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bvtbxtch · 1 year

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I Can Make You Scream | Eddie Munson

Day Three of Kinktober

Summary: Your first collaboration (a Halloween special) with one of the most popular cam boys, Eddie, leaves you breathless and waiting for the next shoot with him.

wc: ~6.7k (I got excited)

Pairings: camboy!Eddie/pornstar!Eddie x camgirl!reader

Warnings: This is literally all smut minimal plot, so 18+ MDNI!! Cam sex, blood and biting, fangs, lingerie, spitting, markup, overstimulation, not being able to cum, light bondage (restraining hands), softdom!Eddie, choking, oral (f and m receiving), overstimulation, squirting, protected p in v sex (wrap it up, folks). This is purely porn with a plot.

Shout out to my darling partner @darknesseddiem who will be posting their 15 prompts later in October. It is my honour to collab with you!

The knock at the door sent lightning bolts straight to your core. You hurry your way to the front door, ensuring to check that your makeup and hair looked perfectly effortless. You took a deep breath to exhume any last minute nerves before you opened your door.

You had moved to Indianapolis from Detroit for school, but very quickly found out the hard way that college was not your thing. Now being stuck with the bill for a new apartment and no scholarships to foot the cost, you had to do what you always had thought about doing. At least now you had an excuse, right? You uploaded your ID and personal information to camwow.com, one of the most popular porn cam sites in the states. You bought yourself a new magic wand from the sex store down the road and took the plunge. Little by little, you gained a following. Money, brand deals and collaborations flooded through you. But the one rule you made for yourself, was you would only do solo work.

Things changed when you looked at your private inbox. There sat a message that you had to look at four or five times to make sure it was real. The name “metalhead_munson” with a little blue checkmark sat bolded in your inbox, the subject stating plainly: hey :) You had heard of Eddie before, he was only one of the most famous cam workers on the site. Eddie’s message was professional - transactional almost:

I caught one of your shows the other night and was thoroughly impressed. I was going to be in the Indianapolis area on the 30th. My management is giving me a couple of days of free time and I would love to film with you. We could film on my channel and we could split profits 50/50. I would link your profile in the livestream so hopefully we can get your followers up. If you could give me the number to your agent so we can set this up, that would be great.

Cheers,

Eddie Munson.

Your heart raced as you read and reread the message. You didn’t have an agent. You barely knew what you were doing… but he was impressed? Did that mean that he was turned on? Did a huge cam star jack off to your stream? After hours of screaming into your pillow, dancing around your living room and staring at the email, you conjured up a response.

Hello Eddie! Thank you for the compliment. It means a lot coming from such a big personality on the site like yourself. I unfortunately don’t have any agent contacts but I would love to work with you - thank you for the opportunity! I am free any time around halloween, but was planning a themed stream, if you’re interested?

You signed the message with your phone number and encouraged him to call or text you any time. You couldn’t deny that you hoped he would call. You had seen Eddie’s stream before, it often gracing the front page on camwow. The girls that he often had on his stream were beautiful, more beautiful than you, you imagined. But apparently you knew how to work your body in a way that got you some recognition. So you thought, fuck it? Why not see where this might lead.

It was 2am when you received a call from an LA area code. You hastily picked up the phone and put on the sweetest most professional voice you could muster up.

“Hello?” You breathed.

“Hey, um is this Y/N?” The baritone rasp had your breath caught in your throat.

“Yeah, that’s me.” you let out a nervous giggle.

“Hey, It’s Eddie. I just wanted to touch base about the messages on camwow. You still up for it? I’d love to meet you.” His voice made your blood run cold. Even over the phone, the man oozed confidence and sex appeal. You couldn’t help but be intimidated.

“Cool, yeah I would like that a lot. Umm, what did you think about the halloween theme I had thought about? If it’s stupid, we don’t have to but if you wanna I’d-”

“That’s a great idea, honey.” honey “I got a few ideas. I’ll text them to you, okay?”

“Cool, yeah. Sweet..” You were tripping over your own words, your brain short circuiting from the pet name.

“Great, doll. Don’t be too nervous, okay? I know this is your first collaboration, but we can go slow if you want.” Although there was a lightness to his tone, you didn’t feel judged. You took a deep breath and thanked the man on the other end of the phone. You stayed frozen on the line long after he had hung up, unsure as to what had just happened. You’d see him on October 30th.

The next day Eddie had sent you four or five ideas that he had based around your halloween special. You both agreed on one and as much as the anticipation was killing you, your belly swirled with aroused excitement. You couldn’t wait for the two weeks it would take for Eddie’s arrival.

You swung your door open and your heart skipped a beat when you looked at the sight in front of you. There stood the man you had lost sleep over. He loomed over you in the frame of your door, but his lopsided smile eased your nerves. He donned a loose fitting white tee just sheer enough that you could see faint dark tracings of ink on his torso. His alabaster skin complimented the purple and green veins adorning his hands. The man twisted the chunky rings on his right hand. Your mouth watered thinking about where those fingers might be within the next few hours…

“You gonna let me in, or what?” His grin spread to a shit eating smile that immediately made you feel at home in your body. You gave the man a puzzled look as he shuffled past you into your space. Embellishing his canine teeth were fangs. Eddie noticed your confusion.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. They’re fake and they won’t hurt… that much” You follow him into your apartment as he takes in the sights. There was something magnetic about the mop headed man. You followed him around your puppy even though you were in your own house. You snapped out of your daze to remember you also needed to be (at least) a competent host.

“Can I get you anything to drink or anything?” you ask. He politely waved you off as he plops down on your sectional.

“It’s a nice place you got here, doll.”

“Uh, thanks.” You awkwardly shuffled towards Eddie and sat yourself on the opposite edge of the couch.

“So, I usually like to go over what we will and won’t do before we go get comfortable. Is that okay?” Eddie offered. There was no sense of annoyance or impatience with you. He was the perfect gentleman, which was making it harder and harder to focus on functioning like a normal human being.

“Yeah, that sounds good. I mean, I haven’t really done this before… but I guess I’m down for anything as long as we kind of chat about it first.” Eddie laughed at your bluntness. You hid your face in your hands and let out a soft giggle. You were nervous and embarrassed but not by him. Eddie rose to his feet and offered out his hands to you. You peered out of your hands and grabbed him with a curt smile. You let him pull you up and you suddenly felt breathless while he was invading your space; but it wasn’t a nervous energy. It was new and scary but you felt oddly at ease with the gorgeous stranger in front of you.

“Wanna show me to your studio?” he said with a wink and a genuine smile. You dropped your hands from his and began to walk to your room - which you had spent hours cleaning leading up to Eddie’s visit. You even went as far as getting new bedding to make your room look ‘cooler’.

You opened your door and let Eddie take in the sights. He took a few steps into your room and hovered to your small bookshelf nestled in the corner of your room. He eyed over your bed, cameras decorating different sides of the bed, their wires treading to your computer. Then his eyes softened when his eyes trailed to you, standing in the middle of your room, hands locked together in anticipation. God he couldn’t wait to devour you, but there was another foreign pang in his chest.

“You okay? You still wanna do this, right?” Eddie stepped towards you, nervous that you were going to change your mind.

“No! No, god no” You blurted, maybe a bit too aggressively. “I just…I just don’t know where to start.”

“Well before we turn on the camera, we should get more comfortable,” Eddie offered. You nod your head enthusiastically as the man stalks towards you, coming almost chest to chest with you.

“Can I kiss you?” His eyes looked pleading. You stared up at him with your bright eyes and he felt that pang in his chest again.

“Y-yeah.” you gasp. Eddie’s hands trailed up to your cheeks and he brought his face close to yours, giving you a split second to pull away from him if you wanted. You closed your eyes in anticipation of a forceful kiss, but you almost flinched in surprise of the man’s lips caressing yours. His lips were soft and warm, you felt like you could melt into him. His touches were careful, like he didn’t want to scare you off. You both pulled away and you couldn’t help the smile that grew across your face. You were surprised to see the same one mirrored on the brunette’s face. He cleared his throat and gestured to the bag sitting in your living room.

“So, I uh- I brought costumes - like not crazy ones, but something just a bit different… you know, to add to these…” The man smiled and pointed to his prosthetic fangs.

“Y-yeah, I did too, if that’s okay.”

“Sure. I’ll go to the bathroom and change, and I’ll leave you to it. Just open the door when you’re ready for me, okay, Honey?”

“Yeah, sure Eddie,” You gave Eddie a warm smile and he turned to leave you. “Um, Eddie? I uh…. I wanted to let you know that the main reason I do my cam stuff alone is because I have some performance anxiety.” You looked down at your socked feet in anticipation. You half expected Eddie to laugh and walk away; but he was suddenly back and tilting so your eyes were met with his deep brown ones.

“Doll, there’s no pressure at all. Let me make you feel good and if you come, I’ll be stoked. But if you don’t then we can stop and never talk again. Or if you just wanna stop let me know, okay?” You couldn’t sense any judgment in Eddie’s tone or his eyes. You felt dumb for blindly trusting someone you only just met in person. Eddie sauntered out of your room and gently shut the door. You turned to your closet to grab the dainty lingerie hanging neatly on the rack. You slid your jeans and tee off of your body and crumpled them into your hamper. You take off your panties and bra and quickly slide the teddy over your body. You stepped foot into your ensuite to give yourself one final look over and you couldn’t help but bite your lip in admiration.

The soft pink lace held your tits in place, giving you a delicious cleavage. The corseted bodysuit hugged your waist perfectly, while the lace detailing let a small peak of your skin embellish the lingerie. The frilly lace straps adorn your shoulders that made you look almost virginal. Perfect. The small mesh skirt emphasized your waist. You turned to look at your ass, looking perky and perfect. You looked perfect. It was just what a vampire needed for a sacrifice.

You padded out of your ensuite to your bedroom door. You opened it and called for Eddie to join you whenever you were ready. You sat yourself at your computer and booted up camwow.com. You hated to admit, but your heart was in your chest. You shook with excitement and anticipation. You felt Eddie’s presence in the frame of your bedroom door and you turned to look at him. Your breath caught in your throat while you drank in his form.

He stood leaned tall over your doorframe. His pale skin was now on full display, highlighted by small drips of fake blood. It seemed, to your delight, he forgot a shirt for his new costume. His toned abs framed a well trimmed treasure trail to where you wanted to see him the most. Highlighting his bulge were a pair of leather pants that caressed his curves perfectly. His curly hair laid on his broad shoulders. He looked like an adonis. His eyes darkened as he bathed in your appearance, but his lips fell slightly open in awe.

“Well don’t you look good enough to eat” Eddie teased as he kneels onto your bed.

