#altered postcard

[formicalage]

Have Basket Will Travel.

#mail art #altered postcard #collage #paper collage #eraser stamps

[opulentconceptions]

The New Flowers Of Scotland: NME, 9th May 1981

Scotland’s new role in the performing arts

View On WordPress

#orange juice #altered images #postcard records #post punk

[emergingghost]

julien baker live lyric changes masterpost

the many ways that julien changes her lyrics over time and seamlessly alters the lyrics and meanings of her songs to maintain a level of personal authenticity has become so fascinating to me and many others so i thought it'd be nice to do some research and compile as many as i can. enjoy! or cry! whichever!

the original lyrics are in parenthesis, changes are bolded, roughly in chronological order and i’ve added timestamped links to performances [x] where i can! i use mostly youtube because it's the most accessible. some of these seem to be permanent changes and others are just occasional, probably depending on how she's vibing with the song at the time (i'm assuming). let me know of any i’ve missed!

Rejoice: [x] [x] [x] pronoun change, does this lots! "i know there's a god and they hear either way" ("i think there's a god and he hears either way") [x] she uses the 'she' pronoun here this time! [x] she sings 'force' here and also in a version she performed pre-release "asking why did you let them leave and then force me to stay?" ("asking why did you let them leave and then make me stay?")

Good News: [x] [x] [x] these are not full lyric changes but rather some gut-wrenching repetition. side note she performs a cover of paul by big thief in the first clip here too! "it's less about you / it's all about how i ruin everything oh everything i do / everything i do / god i ruin everything oh everything / oh everything i think could be good news." ("it's less about you / it's more about how i ruin everything--- i think could be good news")

Distant Solar Systems: [x] pronoun change speaking of god, she also omits the second last verse. "I send postcards from the road and now and then she answers" ("and now and then he answers")

Turn Out the Lights: [x] [x] [x] this one hurts! a few times in late '18 and in '19 "maybe i'd do it but it's not a joke" ("i'd never do it but it's not a joke")

Sour Breath: [x] [x] another one that hurts!! "think all the liquors gonna keep me warm / burn everything down just to prove i could / leave you inside a body made of wood" ("think all the liquors gonna keep you warm / burn everything down just to prove you could / leave me inside a body made of wood") [x] audio only from 1:16 (same changes as above +) "i don't do too well when everyone's worried about me" ("i don't do too well when nobody's worried about me")

Appointments: [x] [x] [x] in lots of performances post-2018. she switches between using 'know' and 'think' occasionally “i know that i ruined this / but i think i can live with it / nothing turned out how pictured it ... i think that i failed again / but i know you’re still listening” ("i think if i ruin this / that i know i can live with it / nothing turns out like I pictured it ... i think if i fail again / then i know you’re still listening") [x] audio only - from 2:45 (same changes as above +) "i hope you're still listening" ("i know you're still listening")

Happy to Be Here: [x] tiny changes. not sure if she's done this more than once "different me would be inhabiting my body / have two cars, a garage, a dog..." ("different me would be inhabiting this body / have two cars, a garage, a job...")

Something: [x] [x] [x] [x] (she adds 'again' a lot, even since 2015) “asking aloud why you’re leaving again” (“asking aloud why you’re leaving--”) [x] (this was prior to release) "asking aloud why you're leaving again / i know you won't answer me" ("asking aloud why you're leaving --- / but the pavement won't answer me")

Red Door: [x] "beneath before you won't follow me down" ("beneath before you wont follow me there")

Shadowboxing: [x] [x audio only - from 3:09] "tell me that you love me / tell me you love me / i wanted so bad to believe you / so tell me you loved me / tell me you loved me / i wanted so bad to believe you" ) ("when you tell me you love me / tell me you loved me / i wanted so bad to believe it / so tell me you love me / tell me you loved me")

Ziptie: [x] [x] [x] [x] (side note the end of the second clip rules!!) “someone’s/somethings got my heart in a ziptie” (“someone’s got my head in a ziptie”)

Tokyo: [x] [x] [x audio only - from 1:30] in a few performances in 2022 “a seven-car pile-up of every disastrous thing that i am" (“a seven-car pile-up of every disastrous thing that i’ve been”) + also sings "accident" instead of "aftermath" in the audio clip

Relative Fiction: [x] [x] [x] [x] does this lots! "honey you're the only thing i'll wait around for" ("--you’re the only thing i’ll wait around for")

Highlight Reel: [x] [x audio only from 1:45 ] original chorus lyrics are 'you feel' but now in one chorus she sings 'to' and the other she sings 'you' "ooh it's a highlight reel / tell me how to feel" ("ooh it's a highlight reel / tell me how you feel")

Ringside: [x] [x] [x audio only from 3:50] two separate lyrics changes in these clips! "like a scratch-off ticket how i dig my nails into your skin" ("like a scratch-off ticket how you dig your nails into my skin")

(from final verse) “nobody deserves a second chance / so why do i keep getting them?” (“nobody deserves a second chance / but i keep giving them”) [x] [x] (from the second last verse) “nobody deserves a second chance / but somehow i keep fucking getting them” (“nobody deserves a second chance / but honey i keep getting them") Anti-Curse: [x] [x] [x] [x] [x] she doesn't always change 'foreign characters' "writing the words to the best love song you've ever heard" ...“sounding out familiar characters” ("writing the words to the worst love song you've ever heard"...“sounding out the foreign characters”)

Favor: [x] [x] [x] [x] first change - changing to 'why?' in most live performances “why couldn’t you make me do it?” (“well you couldn’t make me do it”) [x] [x] new change from MSG in 2023! “how did you make me do it?” (“well you couldn’t make me do it”)

HONOURABLE MENTIONS:

Funeral Pyre: [x] this is just a funny thing i found on my hunt. the audience accidentally corrected her grammar, theyre singing along and sing "needed so badly" instead of the original "needed so bad" and everyone took a lil' moment to laugh. Funeral Pyre: allegedly. i just read about it somewhere so have no proof!! “while i drank gasoline 'cause it's what i needed so bad” (“while you drank gasoline 'cause it's what you needed so bad”) Shadowboxing: [x] she doesn't really change any lyrics significantly but repeats the final verse for emphasis.

Good News: [x] (i think an early/demo version but i cant find any other recordings/videos of this version!) "how i fuck up everything i think could be good news" ("how i ruin everything i think could be good news") Rejoice: [x] house show performance from 2015 before official release. a few different lyrics! "ask you why did you let them leave and then force me to stay?" ("asking why did you let them leave and then make me stay?") (final verse) "i rejoice anyway / i rejoice either way" ("i rejoice i rejoice / i rejoice i rejoice") Sour Breath: [x] she added a new mini verse repeating "the harder i swim" where there are usually just instrumentals or 'oohs.' then she continued with the original final "the harder i swim the faster i sink" verse.

Sour Breath: [x] house show performance from 2015 before official release. there's an entire additional verse where the repeated 'the harder i swim the fast i sink' usually is. proceed with caution. "...too late to talk just go to sleep been up too long and you've been drinkin' all night it's almost a week and you haven't said a word been thinkin' it isn't worth the tryin' it takes to fix everything you hate about me all that you wouldn't wanna see

the harder i swim, the faster i sink and all i ever wanted was to pull you down with me was to pull you down with me don't you wanna sink with me? don't you wanna drown with me? just let me pull you down..."

