last time he would see him. He hoped it wouldn’t be, he desperately wanted his friends to return but he also wanted them as far away from the war as possible, where they would be safe.

“Well, I’ll have Frank to keep me out of trouble. Don’t worry about me, okay? You just concentrate on getting better.” Jake felt a pang of sadness as he watched his two friends leave, with Edward pushing George in his wheelchair up the ramp of the troop ship. Jake never really felt alone, even when he was home sick and now he felt as though he was losing his family all over again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pavuvu June 1944

Dear Jake,

I’m not sure when this letter will reach you but your son was born 18th May at quarter to midnight. He is a little bundle of joy and he has your eyes. I can’t wait for you to meet him, Jake. I’ve enclosed a picture so you can keep him close to your heart. I have called him Jacob. It is only fitting that he has his fathers name.

News of the war is worse than ever. There was a large attack on Europe named D-Day on 6th June. I fear the war is far from won and fighting in North Africa continues still too. I am pleased to be away from work for a while. The never ending stream of bad news is almost too much to bear. At least for now I can pretend everything is okay, that everyone is safe. I wish you were here to enjoy this peace with me.

Thinking of you always

Your Y/n

Jake smiled fondly, running his dirt-engrained fingers over the picture of his son. His son. He couldn’t quite believe that he was a father, that someone like him could make something so perfect and untainted by the world. How could something do pure come from this horrendous year? Jake knew he had to keep fighting not only for Y/n now but for little Jacob too.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Well look at this. Fresh meat.” Frank pointed towards the group of fresh, baby-faced Marines as they walked up the beach in full pack.

“Jesus, are they ever old enough to drink? They’re just kids for Christ's Sake,” Jake groaned, throwing his book onto his cot. Each time recruits were sent to the front they seemed to get younger, just boys who within a few days would be homesick and crying out for their mothers as they bled out on some battlefield no one had ever heard of, in a place no one had ever visited.

“Is this How Company?” One of the baby Marines asked. He looked petrified and as Jake studied his face he noticed that the boy had probably never shaved.

“Who wants to know?” Frank asked, leaning against the supporting pole of the hut , puffing smoke from his cigarette over the recruit.

“I’m Private Daniel Chase. I’m joining How Company as a Machine Gunner. I meant to be with Sergeant Seresin.”

Jake looked at him dead in the eye. He’d never once considered that he would be sent a replacement for George. He knew that George was still pretty rough in the hospital in Banika but he didn’t think it was enough for them to send a replacement.

“I’m Sergeant Seresin. Put your kit down on that bunk there and then I’ll give you the tour.”

The young Marine did as he was told, clumsily knocking Jake’s belongings off the table, cursing, apologising and then nearly taking Jake out with his Garand.

“Okay kid, put all that shit down. Let’s go.” Frank watched in amusement as the young Marine stumbled after Jake, trying to keep up with his long strides.

Daniel Chase wasn’t a bad kid. He grew up in Louisiana with his parents and two sisters. He was funny and likeable, and Jake quickly warmed to him, taking him under his wing like a younger brother.

That evening the COs had set up a theatre and played ‘For Whom the Bell Tolls’ which mildly settled the normally rowdy Marines, except for the odd passing comment about the actress.

“Is it like this here most nights?” Chase asked, looking up at Jake inquisitively. The poor kid knew nothing of the world, Jake had realised as he gave him a tour of the camp. He didn’t smoke, didn’t drink, always said his prayers before bed and until joining the Marines had never done his own washing before.

“Sometimes. This is just to welcome the new guys, make you think that it’s all sunshine and rainbows until shit really hits the fan.” Jake knew he was only speaking the truth but regretted it as soon as the words left his mouth, the fear on the young boy's face reminded him too much of George when they had first seen battle.

“It’ll be alright, kid. There ain’t nothing to worry about, just stick with me and you’ll be fine.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Peleliu September 1944

The doors for the landing craft to exit the troop ship falling open was the beginning of it all. The bright light poured through the ship's hull as each craft flew out the doors and into the open water.

“HERE WE GO!” Jake shouted to Chase who nodded at him nervously. The poor boy had already been sick twice on Jake’s boots while they were waiting.

Aircraft flew overhead, sending bombs down onto the beach that sounded like freight trains whistling above Jake’s head. A few stray bullets hit the edge of the landing craft causing all the men to duck down. No one wanted to get hit before even reaching the beach. The large 50-caliber guns on the landcraft opened fire, trying to clear a path for the Marines to land.

The noise was deafening and between the gunfire and explosions Jake could hear Daniel let out a small whimper. “I'm scared, Jake,” Chase cried and Jake just looked at him, giving him a small reassuring smile. Well what else was he supposed to do? It wasn’t a good idea to lie to the kid but at the same time telling someone they’re probably going to die wasn’t on the cards either.

“You’re gonna be just fine, Kid. Just stay with me and keep moving.” That was the last time Jake spoke to Chase, but neither of them knew that.

As the landing craft hit the beach the smell of smoke was thick in the air, the doors swung down and groups of Marines began charging up the beach. Sand, tree bark, and bullets flew through the air. The ground was littered with bodies as Jake stumbled forward, cursing and falling into a nearby crater, taking cover from the firing above his head. He’d lost sight of Chase and Frank soon after leaving the landing craft. The scent of engine oil was thick in the air as Jake’s chest heaved from the effort. He turned to see a young Marine fall into the crater beside him, blood trickling down his face, eyes wide and frozen. Jake thought he saw the life leaving the poor boy's eyes, all the memories, the love, and future plans all gone in the blink of an eye and all that was left was a shell of who he had been.

Jake bit back a strangled scream as he pushed himself from the hole, crawling along to the next one and into the tree line where he got to his feet. Raising his Garand, he crouched low, hurrying through the trees. Earth flew up around him, the explosions ringing in his ears as he desperately tried to get his bearings, the high-pitch whistling doing nothing for his sense of direction. The last thing he needed was to be running back towards the beach. The smoke created a thick fog through the air, making it difficult to breathe and causing Jake to splutter, coughing loudly. Through all the shrapnel and gunfire flying around Jake didn’t hear the whistling above his head, the sound of the aircraft flying over, not until the explosion went off right beside him. The blast sent him through the air, his body falling helplessly to the ground.

The ringing noise in his mind was the only thing he recognised as his eyes cracked open, looking upon the grey clouds above him. They seemed to dance across the sky, the smokey smudges against the clear blue were a stark contrast but seemed to bring comfort to him. Jake realised that he rarely saw the sky without clouds of smoke anymore. It was sad really, he had always enjoyed the sunsets in Texas, and he’d often watched them with his mother as a young boy.

“JAKE! JAKE! OH FUCK! Hang on buddy. Just hang on for me.”

“Frank…” Jake whispered, reaching a bloody hand out to his friend who took it immediately.

“It’s okay Jake, I’m here. You’re gonna be alright.”

“Frank…w-where’s Y/n?” Jake asked, trying to sit up but Frank pushed him back down immediately.

“She’s not here right now but I promise as soon as we get you fixed up I'll find her okay? I'll find her you just have to hang on.” Frank’s voice was desperate as he applied pressure to Jake’s wounds.

“I NEED A MEDIC GOD DAMMIT!” Frank screamed but Jake just smiled up at him, shuffling to sit up slightly. Confusion crossed Jake’s face as he tried to move his legs again.

“Frank, I-I…can't f-feel my legs?” Jake looked up at him worried, trying again and again to move his legs but nothing happened. Nothing moved. Frank looked down at him sadly, tears glistening in the edges of his eyes.

“You're gonna be just fine, Jake. We’re gonna get your legs all sorted,” he promised, resisting the urge to look over at Jake’s bloodied legs that lay a few feet from them. “I promise, Jake.”

“Okay, Frank. I…trust y-you.”

Jake didn’t notice the way Frank's chest heaved as he screamed for a medic, he didn’t notice the desperate look on his friend's face and he didn’t notice the large pool of blood that trickled out onto the ground around him. Jake just smiled, his blue eyes looking back up at the sky as more aircraft flew over them. He could see Y/n face now, smiling down at him as she cradled little Jacob close. He reached his right hand out towards her, trying to grip hold of hers.

“Come to me, Jake,” she whispered to him. “It’s going to be okay.”

“Jake? No, no Buddy. You’ve got to stay with me, Jake. Stay with me.” Frank watched in horror as Jake’s eyes slid shut. The blood pumping through his fingers mercilessly as he tried his best to keep pressure on the wounds. A medic rushed in beside Frank, applying bandages to both of Jake’s legs. Frank continued to shout at the medic as he sat back, shaking his head defeatedly at Frank. He didn’t believe him. The medic continued to talk but Frank didn’t hear a word. He couldn’t be the only one left. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Frank felt two strong arms pulling him to stand. The Lieutenants fought him, shouting harshly in his ears to keep moving and shoving a Garand into his bloody hands. The blood congealed around the gun, sticking it to Frank as if Jake himself was urging him to use it. His hands shook violently and despite the Lieutenant's protest he couldn’t help but spare a glance over his shoulder to his friend.

“Goodbye Jake.”

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[farfromstrange]

Chaos Theory | Michael Kinsella x Reader

Chapter 15: Stop, You're Losing Me

Masterlist ° Chapter List

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Reader (she/her)

Summary: Michael needs a stapler, but you realize too late that you told him to check all the drawers on your desk, and he finds something you never wanted him to see.

Warnings: ANGST, mentions of child death, protective Michael

Word Count: 5.7k

A/n: I wanted to wait with finishing posting this, but I had a really shit day and I probably won’t get to write for this series for a while now, anyway, so this might be the only Mikey snippet you get to see for a while :( My life’s all over the place and once I pass my last final (which I’m counting on) there is a lot more stress coming toward me. Mikey is gonna move to the background a bit. But it also gives everyone time to catch up with the updates. That being said though, the angst train has arrived. Hop on!

You settle in at home later that night, pizza cartons in front of you both as you indulge in the dinner you agreed on that you would have. 

You’re happily chewing on your breadsticks and sipping your wine while Michael is having a glass of water (when he told you he doesn’t drink, you reminded him that he did when he came to visit you at the café the night you were both having a bad time, and he told you that he decided not to drink anymore after that, so you let him be). 