“I could say the same to you, Eddie.” your voice was saccharine sweet. Eddie couldn’t wait to hear how sweet your moans would sound…

“So, we’re all set up camera wise, if you just wanna log into your account, we’ll be good to go.” You stood up from your desk chair and Eddie’s brain short circuited. You looked delicious and he couldn’t wait to make you fall apart. He played it cool as he switched you spots and you perched on the edge of your bed.

“So, I have some rope and stuff too… is that okay?” Eddie’s voice had become thick with lust. He could hardly contain myself. You hummed in agreement. “Oh, and… I gotta say, doll. You’re looking delectable, but there’s a big part of me that wants to rip that thing off you. You okay if I tear up that little number? I’ll buy you a new one.” His eyes turned from the screen and looked pleading, like he would die if he didn’t get the chance. Lucky for him, the thought of him ripping clothes off you went straight to your core.

“Yeah… I’m sure we can make something work.” You giggle. Unable to control your giddy anticipation. Eddie raised slowly from the computer, and you saw the small red light appear on the cameras fixed around the bed. It was show time.

“You tell me red light if you need me to stop, okay?” Eddie’s voice rasped, just above a whisper. “We’re gonna start and I’m gonna move a little fast. You ready?” He stood above you at the end of the bed, his chest was heaving. You could feel your heartbeat in your ears as you nodded up at him.

“Use your words, pretty girl.”

“Yes, Ed-”

“That’s sir to you, unless you want to be punished.” Eddie’s voice thickened with pure sex, making a shiver travel down your spine.

“Yes, sir.”

Eddie leaned down by the end of the bed and grabbed two pieces of black velvet rope. Before you could compute what he had in his hands, he was climbing onto the bed on top of you, pushing you back towards your headboard.

“Good girl. Make this easy and it won’t hurt as much. I’m hungry…” Eddie growled, his eyes fixed on you, pupils dilated like you really were his prey. He grabbed your wrists with one hand and slammed them above you onto your headboard. He tied one of the velvet ropes tightly around your wrists. You finally caught your breath and were able to comprehend what was happening. The boldness washed over you as you let go of your anxieties. You gave Eddie a devilish smirk then instantly twisted your face into one of horror.

“Please sir, don’t hurt me. I promise I’ll be good and do whatever you want.” You saw Eddie flinch at your words like they were wax burning his skin: a surprise, but a welcome and unexpected one.

“Keep your hands there and I won’t have to tie you down further then.”

“Yes, sir.”

Eddie smiled widely to reveal his fangs to the camera positioned at the side of your bed. He held his hands up to your throat and pressed down just enough to send static to your brain. You felt the cool sting of his rings that he kept on his body, but felt another surprise: adorning his pointer and middle fingers were rings that rested on his upper knuckle and formed into pointed claws. The sharpness sent another type of coolness across your skin. The glint of the metal poked into your neck and you hissed as Eddie continued to press into you. The delicious feeling of oxygen deprivation is topped only when Eddie presses his mouth to yours. You moan into him, all of your body already felt under the mop head’s control.

Eddie’s mouth moved expertly against you, breaking the seal your mouths had to give you brief moments of breath. He pushed his tongue further into your mouth and you felt your body go numb, all feeling going to your already throbbing core. You wrestled with Eddie’s tongue in your mouth, eliciting a moan from him. You couldn’t wait to watch your recording back again and again just to hear his moan. Eddie bit down onto your lip and pulled hard. You whimpered at the sting and you tasted a metallic tang in your mouth. You went to lick your lips to rid of the small slit of blood sitting on them but Eddie grabbed your jaw and ran his tongue across your lips with a satisfied moan. Eddie looked you deep in the eyes, a silent check in, and what he saw filled him with excitement that went straight to his hardening cock. Your eyes had darkened with lust, already kiss drunk from him.

Eddied trailed his kisses from the side of your mouth to your jaw, to the pulse point by your ear. His mouth was saccharine sweet on your skin, like it belonged there. But in true Eddie fashion (as you’re learning), the sweet was often mixed with heat. You were just melting into his touch when Eddie took a hard bite down on your neck, eliciting a yelp of pain from you. You could feel two small streams of cool liquid trickle down your neck. You began to hyperventilate from overwhelm. Eddie softly grabbed your cheek for you to lock eyes with him.

“Relax angel, the hard part is over. You’re doing so well for me, I gotta be good to my girl… especially…” Eddie leans down to your neck and takes a long swipe up the side of your neck. “When you taste so good” The man’s smile was now tinged with the red of your blood. The lust had finally taken over your body and you happily submitted. You pulled Eddie’s mouth to yours feverishly. You pushed your tongue into his mouth. Your sweet mouth was now tainted with your own metallic taste. When Eddie pulled away, you both looked in satisfaction at your matching stained lips. It took Eddie a moment to compose himself and remember he had a scene to shoot. He sat himself up on his calves and ran his clawed fingers across your collarbone with enough pressure to send a constellation of goosebumps to form across your skin.

“I think we should get this off of you, so I can see you better.” Eddie groaned as he traced his fingers between the valley of your lace-covered breasts. You looked at him dough eyed and scared, but there was a glimmer of lust and wanting in your eyes. You really were going to drive Eddie insane.

With a quick flick of his wrist, and added pressure to (what he was beginning to think was) your offending garment, to rip down the middle of your torso to your belly button, exposing your hardening nipples. You let out a gasp, the lines of fear and lust blurring further. Eddie’s mouth was immediately on your sensitive skin, his mouth danced across your left nipple while his hand pinched your right. You were barely cognisant of the small bead of blood still dripping down your torso. Eddie kissed his way down your stomach to the meeting of where your body was bare and clothed. He sat back up in fake disdain.

“Now, this won’t do. I gotta taste that pretty pussy after your sweet blood. You need a reward, and I need my dessert”

“Please Ed-”

“Ah, ah ah….” Eddie interrupted. His hands hovered over your hips. You were desperate for him to touch you, little did you know, Eddie was desperate to drop this facade and feel you clench around him.

“Please, sir. Touch me, please.” You whined. Eddie was happy to oblige you. He let a low chuckle escape his chest.

“Since you asked so sweetly, and since I can see that you have already wet through these little panties you got on, I need to taste you.” Eddie took his claws and hooked the mesh covering your pubic bone and dragged down. Once he had a big enough hole he removed his clawed rings and tore the whole crotch of your lingerie. The cool air hitting your core made you shiver. You were suddenly more self conscious than you were before. You instantly remembered that you were on display not only for Eddie but for thousands of people. Almost immediately, Eddie looked up from between your thighs.

“Hey” he whispered quietly enough that cameras couldn’t pick his rasp up. “It’s just you and me, okay?” You gave him a small nod to keep going.

Eddie quickly turned his gaze back to your glistening core. He pressed a smaller, gentler bite into the flesh of your thigh, eliciting a moan that was music to Eddie’s ears. He liked the mix of pleasure and pain, but hearing your gasps of pure ecstasy was something he definitely thought he could get used to… but he couldn’t think about that right now - wanting to spend more time with you. It was time to use you like a plaything. Plus, how did he know that you would ever want to see him again.

He shook his head to physically shake the idea from his mind and ran his middle finger through the middle of your slit, which made you a moaning mess for him yet again. Eddie turned himself to the camera and held up his hands with your slick on it.

“Look at how messy she is for me.” he popped his finger into his mouth and sucked down “mmmm, and so sweet too.” he cooed. He ran two of his fingers back into your folds and stuck them deep into your mouth. You moaned at your own taste, spurring Eddie on further.

“Oh, my little dinner date is a slut, eh? I guess that means we should treat you like the succubus you are.” Eddie’s words went straight to your core and you clenched on nothing. Eddie let out a low chuckle into the apex of your thigh, sending shivers up your spine in anticipation. You silently begged for him to touch you where you wanted him the most. Your hips bucked in a last ditch plea for relief - and Eddie luckily gave it to you.

With little warning, Eddie’s mouth attached to your clit and sucked hard. Eddie’s mouth worked expertly at your core, his tongue probing you in ways you didn’t know were possible. You were almost embarrassed, you were a moaning mess underneath him; but you felt too good to care. Your vision was going fuzzy and your chest heaving. You couldn’t help the elicit moans escaping you. You couldn’t help but make eye contact with the camera and you couldn’t help but let a smile escape you.

Your smile was wiped from your cocky face when Eddie stuck his tongue deep in you. Your eyes crossed and your breath hitched. It felt like you were being suffocated with pleasure. Your tied hands flew to Eddie’s hair and you pulled hard, desperate for something to ground you. Eddie moaned into your pussy and you could feel your finish rapidly approaching. You made the mistake of looking down at the mess of hair between your legs and the sight you saw flew you over the edge. The slender hips that sprawled across your bed were rutting into your mattress, his back heaving in desperation. Your blood ran white hot, stars flashed over your vision. A euphoric groan was ripped from your chest. Eddie’s assault didn’t let up once the waves of pleasure became overwhelming. Eddie moaned into your cunt as he tasted your essence. You shuddered under him as you pulled up on his hair, in an attempt to seize his raid on your body.

“Awww, was that too much for my little plaything?” Eddie growled. His hand flew up to your neck as he crawled his way back up your body. The pressure he squeezed onto you made another flutter flow directly to your lower stomach. Eddie had a talent of pushing you dangerously close to the edge of unconsciousness - a sense of bliss and fear all in one. Your fucked out face looked delicious to Eddie, still stained red with your blood. He leaned down and smashed his mouth into yours. You could taste the remnants of your orgasm and his desperation forcing its way into your mouth. You pulled away with a gasp and looked up at Eddie with your best puppy dog eyes.

“Can I taste you now, please? Please sir?” you croaked. Eddie could come in his pants right now. He took a gulp and sent you an ear splitting, fanged smile. Willing away his urge to cum in his pants, he took some deep breaths while he undid his tight pleather pants and shimmied them down his lithe waist. His hard cock sprung free and Eddie let out an audible sigh of the relief it brought him. Your hands automatically drifted towards the man’s waist a mere inches away from you.You felt a sting against your wrists as Eddie slammed them back against your wall. You felt your shoulders scream at you from their sudden hyperextension. Eddie barked a dark laugh as you pouted.

“Play things don’t get to touch. They get to be used.” Eddie ordered. He reached his free hand to tilt your neck backwards to give him purchase for another love bite. You cried out as hot blood trailed back down your clavicle. Eddie pulled away and his face looked similar to yours: your own crimson blood dripping down his chest.