#julien baker #boygenius #lyrics #there are probably many more but the internet is infinite and this post would never see the light of day if i kept searching #some of these changes are so minor but i thought id add them anyway because i personally found them interesting #lmk what you think if u read this i know its loooong haha <3

[small-sinclair]

Musical Muse

Vincent Sinclair x reader

House of Wax Slasher band!au

Tw: Vincent was in a fire (he’s okay), some hints at sex but nothing graphic described, let me know if I missed anything!

A gift for @im-his-druidess and au by @arkunder

It was Vincent’s first night home for a 7-month-tour around North America. Late night FaceTime calls, texts messages, postcards, poems— it was good to see him home. The penciled in a two-week break for Lester’s doctor appointments and for a mental break. It was good to rest and sleep in for a moment. All three of them needed to recover from the accident—

He takes a deep breath and let it out slowly. He won’t dwell on it. Not now at least. Lester is safe and Bo’s hands were healing. That’s all that matters now.

Vincent tried to be quiet when he entered. He hung his base on the hook and stopped to look at the photos of you both. One of you two in the studio, another in a band shirt, and a lovely one of you and him at the alter, saying your vows.

As soon as he heard your footsteps flying down the steps, he felt his heart pull. “You’re home!” You shouted smiling, leaping up.

He threw his duffel bag on the floor in the doorway just in time to catch you. He spun you around in the air, smiling under his half wooden-plated mask. He blushes as your kisses littered his half-shown face.

“I missed you!” You yelled, giggling as he lowered you back to the floor. He rests his forehead against yours and held your hips just memorize you once more. “I really missed you, Vincent.” You lift your hands and hold his face. “You were gone forever.”

He nods in agreement. He didn’t want to sign anything, not just yet. Vincent didn’t want this moment to be over. Having you back made his unwritten melodies complete and he could hear notes play as he takes you in. You are his muse for most songs after all.

He took your hand and guided it to his mask, gesturing to you to take it off. Your feather-like hands took off his mask slowly and he closed his eyes, shivering at the cool air. His mask hung in your hand, and you smiled when you saw his face. He’s just as beautiful as the day he left you. Your free hand held his scarred cheek, his head leaning into your touch, while your eyes tracing every bit of him. He leaned down and kissed your forehead, your hand, then ending with your lips. He pulled away before holding you close to deepen his kiss.

He has time to make up. Seven whole months without your touch, your embrace… he is a sinner. Your sinner. His deity. He has to find forgiveness.