Work wasn’t as exhausting with him there. You had fun. And when you saw him and Sarah talking about your little spider incident, you found yourself smiling because you could tell she was trying to accept him, and Michael was kind enough to respect her boundaries.

Whatever happened between them while you were getting milk, you’re not sure, but you’re glad they found common ground. Whatever that ground might be. She doesn’t know everything about you, so she couldn’t have shared truths about you that you don’t want him to know. Whatever they talked about, it doesn’t matter because you’re happy now. 

You watch Michael as he eats, his hair standing in all possible directions; he ran his hand through it a few times before, trying to ease the tension in his scalp. He did a lot of heavy work before prison, in prison, and with Amanda, but today has been exhausting in a much different way–positively so. His bones ache, but he feels good about it, and that makes the soreness and the exhaustion so much more rewarding. 

He looks endearing like this. Even though he’s slightly sweaty, disheveled, and tired, he is still so endlessly beautiful to you. Like an antique vase adorned ihr paintings not many understand; that’s what his scars are too you, and everything else he might hate about himself.

He looks content–happy, almost–and you want nothing more than to lean in and kiss him. He deserves to feel this way more than anyone else in this godforsaken world, you think. He deserves to be loved and happy, and he deserves to move on the way he wants to.

You reach for one of the breadsticks and point it in his direction. “Breadstick?” you ask. 

He snaps out of his thoughts, smiling tiredly at you as he leans on his hand. “That’s the last one,” he says. 

“Yeah, that’s why I’m offering.”

“They’re yours.”

“You want it or not?”

“You’re still hungry–”

“Want me to feed it to you?” You get up. “You know I will.”

Michael chuckles. You approach him with the breadstick, your lips curled up into a smile. His eyes meet yours. “Ya really gonna feed me?” he asks, leaning back in his chair. 

You shrug. “You look a bit tired, I'm just trying to help.”

“I’m not a child.”

“Then why do you act like one?”

With a playful huff, he opens his mouth slightly. You hold the breadstick in front of him, pretending to contemplate for a moment before bringing it closer, closer, and just as it reaches his lips, you swiftly pull it back. “Hmm, or maybe I changed my mind,” you say.

He raises an eyebrow. “Oh? Playin' hard to get with a breadstick now, are we?” he retorts. “Tha’s low, love, even for you.”

You giggle and give in, bringing the breadstick back to his waiting lips. He takes a bite, savoring the flavor, and you can't help but feel a surge of affection for the man sitting in front of you.

“Taste good?” you ask.

Nodding, he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you into his lap. You chuckle. As soon as he has successfully swallowed, you lean down to press a kiss to his lips that are still oily from the grease of the pizza, and you both taste like garlic and onions, but he’s still too sweet to resist.

You hold his head up with your finger under his chin, tugging a little at his beard, and he deepens the kiss. Your finger moves from his chin to his cheek now, and you pull him flush against you. His hand strokes leisurely over your back, and you sigh happily into his mouth. 

Breaking the kiss for a quick breath, you rest your forehead against his. His hand is tangled in your hair now, gently massaging your scalp. It’s an instant snooze button for you. You could fall asleep like this in his arms and it wouldn’t matter, but you’re sweaty and your mouth tastes like pizza, so you eventually need to clean up. For now, though, you can rest together at the table, and share some more kisses until one of you starts getting drowsy enough to cut it short. 

“I love you,” you whisper against his lips. 

He nuzzles his nose against yours. “I love ya too,” Michael murmurs. 

You press your lips on his cheek. “I love you,” – you kiss his other cheek – “I love you,” and you continue pressing your lips all over his face until his nose scrunches and he giggles when it tickles.

“You know what I do?” you ask.

He buries his head in the crook of your neck. “Let me guess,” he says, “ya love me?”

“Mhm, I love you.” 

“Yeah, me too.”

Michael lets out a soft sigh when you start stroking his hair, and another confession slips past your lips, followed by the same three words as many times as you can say them, and he returns them every single time. 

Eventually, you start yawning. “We should get washed up,” you tell him. 

He kisses your collarbone. “Yeah, we should.”

“Did you fill out all the insurance forms?”

“Yeah.”

“And your forms for the solicitor; got them, too? I don’t remember what they’re called.”

He nods again. 

He got an appointment with his solicitor fairly quickly after he begged the secretary to put him through. He feels good about his chances in the case with Anna–a case that isn’t even a real case yet–he just needs a professional to tell him if he’s right. He needs to hear that he’s not getting his hopes up but that he actually has a chance.

The past few meetings had been awful, but he feels more positive this time around because he has proof of his efforts to be better now, and you promised you would vouch for him if someone required proof that he is in a relationship–you promised you would provide all he needs you to provide and more, and he’s thankful for that.

Michael offers you a soft smile. The forms are on the living room table; he left them there after filling them out while you were waiting on your food and you decided it would be a good idea to clean your cupboards–he wasn’t allowed to help.

“Yeah, I just need to staple ‘em,” he says. “I’ll take care of it when I’m home.”

You rub your eyes. “Or you could use mine,” you say.

“Or I could do tha. That’d be grand.”

You get off his lap and make your way to the living room with Michael in tow. “It’s in one of the drawers on my desk. Knock yourself out.”

You’re not conscious, you can’t be because if you had been in your right mind, you wouldn’t have offered him to check your desk for a stapler, let alone your drawers, instead of doing it yourself.  

Michael moves over to your desk. There is no stapler on the top, so he pulls open the first drawer. The one with the lock. He doesn’t think about it at the moment because it opens, but then he feels the lock on the outside and he remembers all the times he watched you lock it in the morning before you left for work.

Your eyes widen. “Not that drawer!” you call out, but it’s too late.

You made a mistake and now his eyes are focused right on the newspaper clippings and brown paper file you are so careful to keep locked away at all times.

You forgot to lock it and it’s your fault he‘a seeing them now, but you still find yourself feeling so violated. This is your privacy and he is staring directly at it, not moving an inch away from it. He doesn’t pretend he didn’t see them; he stares at the contents as if he has every right to.

It starts slowly breaking your frozen heart. It doesn’t thaw, it breaks, and ice is a vulnerable state of consistency. Either it melts or it breaks, and when it breaks, it hurts. You’re fragile. This is hurting you–he is hurting you–and the glass shards start digging into your soul as they nick artery after artery.

Michael’s eyes fall inside the drawer, and it’s then that he realizes that your secrets run even deeper than the phone call he overheard–they run deeper than anything he could have expected and more. It’s earth-shattering, to say the least. 

He takes the papers out of the drawer, his fingers tracing over the brittle newspaper clippings. But there is more where it came from. 

“Love,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, “What is this?”

He doesn’t want to accuse you of anything. He wants to give you a moment to explain, to tell him what you’re hiding and who hurt you, but when his eyes fall on you, he is met with a brick wall. 

‘3-year-old killed in a car crash’

‘Car accident leaves 3-year-old dead, two more injured and police baffled’

‘What really happened on December 13th?’

And the file he’s holding carries your last name. The first name, he doesn’t recognize, but the surname is undoubtedly yours. There is a post-it on one of the pictures; a little girl next to a bigger yet still little girl. Eleanor, it reads, with the year 2015 written underneath it. He was still in jail back then.

Six years ago. 

Your eyes are glued on the papers he’s holding, and his shock mixes with yours. 

“You weren’t supposed to find this,” you whisper. 

“What the hell happened?” Michael asks. His eyebrows furrow and his hazel eyes fill with the purest form of concern, and when you look into them, your heart tears open a little more. “Why– who is Eleanor?” He asks out of genuine curiosity, which is precisely the problem. 

You snap out of your daze, and the trap snaps shut around your ankle as the steel curtain closes, trying to keep the smoldering fire out.

You tear the file from his hands, hugging it tightly to your chest. The wolves are circling in on you and you have nowhere to run. The walls of your apartment start caving in. The ticking of the clock sounds deafeningly loud in your ear, the voices screaming out of every corner of your mind, and you just want to scream.

You want to scream because it hurts so much, and yet you can’t ask for help or talk about it because there is still a part of you inevitably holding you back. You’ve been forced to shoulder it alone from the beginning, and now that Michael caught a glimpse of the truth, you feel like he has torn the bandaid off your scars, but they weren’t fully healed yet, so you’re bleeding out internally all over again until you die a slow and agonizing death. 

His eyes soften and he takes a step forward. He knows he crossed a line, but he couldn’t help it. It was instinct to grab the documents. He had hoped you would tell him, but he should have known that you would start feeling cornered by him. You’re not the most open person out there; you remind him of a frightened deer, almost, and he is supposed to protect you from heartbreak rather than cause it. But here you are, close to crying, and you curl in on yourself. 

“I didn't mean to–” he whispers. “God, I’m so sorry, love. I wasn’t thinkin’…”

You shake your head, hugging the files tighter. He knows too much. The more he knows, the more danger he is in. The more he knows, the more vulnerable you grow. And the more he knows, the more real the truth becomes and it starts eating you alive the same way it did four years ago. You wanted nothing more than to be happy. You were happy for a moment, but it was torn from you in an instant.

A few seconds is all it took for everything to change. 

“But–“ he takes a deep breath, finding some composure left in him. “If you talked to me, I could help ya.” Michael’s hazel eyes hold a hopeful glint that hits you like a knife. “I know ya’ve been hidin’ some things from me and I get it, but… if yer in danger,” he says, “I need to know. Ya don’t have to carry everythin’ alone. You told me tha.”

You bite your lip. “You shouldn’t have opened that drawer,” you say. 

Silent anger. He knows your defensive response all too well. 

“I was just lookin’ for a stapler,” he reminds you softly. “Ya told me to, remember? For my documents. I didn’t mean ta– I would never invade yer privacy on purpose.”

Not on purpose and especially not out of malicious intent.

He thought about it, but thinking and doing are two entirely different things. He’s not that type of person. You’re supposed to know that. You know him better than he knows himself, but right now, neither of you seems to have really known the other. Or so it feels like, anyway.

Michael is defeated, and now he is the one cornered because curiosity got the better of him. He should have ignored it.

“It wasn’t your place,” you repeat. “You weren’t supposed to find it.”