“Open.” He demanded. Your bottom lip quivered but you obey the man over you. You stick your tongue out. Eddie places his reddened cock onto the flat of your tongue in a hiss of pleasure. His tip felt heavy on your tongue; a salty sweetness that you were instantly addicted to. He was thick, his length equally impressive, and an anxious excitement panged in your throat thinking about how he was going to fit. Eddie slowly slid himself further into your mouth. He ignored your silent pleas to let you adjust to him in your mouth and continued to push into you until your nose was nestled against his manicured bundle of hair at the base of his cock. Your eyes pricked with tears and your throat closed around Eddie’s cock - eliciting a low groan from him. You are granted a brief moment of relief when Eddie slid his cock back out of your mouth, only for your deep gasp of air to be interrupted by him slamming back into your mouth, making you gag and making his dick twitch. Suddenly, Eddie grabbed the camera on the closest tripod and pointed it down at your face.

“Look at this good girl… taking me so well.” The camera framed (what Eddie thought was) your perfect face, suctioned around Eddie’s cock. He stilled inside you, giving you an opportunity to suck hard and swirl your tongue around his tip. His precum dripped down your throat. Tears freely flowed down your cheeks. Your throat was screaming at you, your nostrils flared in desperation for air. Your throat constricted and relaxed around your scene partner.

You were in pain, his cock stretching your mouth to the absolute breaking point. You looked up and into the man’s gorgeous brown eyes in search for any more praise - begging for any movement, pleading for some sort of release. As much as your body was screaming at you, you had given yourself over to absolute pleasure. You loved the pain, the submission. In that moment, you knew you would do anything for Eddie - anything he asked any time. In that moment, there was a deeper connection than just two people fucking. You were his and he knew it. He could do anything with you, but he wanted to worship you just as much as you were worshiping him. He fastened the camera back onto the tripod, unsheathed himself from you and flopped onto his back beside you.

“Come on then, doll. Show me how much you want me.” Before Eddie’s words could leave his mouth, you were back on him, but you took it slow this time. Your doe eyes had darkened and you were ready to show him just how much you wanted him.

Your tongue ran up the underside of his achingly hard cock. Eddie hissed out praise as you wrapped your lips around Eddie’s tip and hollowed your cheeks. You hummed in satisfaction against him as you bobbed your head. Every suck, every kitten lick, you poured your heart into. You were hypnotized, obsessed, by the moans and praises escaping the head of curls on your bed. You thought he looked like a painting; ringlet curls splayed across your pillows like a crown, flexed biceps framing his face like a beautiful frame, his shirtless torso mimicked that of a marble statue. His abs flexed a contoured trail down to his member, his alabaster skin strewn with black markings. The finishing detail of this piece of art was the blood - your blood stained on his chin and neck. It was like your own signature on this masterpiece.

You were snapped out of your trance by two large hands cupping the sides of your face. His cool rings were like small slaps to your face.

“As much as I want you to taste me, doll, I need to cum in that pussy. I need to mark you as my own.” Eddie untied your wrists and pulled you up so you were face to face and on top of him.

“I just got to get a condom” he whispered in your ear, ensuring the camera couldn’t pick up your conversation.

“Don’t. I got birth control” you purred, you kissed the sides of his mouth down to his neck.

“A-are you sure, doll? I mean I’m clean but I don’t want you to feel obliged.”

“Eddi- I mean - sir, I want you to cum inside me please. Make me yours.” You knew you were playing a role. This was all for show, but some of it felt real. There was truth in the words you spoke to him. You wanted to be his fully.

Eddie slid himself up your headboard and he pulled your thighs up towards him so you were straddled on top of him.

“Okay, doll. Show me how well you ride that cock and you won’t get another bite tonight.” Eddie challenged. You agreed, it would be a challenge. Eddie was the largest guy you have ever been with. The wave of intimidation and nervousness flowed through you again. You felt a tight squeeze on your hips and Eddie’s eyes prodded for your gaze. When his golden brown irises met your glowing green ones, he gave you a reassuring nod. It was just the two of you.

You lowered yourself onto Eddie’s cock, slowly sheathing him inside you. You couldn’t control your eyes rolling to the back of your head. You felt deliciously full and you had only lowered yourself halfway. You could tell Eddie was concentrating on keeping his cool. His brows were furrowed and his tongue peeked through his blood stained lips. Beads of sweat were beginning to form under his curly bangs. Eddie peered up at you and immediately lost his composure. His grip became bruising on your hips and he slammed your body into his, pulling moans from both of you.

Your eyes screwed shut in a mix of pleasure and pain. Your mouth hung open in a crooked smile. Your chest heaved, Eddie was worried your lungs were going to burst out of your chest. The shards of your lingerie dangled behind you like angel wings. An angel you were. Eddie had never felt this way about one of his conquests before. His heart was racing because of the thought of the money he was going to make from this gig, but he now felt another infatuation with you.

“Show me how you ride a cock, babe. Take that cock.” he cooed. You ground down on him, the friction of his base on your clit sent tingles all across your body. Eddie squeezed harder on your hips to ground himself. It was now his turn to be self conscious. He was going to bust way quicker than he wanted to if he didn’t find something to calm him down. He couldn’t look at you - his eyes insisting on staying screwed shut. He helped guide your hips up and down on his cock.

“Fuck, sweetheart. You’re taking me so well. Squeezing me so tight… f-fuuuck it’s like your pussy was made for my cock, eh?” his assault of praises went straight to your core and yet again you felt yourself teetering closer and closer to the edge. Eddie’s name was like a hymn, you couldn’t say anything other than ‘Eddie’ and ‘please’. A satisfied smile ripped across Eddie’s face. His fangs glinted underneath you. The man snaked his dexterous fingers to where your bodies met. A few expert circles around your sensitive clit had you seeing stars again. You clenched down on Eddie’s cock, hurling Eddie dangerously close to his own release as well, but he wasn’t done with you. He guided your hips to grind down to guide you through your orgasm.

Before you have time to come down from your high, Eddie flipped you over so he was looming over you.

“You have one more for me don’t you, pretty girl?”

“E-Edd, Sir I… I don’t think I can.” Eddie could look at your fucked out frown all day. Little did you know, he was studying every detail of your face so he could remember it later.

“Well sure you can. You’re gonna show me right now.” Eddie’s voice was more soothing than before. His face had softened slightly and his eyes were bright. He pulled your left thigh above his shoulder to assault your pussy at a deeper angle. Eddie’s rhythm was relentless and quick. Your sensitive pussy was quivering already, and had little to no time to recover from your previous orgasm.

“E-Eddie oh my god.” The angle of his cock hitting your g spot repeatedly had a whirlpool of pleasure and pain brewing in your core. You felt like you were going to float away. Eddie pulled himself out of you, making you whine from the emptiness. His cock was quickly replaced with his fingers and your legs dropped around Eddie’s waist. He angled his middle and pointer finger expertly inside you. If you thought his cock was relentless, Eddie’s fingers were just as, if not faster. The palm of his hand rubbed against your clit and you screamed out in overstimulation. You didn’t know if you wanted the assault to stop or to go harder.

The wind was knocked from your chest as Eddie’s other hand pushed down on your pubic bone. With a yelp, you felt a white hot flash like you had never felt before. Your body shook and it felt like molten lava was coursing through your veins.

“Fuck yeah, baby! That’s it, fucking good girl.” Eddie’s excitement was palpable. He stuck his cock back into you to feel you contract and flutter around him. Just your comedown was enough to make Eddie cum inside you. He pumped cautiously, cumming hard but using the shred of control he had to make sure he didn’t hurt you. He pulled out slowly, and leaned forward to give you a tender kiss on the forehead. Soon he collapsed beside you, both of you a mess of heavy breathing, your release, and his.

Eddie guided you to sit up in front of a camera.

“Show them your neck, doll. Show them how good you did for me.” You craned your neck to the side, turning your face towards Eddie’s. The man reached out and cupped your cheek. You couldn’t help but melt into his touch. He then stood up for your computer and ended your stream.

“Sorry… I, I’ve never done that in my life…” your cheeks flourish in a red blush as you begin to explain to the man standing in front of you, pants now lazily covering his softening erection.

“Doll, I know you didn’t mean to. I wanted you to do that for me. It was fucking hot” Eddie reached for your hands and helped you up. You fell against his chest, your legs too weak to fully hold you up.

“Invoice me for some new sheets, okay?” Eddie winked at you. “Come on, let’s get you in the shower and let’s clean up.”

You grabbed clean towels for the both of you as Eddie warmed the water to the shower. You sheepishly climbed in and waited for him to join you. You thought the man would fuck you, get up and then leave with as little as a ‘see you’... or a ‘you’re welcome’. But he stayed, and seemed like he genuinely wanted to stay. He helped wash you off, the warm water washing away any insecurities you felt after your shoot. You both talked about how much you enjoyed yourselves and how well you did for your first partner scene.

“I can’t lie champ, I’m pretty impressed.” Eddie poked at you while you both sat on your couch, pizza on the way, a blanket enveloping both of you in more warmth.”Sorry about your neck, though.” Eddie nervously chuckled and ran his hands through his damp curls. You grabbed Eddie’s hand and redirected his energy to you.

“Eddie. I liked it. I would have told you if I didn't, I promise. It was honestly the best sex I’ve had.” You admitted with a small blush highlighting your cheeks. To your surprise, Eddie’s face was redder than yours.

“Can I ask you something kind of insane?” Eddie asked.

“What’s up, Eddie?”

“Can I kiss you? Like actually kiss you?” His eyes were pleading, he was already starved of your lips on his. He wanted to show you how much he liked being around you, even if you had only been together a half a day. You nodded slowly, a shy smile reaching your lips, but adoration in your eyes.

Eddie’s lips were soft and gentle against yours. He didn’t want to scare you off by being too forceful. His mouth melded to yours like he was the only person you were meant to kiss. His arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you in close. His hand migrated up your face to softly cup your cheek. Time had slowed down and the only thing that mattered was the boy you were attached to; once a stranger, to someone you didn’t want to be without within the span of a few hours.

“So, I can only extend my stay in town for a couple of days.” Eddie whispered after (begrudgingly) pulling his mouth from yours. “Can I take you out tomorrow?”

“Yeah, Eddie. I would like that… as long as you leave the fangs in your suitcase next time.”

Taglist: @aol19 @brinleighsstuff @poofyloofy @anxiousobserver @mmunson86 @filth-fiction-archive @vintagehellfire @sadbitchfangirl @kirstinjayjay @sluggzillaa @eddies-acousticguitar @hideoutside @ali-r3n If you would like to be added to my taglist, please fill out this form and follow me!