With ease, he lifts you up, carries you with his arms under your legs, and heads for the bedroom down the hall.

~~~~~~

As you slept on his chest, Vincent held up his song book, writing silently, as a watched eye on you. Your shoulders were bruised with his love and affection like his. He only wanted to be closer to you and more. What praise can he give but love for you?

A song will do.

A song just for you so others can sing praises of you, be followers of you, but none will ever be as faithful and loyal as him.

He hummed the chorus one more time before closing his book just in time for you to wake up. He sat his book aside and laid flat on his back. You nuzzled into his neck and left a small kiss over his adam’s apple. A relaxed sigh escaped his throat as he threw his head to the side.

“Did you miss me?”

He nods, tracing his answer in your skin, ‘Yes.’

“Bed was too cold while you were gone,” you noted, his thumb gently making circles in your back. “But sleeping in your shirt’s comforted me.” You drew a heart in the center of his chest. “I took care of the plants, too. The cactus gave birth so there’s baby cactuses. Guess that makes us grandparents or something.”

He smirks and chuckles.

Silence was warm and comfortable between you two. The soft thumping of his heartbeat made house feel like home again. “…I really missed you,” you murmured. You felt Vincent’s lips in your hair as he pulled you closer to him. In a way, that was him showing that he’s here and you’re safe. “For a while, I went crazy thinking you weren’t coming home. I saw the fire at that wax museum you and your brothers were playing, the wax falling Lester’s back, and they got a video of your mask melting…” your voice trailed as he stiffened at the memory.

If the silence is too loud, he can still hear his baby brother’s voice screaming in pain and agony. Bo and he made dirt out of the inferno, but Lester was trapped, scared and alone. He remember he took off his mask before running back on Bo’s heels; his mask felt too heavy to wear that night. He still sees how bright the orange and yellow flames were as Bo moved wood and metal off his back. He ended up burning some spots on his hands but he doesn’t care. He was just as desperate as Vincent to get their brother out. Each twin took an arm and raced out with him before the museum’s gas could explode. Bo and he cradled their brother then paramedics rushed to his side and took him to the hospital.

He remembered how the world of heavy rock and metal was quiet for the night.

That’s why Bo canceled two weeks of interviews that night, 16 days ago, so they can recover from everything.

He gripped your body tighter and held you closer. You figured he must’ve been scared because he didn’t give you room to wiggle or move. Your hands held his arms and closed your eyes. “I’m happy you’re okay and safe. I’m happy and thankful.”

Vincent made a soft noise, agreeing with you.

“Just want to stay like this and cuddle,” you said, not asking. Luckily he nods in agreement, lifting the blanket up higher over your shoulders.

He didn’t want anything else but this. Vincent wanted you in his arms, in his heart, engraved into his mind. He’ll finish the song and draw a picture of you to put up in the bus. For now, he’ll focus on you and the reality of this feeling.

The sunset over the town like a dream.

#vincent sinclair #vincent sinclair fanfiction #house of wax #house of wax 2005 #house of wax (2005) #house of wax fanfiction #house of wax fanfic #vincent sinclair imagine #vincent sinclair x reader #vinny sinclair #vincent sinclair house of wax #vincent x reader #vincent sinclair x y/n #vincent sinclair x you #vincent sinclair headcanon #sinclair band!au #slasherbland! headcaons #slasher band!au #slasher band au #house of wax imagine #house of wax imagines

[curiouscuan]

Altered postcard

#collage

[thebramblewood]

Since I wasn't able to participate in her BC, @lonvely asked me to make a potential adoptee for generation two of her legacy! His name is River, and he doesn't own this bakery yet (just appropriated it for a couple aspirational Simstagram photos), but he definitely wants to. Since generation two of the Postcard Legacy revolves around baking, I gave him a couple appropriately themed outfits!

I tried to go light on CC clothing, so some of his outfits may end up incomplete if you don't have these packs: Growing Together, Cottage Living, Eco Lifestyle, University, Island Living, Werewolves, My Wedding Stories, Jungle Adventure, Home Chef Hustle, Paranormal Stuff. (I don't even remember what I used from a few of those, so some are probably less necessary than others.) He also has a totally random last name that you can obviously change.

I hope you like him, Cris! Honestly, this isn't one of my most inspired creations, and I remain unable to do interesting men's fashion. Feel free to alter him as much as you want or not use him at all. It's totally cool either way! :)

#cas creations #private download will be sent shortly! #thanks for giving me a chance to make a sim for you <3 #i also ended up using a shit ton of sliders somehow #so uhhhhh feel free to delete some if you don't want them #especially the body ones #i'm sure they aren't doing much

[official-mr-knight]

ʜᴇʟʟᴏᴏ, ɪɪᴛ's sᴛᴇᴠᴇɴ ɢʀᴀɴᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ᴠ! ᴀɴʏᴡᴀʏ. ɪᴛ's ᴍʏ ғɪʀsᴛ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴜsɪɴɢ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ sᴏᴏᴏᴏ, ɪ'ᴍ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅʏ ʜᴇᴄᴋɪɴɢ ᴇxᴄɪᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇᴇᴛ ɴᴇᴡ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ!!!! ᴇsᴘᴇᴄɪᴀʟʟʏ ᴍᴀʀᴄ ᴡʜᴏ ᴜsᴇs ᴛʜɪs ᴛᴏᴏ, ɪ ᴡᴀɴᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴛʀʏ ɪᴛ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴛᴏᴏ. sᴏ ɪᴛ's ǫᴜɪᴛᴇ ᴅɪғғɪᴄᴜʟᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴏsᴛ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛɪᴍᴇ sɪɴᴄᴇ ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ʙɪᴛ ᴏғ ᴀ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ʙᴜᴛ ɪ'ʟʟ ᴛʀʏ, ᴇʜ! ɴᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪs ᴀʟʟ, ʟᴀᴛᴇʀs ɢᴀᴛᴏʀs, ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ ᴀʟsᴏ ᴀsᴋ ᴍᴇ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʟʟ ᴡᴀɴᴛ, ʏᴇᴀ?

(-ƈǟռօռ ֆᏆɛʋɛռ ʀք-)

J̳u̳s̳t̳ a̳ l̳i̳t̳t̳l̳e̳ b̳i̳t̳

(MR.KNIGHT)

(MARC SPECTORS 2ND ALTER)

(BRITISH GUY)

(EGYPTIAN MYTHOLOGY LOVER)

{as usual}

-i also have a twitter named official_mrknigh-

======================================

"Morning, Gus, my little one-finned wonder. Hello, Mom. It's me. Just checkin' in. I got your postcard, putting it up on Gus' tank now. Yeah, it's very nice. He is fuming, though. Keeps asking why I don't take him anywhere nice. ( Chuckles ) Maybe one day, right? He'd love to get out there, but it's a bit hard with one fin, innit? Anyway, Mom, all's well here. Not too bad. Still wake up every morning still feeling like I got hit by a bus. And if you... Hey, mate, still selling the old brushes and brooms, right? Right in front of my entrance. It's... Got no problem with it. Cheers. Anyway, sorry I missed you, Mom. I'll try you again tomorrow. Laters, gators."

_________________________________________________

It wasn't your fault...

My other account: @theoscarisaaccharacters

#moon knight #steven grant #roleplay blog #marvel

[kirathehyrulian]

🎄2022 SPN J2 XMAS GIFT EXCHANGE🎄

🎁Gift for Sammichgirl🎁

| SPN-J2-xmas | Ao3 Collection | (Please do not edit/alter. Feel free to reblog, but please do not repost. At the very least please give me credit.)

Title: 📦Doin’ Inventory📦 Gifter: @kirathehyrulian​ Giftee: @sammichgirl​ Pairing/Characters: Gencest + John Medium: Digital Art Rating: Gen Warnings: Bloody Postcards

Summary: Casing joints, whacking things, the family business

•Art notes, and WIP pics on the [AO3] post.

For more art from me please check out my “myart” tag here on Tumblr or my AO3.

Late merry X-mas!♥ Enjoy, if you can!♥♥♥

#spn fanart #gencest #weechesters #sam winchester #dean winchester #john winchester #mafia!au #cw: blood #myart #spnj2xmas 2022

[isfjmel-phleg]

A few adaptations/retellings don't get the significance of the fact that Mary has grown up unloved and for whatever reason try to soften her relationship with her parents. But many of them do grasp just how neglected she's been and highlight it, especially in light of how prickly it has made her. These versions tend to understand the root of her issues relatively easily.