“I’m sorry, okay?” He takes another step forward, his hand reaching for you as he tries to pull you back from the edge, but you recoil. “I didn’t mean to invade your privacy,” he says. “If you don’t wanna talk, that’s alright, but… but this seems serious, love. Please, talk t’me. At least tell me that yer safe or- or that I’m overreactin’, and I promise, I’ll drop it. Just please…Give me somethin’, anythin’, to know yer alright and this isn’t as serious as I think it is.”

Your jaw tightens. You’re being unfair, and you know that before you even open your mouth, but you’re raging inside, you curse yourself and the world and your father, and you think about Maya and all that you could lose, and you can’t do this to him. He was never meant to find out, especially not like this; that’s on you and you alone. 

If you had put in just a little more effort, or if you hadn’t let him in in the first place…

“You know you shouldn’t have seen that,” you say, your tone growing a lot more stern. “You know you shouldn’t have seen it and yet you took it out. I told you, I struggle with commitment, with trust, and you abused it! Michael–”

“Hey,” he interrupts you. He doesn’t raise his voice, but he matches your tone. “I was worried,” he repeats. “I was worried ‘bout ya, that’s all. You can’t blame me for wantin’ the woman I love to be safe. That’s not fair.”

“It wasn’t your place!” your broken voice roars across the room. “You violated my trust. You could have just let it be. You–” You break off to take a deep breath. The lump in your throat gets stuck.

You want nothing more than to step forward, fall into his arms and cry, but you’re stuck. You are physically unable to move, and it is all your fault. 

“I could tell somethin’ was off,” Michael takes another step toward you, “and I’m sorry for lettin’ my curiosity get the better o’ me. I know this is your life and your privacy–believe me, I do–but… somethin’ isn’t right here. Something’s botherin’ you. I told ya, I’d do anythin’ to protect ya. I wasn’t jokin’ when I said tha, pet.“

Something about the look in his eyes tells you that he was honest then and he is just as honest now. Deadly serious.

But you’re too caught up in whatever poison is infecting your bloodstream with its ideology to see things clearly. “No,” you whisper. “This fucks up everything.”

“What does it fuck up? Tell me.”

“This wasn’t supposed to happen. It wasn’t… you weren’t supposed to happen, but you did anyway, and so I tried keeping it from you, but I failed again, and now everything’s so fucking fucked up. Fuck!”

“Yer not makin’ any sense right now. What’s goin’ on? Talk t’me, please. I can see yer hurtin’ and it breaks my heart–“

You take a step back when he comes even closer. “No,” you say.

“Does it have anythin’ to do with your sister?” he asks, and by now, he’s not even trying to hide what he did anymore. “When she called ya this mornin’ and you went to your bedroom to talk. Does tha have anything to do with it?”

“What?” You look up to meet his eyes.

He didn’t… did he? You were being careful. You went into a different room. You whispered. You made sure he wouldn’t hear. 

Did he hear you? If he did, you’re beyond fucked, and the worst part would be that he kept it to himself the whole day without admitting it to you. 

Liar, a voice in your head calls, and your defenses become stronger, the alarm blaring and you want nothing more than to run. 

Michael takes a deep breath. The guilt in his eyes is answering enough for you, but you are too stiff to move anywhere, and he is coming closer by the second.

“I wanted to check on ya ‘cause ya didn’t look alright, and I overheard the phone call with your sister,” he admits. “I didn’t mean ta, but… I did.”

“Oh, my God!” Your breath gets stuck in your throat and you swear you can feel your heart stop. 

So he knows. He doesn’t know everything, but he knows enough to draw conclusions, and now that he’s found the file, he knows even more, and your whole life suddenly crumbles at your feet like paper that has burned to ashes. It hurts, but the pain isn’t good or pleasurable this time; you’re in emotional peril with nowhere to go and nowhere to hide. You’re Jesus nailed to the cross. You’re stuck in a maze full of thorns. You can’t get out. 

He’s right in front of you now. “Someone’s hurt ya,” he says, “In more ways than one. I can tell. They’re still hurtin’ ya. And… I think I know who it is, I just need ya to tell me so I can help. I promise, I won’t let anyone come near ya. I love you so much,” he says your name, and his hand lifts in the air to cradle your cheek. “Just tell me and I’ll raise fuckin’ hell.”

The touch that made you feel safe before feels like a deadly brush of wind now.

You recoil, and Michael’s heart joins yours on the floor. “Don’t… don’t touch me,” you say. It’s not just words, you’re pleading him to get his hands off, and you have never done that before.

Your voice breaks. Tears start welling up in your eyes, but your body is so wound up, they won’t fall. 

You know you can’t be close to him. Even the thought of his touch hurts you. You need to be anywhere but here, and he needs to be somewhere far away from you, too. 

Michael pulls his hand away. God, you hate yourself. He looks like you just reached into his chest, grabbed his heart, and squeezed it in front of his eyes. The blood coats the floor along with the frozen pieces of your own heart, but it is his essence that paints the saddest picture. Maroon spills on the carpet, but this time there is nothing and no one to clean it up and pour it back into the glass. 

“Please,” he begs. 

You take a deep breath. “Maybe you should go.”

“No,” he doesn’t move, “I’m not goin’ anywhere. I can’t leave you like this.”

“Michael…”

He shakes his head. “Not before you let me in.”

“Stop,” your voice breaks again, and you can merely hold back the treacherous tears. 

He reaches out but stops himself this time. You look so broken and he can’t help you because you won’t let him, and he has never felt so torn inside. Being burned alive is nothing compared to how you’re making him feel now, and he should probably pull away for his own sake, but you wouldn’t be like this if you didn’t need help. 

“I love you,” he breathes, “So let me love ya. Please. You just have to tell me what’s goin’ on and I promise I can fix it.”

You swallow. “You don’t get to decide what I should or should not tell you,” you say. “And you had no right to pull those papers out and confront me as if I owe you an explanation.”

He wants nothing more than to scream. “I would never do tha.”

“But you did.”

“That’s not what happened and ya know it!”

You flinch a little at the sound of his voice, and he curses himself for losing his temper.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m just scared and- and worried. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean ta yell–“

It hurts that you won’t talk to him.

Your warmth disappears completely. Centimeters turn into a meter, and soon you’re standing right by the front door, your back turned to him as your hand hovers above the handle. 

“You should go,” you repeat.

“You can’t mean tha,” his voice is barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry I yelled, but please–“

“It’s not because of that.”

“Jesus, I know! I– What happened? Everythin’ was fine five minutes ago, we had dinner, we kissed, and now– why can’t ya just talk to me? I thought we trusted each other well enough by now ta know that there is no judgment. Ya know there isn’t, love. Whatever it is, we can talk about it. Don’t push me away–”

Your voice cuts through the air like a knife, and it lands right in his chest. “I want you to leave,” you keep on insisting. 

He shakes his head. Standing behind you, he turns you around and grabs your face with his hands. You whimper. It hurts. He isn’t being harsh; his fingertips just hurt because they’re so gentle, so careful, and you can’t stand it. 

“Please,” he presses his forehead against yours, “don’t do this. Not over a fuckin’ stapler.”

But it’s more than a stapler, and he knows it.

Your nails dig into his wrists. “You have to go,” you say. “Please, you have to. I can’t…”

Michael clutches onto you, refusing to let go. “No. I love ya, and I'm terrified that if I leave, it's over for us. Just tell me we can survive this and tha... tha you still want us and I’ll go and give ya space, but I need to know that you won’t leave me.”

Your heart aches at his words, but you can't offer him any reassurance. “I don't know–”

“I can’t live without you anymore. I need ya, love. Just think about this.”

“Please, Michael,” it is your turn to beg. “Right now, I need you to go. I need… I need you to leave. So please just do me a favor and go.”

In a moment of desperation, Michael leans in and kisses you. Even his lips burn.

You find yourself moving against him, but only for a brief moment before you gently push him away. “Stop it!” you snap. “This isn’t– I told you to leave.”

“I’m so sorry–” He lets go of you. 

You open the door.

Michael's gaze lingers on you for a moment, his eyes pleading with you to change your mind. But he knows, deep down, that you're right. Reluctantly, he turns away. His emotions wear heavy on his shoulders, dragging them down to his feet. But he doesn't want to fight with you. So he grabs his coat and the unstapled documents on your living room table and walks through the open door into the hallway. You're standing there, across from him, but you're still so far away. You're unreachable. 

He glances back at you. “Are ya sendin' me away forever or just fer now?” The question is a hard one to ask, and the answer, he knows, is going to be a bitter pill to swallow no matter what you tell him. 

You shift from one foot to the other, too ashamed to meet his eyes. “I don’t know,” you whisper. 

He was right; it is a very bitter pill to swallow. 

He got you not so long ago and now he is losing you, and he doesn’t even understand why. 

“Just answer me one more thing,” he says. “Did I just lose ya?”

You look down, unable to answer. You lost yourself, but there is no way you can explain it to him in a way that would make sense.

Without another word, he nods and wipes his nose, and then he heads toward the stairs. Your eyes linger on him, but when he turns around to look at you, the door falls shut and you’re gone. Just like that.

Michael is tied to the ground, the roots of his pain keeping him tethered there. He hears you slide down your door and then you’re sobbing loud enough to fill the hallway with your sad symphony. 

He wants to turn around, run back to you, and kick the door down to take you into his arms, but he’s hurt too, and he knows that if he runs back to you, you will only push back harder, and so he straightens his shoulders and leaves. 

He loved and he lost you, just like everything in his life, and he can’t help but feel like this is his fault all over again. He wasn’t made to be loved. 

In a moment of desperation, he pulls out his phone and sends a text, ‘Need a ride.’

Only a few seconds later, Jimmy’s name shows up on the screen, asking for the address, and he lets out a shuddering sigh of relief. 

The road to your apartment isn’t long, and with Jimmy’s driving style, the black car pulls onto your street in less than thirty minutes. His brother lets down the window, eyeing him and the tears in his eyes. 

“Hey,” he says. 

Michael opens the door to the passenger side and gets in, foregoing the greetings. He’s still mad at him, but Jimmy is his brother and there has never not been a time he called him when he was in trouble. Tonight is no different. 