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dotster001 · 2 years

Note

May I request one of the Twisted Earth story you made but like with the Heartslabyul students?

Twisted Earth Part Two

Summary: Heartslaybul x gn!reader. They are real, and you're the game.

Part One Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six

His mother disapproved of video games, they took away from study time. So when Cater took his phone and downloaded the game for him, he didn't open it for months.

It's the only game on his phone, and it's in a hidden folder so that when his mother searches his phone, she can't find it.

He only plays once a month, usually after Cater tells him an event is going on. He'll heave a heavy sigh, open it for an hour or so, and not play again.

He was drawn to you. He doesn't know what it is. Maybe he's touch starved, maybe he knows his mother wouldn't approve of you if you were real, or maybe there's something about you that, deep down, makes him feel safe.

He doesn't actually have any of your cards. His only cards he has are from his initial ten pull that the game gave him. But he read through the story, and that's all he needs for now.

Cater also kidnapped his phone to download the game. He only plays while he's waiting for things in the oven to finish up. So he actually plays a lot, but in short intervals.

He thinks you'd help him with his jobs. Or maybe you wouldn't, and you'd cause more trouble. He understands it would depend on your mood. But he's along for the ride.

He drew your basic SSR in his first ten pull, and he's satisfied with that. He never plays events, because he just doesn't have time or energy for it. He can just see pictures and the stories that come with online, without having to invest the effort.

For the last unbirthday party, he made a cake loosely I spired by you and your color scheme. The only person who noticed was Cater, who smirked at him the entire time. Trey was definitely not blushing when Cater confronted him about it.

The second the game was starting to look like it'd go viral, it was on Carter's phone, and his magicam. He did a thorough review, and gave it five stars! The game devs were thrilled and reached out to him for a sponsorship. He's been regularly sponsored ever since.

He has modeled several looks based on your colors. He's doing the twisted wonderland version of Disney bounding for you. The first time he did, your voice actor reached out to him. His most viral magicam post is him and your va modeling "Disney bound" looks of a particularly popular event outfit you had.

If he's not on magicam, he's playing your game. He has all your cards, and is neglecting any character that isn't you. (Apologies to your peers, he just isn't interested) He giggles a little whenever your character greets him on the home screen. He thinks you're so sweet, he just wants to scoop you up and protect you from all the bad in the world.

Speaking of…he loves to read angst fanfiction where he comes to your rescue or cheers you up. He is definitely not crying and thinking about his own depression. His eyes are just pissing.

Having befriended the devs and your va, there's talk of having him as a VA when the anime comes out… so follow for announcements on his magicam!

Thought you were hot. Downloaded the game for that reason, and that reason alone. (Sorry guys, I love ace, but irl he's a fuck boy, and you can't change my mind)

A very casual, and secretive, player. Doesn't want anyone to know he's playing, no matter how popular or mainstream it is.

Anyone who the devs or fandom ship with you is blacklisted in his mind. He barely takes care of your cards, but those cards are never used and never looked at.

He has a body pillow of you, but it's hidden under his bed so that Deuce and his roommates can't find it. He's pretty sure they'd make fun of him if they knew (he's right, they would). When all three of his roommates are out of town, or gone home for a short holiday or something, he'll pull it out and cuddle "you".

You're adorable, hard working, and so kind to those you care about. It was love at first sight for poor Deuce. Sevens, he wishes you were real.He worries his past would scare you off if you were real, though. So he's fine pretending for now.

His mom knows about his like of your character, and got him a chibi plushie of you. It sits on his desk. He's so happy to have it.

He plays a lot, but he's not very good at the battles or rhythm game elements. So he's just an average player. Nothing to write home about.

He is one of the many secret techies of NRC, so he and Idia teamed up to design an otome version of your game. He uses a pseudonym, because he would just die if anyone found out he'd worked on it.

He has half of your basic collection, and one of your event cards. He's so proud of his collection, even though it's not the best one in the world.

Wrote a fan letter to the devs. He got back a poster signed by them and all the va's. He was so happy.

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veevz-drawz · 4 months

Text

DoaHD | Entry 2: But Tea Time with Friends is the Best

A/N: hey remember when i said i would upload biweekly? yeah so that was a lie LMAO. anyways sorry for literally uploading a month after, i was busy moving and switch to working full time;; (and working on a zine :0!) but i've been getting used to the schedule change so hopefully updates will be more consistent now!

Taglist: @minecraftninjerkid (DM if you would like to be added!)

Previous | Masterlist | Next

The summer months were never Strawberry Tea Cookie’s cup of tea.

It was so oppressively humid. The consistent moisture never failed to soak through her dough, making it intolerably soft and sticky. Her curly locks always flatten the minute she stepped out of Strawberry Mansion, with the glaze holding her hair up immediately dissolving upon contact with the damp atmosphere.

However, on this day, the Great Witches seemed to have taken pity on the former heiress, sending waves of cooling wind across the kingdom after hearing of yesterday’s misfortunes.

The breeze traveled deep within Hollyberry Palace, carrying ballads of rustling leaves and songbird melodies past pristinely kept rose gardens and winding bush mazes. It softly brushed past four cookies huddled around a tea table, careful as to not disturb their conversation.

Strawberry Tea Cookie was situated under the protective shade of a berry palm tree, recounting what happened between sips of refreshing fruit tea. Princess Cookie and Wildberry Cookie basked under the oven-hot sunlight, listening to their friend intently— the former more visibly angry. Knight Cookie stood beside his princess, insisting to keep his post despite the chair offered to him.

“...And now I’m no longer heiress,” Strawberry Tea Cookie sighed, placing her now empty cup back on its saucer. Dread crept through her dough like mycelium across a dish of rotten fruit. If the weight of her parents’ decision hadn’t hit her last night, it certainly did now after she told her friends everything.

“How dare they!” Princess Cookie huffed. “Your parents had no right to do that!”

She turned to her retainer for affirmation, which he gave in the form of a quick nod and a “yes princess!”

“I agree, it’s strange that they would forfeit your position like this,” Wildberry Cookie commented.

“Yeah! You practically launched House Strawberry into high fashion!” Princess Cookie added. “That alone makes you more than deserving of that spot!”

Strawberry Tea Cookie leaned back into her chair, remorse pulling her mouth down into a slight frown. “I… Don’t think that mattered to them.”

The designer agreed that this achievement alone should’ve solidified her place as heiress. She clearly remembered the proud look in her parents’ eyes when FragariA debuted during Hollyberry Fashion Week, its popularity instantly skyrocketing to rival established oat couture powerhouses such as House Blueberry.

A fresh wave of betrayal snapped open the wounds she had stitched up the night prior, her sullen expression digging deeper into her features. “I just… Don’t smile like the rest of my family.”

Strawberry Tea Cookie’s brows furrowed, her previous emotions washed away by resentment. From the moment she was born, House Strawberry’s intertwined principles of creativity and expression were emphasized in every aspect of her life. She studied every immaculately painted portrait lining Strawberry Mansion’s walls, was tutored by the best artists in the Hollyberry Kingdom, and attended the same kingdom’s most prestigious fashion institute.

Yet she will take drawing a naked cookie for eight hours straight in the smallest, most dingiest studio over being forced to smile and laugh like the rest of her family members.

Growing up surrounded by creativity also meant that she was constantly criticized for her lack of emotion, which her family never failed to remind her of. Yet she always believed that forcing expression countered creativity. Acting happy impedes one’s ability to connect with where art fundamentally came from— their true feelings. Plus, Strawberry Tea Cookie would argue that her defiance was still a form of expression, much to her parents’ dismay.

Sure, disobedience was undesirable within her family circle, but what’s the problem if that’s what she truly felt? She couldn’t possibly perform at her best if all her family wanted were soft smiles and saccharine words towards their benefactors.

Then the realization sank in, pulled down by a heavy peach pit as horror blew out her frosted pupils. “...And that’s the problem…”

“That’s not true and you know it!” Princess Cookie practically jumped from her seat, grabbing Strawberry Tea Cookie and pulling her closer from across the table—into the light. “You are perfect the way you are, Peach Jam Cookie’s words mean nothing!”

“They meant nothing until my parents agreed with her,” Strawberry Tea Cookie argued, voice cracking as she retracted back into the shadows, holding herself close. “And what father said…”

Bare minimum. Incapable of expression. Too spoiled.

“He’s right, I’m far from a good heiress.”

If showing up to family dinners was a rare occasion, then attending parties hosted by other nobles was something that didn’t even occur on a blue moon. She found them to be a waste of time that otherwise could have been used on building FragariA’s name.

Yet they were excellent opportunities to network, as her parents constantly stressed, but Strawberry Tea Cookie found no use in it. She already had strong connections with the royal family and a few notable designers, there wasn’t any use for more besides maintaining the ones her family already forged.

Ones that she has actively destroyed due to her inactivity.

In retrospect, the designer should have put more care into strengthening these precious relationships— she only did when her parents implored her to. Perhaps she naively believed that they would remain static for years to come.

Though, if she were to be completely honest with herself, it was because those cookies weren’t all too interesting to talk to. But that excuse was leagues more fragile than her cousin’s ego.

“Don’t tell me they brought up Blueberry Raisin Cookie too?” Princess Cookie asked heatedly. “Removing him from your life was the best choice you could’ve made!”

“Your aunt already crossed the line by mentioning him.” Wildberry Cookie stated, an annoyed inflection edging his tone.

“No, thankfully they didn’t.” Strawberry Tea Cookie sighed. She would have truly snapped if they did. “But, I think they were referencing other events…”

The fighting finally died down after what seemed like a millennium, leaving the once elegant banquet table an absolute mess. Strawberry Tea Cookie stepped over scattered silverware and shattered plates, grimacing when she accidentally stepped on a piece of sticky cake. She sat down on a nearby chair, watching as cookies regained their senses.

What a great start to the Princess Contest.

The designer was still dumbfounded by the amount of cookies who drank the punch after seeing it turn a different color— they didn’t even listen to her warnings when she made said observation! She was left stuck on the sidelines watching the feast turn into a battle royale until whatever was mixed into the punch wore off.

“Whew! I need a break.” Princess Cookie sighed tiredly, slouching next to Strawberry Tea Cookie. She looked worse for wear, but her dress was still impressively intact— as expected of the true Hollyberry Princess.

“Why are cookies always fighting,” she bemoaned. “It’s not fun, AND it’s exhausting!”

“How dare you, that is an insult to the noble House Raspberry!” Raspberry Cookie proclaimed, pointing her candy cane blade towards the two. “We have built our culture and wealth with nothing but the tips of our swords!”