But an overwhelming number of recent adaptations/retellings do not do the same for Colin. It is extremely common for these versions to give him/his equivalent a warm relationship with his now-deceased mother/equivalent. In The Humming Room, Phillip "adored [his mother] and she adored him back," and he is in the depths of depression after losing her. Callie in The Misselthwaite Archives has fond memories of her late mother and footage of the family enjoying happy times in the glade, as well as a father who, even though he's gone frequently, regularly keeps in touch with her through affectionate postcards. When Mary meets Colin in the 2020 film, he talks about his relationship with his mother, how she "loved me hugely" (painfully awkward wording), and her letters back that up. Colin in The Secret Garden on 81st Garden mourns the apparently very recent death of a loving father and, despite his anger toward Mr. Craven, is still surrounded by adults who appear to genuinely care about his wellbeing. Although Clement in The Edge of In Between was an infant when his mother died, he apparently had such a close bond with her already that he lost all color (something that happens to those who succumb to grief in this book's world) after losing her. It's been a while since I've read A Bit of Earth, but if I recall correctly, Colin in that book also knew and loved his mother before her death and struggles more with living up to (perceived?) familial expectations than feeling rejected or unloved.

And I'm not saying that these creative choices were necessarily ineffective within the stories that these authors/creators chose to tell. But it does take the character in a fundamentally different direction. Not only does it eliminate one of the deliberate parallels in his and Mary's backgrounds, but it also alters the root of the character's problems.

There are a lot of messed-up reasons for why he is the way he is, but what it ultimately comes down to is this: Colin is unloved. He has never been loved. Like Mary, he exhibits the behavior he does because he has never learned how to connect with others. It's easy to miss this about him, easy to get so caught up in what a horrid little brat he genuinely is that it might not immediately occur to the reader how loveless his existence has been--every bit as loveless as Mary's. His mother died giving birth to him, his father rejects him because of this, and his caretakers are all "tired of him" and (in one case) have even said in front of him that it would be better for him and everyone else if he died.

No wonder he has such ambivalence toward living. Dickon tells Mary once that his mother believes that unwantedness is "th' worst thing on earth for a child," that "Them as is not wanted scarce ever thrives." And that is the root of Colin's problems, the reason his expectation out of life is to die. This is more of the point than any psychological condition that we might be able to pin on the character--those things are symptoms, not causes. This is why developing strong friendships is so important to his arc, why his getting hugged (possibly for the first time in his life) by Mrs. Sowerby and telling her that he wishes she were his mother is such a poignant moment, why his arc ends with being reunited with and accepted by his father.

(Weirdly enough, an adaptation that did seem to pick up on this was the 1986 musical, in which Colin is introduced with a solo entitled "No One Needs Me." A bit too on-the-nose and self-aware for him to be able to spell out like that, perhaps, but as a summation of the problem? Spot on.)

If, as recent adaptations and retellings interpret him, he is a child who has been loved and has lost that, his behavior as Burnett depicts comes from a different place and possibly makes less sense, his whole character changes, and the themes shift. He becomes someone who needs to work through traditional grief--which in the original book is his father's arc, not his--rather than someone who needs to learn that his existence has meaning and that he can matter to other people (and they to him).

And I think that's why a lot of these reinterpretations of the character feel a bit off to me? There tends to be so much concern for remolding him in light of themes of disability or mental health (which are significant to his character! but not all that there is) that the original point of his being as much an emotionally neglected and unloved child as Mary can get lost in translation.

#The Secret Garden

[omegaling]

Hellcheer Headcanons: Where Everyone Lives and No One is Sad

Chrissy really, really does not want to go to prom and be put on the pedestal of Hawkins High Prom Queen like she knows she will be, but her mother’s already bought (and altered) her dress, and Jason has the limo lined up, so she’s trapped into going.

Jason is absolutely the kind of ignoramus who would propose to Chrissy at prom in front of their entire graduating class. Chrissy is too stunned to speak for a whole moment, then responds with a quiet “I have to think” before walking off the stage and out of the gym.

The Hellfire Club is having a session during prom, mostly as a way to help Eddie get his mind off Chrissy. They are nearing the end of their latest campaign, where their party has at last saved the princess who was put under an enchanted sleep by a wicked sorcerer-king who wanted to keep her for himself instead of allowing her to marry her true love, a woodsman who lived in the dark forest. Just as the princess wakes up, Chrissy walks through the front door, still in her prom dress and makeup streaking down her face. Eddie’s back is to her when she walks in, but all the others see her and fall into stunned silence. When Eddie finally realizes they’re reacting to something other than the campaign, he turns around to see Chrissy, and after that nothing else matters except for each other.

They keep their relationship quiet until Jason leaves for college and they don’t have to worry about him or his friends harassing Eddie for “stealing his girl.”

Chrissy’s mom kicks her out of the house for her refusal to go to college with Jason and turning down her cheerleading scholarship. It was only meant to be a scare tactic, but Chrissy never returns. She still keeps in contact with her brother regularly and her father on occasions, but all ties with her mother are gradually broken until she cuts her out of her life altogether.

After they graduate Eddie and Chrissy immediately jump in his van and take off for a two-month long road trip. They don’t have a plan, and the only way anyone knows where they’ve been is the postcards they send to Wayne and their friends.

When they return from their road trip Eddie and Chrissy take classes at the local community college. It’s not as glamorous as going to a university, but this is the first time in her life that she’s been allowed to do things at her own pace, so she’s going to take the time to figure herself out before she even thinks about planning the rest of her life.

College is not for Eddie. He only finishes a few semesters (kind of) before dropping out. Before he does, he takes a few courses on creative writing to help strengthen his story telling for his campaigns.

Chrissy discovers for herself that despite the pressure put on her by her mother, she does genuinely enjoy dancing, and puts her focus towards being a dance instructor one day.

It takes Chrissy longer to recover from her eating disorders than she anticipated, which becomes a source of shame and frustration for her. Eddie absolutely understands that recovery can take years, and that regressions can happen at any time, even if it’s been years since the last one. He knows the best he can do is just be there for her during the bad times, talking when she needs it, being a silent support system when she doesn’t. He never gives unsolicited advice or opinions; he just holds her and reassures her that he’s there, that she’s not broken or damaged, and that he loves her no matter what until she comes back out of it.

Eddie loves foreplay with Chrissy more than the actual sex because of all the different sounds he can get her to make.

Chrissy enjoys brushing his hair.

Eddie is the better cook of the two, which comes as a surprise to them both.

In the beginning of their relationship, listening to Eddie talk about his campaigns is like listening to someone speaking a foreign language, but it’s important to him so Chrissy always gives him her full attention. He’s also adorable when he gets this excited over slaying the undead.

One day, she helps him fix a plot hole that’s been plaguing him for weeks, and from that time on she begins showing more of an interest in Dungeons and Dragons and how it works. Eddie can barely contain himself when she asks him to help her roll her first ever character: an elf druid.

Chrissy sits in on a few games before she gets up the courage to ask if she can join. The first time she’s at a Hellfire meeting the others are a little leary about her hanging around, but they don’t dare mention it in Eddie’s presence. Soon, though, they not only don’t mind her being there, but start to enjoy her company as well. When she’s finally ready to join, all the guys and Erica make a big show of accepting her character into her ranks. At one time Chrissy would have been embarrassed at being put at the center of attention like that, but these are her friends who accept her no matter what, and she loves them all for it.

Eddie knows that his music is not Chrissy’s favorite, and lets her know he doesn’t expect her to come to every single gig if she doesn’t want to, or simply doesn’t feel like it. She still comes to as many as she can, if only to see him get giddy when he spots her in the crowd from the stage.