Jimmy looks at him. “Ya wanna tell me why ya told me ta pick you up here?” he asks. 

Shaking his head, Michael looks out the window as the landscapes start passing by. He bites down on his thumb, trying hard to keep the leftover tears at bay when he thinks about you broken on your apartment floor, crying as if you’re in excruciating pain, and he is nowhere near to help. 

But you don’t want his help, he needs to accept that. He can’t fix everything or everyone. And he can’t help you if you don’t want him to. It’s sad and it hurts, but it’s true.

“What happened?” Jimmy once again asks. “Was it yer girlfriend? Did she hurt ya?”

Michael shakes his head again. 

“Then why do you look like yer about to drown this car in tears?”

“I just needed a getaway car,” he answers. 

“Getaway car from wha?”

He’s not sure. Your relationship, maybe, but he would never run away from that if it wasn’t necessary. You made the choice, not him. He needed to get away before his heart could break anymore, that’s why he called Jimmy. He needs to go home, whether he likes it or not. And his brother is still family, despite how many times they argue. 

“Michael,” Jimmy urges him. “If she hurt ya, tell me and I’ll make sure that little girl knows she messed with the wrong family.”

“No,” Michael says, and this time his tone takes a dangerous tone. “You don’t get to touch her. Stay out of it. It doesn’t fuckin’ matter.”

“Then tell me the truth!”

“She lied.”

“About?”

“She lied,” he repeats, his eyes once again trailing over the landscapes and city lights. “She lied and kept secrets and then she told me to leave, but she didn’t hurt me on purpose. Shit happens. We’re over. That enough for ya?”

Jimmy sighs, patting him on the shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he says. 

But Michael doesn’t really hear him. The cotton engulfs him and with it, your sobs fade into the distance and the loneliness makes its home in his heart all over again. Gone is the happiness and the butterfly effect; it’s just him now, and he figures that maybe, this is exactly how he is supposed to be–lonely and alone. 

You’re not sure how long you have been lying there on the floor. It could have been hours, it could have been minutes, you don’t know. Your eyes are burning from the tears you shed and your voice is hoarse from sobbing. The door is locked, but you somehow still wish Michael might come floating through it.

You’re such an idiot, but you can’t take back what you said. You shouldn’t. It was the right choice. Maybe pushing him away the way you did wasn’t the best idea, but the choice itself was the right one. 

If it was the right choice though, why does it hurt so much?

You manage to lift your aching body off the cold floor and into the kitchen where you find the wine bottle from dinner. You’ve only had a glass and it was still full when you got it. There’s enough to get rid of the pain, and yet not enough to make you forget. You don’t want to forget. You deserve the despair that comes with remembering, but you need some balm for your soul, and wine seems like the best choice to knock yourself out.

Michael didn’t deserve any of the things you said, and you should have never developed that crush on him in the first place. If you hadn’t, you couldn’t have hurt him so shortly after declaring your love for him. You tore his heart out, twisted the dagger deeper inside, and then impaled his heart and soul, too. You saw him slowly dying inside when he left, and you feel so guilty for making him go through so much shit again simply because you can’t face your own feelings. 

You loathe yourself. 

The papers he retrieved from the drawer land on your coffee table with a thud. The bottle of wine is already at your lips as you take a big swig, and then some more. You stare down at the articles and the file, and your eyes turn from sad to dead. You shut them off, all these unwanted emotions, because you fucked up now anyway and everything else is fucked, so shutting it off and focusing on fixing what you can fix is what you would do.

You’re angry, and it’s not just the wine that makes it feel so much stronger. The feeling consumes you. You have a fire inside of you that turns into an inferno and is ready to burn every hurdle in your path to the ground. You never had that before, and it makes you more determined now than ever. 

It’s three in the morning when the cellphone in London rings and tears Maya out of her sleep. 

“Jesus–“ her sleepy voice sounds from the other end. “Do you know what time it is?”

You take another swig of wine, and the bottle is almost empty now. The papers are splattered everywhere. Chaos has ensued around you. You are nowhere near closer to discovering the truth, but at least you’ve found a bottle of tequila and some lime juice. The wine isn’t empty yet, but you’re almost there and then you will focus on the harder stuff.

You thought you would find something, but you’re still empty-handed and angry, and your finger pressed that call button without your permission. 

“Hello?” Maya asks again. She calls your name. “Are you there? Are you alright? You know I have to somehow find a way to hide that 3am call from Dad, right? It’s not funny if you’re not gonna talk to me.” 

“You know,” you finally speak up, your speech slurring, “he said they were on their way to dance rehearsals.”

“What?”

“The M25 was not the way to her dance studio, especially not the turn they took off of it.” 

You kick the picture in front of you aside. You’ve had enough. You should burn them. You should burn him. 

Maya hesitates before she asks, “Are you talking about Ellie?” 

“There were no other cars. He wasn’t speeding. He just stood there with the passenger side toward where the truck was coming from, and…” You trail off.

She says your name again, and this time tears are audible in your little sister’s voice. “Stop,” she begs you. 

“He wanted it to look like an accident by speeding before,” you say, a pained scoff leaving your lips, “but he can’t fool me.”

“You promised–“ Maya cuts off to take a deep breath. “You promised you wouldn’t dig. Why are you digging?” 

You empty the wine bottle with another large gulp. Your features don’t contort. You barely taste the alcohol anymore. It reminds you of water. You grab the tequila next, but it’s hard to open the bottle with one hand. You go for it with your teeth. It works. The taste is more potent, sharper, and more bitter, and it adds to the buzz in your head that makes everything seem less bad.

Oh, but the anger burns brighter than ever because everyone knows what happens when you pour alcohol or gasoline into the fire–the flame is only going to grow, and eventually it’s going to end up out of control. You can’t put it out without putting your life at risk, so you need a firefighter, but with a fire as large as the one inside of you, even a fire truck would come too late. 

The same way they came too late to save your sister.

You swallow. “It should have been me in that fucking car with her,” you say, your voice void of emotions yet so loaded at the same time. “Or with him, and then he could have killed me instead of her, but it wasn’t… it wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”

You’re so empty, you can feel the tears in your chest, but they won’t fall. You have nothing left to give. You’ve bled out.

Taking a deep breath, you take another sip of liquor. “I’m gonna get you back,” you state as a matter of fact. “It’s what I should have fought harder for in the beginning.”

“By snooping around what happened six years ago?” Maya shoots back. “Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

“Oh, yeah. That’s gonna be the title of my biography.”

“Are you drunk?”

“Slightly buzzed. Doesn’t fucking matter. He killed her–“ you put the bottle back to your lips, “And he’s gonna suffer for it. You shouldn’t have to stay with him or Mom or anyone else. You belong with me.”

“I know he hurt you–“

“He abused me. He never touched you, but he touched me all the time and I am sick and tired of letting him control me. All of us. I’m gonna tie that accident to him,” you say, “and then I’m gonna watch as he burns. I’m gonna hurt him the same way he hurt me, and then I’m gonna get you back.”

Maya shakes her head against the phone. “He’s going to kill you,” she pleads, trying to somehow emphasize her words, but you’re too drunk and too angry to see clearly. 

You chuckle. “I’d like to see him try.” 

“I don’t want to lose you, why don’t you get that?”

“Oh, I get it. Why do you think I’m doing this? It’s not because I find some perverted enjoyment in reliving all of this shit, I do it because I love you. I’m doing this for you.”

“Please,” she calls out for you, “Think this through! Don’t do it. There has to be another way.”

As you put the bottle of tequila down, your eyes focused on the empty wall before you, and you sigh. “Take care of yourself. We’ll talk soon,” and with that, you hang up on her. 

You turn back to the files on the floor. The message with ‘I just threw up, can’t come to work tomorrow’ is quickly sent to Ava, and then you toss your phone aside. What’s left are you, your liquor, and the papers, and as you stare at the picture of the happy child and her little sister as they’re sitting in the garden together, your fist tightens around the neck of the bottle.

He might think he won, but you’re determined to cut his lucky streak short. He made you suffer twenty years, and you’re going to make sure he gets much more than that. 

Tagging: (let me know if you want to be tagged, too!) @bellaxgiornata @mattmurdocksscars @ms-murdockswift @your-not-invisible-to-me @shouldbestudying41 @glowstick-lesbian @acharliecoxedfan @roseallisonparker @norestfortheshelbywicked @1988-fiend @loveroftoomanyfandoms @mattkinsella @schneeflocky

#michael kinsella x reader #michael kinsella x you #michael kinsella angst #michael kinsella #kin amc #charlie cox #x reader #chaos theory

[georgiapeach30513]

Fresh Fallen Snow, Part 4

Summary: Curtis claims you.

Pairings: Curtis Everett X Reader

Rating: explicit

Warnings:  explicit language, explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, PIV sex, smut, loss of innocence, creampie, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 2.3K

Previous

Series Masterlist

*divider created by @firefly-graphics​

Tanya pushes people out of the way, pulling you towards the fountain. This wasn’t how it was to be used, but she insisted. Your eyes look over towards Curtis who smiles alongside Edgar, and it makes your heart swell. He looked joyful, and even he was cleaner than he once was, thanks to Tanya.

She notices how you rarely take your eyes off of Curtis, giving you a warm smile as she washes off as much of your body as possible, “Cheryl, bring the ladies over to create a wall. She’s getting the whole body washed.”

“The whole body?” you ask her, suddenly embarrassed at being naked in front of everybody. Watching nervously as woman after woman create a barrier around you, and even Curtis and some of the other men stand guard a bit more.

“You don’t want him to see you in all your glory, and be filthy. Save that to the pillow talk,” sheepishly you look away from her as you start to undress. “Now don’t go all shy now. Everyone knows how much restraint that boy has concerning you. It’s not easy for him.”

“It’s not been easy for me either,” you smart back as she starts washing off your body.

“Easier. You don’t know what you’re missing,” the thought of Curtis with another woman, doing the things you had been doing makes your nose turn up in disgust. “He never had a lot. Stop your pouting.”

“Why is this necessary?” you ask. Curious as to why a ceremony pledging your undying love was needed. Marriages weren’t recognized by the front.