Strawberry Tea Cookie and Princess Cookie exchanged confused looks with each other. But while the latter seemed only bewildered, the former was growing ever more annoyed with the pompous raspberry heiress.

“And how exactly is that an insult?” Strawberry Tea Cookie questioned, standing up and shielding Princess Cookie. Not only had Raspberry Cookie called her friend “unimpressive” earlier, it now seemed she was just cherry-picking—or rather, raspberry-picking—a reason to confront her.

“Fighting is what molded us!” The noble fencer explained fiercely. “What brought us above the other Cookie Houses!”

“Yet here you are, needing a silly Princess Contest to prove your family’s worth,” the designer shot back, eliciting an indignant gasp from her opponent. “House Raspberry is far past its glory days, it’s evident from the way you’re so desperate to undermine Princess Cookie.”

Now that was an insult, not a harmless comment her friend made.

“You just insulted the great deeds of my ancestors,” Raspberry Cookie furiously cried. “Who risked every speck of flour in their bodies upon their blade.”

Strawberry Tea Cookie had to fight every grain of sugar in her body to not openly roll her eyes.

“I demand an apology, here and now!” The raspberry fencer ordered, pointing her rapier towards the irritated designer. “Strawberry Tea Cookie, I challenge you to a duel!”

“Hold up!” Princess Cookie interjected, standing up and marching towards Raspberry Cookie. “This is MY battle,” she declared with determination, swinging her scepter to match the stance of Raspberry Cookie’s sword. “And it’s time for me to find out what kind of dough she’s made of!”

“You were defending her highness’s honor!” Knight Cookie interjected. “I see nothing wrong with that.”

“Yeah! And I really appreciate you supporting me throughout the Princess Contest,” Princess Cookie chimed in. “Plus, you apologized to Raspberry Cookie after, right?”

Strawberry Tea Cookie shook her head shamefully, her mother had to apologize on her behalf. She didn’t miss the way Princess Cookie’s expression shifted subtly.

“And that’s not even the worst of it,” the designer lamented. “I permanently severed ties with House Blueberry after I made Blueberry Cookie cry during that one ball.”

Fate seemed to have it out for Strawberry Tea Cookie that evening, being forced to face Blueberry Raisin Cookie’s granddaughter only a short month after being dismissed by him.

The young blueberry noble looked undeniably nervous under the designer’s scrutinizing gaze, a stark contrast from her usual bubbly self.

“Spit it out.” Strawberry Tea Cookie demanded frigidly. Cookies began gathering around the two out of concern and curiosity, surrounding them like a blinding spotlight. Blueberry Cookie glanced at the crowd anxiously, stuttering out jumbles of unintelligible words.

The strawberry heiress couldn’t care less.

Out of patience, she walked past the trembling noble, purposely bumping against the other’s shoulder. “Wasting my time just like your grandfather, good to know that it runs in your family’s dough.” She remarked tartly.

That seemed to set Blueberry Cookie off. “Why are you so mean!?” She shakily blurted out, so loud that it cut all conversation and music in the ballroom. “I was just trying to apologize for what Grandpa did!”

Strawberry Tea Cookie’s jam stilled. She turned around, the hot tears running down Blueberry Cookie’s face biting through the heiress’s hardened expression. Every sob-induced hiccup and whimper pounded more guilt within, grinding it into her very dough like she was trapped in a mortar and pestle.

Blueberry Cookie ran off before the designer could utter an apology, leaving the crowd’s scornful gaze solely on her.

Judgemental murmurs filled the room as Strawberry Tea Cookie’s face grew hot with embarrassment and shame. The sea of ornate ball gowns slowly melted into a tall, amorphous wave of burnt caramel, yet she could still feel the contemptuous heat radiating from each individual cookie.

The spotlight was all on her now.

“Why does Lady Blueberry Cookie have to apologize anyways?” A voice whispered.

Strawberry Tea Cookie glanced at the direction Blueberry Cookie ran off to. If she’s quick, she could probably catch up to her and apologize– she didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of the designer’s frustrations.

“No, no, Lady Blueberry Cookie was apologizing on behalf of Sir Blueberry Raisin Cookie.” Another cookie corrected.

“But he’s such an upstanding cookie!”

That caught the heiress’s attention. All plans of apologizing flew out the window with that single phrase alone.

Upstanding? They can’t be serious.

“I heard she was so difficult to deal with that Sir Blueberry Raisin Cookie dismissed her as his apprentice.”

Strawberry Tea Cookie turned to face the gossiping cookies, anger threatening to boil over. They were glaring right back at her, as if wanting her to hear their absurd rumors.

“I’m not surprised, given how she acted with Lady Blueberry Cookie.”

This was ridiculous.

“Well maybe if he wasn’t such a gross wretch, she wouldn’t need to apologize in the first place!” The words just slipped out of her mouth– a culmination of months worth of resentment and stress.

The entire ballroom collectively, and dramatically, gasped at Strawberry Tea Cookie’s statement. A surge of indignant shouts rose after the brief silence, drowning out all attempts at explaining herself.

Strawberry Tea Cookie was tired. Tired of this ball, tired of her family, and especially tired of maintaining that geriatric raisin’s reputation for the sake of public relations.

The heiress rushed to get out of the limelight, wading through the massive ocean of angry cookies towards an exit— an escape.

“House Strawberry’s relationship with House Blueberry was already a thread away from snapping,” Strawberry Tea Cookie sighed, burying her face into her palms. “I completely severed it that night.”

She made such a huge mess that not even her family’s extensive connections could clean it up. House Blueberry refused any contact, turning away Strawberry Tea Cookie and her parents when she tried entering their estate.

For months, the former heiress couldn’t show her face in public without hearing the scrutinizing whispers of cookies nearby. She had to endure her relatives complaining about the endless rumors at social gatherings— not to mention the arguments that ensued after.

“Crumbs, and now my cousin is heir,” Strawberry Tea Cookie cried. “That means House Strawberry will belong to the Peach Clan, and who knows what will happen afterwards.” Strawberry Sugar Cookie’s stagnant view on art and Peach Jam Cookie’s… personality were already concerning enough. She couldn’t possibly imagine what would happen if the Peach Clan got their sticky hands on her house. “Great Ancients, what do I do?”

How could she possibly fix this? Would her parents even consider giving back her inheritance? Just how long ago did they decide Strawberry Sugar Cookie would take her place?

“You’ll figure something out.” A strong, warm hand grasped Strawberry Tea Cookie’s shoulder. She looked up to meet Wildberry Cookie’s comforting gaze. “I know you wouldn’t let this go without a fight.”

“Yeah! You’re THE Strawberry Tea Cookie after all!” Princess Cookie added, wrapping her arms around the designer.

“The Princess has her faith in you,” Knight Cookie exclaimed. “You better not fail!”

“Thanks, you guys.” The designer smiled, uplifted by their encouragement.

But what should she do..?

“Oh! Isn’t Hollyberry Fashion Week coming up in a few months?” Princess Cookie perked up. “This would be the perfect time to prove you’re the rightful heir!”

“A comeback during one of the biggest events in the Hollyberry Kingdom…” Strawberry Tea Cookie thought for a moment. “That’s a really good idea.”

If she were to come up with a collection so compelling that it got cookies talking about her again, she could revive FragariA’s popularity and skyrocket the brand back to the top. At the same time, she’ll work on mending those severed connections while also forming new ones. That would hopefully demonstrate to her parents that she’s more than capable of taking over House Strawberry. Determination filled her jam, and for a brief moment, she felt there was hope in this situation.

But there was still one problem…

“What do I base this collection off of..?” There’s a reason why Strawberry Tea Cookie hasn’t participated in Hollyberry Fashion Week in almost two years, let alone released any new designs. She had simply exhausted all sources of inspiration in the Hollyberry Kingdom. Worse yet, it seemed that the more time she spent stuck here, the more creativity drained out of her.

“Why don’t you go traveling?” Wildberry Cookie suggested. “You have been burnt out for quite some time, perhaps a change in scenery could bring new ideas.”

“That’s true, but where have I not gone to?” Strawberry Tea Cookie pondered. She had made collections based on all the nearby regions, and reusing ideas wouldn’t garner the necessary attention for her brand.

“Wait, what about that Isle of Tea collection you made years ago?” Princess Cookie mentioned. “It was so pretty, but you never released it...”

“Considering how much of a fuss my parents made when I showed off just one of the dresses, I doubt they would allow it,” Strawberry Tea Cookie sighed. It was a shame, that collection was genuinely her favorite— her magnum opus, even. “I should refrain from arguing with them anyways.”

This left the trio–or quartet when counting Knight Cookie–stumped. The designer considered writing to Mont Blanc Cookie for some help, perhaps arranging a short visit to the Cookie Kingdom so she could get some inspiration.

“...Her Majesty, Hollyberry Cookie, and I have been invited back to the Crème Republic to celebrate its reconstruction,” Wildberry Cookie brought up. “Perhaps you could join us.”

“Isn’t the Crème Republic on the other side of Crispia?” Strawberry Tea Cookie queried, she was reluctant to travel that far when Hollyberry Fashion Week was just around the corner. It would take a couple of weeks alone just to figure out the logistics. However, she couldn’t deny her curiosity regarding the city-state. The snippets Wildberry Cookie shared of its culture and architecture piqued her interest back then, so perhaps risking the trip could rekindle that spark.

Anything to become heiress again.

“Would Her Majesty allow me to tag along?” The designer asked.

“Of course, she always enjoys the extra company,” Wildberry Cookie reassured. “…And she’ll probably use this as an opportunity to get her hands on more strawberry juice.” The dread in his tone was apparent.

“Then I’ll be sure to procure House Strawberry’s finest bottle,” Strawberry Tea Cookie chuckled. “When are you two planning to depart?”

“A week from today.”

Strawberry Tea Cookie’s eyes widened in surprise. A week? There’s no way she could arrange travel plans that quickly, even with the help of the Strawberry Estate staff.

“I’m aware it’s rather last minute,” the retainer admitted. “But don’t worry, I will make sure accommodations are arranged for you when we arrive.”

“Thank you,” the designer smiled, bowing her head towards Wildberry Cookie in gratitude. “Then I suppose I shall start packing.”

#cookie run kingdom #cookie run oc #strawberry tea cookie #cookie run #oc #diary of a hollyberry designer #fanfic #wildberry cookie #princess cookie

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afrognamedfizzarolli · 5 months

Text

Helluva Boss Season 2 trailer break down: Pt 4 Mastermind!

The C.H.E.R.U.B.'s and D.H.O.R.K's are back bitches!