Wayne adores Chrissy but he’s not always great at showing it. Her first impression of him when she comes to live with Eddie after her mom kicks her out isn’t the best, since he blatantly tells them both “this trailer ain't big enough for the three of us and a baby.” Chrissy can’t tell if he’s insinuating that she may already be pregnant, but she can’t really blame him for assuming, given her situation. Eddie, on the other hand, almost dies of embarrassment on the spot.

Eddie and Chrissy have their wedding ceremony and reception in Wheeler’s back yard. It’s small with only their closest friends, but it’s perfect.

Chrissy does invite her brother and father. Her brother comes, her father doesn’t.

Dustin is Eddie’s best man at their wedding, and Max is Chrissy’s maid of honor.

Dustin custom-makes Eddie’s cufflinks out of a pair of D20 dice.

Chrissy and the bride’s maids are all pink, green and yellow at the wedding, while Eddie and the groom’s men are black and red. It clashes horribly, but it’s them, and no one can criticize them for it.

Wayne’s speech at their wedding lasts less than a minute. At the end, he tells them that he got them something that better expresses how much he loves them more than his words can. He hands them the keys to the house he bought them.

Chrissy eventually opens her own dance studio in Hawkins. Everyone is welcome, but she is especially protective over the little girls who are easy targets for their weight and appearance. She has an absolutely zero-bullying policy, and that goes for the kids and their parents, and everyone knows it.

Eddie starts writing his own fantasy novels, but only after Chrissy insists yes, he is absolutely a talented writer who can easily create something that is on par with Lord of the Rings. He teases her that that doesn't give him a lot of hope since she’s never actually read the books, but he is encouraged because of the faith she has in him.

He goes with Chrissy to every prenatal and postnatal doctor’s appointment. Every. Single. One. At first the other mothers are put off by his presence in the waiting room, but that soon turns to envy over Chrissy as they wish their husbands showed half the support as hers.

One of their daughters is a girlie-girl who loves Barbies, tea parties and the color pink. The other is a total tomboy who always has grass stains on her knees and leaves in her hair. Despite their differences, they usually get along very well. Their older daughter doesn’t mind playing with dolls with her baby sister, and their younger daughter will absolutely get into a mud-slinging fight to protect her sister’s honor against the school boys who tease her for being different.

Eddie uses Dungeons and Dragons to help his girls learn math.

Everything’s an adventure for the Munsons: grocery shopping, chores, road trips, snow days. It never matters how mundane a task is. Eddie never fails to make everything he does with his family as fun for everyone as possible.

Movie nights with blanket forts, lots of popcorn and candy.

Family-themed Halloween costumes.

Dustin is their kids’ favorite uncle.

Jonathan and Nancy are their childrens’ godparents.

Their house becomes the “safe” house for their girls’ friends as they get older, where they can go to get away from bullies, toxic family members, and society pressures.

#please no hate this is supposed to be fun #eddie x chrissy #eddissy #hellcheer #I might write a fic based off the first scenario #still undecided

[formicalage]

A Fish-Mail Productions add to and return(after my additions).

#mail art #collage #altered postcard #add to and return

[thereareeyesinsidethetrees]

the premise of the new au because i simply cannot help myself

takes place mullet stan, paranoid ford era

not too long after ford sends the postcard, bill steals his body and traps him in the mindscape. his ethereal form is altered due to nightmare realm shenanigans, and he ends up looking like a lanky shadow figure with static-y/blurred edges. the most distinguishing part of his appearance is the addition of an emperor moth with spread wings over his face which acts as his eyes, as well as several species of moths that trail him around (these include cecropia moths, Creatonotos gangis, luna moths, and death's-head hawkmoths)

eventually, stan arrives and, one, is not exactly pleased about going into a seemingly empty dark house filled with bugs, and two, is especially not pleased at the revelation that oh that's my brother isn't it. oh i'm the only one who can see him aren't i

after figuring out what's happened, stan sets out to try and find ford's stolen body. unfortunately, he has exactly zero leads and comes up with nothing. he spends a little while cleaning up the house (minus the moths) before ford and him come to the conclusion that they're gonna have do this bill-style

as in stan allows ford to possess him to actually get the investigative work going. this comes with an interesting system- an emperor moth is always either perched on or hovering around stan at all times. when ford's possessing him, the moth covers both of his eyes. if the moth is only covering one eye, it means that they are using the power of ✨ teamwork ✨

this does come with the unfortunate side effect of people staring at stan whenever he goes into town, but that's fine, they're both used to that sort of thing by now

#gravity falls #gravity falls au #ford pines #stan pines #i just think it's neat

[nowritingonthewall]

P.S. I love you!

Fandom: Moon Knight

Characters: Steven Grant, Marc Spector

Pairing(s): Steven x gn!reader, tiny hint of Marc x gn!reader

Summary: The postcards that Steven received from his ”Mom“ were just a bunch of made-up lies. Or weren’t they? Steven is a sweetheart and Marc deserves all the love in the universe.

Word count: 1k

Warnings: Mentions of child abuse. Please be aware that Steven refers to Marc as “man” because he isn’t aware of the term “alter” (yet).

A/N: Hiya :) This is the very first blurb I have ever written, so any type of feedback would mean the world to me 🥰

“Morning Gus & Gus! How are we doing lads, sleep all right?”

As Steven started his morning routine by sprinkling their favourite fish flakes into their tank, the fish remained emphatically nonchalant.

“Still giving old Steven the silent treatment, are we? Because I couldn’t take you with us to Egypt?”

Chuckling quietly to himself, he kept watching them for a moment before his gaze wandered towards the collection of postcards framing the fishes’ home. While each of them held a special little place in his heart, it wasn’t difficult to spot his favourite one among them.

If the large pyramid and the brightly coloured “Greetings from Cairo” on its front hadn’t been enough of a giveaway, the worn edges and creases clearly would have indicated how often he had held the postcard in his hands to read it over and over again. Just like he did now:

“My dearest Steven,

I am sending you the warmest greetings from the land of the pharaohs! Every morning I look out the window of our hotel room and see the Great Pyramid of Giza and every time I do, I think about how much you would love it here, my darling. I am looking forward to the day that we are going to go on an adventure like this together!

Love and hugs, Mom”

Love and hugs…

Letting his fingers trace over the biro indentations, he tried to imagine what it must have felt like for the man who had written these lines for him.

Maybe he had just returned from a mission protecting the travellers of the night, all bloodied and bruised, aching and in pain, writing this postcard instead of tending to his injuries. Painting a picture of a caring mother filled with warmth and kindness and love, while his heart and soul were bleeding from the countless wounds that she had inflicted upon him as she had turned his own life into a living hell.

Maybe he had been sitting on the bare cot in his storage locker, surrounded by nothing but inanimate coldness and relentless emptiness, with nothing to offer even the tiniest bit of relief or distraction from his shame and guilt and pain and loneliness.

Maybe he had written it right in this flat, before carefully smoothing over the sand around their bed and applying a new piece of tape to their door. Always making sure that every little detail was exactly as Steven had left it, always fearing that one day he would make that one final mistake that would make his carefully constructed world for Steven crumble into dust.

Deeply lost in his thoughts, he felt it before he could see or hear anything. A warm and comforting presence, like a soft and reassuring embrace that told him that he was accepted and safe. Like coming home and knowing that you are protected. That you are loved.

Who could have anticipated that Steven would find what he had been longing for all his life in the very same man that had seemed to have been the reason for all of his nightmares only a few weeks ago?

His eyes softened as he smiled at the reflection in the fish tank. “Marc…”

“Hey, Steven!” Even though Marc’s eyes no longer held the heart-wrenching despair and agony finding their way through the cracks of his mask like when he first met him, Steven could sense the guilt and pain slowly creeping back in.

“I can throw them away for you, if you want to,” Marc offered in a small voice.

“Why would we want to throw them away?” Steven’s brow furrowed in mild confusion.