“Let me tell you about a young boy that came to live on this train. Barely made it on here. He had dreams of becoming an architect. Was in school, too. He had house plans for the home we was going to make his family. Wanted to adopt a dog for his kids, was designing the future. And then he ended up in the tail end of this godforsaken train.”

She pulls a dress on you, while it was nothing as grand as a wedding gown, her and the other ladies had made you as fancy of a dress that they could with the rags they had collected. And you smile up at Tanya when she starts styling your hair.

“That man, oh that man, you’ve got you one of the best on here. He’s fiercely protective of everyone, but mostly you. He’s going to help us. Everyone know it. He’s got plans. And maybe one day, he can design the life he thought he would have. It’s what he deserves.”

With a quick glance to Curtis, you nod your head agreeing. He truly did deserve everything he wanted, and then some. And you wanted to make that a reality to him.

Her hand moves over your belly, and she can’t help, but cry, “It’s stupid to have kids on this train. But it makes us feel human. Hoping that one of us births the one that can deliver us from this life.”

“But the winter?”

“Tanya!” Gilliam stands beside her, and there’s a quick darkness that is apparent. “There is nothing but the train. You’d do good to remember that. Sweet Aspen, Curtis has paid your bunk neighbors handsomely in protein blocks. You’ll have a few hours alone.”

“Gilliam, that is not what ladies discuss. Go on, old man. Don’t let him bother you. Decorum went out the window with such close living quarters. He’s not wrong, it’s just not appropriate. Are you ready to marry your man?”

You gulp, but nod your head. Grabbing up your hand, she walks you to the opposite end of the tail from your bunk. Both yours and Curtis’ eyes only on the other as she walks you down the makeshift aisle.

Him looking more handsome that ever, a perma-grin on his face as Gilliam does a quick speech, “These two could very well, change the world,” he says calmly tapping on his heart. Curtis didn’t catch it, but you do. A quick wink, and he moves his finger to the center of his chest.

A quick and lighthearted ceremony, just to be told, “You may now kiss your girl.”

And it was a kiss from him you hadn’t ever experienced. Deep and warm immediately. His arms wrapping around you tightly, while yours hold tight to his cheeks.

“Sheesh, go ahead and take her to your wedding suite,” Edgar groans. “Someone start singing and carrying on. And give these two what they’ve been begging for.”

Pulling apart from Curtis, only to smile up at him. Nodding your head, he grabs a hand, gently walking you towards your bunk.

It’s awkward, and you feel a bit exposed, but he made you his in front of the whole train car. Your arm wraps around him soothingly, and there’s only the tiniest part that would like to join in on the celebration. Few moments of the entire car being happy, happen. And you fear that this, too will be ruined by the front. They were always watching.

Curtis helps you in the bunk, looking at the crowd one more time, and getting a huge smile from Tanya, before he’s jumping in. Once he’s seated, you’re ready to pounce on him, but he holds you steady, “Wait.”

“Curtis, I’ve waited long enough. Who knows how long they’re going to allow,” his thick finger presses on your lips, shushing you softly.

He digs into your secret hiding spot for your necklace. Circling your neck, he puts it on. Those sinful hands drift down you, slowly. Leaning back to look at you, “Beautiful.”

“I don’t even know where it came from.”

“I was talking about you,” your hands slowly undo your dress, until you’re left trembling, nearly naked, “Aspen, what’s wrong?”

“I’m cold.”

“You won’t be for long,” holding out his hand for you, you crawl into his lap. His mouth kissing over your skin as you start undoing his buttons. Pulling off his shirt, and sighing when you make skin on skin contact.

Finally having a moment to admire his physique. Despite the squalor that you lived in, Curtis was strong. Chords of lean muscle line his skin. Your fingers trace the veins of your ‘husband’ when you notice something you hadn’t before, “How did you get this scar?”

“What?” he pants up at you. His hands grip tight to your hips; grinding you over his enticing bulge.

“The…it’s a snowflake,” he pushes you back slightly, looking at his scar, and chuckles. “It’s not funny.”

“It’s a brand. It was my ticket onto the train. Shh, Aspen, your cunt is on fire, and you’re leaking through my pants. Can you not let me just,” his head tilts to the side, and he shakes his head, you were more than just a fucking. It sounded harsh to call this that. “Make love to my wife.”

His head sinks back down to your breast, and his tongue playfully licks around it, before diving in. His thick hand kneading the other one, while your body rocks over him. Your sweet sounds louder than normal, and he’s addicted. Loving the way you grab his head, and look down at him overtaking your body.

His hips jut forward, causing you to yelp, but he just lays you flat on the bed. Crawling over you, he starts kissing a line right down your front. Coming to your ruined panties, he kisses over the material, before his fingers hook around the elastic, pulling them down.

You watch him as he shimmies out of his pants. His wide body situates itself in between your thighs, and he can’t decide what he wants to focus on, your weeping cunt, or your breathless face. Curtis starts to move his hand to your entrance, but you shake your head no, “You’ve used your fingers enough.”

“Aspen…”

“I don’t care. That was the point of them being rowdy. Your wife wants you to claim her. I want to be leaking of your seed.”

He slaps your pussy, and you chirp. Eyes wide as you stare at him, “You need to quit getting sex advice from Cheryl,” her advice always paid off.

Snaking your hand down, you enter two fingers into your throbbing pussy, using them to fuck yourself. Pulling them out, Curtis stares at your drenched digits. “I want my husband to destroy me. Show me why you were the man for me.”

“Keep talking to Cheryl,” Curtis lines himself up, giving your sensitive bean a slap with his thick cock, and you nod your head at him. Eyes only on his bright blue ones when his blunt tip pushes through.

You cling to his forearms, brows furrowed, and you bite at your lip, “What was that you were saying, Aspen?” your words catch in your throat, that Diamond snowflake sliding off of your chest. “Just remember to breathe, baby. Let me do the rest. One day, I’m going to see that pretty necklace from a different angle, when I teach you how to ride my cock.”

“C-c-can I?” you hiccup up at him.

“Not yet. You get a bit deeper.”

“I like…I want you to be deeper.”

With that admission, Curtis slides in more. Your folds hugging onto his veiny girth, and he makes sure you feel every inch of him. Not stopping his journey until he bottoms out. Balls deep in your stretched cunt, and you can’t do anything but whimper up at him.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he settles his body on you, and you had never felt more content, overwhelmed, but perfectly satisfied. His weight over top of you, and those fingers brush over your sweaty skin. “I love you.”

“I…too…I mean, I love you, too,” he chuckles at your struggle to speak. Stunned at how full you feel, but how warm. Crashing his lips into you, he slowly pulls himself out. “Curtis, no.”

“Hey, I’ve got you. This is how it works, we create friction. I promise, it feels amazing. You feel amazing,” you whine until he sinks back into the root, letting out a sigh of relief. “You already addicted to my cock?”

“It’s the only thing I can give you.”

“Not the only thing,” he moans, creating a languid pace as he thrusts into you. Your legs spread around him, and the sounds of your bodies connecting is the second best thing he’s heard. Your sweet and desperate mewls up at him, his ultimate favorite.

You wrap your arms around his back, going from softly running your fingers over his broad shoulders, to gripping him tightly. Your fingernails digging into him, and creating crescent moon shapes in his skin.

He picks up his pace lightly, and when you sob up his name, he slams his mouth into yours. Drowning in your sounds, when he begins a quick and deep rut into you. Had it not been for his mouth, the entire car would have heard your screams. Begging him to keep going.

Your virgin hole clenching down on him, and the both of you see stars. “Cur-Cur-Curtis! I…oh…Curtis,” his voice a mixture of deep growls and grunts, as that cock splits you in half. Your cunt molding perfectly to his length, and you see stars as lightning courses through your body.

Gripping him tightly as he fucks you even harder through your orgasm. His body aching for his release. Back arching off the bed, and you take him even deeper. Curtis unable to hold on anymore, let’s your fluttering walls milk him. His delectable cream painting your womb, and you whisper up his name.

“I know,” he pants as he rests his forehead on yours. “Gimme a minute.”

“Can we do that again, but…”

“Aspen, we’re doing that all night. All the ways you can thick of. I belong to you just as much as you belong to me.”

There’s a moment of silence, before he reaches out of the bunk, gathering up any discarded clothes, and your bunk mates whoop out loud. Congratulating the two of you for finally letting him take you.

“You good?” he asks, laying flat on the bed, and pulling you into him.

“Perfect.”

“I hope you don’t mind being sore. I want that everyday.”

“It’s yours. I’m yours.”

He twists his head to look at you with a post sex dopey smile. His cheeks heated and pink. His breath still not evened out, “And I’m yours.”

“Wilfred?” Claude pokes her head into the engine, as he paces around. “It’s begun.”

“A bit late,” he almost growls at her. “I give him…she was on a fucking platter just for him.”

“How long should we allow them to celebrate?” he turns and looks at her oddly. “They had a ceremony. And the tail gave him and the girl some privacy to consummate the marriage.”

“Traditionalist,” he nods his head. “I’ve chosen wisely. Make sure they get their special bricks. We need him good and strong, and her preferably swollen. Let them have their fun a bit longer. Then we’ll see if he’s truly protective over his Aspen. Gilliam has done well with his fairy tales to the boy. Make sure he gets something special in his brick, too. I want her measurements in a few weeks.”

“Of course.”

“And she didn’t have on the necklace?”

She shakes her head no at the madman, “Gilliam said she has it. Curtis has desires for her to wear it when they…”

“I don’t need details, Claude. I need results. Eighteen years in the making. What’s the temperature outside?”

“It’s rising.”

“Very well. I’ll allow another hour. They better get used to people being around them.”