These two shots seem to be fairly face value. The C.H.E.R.U.B.'s have been stuck on earth since we saw them last, and apparently have been spending their time trying to find I.M.P. and settle the score. They are captured by the D.H.O.R.K.S, the two realizing they have a common enemy team up.

Also notable is that the portal Blitzø is peaking his head out of is that of an Asmodian crystal. Meaning he did accept it from Stolas.

I think these four shots are a direct sequence of the crew porting back to the office after a successful hit, only for another portal that the D.H.O.R.K.S and C.H.E.R.U.B.'s have developed to be able to traverse to hell, presumably to capture the main crew.

(they are Stolas' grimore to portal in the first shot. Which is kinda weird to me if Blitzø has the crystal.)

I said previously in my post on Apology Tour that I think these two sequences are most likely in Mastermind. I believe what we are seeing is Blitzø being held, and either him having another nightmare sequence, or the D.H.O.R.K.S have somehow found a way to extract his memories, and are forcing him to re-watch some of the worst parts of his life.

Regardless as to why Blitzø is seeing these, its very interesting with a few. We were lead to believe in Oops that when the accident happened Blitzø didn't see Fizzarolli crawling towards him, the first frame suggests he did see him, but chose to still run to his moms tent to try to help her.

The next is the first time we've seen anything of Fizz during the 15 years between the accident and Ozzie's. This is almost directly directly post accident, we see Cash stopping Blitzø from going to see Fizz. Confirming the popular belief that Cash was the one to come between and lie to Blitzø and Fizz (father of the fucking year right here)

The next two frames are Blitzø's perspective of Fizzarolli and Veronika from Ozzie's.

We have another flashback, this one not seen through the screen though a screen like the others. Blitzø is crying while Tilla holds him, hes wearing the same outfit as we see him in the night of the accident. I have 3 theories on what this is.

The least likely in my opinion: This is a flashback to that night, before the accident, Blitzø confiding in her that he planned to confess to Fizz that night

This is when Tilla told him how sick she was and explaining that she probably didn't have much time left.

But my personal belief is that this is not really a flashback at all, this is a dreamlike scene where Blitzø is taken back to being a teen and sees her again. She comforts him and tells him that she is proud of how he has grown, and encourages him that he needs to work to escape and save his family from the situation they are in.

Another shots that are tricky to me, I have a strong feeling these two are connected, but not completely sure where they fit. This is honestly kinda a process of elimination guess for me.

I want to included these two clips from the Hells Belles short which reference the C.H.E.R.U.B.s episode, i assume as a hint to them coming back soon.

Again I am sorry for the shit photo quality, and possible bad grammar and spelling. I currently have the posts for the rest of the episodes nearly done so expect those in the next few hours ♡ I'd love to hear any other ideas or theories about the upcoming episodes, or anything I missed/got wrong!

Pt. 1: The Full Moon | Pt. 2 :Apology Tour | Pt. 3: Ghostfuckers | Pt. 4: Mastermind | Pt. 5: Sinsmas

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tmntxthings · 2 years

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∑一Heart to Heart Pt. 2。・゜・

author’s note: it was a close race in the polls but here we are ladies and gents! the sequel :D it has been awhile so i suggest rereading the first part if anyone’s confused, alsoooo i feel like this chapter is kinda all over the place but we posting it anywayssss here’s to hoping y’all enjoy xD

warnings: impending angst, multiple povs, fluff, female reader, cloaking brooch au, unedited, cursing

previous - next?

—————————————————————————

Previously. . .

“Now give me back my cloaking brooch!! NOW!!” Missiles were firing as Leo finally undid the necklace. It was a miracle he could do so while in a full on sprint. His true form shifted back into view and Leo clenched the chain in his left fist as he pulled out an odachi with his right, slashing for a portal and shooting a wink at his enraged twin. “Buhbyeee~~” he cackled. Watching as everyone lunged for the portal. He wondered how the turtle pile felt without him as they all fell short to the pavement.

One week and a few days had passed by since then. You had almost forgotten about the encounter entirely. Though dark green eyes like those were hard to dismiss completely from your thoughts. It was your day off, Saturday, and you had plans. These plans had been months in the making. College was hectic, so getting a volleyball intramural team together was pretty tough. Everyone had different class schedules. Everyone worked whether it was internships or part-times. This was one of the first games of the season! It was imperative that all of your teammates showed up. Everyone had said they would. But they said the same thing for all the practices too. And let’s just say there was never a full attendance during any of those.

Your hopes were high despite what the past indicated. You were optimistic! It was two hours ‘til the game and you were out on a quick trip to a sports store. In your experience as captain for the past two years, one thing remained the same. Someone always, always forgot their knee pads. Literally the only thing they needed to remember. It was kind of ridiculous so you made sure to keep a spare. That was one of the reasons you were going, another was because your pair was getting a bit tattered. They had lasted through the practices but with the first game of the season coming up, you rather just get a new set while you were buying the spare anyways. Two birds, one stone.

Keeping your pace as a quickened step, you got off the bus and made your way down the street. It wasn’t that far of a walk, New York was jam-packed with stores. And rats. You thought as one scurried in front of you. Holding back a scream, you continued on your journey. The mental clock in your head ticking as you finally reached your destination. The sliding doors whisked open for you, the cool air from the a/c immediately making your shoulders relax. “Alright, knee pads, knee pads..” you muttered to yourself. Most all-inclusive sport stores had a very small section for volleyball. It just wasn’t as popular. Football/soccer? Rows upon rows. Basketball? Baseball? Same thing. Little space was left for the rest of the odds balls. Including in your humble opinion, volleyball, golf, swimming, rugby, and ping pong! You knew this store well enough so you went for the quickest route. Straight through the four basketball isles and then—

You sped-walked right into someone. With a resounding smack as your nose collided into a chest. “Ow, shitttt! I’m sorry!” You apologized, super embarrassed and already trying to escape the situation. Just get the damn knee pads and get the fuck out! “That’s alright, are you okay? Sounded like you took the brunt of it!” Now you had only sidestepped to move out of the way. So when you heard his voice it was one that you faintly recognized. Which led to you lifting your head, turning it to the side and meeting those deep green eyes. “It’s you!” You stated in shock, eyebrows lifting in surprise. “Ahhhh lookie here is this fate or what!”

Two rows deep in the basketball area, the bus stranger you had practically forgotten was here! “Something like that I guess,” you couldn’t help but agree. Out of all the stores in New York. Out of all the people and just the sheer luck of timing!? “Looking for more Hamato gear?” You questioned though you weren’t planning on sticking around for the answer. You didn’t have the time! Though the encounter was neat you had plans and the captain could not be late. “You remembered my favorite too? Have I been occupying your mind?” He sounded like he was following you with a smug expression. You kept your back to him, making your way out of the basketball section and into the small row for volleyball. “Hardly! I just have good memory,”

“Uh huh,” he hummed. Then he was walking right beside you. Stopping when you stopped as you gave him an inquisitive look. “Well I too seem to remember that night and some sort of a deal?? That pertained to..” he pointed a finger out to the sign that hung above them. ‘Volleyball’ That was right, you had said something along the lines of playing a match with him. “I don’t even know your name!” You started with your first excuse. “Easy, Leo’s the name, and you?” You shook your head. Walking ahead to the knee pads and looking at the sizes as you replied. “Pretty,” he said smoothly, continuing by your side and picking out a pair of knee pads. “Ah, look, todays not a good day I’ve-“

Your second excuse was interrupted by a vibration in your pocket. You grabbed for it, answering on the third ring. “Hello?” The phone call was one that you were hoping not to receive. One of your teammates canceling, and apologizing profusely. “It’s alright, thanks for letting me know,” you sighed. It seemed they weren’t feeling good, something about a headache or a stomach ache? You had tuned most of it out because you were watching as the bus stranger kicked off his shoes. He was trying to pull up the knee pads he selected but they were wayyy too small for him. The phone call ended and you couldn’t stop your laugh. “Too small dude,” and you handed him a larger size for him to try. The pair had hardly went up his calves.

“Thanks!” He smiled as he traded you. You put the small pair back on the shelf. Then it struck you. “So as you were saying? Todays..?” You cleared your throat as you kept staring at the pads. “Todays actually perfect, I’m down one player so if you’re free-“ he cut you off excitedly, “Heck yes!!! I’m totally free!! So this is like an official match?!?” He wanted all the details and he forgot all about pulling up the knee pads. You told him about intramurals, how it was a official game, one of the first this season. He was practically buzzing! You grabbed another pair for yourself and headed for the checkout. “But we gotta head there like now if we wanna be on time!” Leo had quickly shucked the pads off, put his shoes back on, and was bounding after you. “Can’t be late to my first game ever!!” He beamed and easily passed you, grabbing your free hand and tugging you along.

He let go once the two of you had reached the registers. He sure was forward, or maybe he was just easygoing? Both of you paid for your gear and then you were back out on the sweltering sidewalks. “Thank god this sport is inside,” Leo spoke up, swinging his bag that contained his purchase to and fro. “Yeah, the college gym has a pretty big facility. They have four courts altogether so we’ll have plenty of room!” The bus ride to said gym was filled with questions. He wanted to know the positions. Which position would he be playing? Who was the enemy team and were they any good? Among many other questions…

[🐢 Leo’s pov.💙 ]

Talk about coincidence! Now this was.. what his sixth time sneaking out with the cloaking chain? Yeah we’ll go with sixth, because honestly he lost count after the second time. Leo had convinced Donnie he had lost the cloaking device, and the purple brother had almost drilled him. Thankfully Raph didn’t condone murder so he was safe for now. Probably until Donnie finally figured out that the cloaking chain wasn’t lost and that it was in fact around Leo’s neck right now as he stretched out around a bunch of other college students. You had introduced him quite quickly before telling everyone to start warmups. Yeah. Donnie would probably choke him with said chain. Oh well, Leo planned on never being found out!

That lasted all but two days if you wanted to count the fact that Mikey knew… BUT he was swore to secrecy. Anddddd Leo was also sharing the chain with him when he wasn’t using it. So there! Anywayyys Leo was chatting it up with his fellow teammates, practicing bumping the ball among other volleyball techniques that he didn’t know the name of. All he knew was that he was good. Damn good. Because everyone caught oohing and ahhing which in turn inflated his ego so much that he could probably float all the way back to the lair later. But the compliments that mattered most came from her. From you. Because as he watched everyone else practice he could tell you were better than them all. Now it was Leo’s first day and all, but he liked to think he was right behind you skill wise.