“Well, because they are… they are just a reminder of all the lies I told you to…” his voice trailed off.

“…to make sure that I was able to live a happy, simple, normal life?” Steven finished the sentence.

Marc lowered his gaze for a moment before nodding and simply answering, “Yes.”

“No, Marc, I don’t think they are.” Steven slowly shook his head.

“You see, to me… to me they are a reminder that all my life I’ve had someone standing in my corner, who cared about me and who looked out for me. Who would always protect me, no matter what.

And when all is said and done, it doesn’t matter that this person wasn’t our mother. Or our father. Because you… you have loved me in the same way that they should have. And I think that… I think that, in the end, that’s all that matters.”

Whatever Marc had intended to say was drowned in a half-stifled sob as his eyes began to glisten with tears.

“Hey!” Steven said softly while tenderly laying one hand against the glass of the fish tank.

“Hey… it’s okay, Marc, you don’t have to say anything. Just… just know that I am here for you, too, yeah?”

He was still standing there like that when you wrapped your arms around him from behind to press a gentle good morning kiss to his temple. “Mmmmhm morning, sweetie, what are the Gusses telling you?”

“Mhm? What? Oh… they still refuse to talk to me. And I wasn’t… I wasn’t talking to them just now.”

“Oh...” As realization hit you, you gave him another peck on his cheek. “Good morning, Marc!” Your smile turned into a frown when Steven still seemed rooted to the spot.

“You guys okay?” you asked carefully. 

Finally turning around, he gave you a little smile. “Yeah, I think… I think he just needs a minute!”

Bringing your hand up to his face to caress one of his cheeks you ask, “Anything I can do to help? Or would you rather be alone?”

He hesitated for a moment. “Could you… can you give Marc something from me?”

“Sure?”

“Could you just…” and with that he pulled you into a long and heartfelt hug. Holding you as tight as he had held Marc when he had hugged him for the first time, but instead of conveying desperation and fear, his embrace was filled with gratitude and warmth and comfort and tenderness.

“I think he’ll love that,” you whispered.

Letting go of you just enough to be able to look at you, he gently cupped your face with both hands before placing the softest of kisses on your forehead.

“I think he’ll love that very much!”

#moon knight #steven grant #marc spector #steven grant x reader #fanfiction #chrissie tries to write #chrissie gifs

[intheorangebedroom]

Pleased to meet you, chapter 1

Summary: You meet Frankie Morales. Twice.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader. Reader's French. 😬

Rating: Explicit 🔞

Word Count: 2.9k

A/N: shameless mention of the fucking Andes™️.

[series masterlist] * [next]

Chapter One: Lovesong

“This is a Brooklyn bound L train. Stand clear of the closing doors, please”. 

The distorted voice booming from the speakers comforts you in your theory that New York is a city made for New Yorkers, and New Yorkers only. You can’t imagine how anyone who doesn’t live here year round can go by in this monster of a city. Paris is so much more tourist friendly. You don’t get why everybody thinks it’s so dirty. Okay, maybe you do, but riding the Parisian métro is definitely easier than dealing with the MTA. And Paris is the most visited city in the world so if it is, indeed, dirty, it's probably because of the hordes of tourists roaming the city streets. Parisians can be unpleasant, though. You can admit to this.

Sitting beside you on the hard plastic seat, Rosie is chatting animatedly. Her bubbly enthusiasm soothes your flaring anxiety and a surge of affection warms up your heart, knowing all too well that’s precisely what she’s aiming for. It’s only the third time you two meet in the flesh but the familiarity between you is a testimony to the deep bond you’ve been sharing since chance brought you together five years ago, through a student exchange program during your freshman year in high school. You’ve been writing one another twice, three times a week, long letters, short postcards, a few words on a scrapped piece of paper, witty jokes etched in markers on ripped off magazine pages… The recent acquisition of an internet connection in the shape of a very expensive and noisy black box has brought you closer yet, with the ability to communicate in real time. You would spend endless hours on the phone, but phone calls are for emergencies only, as you simply can’t afford it. You’re entirely on your own since you left “home” after graduating from high school, and if you haven’t looked back, money’s tight. Despite working two part-time jobs on top of your scholarship, you never could have paid for this summer trip to New York, if Rosie’s mother hadn’t wired you a hefty part of the airfare. You’re pretty sure she won’t let you give her back the money either, even though they’re not exactly rolling in money, sharing a two-room apartment above a laundromat at the corner of 1st Avenue and East 115th Street. You don’t feel good about it, but being surrounded by their loving natures is a welcome respite from your loneliness, one that surpasses your guilt. You've never known such generosity from your own mother, despite her situation being more enviable than that of Dolores.

You shrug away the thought of your mother and bring your attention back to Rosie. It has got to be about the hundredth time she’s babbling on about the guy from her improv class who’s throwing the party she’s currently dragging you to, her black eyes shining bright with excitement. You nod absent-mindedly, taking in her perfect features, high cheekbones and golden skin, her luscious black hair tied in an effortless bun.

Notwithstanding your physical differences, you two come across as very similar, at least at first glance. However, where her extroverted nature is one of her chore character traits, yours is only skin deep. If you had to explain why, you’d probably say that the only thing setting you apart is that her mother loves her. Both women got pregnant during their senior year in high school, but while Rosie’s mom affectionately talks about her daughter as the best thing to ever happen to her, yours refers to you as "her failed abortion”. 

Putain, just stop thinking about your mother, already. 

You smile at Rosie, hoping it will convey all the affection and gratitude you feel toward her right now, unaware you’re riding at a 30 mph speed into an evening that will forever alter the course of your life. 

Ignorant as you may be, you’re absolutely terrified. You don’t do well at parties, you usually drink too much, feeling too awkward in these kinds of social settings. A bunch of unemployed aspiring artists with useless BA degrees, you can’t imagine what you’ll have to offer any of them with your equally useless French degree in Roman History. 

The dimly lit apartment is already overcrowded when you get there, garlands of colourful bulbs hanging from random pieces of furniture. The acrid smell of sweat mingled with smoke stings your eyes and you feel slightly light-headed for a minute or two. Despite her many promises not to do so, Rosie leaves your side almost immediately, having spotted the birthday boy upon arrival. You don’t resent her for it, you could have bet on this outcome the moment she told you about the party, but you feel utterly lost nonetheless. There's a lot of alcohol, some drugs, the music's loud, people are cool, you guess, but you're overwhelmed so you step aside for a beat, seeking refuge on the fire escape. 

He’s hiding, just like you, but he sees you right away, and it’s not long before you see him too. He's standing in a corner by himself, a plastic cup in his left hand, tall and lean and broad, you can tell by the way his green plaid shirt is pulled taut over his shoulders. A strong nose, a sharp, clean-shaven jaw, thick brown locks swept back. When his dark eyes dive into yours, your breath hitches. A gentle smile lifts up the right corner of his lush lips and you have to pull yourself away from his gaze. You don't hear him arriving but you feel him as he slightly brushes against the naked skin of your arm with a bottle of ice-cold beer. 

"Hey" -you can barely hear him over the music, his voice a low whisper, is he shy? "I thought you might need this." 

“Oh yeah, cheers.”

You take the bottle, chug on it for dear life with a silent prayer of please please make me drunk not too drunk just enough because your insecure brain can’t make out what he’s doing standing next to you on the metal grid. The first notes of Song 2 by Blur blast from the giant speakers inside the room and your damn brain yells at you to go dance, you love this song, just get out of here. 

“I’m Frankie.”

His eyes pin you down.