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Masterlist

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#fresh fallen snow #curtis everett #curtis everett x reader #curtis everett smut #snowpiercer #snowpiercer fanfiction #curtis everett fanfiction #chris evans #chris evans characters #curtis everett x y/n #curtis everett x you #curtis everett fic #curtis everett x fem!reader #chris evans x reader #chris evans smut #\

[saintsenara]

I always love hearing about people’s fandom and reading/writer journeys especially since they usually involve some very cursed content and fun navigating ‘90’s and ‘00’s tech. Where did you start, what got you hooked, how have your tastes changed over the years, what made you decide to go from reader to writer? 💖

thank you for the ask, anon - and you’re correct that my experience was one of cursed 2000s technology, given that i started reading harry potter fanfiction via the twin madhouses of livejournal and fictionalley, nothing ever tagged beyond ‘lemon!!!’, on the family computer using dial-up internet [god bless the fact that the parents of my generation had no inclination to care about what we were consuming online - one of my brothers was a huge fan of rotten.com, and he's perfectly well-adjusted...]

my reading tastes were, initially, lord of the rings focused - i still think* about a particular elrohir/námo mandos fic which had me in chokehold when i was about fourteen - but i was as big a harry potter fan as anyone of my generation [shoutout in particular to one of my pals, who spent the entirety of a geography trip in 2006 speculating what the unknown horcruxes could be with me while we froze our bollocks off in some godforsaken bog in county antrim]. so it wasn’t a surprise, i suppose, that i was clicking on any fan-fiction links i could find for that series too…

[the fic which has stayed with me most profoundly from those days was called something along the lines of murder at malfoy manor which was on fictionalley and was this exceptional combination of the rules of cluedo and the ron-is-time-travelling dumbledore theory. it was incredible.]

but i wasn’t a writer. i was one of those science-y, not-like-other-girls teenagers who was performatively really cunty about other girls who liked to write little stories or draw little pictures, which i thought was fundamentally unserious. the fact that i was an avid consumer of these stories didn’t make me question what the fuck i was being such an arsehole about…

because i loved a bit of fan-fic, and not only did i love fan-fic but i demonstrably had a fandom presence and was clued up on fandom lore - i could quote my immortal, i knew what a snape-wife was, i was on a forum or two - although i went to great lengths to avoid anyone in my real life discovering that. and i do feel extremely proud of myself that i have a reputation among people i know for not having been particularly cringe as a teen [how little they know… i’ve just got a good poker face.]

i lost interest in harry potter when i went to university - i started uni in 2010, when it was still socially acceptable to be really into it, and i definitely went to my fair share of themed parties in the first couple of years, but by the time i graduated in 2016 (i did medicine, so it’s a six-year slog…) i’d not opened the books, watched the films, or thought about the fandom in years. i remember rolling my eyes at the number of people i know who went to see cursed child when it first opened. bit cringe to be in your twenties and into harry potter, isn’t it?

[lol. lmao.]

but a global crisis changes things, i suppose.

like so many people, i got back into fandom during the coronavirus pandemic - although, regrettably, not because i was stuck at home. i don’t think i’ll ever be able to accurately describe what it was like to work in a hospital in 2020, except to say that by the time i got home each day the only thing i could do other than stare blankly at a wall was lose myself in the comfort of media i knew well and its memories of a simpler time. and once i’d re-read the books a few times… well, it was only a matter of time before i was scrolling ao3 at 3am.

and, because my ego hasn’t changed even if my relationship with my own gender has, it did not take a lot to convince me that i could write stories which were just as good as the ones i was reading.

you can be the judge of whether i succeeded.

[*i’m being coy. i have it bookmarked on ao3]

#asks answered #asenora on writing

[mirrorfalls]

🔥dcmk

IDK, the last few months have been giving me the impression that “Masumi Sera is the only character in this godforsaken molasses worth watching anymore” is, in fact, an Unpopular opinion? 💦 (I don’t even mind Mary all that much, tbh, though that might just be because she did exactly what I wished Shinichi had done when she got APTX’d)

Anyway… this is an opinion I’ve expressed in a place I can no longer access, so lemme state it again: the idea that being Conan has taught Shinichi to be more humble may just be the single greatest piece of fanon in this entire fandom. And I mean that in both senses: it’s an undeniable improvement on Gosho’s characterization, used by some, probably all of the greatest fic and meta-writers we know… but the sheer number of fans who take it as the default canon state of things boggles me.

Conan may have taught Shinichi to be more cautious (paranoid, if you’re feeling less generous). He may have taught Shinichi to (however slightly) think more about others’ feelings. But he still looks down his nose at anyone even two seconds behind his thought process, and he’s worse about stringing anyone and everyone along when he wants something, be they strangers he met five minutes ago or his childhood best friend, literal girlfriend, and unwitting caretaker. I shouldn’t sound so condemning here - I like Conan as a little shit, especially when he deliberately uses the “I’m just a widdle guy!” act to taunt perps - but I’m just bemused at all the earnest arguments that this life somehow made him an underdog.

The APTX’ing changed absolutely nothing between him and Agasa, the actual safety net in his life. Hell, it’s only because of plot fiat he’s not just living at Agasa’s and hunting down leads on the Org full-time. Even if you accept that living at the Mouri Agency is a Must, it’s not like his life’s ever gonna get truly uncomfortable, considering his parents are paying Kogoro five figures a month. Ran cooks three square meals for him a day, his friends (and probably teachers!) at Teitan look on his wisdom like a God… Megure and co. not listening to him in the early eps was a welcomed hurdle, but it’s not like he can’t get “Shinichi” over the phone whenever he likes, and nowadays he can basically boss FBI agents around to their faces…

tl;dr temporarily embarrassed millionaire headlines this series, poor exploited traumatized underdog is A Departure from that. So please keep doing it ✊ Rise above the source material like the author probably never will.

[am-i-late-to-this08]

BROKEN GLASS

DA X DARKIPLIER

My first da x darkiplier fanfiction so be nice 👍

Pt. 1?

Warning: swearing, panic attack, blood

"COME BACK YOU BITCH!" You punch the mirror out of anger, to no avail. "GET ME OUT OF HERE YOU FUCK! GET ME OUT OF HERE! NOW!" Your voice ricochets off the Walls of the mirror. "GET, Get me out." The blood in your ears defining you. "Please, please," You said as your voice faded into a whisper, your legs gave out underneath you and fell to the ground. "Fuck all of you." Tears cascaded down your face onto the tiles beneath. The entry was silent, only the echoes of your voice and damen-celine-mark things footsteps. That godforsaken bitch put you in here, whatever it is now, out there in your body you think? You don't know what happened, or where you are. You don't even know what you are anymore, only that you're stuck in a mirror. Stuck in this entry until someone has use of you.

No sense of time makes everything better. You think. The only thing keeping you sane is the ever increasing sense that one day you'll be useful to someone and get out. Your only purpose now is to watch as the years or centuries pass and wait. You've had a long time to think about what happened, and consider your life choices. All of this makes zero sense, but you know every letter of the books that were kept in the entrance room. The small bookshelf is slim pickings, a Bible, encyclopedia, a thesaurus, Shakespeare's greatest plays, molby Dick, smoke and mirror's (the irony),grimms fairytale and a book in Latin. You pick up molby dick off the coffee table and flip to the bookmarked page, somewhere in the middle. A sound of glass shattering catches your attention, maybe a raccoon or something like that. Instead you see yet another shard fall from the ever disappearing mirror. You fear once the remaining shards fall yet another confusion series of events may occur. "How do I know what I look like?" You ask yourself. After however long you have been in here, you lost any capacity to keep thoughts inside. Not like anyone will hear you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yet another scuffle draws your attention to the outside. "Look how far you've fallen." A smooth voice coos. "I can't believe you're still here. Good God." Damien's tone calls. "You..." I glare at the man before me. His gray skin contrasts with his white tuxedo, lines of blue and red etch him. "... You bitch." He looks you up and down disinterestedly. Dark circles line his eyes, or is it eyeliner? "That's gay." You whisper. His brow furrows. "Pardon?" You laugh. "You're wearing eyeliner. That's gay as hell. Or did Celine do that?" You ask. He simply shakes his head. Red copy's glitch around him as his eyes flash black. "Celine says hello." Your face goes blank. "So, what do you need from me? Wanna steal whatever is left of my soul? I can't think of anything else you can get from me." You grumble. "You always saw through me. I mean us." The last word emphasized by a distortion in his voice. "I need your help." He paused as his face softened. "You're the only person I can trust." Rage contorted your's. "Seriously?" You snort. "After how long? You ask me for help? Why don't you use my body for something useful, like digging a hole and dying in it?" You snap. Before he can respond you turn away as glass cracks underneath your feet. He sighs. "It been ninety four years. I thought you might wanna know." Ninety four years? Shit that's a long time,you think. "How's the colonial? Is he dead?" You ask. " No, he's alright. As alright as he can be, watching you die changed him. Now-now he's fucking insane. Worse than you, and your bad." He adds, avoiding your glare." Thanks." You mutter. "Nothing is going to get better if you stop being so goddamn stubborn all the time." The blue etchings glitch around him, Damien? "Go. Fuck. Yourself." You hiss, he recoils like he's been struck. "Alright." His tone shift's to calm. "Stay in here for the rest of eternity and rot more than you already have. I won't come back, not for a long time." His gaze finally meets yours, no emotion in his eyes. "If you want I can bring you something to pass the time. Or, I can get you out and you can help me. This is your choice." He adjust's his jacket, fidgeting around. " Go. Fuck. Yourself." You hiss again. He shakes his head and breaks contact." I'll come back tomorrow in case you change your mind." He looks you over one last time before walking away.

"Fine, I'll do it. Only if I don't ever come back here." You cracked,the thought of eternity in this place was worse than whatever he had planned you decided. "And this time, I won't be your pawn. I won't be killed ether. Last time it didn't end well." He nods. First thing in the morning he came back, all your rage yesterday disappeared and turned to grief." Do we have a deal? "He purrs, something shift's in his eyes. "Yes. But-how exactly does this work? Will I be possessing anyone?" You asked. Dark shook his head and laughed." No, it's hard to explain but you'll get your old body back. So, don't worry." He explained calmly." Okay, get on with it." You chime. He reached out his hand, his fingers dipping into the inky black in-between of the mirror. You follow his motion. His cold hands contrast with your hot and clamy ones, with a firm tug your hand is pulled through the black. All of a sudden every heartbeat sends waves of needle-like pricks and and pain through your body. You clench your jaw and hiss through the pain, his grip tightens. You feet come off the floor and kneecaps scrape against the remaining shards of glass. Just like it started the pain fades replaced pounding in your head and the stinging in your legs. You opened my eyes which you unknowingly closed. With your eyes glued to the floor you notice the diamond tiles are backward and the way your blood drips on the dusty tile. Once your breathing began to steady you lift your head, dark stood a few inches away with his hand reached out comfortingly. "Thank-thanks." You croaked, his smile brightened. The blood seeped out of the wound on your knees, bits of glass still stuck in your flesh. You looked down at your blood stained white dress pants, the outfit you 'died' in. "You're bleeding." Dark said, hand still in yours. He follows your eyes and pulls back his hand leaving yours cold. "Shit." He swears." What?" You ask, blood still dripping." Let's get you cleaned up, we need to go." He says huridley. " Okay, I doubt there's any clothes or a first aid kit here." You grumble." Right." A tingle goes across your kneecaps and the monotonous dripping stops. You look to see the open wounds close and the bits of glass fall into the puddle of blood. "Since when can you do that?" You blurt. He lifts his head and meets your eyes. "Practice." You scoff at his response.