That may just be his inflated ego talking though. Insert metaphorical shrug here. Now Leo would loveee to go into detail about the game. But let’s just say they won. He won. And sure he got a volleyball to the face more than once, but that didn’t matter! Nope a win is a win in his book. The rest of the team dispersed after celebrating, talks about the next game and when the next practice was. Leo had the dates in his mental calendar. He was totally on the team now. “Hey thanks for filling in!! You were great out there!” Ending your sentence with a smile. Leo beamed back, “No problemo, I’ll be your fill-in anytime!” Giving you a smirk and a quick wink.

Leo watched as you shook your head, completely unfazed by his antics by now. He had upped his game during the actual volleyball game. Once the team had a pretty big lead he had quite blatantly flirted with you. Who could blame him?! You looked absolutely divine with your hair up. Cheeks flushed from doing your best during the game. “I told you they didn’t quit! This was just a one time thing!” Rightttt, Leo wasn’t actually on the team. Though he felt like he fitted right in! Leo made a face, pouting, “So what happens when someone else bails hmmm?” You chose to ignore him, pulling down your knee pads to your ankles. Leo took this opportunity to creep forward silently, and when your frame moved to upright itself he watched as you jolted backwards. He closed the distance again, “C’monnn Captain, you know I’m the best player you got!! My skills slayed on the court, add me to the team! Please? Pretty please??”

Leo wasn’t above begging. And he kept up the charade until he watched your eye twitch, then you blew out a long winded breath before holding out your hand reluctantly. “Alright gimme your-“

Of course Leo wouldn’t let you finish! He grabbed your hand shaking it vigorously whilst saying you wouldn’t regret your decision. And thanking you in abundance. Then going a step further, pulling the hand he held to him, smiling brightly as you stumbled forward into him. Squeezing you into a hug and picking you up off the ground to swiftly twirl you with limitless excitement. “Woah, WOAH! Hold up- Wait- LEO!” He released you seconds later smiling sheepishly. “I was asking for your phone you dummy!!” Your face was a darker flush than before, hand still outstretched for his phone but you were no longer looking at him. Cute. Were you embarrassed? Leo thought so. Hehe. Cute. You were absolutely adorable.

“Ohhhh rightttt my number huh? Couldn’t wait?” He teased further. Enjoying himself throughly as you turned a shade darker. “I swear to god I’ll change my mind rig-“ Leo was quick to place his phone in your hand. Still smiling more to himself but decided he wouldn’t push his luck any further. The game has definitely brought the two of you closer. The whole team had to work together but with Leo’s skill level almost to yours, the two of you played really well with one another. It had bolstered his pride and confidence, making him a bit more insufferable than usual. “Here,” you handed him back his phone. He checked the screen, noting your contact was added with a volleyball emoji. He’d have to change that later. It was fitting but maybe something more blue?

“So what’s the plan now? Wanna go grab something to eat? I know this great pizza place!” You made a face and he almost did a double take. How could someone not like pizza?!? Until he remembered you worked at a pizza place. Rightttttt. “Or you know whatever you feel up to eat!” He amended. He wasn’t a picky eater. You were slipping off your knee pads finally, stuffing them in the bag that carried the spare. “Uhhh yeah I know a place, it’s pretty good do you like Mediterranean?” Leo blinked. That was a big word. A Donnie word. He just nodded along, he’d figure it out eventually! Turns out he did like Medtiranean-whatever-its-called!

From that point on Leo spent more time with you. He messaged you often, and saw you at least twice a week. The perks of looking human were immense. Leo found himself not wanting to share the cloaking chain with Mikey, but he was threatened on more than one occasion that said brother would snitch. Luckily Donnie was building another one, and the nerd definitely made sure it was known that Leo was not allowed to use it. Which was fine since he had his own. Leo felt like he was being conspicuous with how much time he was spending with you. Whether it be checking his phone at random or giving odd excuses to leave the lair. He thought he was being pretty smooth but Mikey had informed him that Raph and Donnie were getting suspicious.

He’d have to get them off his trail somehow. And no, he would not be spilling the beans or telling the truth. That was not an option. Lest he be choked to death remember?? Other than that things were going well for the blue turtle. He enjoyed the competitions and the practices. He enjoyed being able to go out topside and not worry about ninja-stealthing. Or wearing layers upon layers of clothes. Or acting like he was a cosplayer. But what he enjoyed most was you. And he was starting to think you liked him too.

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spicyclover · 2 years

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Unplanned | Part seven

Summary: You are pregnant with Mick. It’s not going as planned; in fact, it’s not planned. Everything happens so fast, and everything is chaotic. Mick has a hard time accepting it. You have difficulty realizing that two of you may not be raising this child.

Hope you’ll enjoy this part. Let me know in the comments section! And to support me by tipping me!

Little information, I will, for now, only post on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays.

Thank you, and Enjoy! :)

Lots of love, xxx Spicy Clover

“I’m gonna go,” He said, clearing his throat. He scratches the back of his head nervously by putting a hand in front of his intimacy to hide his growing excitement.

The next few days followed, and she felt comfortable at the Schumacher house. Corinna was the sweetest making sure she was comfortable and had everything. While Gina makes her see the countryside of Switzerland. Mick already had a few plans prepared with his friends, and he wanted to cancel, but she clearly said she didn’t mind if he wanted to have fun with his friend, and he did.

They haven’t talked about what might have happened that night, but she doesn’t think she can stop wanting him every night since. To feel him near her, that he loves her. And Mick can’t help but want to fuck her whenever he sees her. He does not understand how she could intoxicate him in such a short time. He is a prisoner of her touch, of her look, of her smell.

He had to leave the room several times, so much so that having her next to him made him crazy. Having to hide in his room like a teenager to relieve himself.

“Stop stealing my houses,” she says, pouting.

“Stop stealing my property.” He answers by pulling his tongue.

“Am not.”

“You are.” He said, leaning his body closer to hers.

“I am not,” She whispers, biting her lower lip.

“My God, I love her lips.” Think Mick looking at her lips with envy. His eyes blackened with the desire to kiss her. To capture her pink lips and kiss them until death followed.

Touch her body and possess it again. Do it sober. To take her there, now, in the family room in plain sight. So that everyone knows that she is his. Just by this thought, his cheeks blush, and an erection begins. She smiles wisely, knowing very well the effect she has on him.

He apologizes and leaves the room quickly. She giggles gently before fondling Angie’s head lying at her feet. She takes her phone and looks at the photos of the last few days. Mick is not present much, but those where he is, are her favourites.

But, there is something or other someone who comes to tarnish this beautiful picture of reunion.

He feels terrible cause he still hasn’t told her that he will be leaving in a few days for Australia with his friend. It was only on the 29th that he came to her room and told her he was leaving a few hours later. She was obviously surprised and didn’t expect him to go this quickly. He was leaving her alone, like most days he did. But she didn’t say much. She was just upset that he wasn’t willing to put her first. But she remembers that she’s not his girlfriend and she is just some girl he got pregnant with. So why would he actually care about her and her feelings? Maybe because they really grew close together during the short time they had.

Mick wasn’t aware of all the thoughts that were entering her mind. Something changed when Nina came to his house with Jake to pick him up.

He met Nina at the party in Abu Dhabi. She’s so different from Y/n. She’s popular and beautiful to most people, really superficial, but she’s nice and doesn’t judge him or anything. They met a couple of times after that, and he liked her. She’s good in bed, and she makes him forget about Y/n.

When she saw her. Running into Mick's arm and kissing him all over. She really felt her heart stop. She wanted to throw up. “How stupid can I be?” She thinks, going back to her room. She didn’t want to see them or anyone, actually. The only thing that mattered was to get out of this house, of this country and away from him as possible. “How could he lie to her like that? Why didn’t he mention that he got himself a girlfriend?”

She didn’t know why she was this upset, but maybe it was because she thought something was between them. Something more than just tension and this pregnancy. She could feel it and see it. She wasn't unaware of the effect she had on him. She was fully aware of all the moments they spent together. He was genially happy and excited. So why didn’t he mention he had a girlfriend?

He left with his friend and his new “girlfriend.” without looking back. He felt terrible because he knew he had broken her heart. He saw her leave with tears in her eyes, and he wanted to go after, to be with her. But nothing is simple, and he can't just be a jerk to Nina. “Then why am I a jerk to Y/n?” He also didn’t tell her he had stopped talking to her because he had found someone else. She cried a bit, but she knew he wouldn’t invest in it that much.

She left on the 30th for Canada, joining her parents for the new year. She spends the rest of her time at the Schumacher in her room, avoiding his mom and sister. “God, she hates their pity looks.” Only thanking Corinna and Gina, who had sad eyes, feeling bad for her. She promised to send a few pictures after the new echography. She didn’t say much when she came back to her parents. She spent the entire new year looking through her phone and watching Mick having fun on a Yacht, smoking and drinking, and getting a lap dance from his new girlfriend. She doesn’t know why she was upset that much, but she was. She cried most of the night, listening to the videos in loops.

The first few weeks of January were pretty calm. She went for the second echo. She is now in her second trimester. The morning sickness has stopped, and she can finally eat normally again. She received messages from Mick wishing her a Happy New Year and asking about the baby, but she didn’t respond to any of them. She was mad and didn’t know why she was mad at him, but she was.

It’s the 15th of January that she got the news about her baby. During the appointment, she felt kind of overwhelmed and sad. For the second time, she was alone with the doctor, looking at the screen. Unable to see anything clearly, and making her cry. The only thing that reassured her was the sound of his little heart—valiantly pumping its little heart.

She was happy but felt a bit empty that Mick wasn’t there. She wants him by her side, with her, away from that bitch. A wave of anger invaded her, and she thanked the doctor, leaving the consultation. The little pictures of the ultrasound in her hand and the little recording of the heart in her phone, she puts on her headphones and presses start to listen to that heart beating. The heart of her baby.

Sitting on a bench outside the hospital, she remains there for a good thirty minutes, caressing her belly with her eyes closed, waiting for her mother to come and take her home.

“Y/n. Y/n. Y/n!” Her mother yells, taking off her headphones. “Can you answer when I call you?”

“Sorry I didn’t hear.” She apologizes, gets into the car, and looks out the window.

Only when she returned to the comfort of her home that she calls Corinna, as she promised. Her mother disapproves of all of them. She wants her daughter to be happy and this pregnancy to be a wonderful time for her, but nothing goes as planned, and it upsets her.

“Yes, Corinna, the baby is perfectly fine. It has all his legs and all his arms. I’ll send you the picture of the echo in a few minutes.” She repeats for the fifth time.

“And how are you? You don’t do anything too physical?”

“I’m well. Stop worrying. The morning sickness finally stops, and I feel more like myself.”

‘‘Perfect! Do you have everything? Did Mick text you?” Corinna asks again, asking lots of questions at the same time. A tear rings in her eye. The mother of her child’s father is more worried about her well-being than the father himself. And this is a blow to her.