You chat for a while. A long while, actually. It’s hard because you can’t comprehend for the life of you why a guy so smart and handsome would be… into you? Is he into you? But it’s easy because he can’t comprehend, for the life of him, why a girl so smart and sweet would be into him. You’re into him. You talk about your lives and your dreams, it's that age. You’re broke but in France college is free so you get by, you’d like to be an archaeologist one day but you’ve no connections, and you’ve been told they are needed, never mind, education’s education, you’ll take it, see where it takes you. He’s very broke and he wants to be a pilot (“you wanna fly things?” He’s so handsome when he laughs, is that a dimple on his right cheek? You feel very hot under his gaze. It’s too deep. “Yeah I wanna fly things. Over the fucking Andes!” a flash of the dimple and you refrain from touching). He’s been working as a mechanic in a garage in Queens for the past two years, to pay off some of the student loan for his Bachelor’s degree in Aviation, and it’s about how long he can put up with the status quo. So he did the logical, efficient thing, he enlisted with the US Army pilot training program. They’ll educate him for free, or so he thinks. He’s unsure whether he should have told you that last bit. It probably won’t sit right with what he can tell are your politics. Did he fuck this up already? God, you’re sweet. Would you taste as good as you look? Probably. 

There’s a pause. Not uncomfortable. Just unsure. Expectant. You rest your hand on his forearm and you squeeze, “when you’re a pilot, will you fly me over the fucking Andes?”

***

You leave with him, something you’ve never done before. Something about his eyes that makes you bold. You spend the entire weekend locked up in his apartment, in a bedroom with orange curtains, losing track of time and fucking until you start making love. You hardly talk. You don’t need to. You’re both young and fairly inexperienced but the attraction and the curiosity make up for it, and you venture so far, so, so far, you let him take you anyhow anywhere and he gives just as much as he takes. On Monday he’s shipping out. So you give and take and give and take as much as you physically and emotionally can. And then some. He writes his number on a piece of paper, swear you’ll call me, you don’t even own a cell phone but you swear, i’ll call you. You safely tuck the paper in the watch pocket of your jeans. And you part ways.

***

On your way back to Rosie, you’re caught in one of those NYC rainstorms, and the distance between the subway exit and Dolores’s apartment is enough to have you drenched completely. Rosie’s rightfully pissed at you for disappearing all weekend, and yes, you get it, but you can’t bring yourself to care. She’s mid sentence into telling you no one at the party seemed to know that tall dude she saw you leaving with, that anything could have happened to you and she’d never know, when you suddenly blurt out “I’m in love, Rosie.” 

Your tone speaks of certitude. 

She stares at you with owlish eyes. She knows you to be overly enthusiastic about a lot of things, books, movies, places, heck, even cheese, but hardly ever about people. She wants to crack a joke, one of her witty one-liners that never fail to single her out in a crowd, you look every bit the hectic walk of shame you just came from, your features drawn with tiredness, runny makeup, hair a mess, soaked in rain. But your demeanour stops her abruptly and the words die on her tongue. She narrows her gaze on your neck, eying closely the extent of your skin speckled with purple mottled spots tracing a constellation, and at the crook of your neck, deep, red, bite marks, Jesus fucking Christ, did that guy try to eat you up? You’re standing up tall. What happened to you this weekend? Your eyes are alight with a bright, profound spark, there's no trace of the blurry sadness that usually lingers around you like a halo even when you laugh. She stares at you in disbelief for a beat. It's palpable. You’re vibrating. She knows at this very moment that she will never experience the depth of feelings you’re experiencing right now. Her smile drops. For just a fleeting second, she envies you. 

You recount your weekend but you remain scarce with details. The orange bedroom is yours and Frankie’s, and yours and Frankie’s only. 

Later that night when you pull out the little piece of paper with the intent of calling him from the kitchen phone, the digits are just a smear of wiped ink, washed away by the rain. 

You cry until your voice is hoarse, until Dolores suggests you return to his place to leave a note in his mailbox. He told you his sister was scheduled to meet his landlord there in the afternoon, to retrieve his remaining belongings and negotiate for the deposit, but you’ll try anyway. Rosie escorts you, Dolores insists on it. On the never ending subway ride, you curse the size of this city, your leg bouncing nervously on the hard train floor, your jaw clenched. She throws anxious sideways glances at you, it drives you crazy. 

When you exit the G train on Greenpoint Ave, it’s late already and the usually busy street has been nearly emptied by the heavy rain. You turn around the corner of Huron street, and you see it right away: the orange curtains are no longer hanging from the third floor window. 

***

On a bleak Sunday morning, thirteen years later, you wake up to the sobering realisation that you can’t conjure up any of your youthful dreams, save for the ones of the orange bedroom. You’re definitely not an archaeologist. Your father died before you had a chance to reconnect with him, not that he ever seemed interested. You’ve come to terms with the fact that your mother is nothing more than a mean stranger who gave you life. 

You did, however, make an effort to mould yourself into some kind of normality. The one thing that brings you joy and balance is your job in one of Paris’s most prestigious patrimonial libraries. You go out to the movies, visit exhibitions, argue with friends about the latest series over expensive beers in hipster bars, attend weddings and birthday parties in Buttes Chaumont in the summer and celebrate Christmas at your in-laws… Not your in-laws, really, you’re not married. But you bought an apartment with Eric, the man you’ve been dating for the past 5 years. An apartment is big enough of a commitment. Eric. Cold blue eyes behind 500€ tortoise shell glasses, thinning blond hair, more charming than handsome, junior editor at Gallimard. The loan is bleeding you dry. A civil servant, your income doesn’t quite match up with his. All things considered, the person you’ve become is not that different from the young woman you once were: enthusiastic, caring and fun, if a little insecure (and around the edges of you, ever present, the lingering sadness). Why, then, does he treat you like dirt? Why do you put up with it?

So on that bleak Sunday morning, you finally walk out. You walk out after too many years of trying your best, with nothing to show for it but a small nest egg and a persisting feeling of waste. 

The following year is a blur of depression until Rosie shows up on your doorstep one day to wrestle your head out of the water. She convinces you to use that money to turn your life over, move to New Jersey and live with her. At the moment, it makes sense, she’s the one steady, comforting, benevolent element in your life. It’s a relief to put your life in her hands and to follow her. 

The two first months after that are exhilarating, if a little terrifying. Rosie was right, as always. You needed a drastic change in your life, one that would place you so out of your depth you’d be forced out of your thoughts and propelled into action. Action is where you excel.

Your superior isn’t too pleased when you announce to her that you want a three-year sabbatical. You’re a very good asset. But as a civil servant, you’re entitled to it and she can’t deny you. She reminds you however that it is tacitly renewable every year until the third year, when it will become definite. She also stresses out that she cannot, statutorily, hold your position beyond the first year and will have to recruit a replacement. You don’t budge. You reckon three years is all you need to get back up on your feet.

You start drawing lists of what has to be done and sorting your belongings into categories: keep, storage, sell, charity. You happily get rid of what little furniture you own, as it was acquired during the period of your life you are currently trying to leave behind. Plainly spoken, none of it is in your taste. Nothing makes it into storage, either. You can’t part with many of your clothes, and your books even less. You’re going to have to use some of the money from your share of the apartment -and Eric made sure to screw you over the increase in value-  to have them shipped to you anyway, so you might as well add your collection of vintage photographs and the many trinkets you brought back from your travels across Europe. Being virtually on your own, you have surrounded yourself with objects that bring you comfort, and a sense of home your failing family never provided you with. 

You stay with Rosie for a while, in her cosy little house with two gardens (“one in the front and one in the back” she’s keen to precise with great pride) working with Dolores in her thrift store in Manhattan, near St Mark's place. The commute is insane, exhausting and long and has you questioning the entire enterprise. You hardly ever see Rosie, she works the night shifts at the hospital and when she comes home you’re passed out on the couch. But after a couple of months that feel like a lifetime, you find a position in a bookstore near Rosie’s place. After that, the rest of the plan is quickly set in motion. You rent out a furnished apartment, have your belongings shipped, and you unpack. 