#idk what im doing #darkiplier #markiplier egos #markiplier #mirror #tw blood #wkm #darkiplier x y/n #darkiplier x reader #who killed markiplier #actor mark #wilford warfstache

[calypsodivum]

run to you (e.m.)

summary this is the second part to love letters to the dead part one ● part two (you're here, yay!)● part three ● part four eddie is stuck in upside down. he hears your thoughts. you're away from hawkins in hopes to finally move on after a year without him.

disclaimer

photos and gif credits go to their respective owners! just like the first part, I HAD to use colors

warnings

mentions of bl00d, loss, and depression. please let me know if I missed something!

pure angst (?), and vampire!eddie (duffer bros, if you're reading this, PLEASE). idk if this is a warning but the last part of this series will be up sometime next week!

a/n

thank you very much for showing support for the first part! hope you like this one too!

___________________________________________________________

"sweetheart, wake up! don't want to miss your flight!" mom shouts from the kitchen. the smell of bacon and pancakes wafting through the air. my last morning in hawkins. i would've been the one waking you up today, reminding you that today is the day we start building a life for ourselves. instead today, it's the day i write my final letter to you. a year of unread letters seems very impractical but it helped me through a lot. writing to you as if you'd read them.

the sun is beaming through my window, the one you used to climb. it's mocking me. it's such a beautiful day outside but my heart is filled with thunderstorms. i want to cry, i'm trying my best not to. i'm about to build a future without you but can i do it? i feel guilt running through my veins. we imagined a future together. it's like i'm leaving you here. one last letter.

eddie, this is my last letter. i hope you're not mad at me. i feel so much guilt in my heart. i don't want this to be the last one, but it has to be. if you can see me right now, you'd probably think I'm crazy. I'm on the verge of breaking down in tears but i have a smile on my face. in my head, i can see you pouting at me, the way you used to when you were "mad". arms crossed, brows furrowed, the whole "mad" shebang. you're still clear in there, in my head i mean. even clearer in my heart. you will always hold a special place there. i don't think i'll be able to find someone else. crazy cat lady sounds interesting to me. maybe i'll be that. this letter won't be long, eds. i'd have to spend the whole day writing it. i love you. i always will. you did so much for me. i used to cringe when people say their partners changed their lives. but eddie, i completely agree with them. you made me better. and you will keep on doing that because i will never forget you. you will live in my heart for as long as it beats. pretty metal, huh?

you will always play your guitar, i will always hear the sweet sound of your laughter, I will always feel your warmth. you will never leave me, Eddie. i love you until my very last breath. i don't know how the afterlife works but my soul will find a way back to yours so be ready, rockstar. I'll love you for another lifetime. I'll see you there, and when i do, I'll make sure you stay.

goodbyes are indeed hard. i tried my best not to cry but when steve said i didn't have to feel guilty for leaving, it's like a dam breaking. he read me like a children's book. damn him and his empathy. i said my goodbyes to wayne too. i promised to keep in touch because if there's anyone who knows eddie more than i do, it's wayne. I'm about to start a life without eddie. as the plane takes off, i take a deep breath not because I'm scared of flying. what I'm really scared of is leaving. I'm leaving eddie behind for a future we planned together. i wish he could hear me somehow. i place a kiss on the rings on my chain, maybe just maybe, he'd be able to feel it.

___________________________________________________________

i hear you. i'm running to you, sweetheart. please wait a bit more. I've ran around this godforsaken place. no portals. please wait for me. can you hear me?

time is frozen here, edward munson. no one can hear you. no one is waiting for you. you're dead for all they know. they held a funeral, didn't you hear? you're gone.

no, i'll find a way. as long as y/n's still breathing, i'll find a way.

you're slowly killing y/n, you know? stopping them from living a life they deserve. the thought of you is like an anchor that drowns them in guilt. you heard them, "I don't think i'll ever find someone else". another thing you're not allowing them to experience: love. their words, not mine. you know what future they want. do you fit in it? do you really want to run to them? come back as if nothing happened? do you think they'll love the person, no, the creature that you are now? lifeless. you don't even have a heart.

i don't think it matters. they need me and I will be there. I'll escape from this hell hole and when I do, I'll make sure they will never feel this way again. I'll stay this time because it's you who won't find a way out.

then why is y/n leaving? can't you see, Eddie? they already gave up. ready to see a future without you. something you can't give them. you'll always hurt y/n. you always have.

vecna shows moments of you crying for eddie. one of you after his funeral staying behind, crying in front of his picture all night. each memory more painful than the last.

eddie slumps down on his knees. he feels helpless.

it was enough for eddie to realize how right vecna was. he can't give you the future you wanted. when he decided to stay and fight the bats, that's when he decided to lose you, too. regret filled his lifeless heart. he can't come back. not when you're already finally building a life for yourself. maybe it's time to let you go. vecna can see this. the creature holds out his hand to eddie.

why come back to a town that hunted you down like you were a monster?

eddie is now filled with rage. if hawkins didn't hunt him down like a monster, he wouldn't have been involved in this upside-down fiasco, he wouldn't have had to make a choice. you wouldn't have had to lose him. now he lost the chance to build a life with you. you're moving on, leaving hawkins behind. it's time for him to turn his back on the town that hated him.

eddie takes his hand.

#vampire!eddie #eddie imagine #eddie munson fluff #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #fanfic #eddie #munson #reader x eddie munson #eddie munson oneshot #eddie oneshot #eddie angst #eddie the freak munson #eddie the hero #eddie the brave #eddie munson fan fiction #joe quinn #joseph quinn

[autistic-katara]

ALL RIGHT! ANON FANDOM HOT TAKES!

eddie munson sucks

this one is utterly incoherent but bear with me - IF byler hadn't been planned from the start, el and mike's relationship would've worked IF hopper hadn't taken el in. hopper majorly fucked up a lot of her personal growth and her ability to function around people.

hopper should've died

the bungou stray dogs fandom is great actually

the kpop fandom is disturbing but fascinating and i want to study it

i have this insane respect for the marauders fandom cause like they built it from the ground up and if they changed the names and a little bit of the magic system it could be it's own series

yeah idk what this is sorry

THANKS FOR THE LONG ASK AAAHHH (accidentally made the reply super long srry lmao)

honestly i just dont give a shit abt him. like in a vacuum i like his character, yk he was kinda a pretty big asshole to my boy lucas and he sells drugs (idrc abt that one tho) but at the same time idk i do enjoy the idea of eddie being queer nd clocking will and/or mike nd trying to make them feel comfortable talking to him (even if that could be done just as well if not better with robin who is yk canonically queer and a way better character but idk) but all that is ignoring how fucking annoying his fans are like jesus christ why is he this fucking popular like half the fics in this godforsaken fandom r st€ddie (and look i am a shameless will-ship-smthn-based-off-of-one-small-momenter of the highest degree but i genuinely do not understand the hype for them like they literally looked at eachother twice and had eddie tell steve to get back with his ex how in the fuck is that romantic???) and yeah just he is insanely overrated in the worst possible way and the fact that this isnt even the worst case of this in this fandom just proves how much b*lly and his fans suck and yeah i did not expect to go on a huge rant abt this srry TwT

kinda agree kinda disagree. i do think it wouldve been possible for mlvn to work but i wouldnt say hopper taking el in is the problem i think ud kinda just have to rewrite alotta their interactions with some small things in the beginning but with a completely different dynamic in the later seasons (sidenote: honest to god if theyd just written hopper a bit better i would fucking love him as el’s dad like i love the found family trope and i do think they go well together but with the way he acts in s3 + the way their fight that culminates in el’s meltdown and him breaking the tv in s2 just yeah they rlly could’ve been done better)

no comment i dont rlly care (i dont hate that he survived but if he stayed dead i also wouldnt hate it)

yeah honestly while it has its problems ive been in waaaayyyyy worse fandoms and i do actually kinda like the vibe here (even if it has some of the dumbest shipping discourse i’ve seen. not the worst but the dumbest. usually surrounding my boy dazai which just bro that man is a whore ship him with whoever and no its not a proship to ship him with an 18yo bcz they have a kinda mentor/student relationship and no shipping him at 18 with a 24yo also isnt a proship bcz someone decided he was 16 or smthn which if u actually do the maths he was very much 18 and look i’m not a dazatsu shipper and odazai isnt my favourite dazai ship nor am i saying both ships r entirely unproblematic but dude this is why i dont wanna label myself an anti bcz u guys say shit like this anyways sorry that was a super long side tangent it will probably happen again)

again no comment, i know jack shit abt kpop

uhhh i hate everything related to hp so again no comment

again srry this turned out so long 😭

#oh god this is gonna take me an age to tag- #stranger things #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #anti steddie #anti mileven #shipping discourse #pls dont cancel me for this 🙏🙏🙏 #uhhh i think thats it? #asks #ask game

[pan-fried-autism]

We would like to hear your thoughts on animation and capitalism

its mostly about animation BUUUTTTTT

on one of the last days of 9th grade, me and two friends somehow got into a conversation about how far strawberry shortcake has fallen.

like, for one, 75% of the characters were gone. there were like 5 characters remaining by 2018. we joked they were just dead. and the designs were getting much more mediocre and or bad, and were rarely actually good anymore.

lets look at the history of the designs, actually. shall we?

I want to not beforehand, she apparently existed as far back as 1973, but i cant actually find ay good pictures of it :(

Back in the 80s, long before I was born, she and her friends were mostly used in greeting cards. I think the character designs match this pretty well! Even back then they had cute yet creative designs, like PERFECT for greeting cards. They look like they would greet you as they ride their bikes to school in the morning. They look like they help their parents pick the best apples to use in a pie. I'd say its all a solid 8/10. i like strawberrys design the most tbh

she also had a tv series and there were actually more characters but this picture had the most

In the 90s I guess strawberry got a redesign? cant find any other info about other characters lol

this one is like a 7.5/10. only cuz theres like a LITTLE less personality

and heres my favourite! 2003!

This was one of the ones I grew up watching, besides the godforsaken Version That Will Be Named Later. Already you can see that these are pretty good. Look at that variety! The personality! Literally the only thing samey about them is the faces, but tbh that doesnt matter too much. The only one I feel is medicore is Huckleberry Pie because he looks like most of the guys at my school now.

This one? Like a 9/10 probably.

Heres 2007, with bits of redesigning!

Apple Dumplin (the shorter one) grew up a little, Huckleberry looks worse and now just looks like every guy in my neighbourhood, but other than that not THAT much of a difference, besides some hair style changes.

7.5/10 purely for Huckleberry (sorry ]:)

(Addendum: Strawberry got another design in 2005 but i wont talk about it. its a 7.75/10)

And now... we've arrived. 2009.

Prepare yourselves.

Jesus Christ, where do I begin?

First, let's tackle this new evolved form of Same Face Syndrome. You know how back in previous years they had very similiar facial features but it didnt really matter that much? This is just Same Goddamn Character syndrome. Literally they all look the same. Long hair, sleeved shirt, skirt, stripped leggings, shoes, headwear/hair accesory, with some minor aditions to set them apart in some way. There is no personality. Just sameness.

Second, their age appearance. They are supposed to be kids. They portrayed this well before now. The oldest she was back then was 16, and that was because there was a time skip during the 2003 series. Here? They are supposed to be 17-19. And I don't know why. It's weird to me. I didn't notice this as a kid tho because i was like preschool age when the 2009 series came out. Tbh it WOULD be okay for me now if they didn't look like Swifties or whatever. I want kid them back.

My third problem is what they did to the character Orange Blossom, but to talk about that would require a bit more detail into her own character design history, which I kinda wanna get into on its own post, so I'll just get into my fourth problem: the worsenning of Huckleberry.

I don't even know who or what he looks like. He's just some fucking teenager. His design tells me NOTHING about him at all.

2/10.

2017 series that IDK anything about, or even if it was made in the first place. There was a 2018 series too but considering it was just the 2D version of the 2009 one I choose to ignore it.

This one, despite looking kinda generic, is an upgrade from the 2009 "series". Everyone still has like the same body type, but they also have different hair and clothing! You actually have an idea of what they may be like! They also temporarily killed Huckleberry Pie and ended his eternal torment in design hell.

6/10 from me.

We have reached the final stage.

This one is the 2021 Netflix(?) series. I don't know anything about it and only recently heard of it. It's a small upgrade from 2017, but an upgrade nonetheless.

They, for once, have different face shapes. Secondly, theres more variety to the clothes again! Huckleberry Pie (guy who kinda looks like Five Glitch Techs) finally has a decent character design. The only one I don't like is Sour Grapes, the purple haired girl with the white shirt. She realy does look like someones niece Ashley tbh.

6.5/10.

And that's all! I wanna tackle the character design histories of just one person, mainly Orange Blossom and Plum Pudding (and possibly Strawberry herself) but that's too much to tackle in one post so I'll leave it here for now and make separate posts about them at a later date.

In summary, Strawberry Shortcake started out with good characters designs that got better as time went on, until 2009 when they went downhill on a 75 degree angle, but they seem to be coming back.

#strawberry shortcake #long post #rey answers asks #character design #character design discussion

[jxncywarrior]

Stranger Things characters and ships as Taylor Swift Albums

Part Eight: folklore

*Disclaimer: I’m tagging all the ships and characters featured. I’m gonna try not to be biased. MOST of these are strictly based on canon. No hate to ANY ships or shippers.*

the 1: Stancy (Steve’s POV)

“And if my wishes came true, it would've been you”

cardigan: Byler (Will’s POV)

“'Cause I knew everything when I was young. I knew I'd curse you for the longest time. Chasin' shadows in the grocery line. I knew you'd miss me once the thrill expired. And you'd be standin' in my front porch light. I knew you'd come back to me”

the last great american dynasty: El

“Who knows if I never showed up what could've been. There goes the loudest woman this town has ever seen. I had a marvelous time ruinin' everything”

exile: Lumax (Both POVs)

“I think I've seen this film before and I didn't like the ending. I'm not your problem anymore. So who am I offending now? You were my crown now I'm in exile, seein' you out”

my tears ricochet: Mileven (El’s POV)

“I didn't have it in myself to go with grace and so the battleships will sink beneath the waves. You had to kill me, but it killed you just the same. Cursing my name, wishing I stayed. You turned into your worst fears”

mirrorball: Will

“I want you to know I'm a mirrorball. I can change everything about me to fit in. You are not like the regulars”

seven: Byler (Mike’s POV)

“Your dad is always mad and that must be why and I think you should come live with me and we can be pirates then you won't have to cry or hide in the closet”

august: Mileven (El’s POV)

“Will you call when you're back at school? I remember thinkin' I had you”

this is me trying: Jonathan

“They told me all of my cages were mental. So I got wasted like all my potential”

illicit affairs: Byler (Will’s POV)

“And you wanna scream. Don't call me "kid.” Don't call me "baby.” Look at this godforsaken mess that you made me. You showed me colors. You know I can't see with anyone else”

invisible string: Jancy (Nancy’s POV)

“A string that pulled me uut of all the wrong arms right into that dive bar. Something wrapped all of my past mistakes in barbed wire. Chains around my demons, wool to brave the seasons. One single thread of gold tied me to you”

mad woman: Nancy

“And there's nothin' like a mad woman. What a shame she went mad. No one likes a mad woman. You made her like that”

epiphany: The Entire Crew

“And some things you just can't speak about…But you dream of some epiphany. Just one single glimpse of relief to make some sense of what you've seen”

betty: Byler (Mike’s POV)

“One time I was riding on my skateboard. When I passed your house, it's like I couldn't breathe”

peace: Ronance (Robin’s POV)

“Your integrity makes me seem small. You paint dreamscapes on the wall”

hoax: Byler (Will’s POV)

“Don't want no other shade of blue but you. No other sadness in the world would do”

the lakes: Byler (Mike’s POV)

“Those Windermere peaks look like a perfect place to cry. I'm setting off, but not without my muse”

Links to other parts of this series: Debut, Fearless, Speak Now, Red, 1989, reputation, Lover, evermore

#stancy #byler #eleven #el hopper #lumax #mileven #will byers #jonathan byers #jancy #nancy wheeler #stranger things #ronance

[featherquillpen]

Animorphs Universe Timeline

This is a timeline not about specific books, but about major events in the history of the Animorphs universe. Shoutout to the Animorphs timeline makers who have come before me (1, 2, 3) for giving me a basis for this one.

10,000 BC: An asteroid strike causes an ecological disaster. In response, the Arn create the Hork-Bajir to terraform their planet into a place where the Arn can live sustainably. (1)

2,000 BC: The Chee arrive on Earth after the genocide of their creators, the Pemalites. (2)

~1965: The morphing technology is invented by an Andalite named Escafil. (1)

1966: Seerow's Kindness. Prince Seerow provides advanced technology to the Yeerks, and the Yeerk Empire is born. (1)

1968: Aldrea and her family arrive on the Hork-Bajir homeworld; the war between the Yeerks and the Andalites over the fate of the Hork-Bajir begins. (1)

1970: Alloran unleashes the quantum virus on the Hork-Bajir; Aldrea becomes a Hork-Bajir nothlit. (1)

1981: Alloran is infested by Esplin 9466; Arbron becomes trapped in morph as a Taxxon; Elfangor becomes trapped in morph as a human. (3)

1984: All six of the Animorphs are born; Elfangor returns to the war. (3)

1985: Loren loses all her memories and becomes disabled in a car accident conveniently arranged by the Ellimist. (4)

1991: Edriss 562 and Essam 293 arrive on Earth. (5)

1992: Edriss 562 as Lore David Altman founds the Sharing. (5)

1994: Edriss 562 takes Eva as a host. (6)

December 1995: Edriss 562 fakes Eva's death. (6)

Fall 1997: Tom is taken as a host. (7)

Fall 1997: Elfangor is killed at the construction site; the human Animorphs get the morphing power. (7)

Fall 2000: The Yeerk War ends. (8)

I really wish I knew how many years Aldrea lived with Dak as a Hork-Bajir before her death, and when Seerow Hamee was born, but I couldn't find anything in book 34 that specified it.

(1) The Hork-Bajir Chronicles.

(2) Book 10: The Android.

(3) These dates are arrived at by a series of inferences. First of all, let us grant that the Animorphs are all the same age, as implied by Elfangor's vision of the Animorphs' timelines at the end of the Andalite Chronicles. Second, let us grant that they are all thirteen in book 1, as told to us by Jake in book 54. Third, let us grant that the events of book 1 take place in 1997, as argued here. Fourth, the Andalite Chronicles tell us that Elfangor is whisked back to the war three years after the main events of the book, and Loren is pregnant at the time.

(4) In book 49, we learn that Tobias was a baby when Loren had the car accident.

(5) Visser tells us that Edriss and Essam landed in the middle of Operation Desert Storm; Edriss's first human host was an Iraqi soldier in that conflict.

(6) In book 5, Marco says it's been two years since his mom's "death." If we assume that book 1 is in fall 1997 (as argued here) then it makes sense for book 5 to be in winter 1997, and for Edriss to have used the reason of Eva boating in December for some godforsaken reason to fake her death. Peter also says in book 10 that his relationship with Eva drastically changed a year before her death.

(7) I'm accepting this timeline, which helps align the events of the war with certain pop culture references made by Marco, but Fall 1996 is not a bad choice here either.

(8) Jake says in book 54 that he is 13 when the war starts and 16 when it ends, so the war has to end about three years later.

#animorphs #animorphs meta