Jersey City is certainly not the place you would have singled out for a recovery, yet it works just fine. Far from home, you get reacquainted with yourself. After a while, it becomes less painful being you, until it starts feeling good again. You even date. You meet this playful, kind-hearted, spontaneous guy, Benny, in the most unlikely place. He makes you laugh and fucks you right. It’s a slow pace but he likes you and you like him, he wants more of you in his life, so on a Friday evening in early April, he takes you to a bar to introduce you to his friends. 

“And this right here is Frankie, he’s like a brother to me.”

Taglist

#Francisco Catfish Morales #Frankie Morales #The Pilot™️ #frankie morales x fem!reader #frankie morales x you #triple frontier fic #Frankie morales x fem!reader #frankie morales x ofc #frankie morales/fem!reader #frankie morales/you #frankie morales/ofc #triple frontier

[wolfiemcwolferson]

Hello darling dearest 🤭

“Worshipping the god of small things”

Well. I’m on with the lawyers again.

Charles worships at the alter of small things.

He always has.

His maman was busy packing away and labeling his karting suits - one for each year - while Charles was pasting one single timing page into a journal in his desk. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t even his timing page, it was the moment he wanted to remember from that season.

Charles goes to London on his own for a sponsor event and they give him the suit and the shoes and a watch and he gives them all to Arthur and instead keeps one single ticket from a cinema that he and Pierre snuck out to go to - to meet up at. Pierre driving too long to come see him, to hug him.

Charles gets a box of his papa’s things and he selects a single watch. Gold and clunky and nothing he would wear, but he put it in a watch box and sets it inside his desk at the factory and then when he signs with Ferrari, he moves it there.

Charles worships at the altar of small things because that’s where the magic is.

A gum wrapper from the day he kissed his first boy.

A piece of concrete someone handed him from Monza that sits on top of a stack of postcards that Pierre mailed him from all over the world.

A parking ticket from the first date he went on with a boy.

Charles holds onto the small things because the trophies and the cars and the watches don’t mean much when the most important things in his life must be hidden away from the public, but because he has always worshipped at the altar of small things, he’s well prepared.

Pierre laments that he can’t kiss Charles on a podium or in park ferme and Charles tells him that kissing him in their bed when the sun hasn’t even come up is better than any kiss in front of the world.

Charles knicks a fork from a too fancy restaurant that they visit after Pierre signs the Alpine contract and when Pierre gets his first win with them - when he’s on the top stop, Charles is ordering tiramisu for them to pick up when they get to Monaco and he pulls the fork out just to see Pierre laugh.

Charles has a bad day and all he wants is Pierre to hold him tight and tell him he loves him, but he brings him a paper cup of tea that he must have threatened someone to acquire and their fingers brush and he says small things, calamar and Charles has enough. He has enough.

Pierre somehow works out a flight for the two of them and there’s too many people on it that don’t know so all they can do is sit close and talk and laugh, but Pierre pops a mint into his mouth and winks at him and Charles is so in love that he thinks his chest is too small for his heart and so he slips the mint wrapper into his pocket for his altar of small things.

Charles has trophy cases and he has a whole bloody holiday and he has more money and cars and residences than he truly knows what to do with, but his most prized possessions are all the small things that tell the story of his love - of Pierre - of the person who knows him and loves him and doesn’t care that he has a holiday. Only that he saves gum wrappers and timing sheets and forks from restaurants.

#piarles #I don’t know what this is either

[joyful-soul-collector]

I wonder if, upon learning that Marc was the Host, "the original" in Steven's words, if Steven ever worried afterwards that he was being invasive.

All those things Konshu called him. Worm, parasite, idiot--were they all true now? Was he truly a parasite? A demon of some sort, occasionally possessing a victim of abuse? Leeching off of someone else's life?

Maybe for a while he stopped fronting. He'd stolen so much of Marc's life already, the least he could do was let Marc make it up as best he could. When he was in their inner world he would stay within his own area, never venturing out for fear of disturbing the place Marc's mind had made for him to feel safe.

And even after doing more research on DID and learning that he wasn't a demon, that he as an alter was just as valid a person as the host was, part of him just couldn't shake the feeling that he was a nuisance. A pest. An invasive species in the habitat that was Marc's mind and body.

It probably took a while for Marc to pick up on. Maybe even months. He can normally read people's emotions well, that's what happens when you're raised in an abusive home after all, but that’s all based on body language and expression, which is a bit harder to read when it's someone in your own body. But eventually he does sense it, he can feel the anxiety Steven feels when he needs to front, feels the relief when Marc comes back. And then he sees Steven out and about in their inner world and suddenly realizes he hasn't seen Steven outside his specific space in a long time. Not to mention the apologetic look he had on his face when Marc saw him, as if he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't have.

The final straw was when Steven ended up fronting for three days straight, and when Marc came back, the flat looked completely different than he left it. All Steven's books had been put away, tucked into shelves or stacked under the bed. Steven's clothes had been taken out of the closet and dresser as well, replaced by cardboard boxes at the top of the closet labeled with Steven's messy scrawl. His pyramid paperweight, the postcards from Gus's tank, and his rubiks cube were tossed haphazardly in to a wire wastebasket, right next to their unusually clean desk. All of Steven's favorite snacks had been cleared out of the fridge and cupboards, and Marc wondered if he'd eaten them or if he felt too guilty to allow himself even that.

The only trace of Steven left in the flat was the pair of fish in the now postcard-less fishtank. He wondered if Steven was worried he'd let them die, seeing as how they were just another reminder of his presence.

And that's when Marc knew exactly what was going on. After all, it hadn't been too long since he was the one hiding his possessions around the flat, trying to make his presence as invisible as possible.

He took Steven's things out of the trash. He unpacked Steven's clothes and carefully put them back where they belonged. He took Steven's books out from under the bed and stacked his favorites on the nightstand for him to read. And Marc went out and bought all of Steven's favorite snacks again, even the ones he hated himself. He put on the soft pajamas Steven always liked to wear, even though they made him feel too hot.

There was a rather emotional talk that night.

It probably took a while for Steven to feel comfortable in his own body again. To stop feeling like he was taking up someone else's life, to feel like he was just as much of a person as Marc was. Sometimes he still felt so guilty that he would hide his possessions again, or he'd write notes to Marc saying that it was okay if he never wanted to let Steven front again, and that Steven wouldn't bother him anymore and he could just disappear.

But eventually with time, and therapy, Steven realized that he wasn't taking up Marc's life, not any more than Marc took up Steven's. They were living life together, and that was wonderful. And when Marc returned after letting Steven front for a week to find that he'd bought five more books and was eating the wasabi nuts Marc hated so much, he knew Steven would be alright.

#moon knight #moon knight meta #steven grant #marc spector #mk system #marvel #mcu #mr. knight #if Jake saw all this go down I think he'd feel comfortable enough to make himself known too #he'd want to be part of the little family they're making (even if at times he doesn't feel like he deserves to) #anyways hope you enjoyed my ted talk lol #if anyone wants to message and ramble about MK shit I'd love to #if I don't answer right away I'm probably just busy or sleeping so don't worry about that but yeah haha #moon knight fanfic #tbh I'm not sure if this is meta or fanfic or if it's possible for it to be both? #I tagged it as meta originally but then in reblogs other people have tagged it as fanfic so #either way it's me rambling about MK for a long time lol'