“He did... I just didn’t have the time the answer him.” She responds with a ball of emotion in her voice.

“Something happens? You can tell me. I have no problem getting him back on track, Liebe.”

“No, it’s me. I just... I shouldn’t discuss this with you, and I must go. Please stop sending hundreds of messages every day.” She asks quickly, finishing the conversation as soon as possible. The pressure in her voice does not allow her more words.

“Y/n?”

She starts crying. “Fucking hormones!” She wanted Mick for her, with her. She’s upset about being so emotional about it.

Corinna looks at her phone and sees that something is wrong. She knows she doesn’t have to interfere in her son’s life anymore, but it’s starting to take a lot of time. She appreciates very much, Y/n. She is a lovely and intelligent girl, much better than that Nina scoundrel that her son brought home a few times.

Mick tries to call her several time after talking to his mother. She looks at her phone, not wanting to respond, but it’s finally the fifth call that her mother has responded to.

“Y/n?”

“No, it’s her mother.”

“Can I speak with Y/n, please?” he demands.

“Can you stop harassing my daughter? Don’t you think you already make her feel miserable? You can tell your mother that too, and she doesn’t want to talk or see any of you.” She says harshly, leaving her daughter, who tries to get her phone back.

“I don’t understand.”

“Well, it’s too bad for you.”She says sarcastically.

“Wait... you can’t talk to me that way!”

“I can talk to you the way I want. You already change her entire life for her. Don’t you think you have done enough?”

‘‘We were two that night.” He says, trying to defend himself.

“Oh please, she doesn’t even remember much of that night. You probably abuse her or something like that.”

“Mom, stop it.” Begged her while trying to grab her phone again.

“This boy needs to know he can’t mess with you just because he’s rich and has a famous surname. You have feelings too, and I don’t want to see you down again because he wants to get every girl he gets pregnant.”

“What?” Mick offends on the phone.

“Don’t play innocent young boy. We saw the video of you and your girlfriend. So now, you return to your girlfriend and forget about us, and we can take care of this ourselves.”

“It’s my baby too.”

“Well, you should have thought of that before going to Australia and letting her all alone in your home with your mother and sister. You didn’t even pick her up at the airport.”

“I...”

“You lost your voice? It’s not about you and never will be. Now leave our family alone and forget we told you about this.” She hung up before he could say another word.

Mick was pitchless. Never in his life had he thought he hurt her. He is an imbecile, and how can he think you wouldn’t mind him spending time with his friends while you were alone at his house? He’s so stupid and starts crying, looking at his mother and sister.

“I can’t believe she talked to you that way. What a crazy woman.” His mother is offended.

“Mom.”

“Of course, you can have some time with your friends.”

“Mom...”

“She’s not your girlfriend, even though the other is not great. It’s a good thing you stop seeing her.” His mother says, going into the kitchen. Mick gets up from the couch and walks outside.

He walks, he doesn’t know where, but he needs to walk away. Away from his mother, his home, her, Nina, and everyone. Why does no one understand that this whole thing is so difficult for him, too?

Gina sighs while watching Mick leave. She knows he needs to be alone, but she needs to understand to help him even though she orders her mother not to get involved in the affairs that keep her. She is still her big sister, and it is her little brother. He’s in pain, and he clearly needs advice.

She takes two glasses of juice and goes out to join her brother. She finds it a few minutes later, returning from the field towards the barn.

“Mick. Stop torturing yourself like that.” Gina says, sitting next to him. “Drink that juice. It’ll do you good. It’s not your fault.”

“But of course, I had something to do with it! Of course, I had something to do with it! I didn’t wear a condom once. Just once! I didn’t have any, and she wasn’t aware of basically anything, and I was the one who wanted to do it. I’m the one who insisted! Result, now, she pays for everything. Not my fault? Fuck, but you don’t understand.” He yells, smashing the glass into one of the barn walls, going out like a madman to the garden, and punching the door in his path.

“Mick!” Yells Corinna, getting out of the house.

“Was, Mom!" He yells back. “Sie haben recht..” What, mom! They are right.

“Was?” What?

“Wir schrieben wochenlang, bevor ich Nina sah."He admits. “Sie ist außergewöhnlich, aber ich hätte nie gedacht, dass sie mich mögen würde. Und am Tag bevor ich ging, waren wir zusammen im Bett. Ich hielt ihre kleine Beule und sie sagte, sie sei endlich glücklich, mich an ihrer Seite zu haben. Ich bin derjenige, der kein Kondom anziehen wollte. Ich bin derjenige, der sich nicht um die Folgen gekümmert hat, und jetzt lebt sie mit ihnen. Don’t you understand! I fucked up! I fucking fucked up!” We texted for weeks before I started seeing Nina. She’s extraordinary, but I never thought she would like me. And the day before I left, we were in bed together. I held her tiny bump, and she said she was finally happy to have me by her side. I’m the one who didn’t want to put on a condom. I’m the one who didn’t care about the consequence, and now she is living with them.

“Well, she was there...” Corinna tries to confort him.

“She was drunker than I was.” He screams. “She wanted it, but I should have stopped because I was more conscious than her. She didn’t even realize I jerked into her.’‘

‘‘I...”

“Kannst du aufhören, so naiv zu sein und denken, dass ich nichts falsch mache? I fucking bred her because I was so amazed by her. You know what I felt that night when I was into her. I thought about how much I wanted her to be mine forever, how I wanted her to have my kids and be my wife. We only met for a few hours, and I was already under a spell, and she didn’t even know it.” Can you stop being so naive and think I don't do anything wrong?

“Schatz...” Honey

“Ich liebe sie, ich liebe sie, mom. But everything is going too fast. She’s already fourteen weeks pregnant. In 26 weeks, she would have our baby. I love her. Ich habe das Echo auf meinen Homescreen gesetzt, weil ich den ganzen Tag an sie denke. During the new year, all I could think about was her. How I wanted to be by her side and not Nina. I know I fuck Nina, but I moan her name. That’s why Nina broke up with me.” I love her, I love her, mom. I fucking put the echo on my home screen because I think of her all day long.

Corinna didn’t know what to say to all this. She was speechless, and she now has a way a more precise portrait of the situation. She sighed and took her son in her arm. How could she be so blind about all this? About her son? About Y/n. Of course, this sweet girl wasn’t the problem. He was, and he needed to take responsibility.

She sighs, taking her broken son in her arms. She lulls him for a few minutes while he calms down, and she thinks about a solution. Gina is in the background with tears in her eyes at her brother's distress. She has never seen him so collapse, and it hurts her heart.

Corinna’s mind is thinking a thousand times an hour. How would this young woman forgive her son? How will he do it? Or will he do it? How?

“You go to her. Invited her to ROC, and we can fix this.” She whispers in his ear.

“I...”

“You take the first plane to Canada tomorrow. Go to her. Will think about the rest later. Baby, ich weiß, es ist nicht einfach und diese ganze Situation ist nur Scheiße, aber wenn du sie liebst. Geh zu ihr und bring sie zu dir.” Baby, I know this isn’t easy, and this whole situation is just shit, but if you love her. Go find her and bring her to you.

Mick takes the time to think about his mother’s idea before approving it.

The following day, he jumps on the next plane available for Canada, which is a three-connection, but he doesn't care at this point. He waits hours for his next connection at the Charles de Gaulle airport. Trying to think about what to say or do.

Tag list:

@tyna-19 @ironcowboycopnickel @dreamerrosie @gagaga167 @primadonnasdream @sachaa-ff @majx00 @lissimountf1 @mloyer @playboygeniusphilanthropist @sugarbabygirlofdaddy @pleasedontfollowimlost @blueleonor

#mick schumacher #mick schumacher x reader #mick schumacher imagine #mick schumacher fluff #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 #f1 fic #fluff #f1 fluff #f1 angst #mick schumacher angst #angst

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sarahowritesostucky · 9 months

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📖"Body Heat" : a Snowpiercer-Marvel Mashup Story

Part 1 - "The Man"

Rated: Mature (non-explicit chapter, marked mature for dark themes)

Pairing: Curtis Everett x ofc

Tags: dystopia, food insecurity, post apocalypse, age difference (18/34), dark!fic, implied/referenced suicide, background character death (offscreen), poverty, arranged marriage, implied/referenced past cannibalism, hurt/comfort

Summary: She’s too young for him to be eyeing her up the way he has been, but this is the Tail section, and Curtis has caught other men looking more than once. Everything is a commodity in the Tail. Everything. It won't be too long before he has to step in and claim her.

Author's Note:

On Tumblr, forbidden ToS content categories are: "terrorism, hate speech, harm to minors, self harm, sexually explicit material, violence, threats, gore, and mutilation."

And while you ARE apparently allowed to write a fictional story about incestual, torturing, anorexic racists who rape, murder, kidnap, hate, cannibalize, terrorize, and self-injure in the plotline of said story,

you ARE NOT allowed to write an underage character who engages is any sort of sexualized conduct in a story.

For this one category and this one category alone, Tumblr staff (or at least one particular individual 😏on staff) makes no distinction between fictional stories and C.S.A.M. They can and will delete your blog without any notice.

So, in the face of this VERY SPECIFIC criteria for Tumblr's censorship choices, I have changed the age of a character in this story to 18. That's not how the story was originally written, and the story can still be read on Ao3, which does not arbitrarily censor their content. But my m/f stories seem to be most popular on Tumblr, so I wanted to include the altered version in my library here.

(To be spiteful, however, I have changed the ofc from 16 to 18 and Curtis from 28 to 34, thus WIDENING the original age gap from 12 yrs to 16 yrs😆)

🖤With that said, this is a dark story regardless, so if you're looking for fluff, I suggest you look elsewhere.🖤

Part 1 - "The Man"

The Man’s been dead for almost a day, the body already stiffened in rigor mortis and then relaxed again by the time anyone comes to take it.

They’d found him in his bunk just after breakfast yesterday, which means they’ve been keeping his wake for nearly twenty-four hours now, up at the front of the lead assembly car; his daughter and a few others who were closest to him sitting vigil with the body until the time comes. Mourning while they still can.

Jackboots visit the tail section only once per day—in the morning, with the food. That’s how Tailies tell time. So when one of their own dies, the funeral and the family’s goodbyes last only as long as the next arrival of the next pushcart with the next batch of gelatinous bars.

Bringing in food and taking out bodies—a callous reminder to Snowpiercer’s lowest inhabitants that their deaths are little different from their lives: cold, unadorned, hopeless.

Curtis keeps his distance once he’s paid his respects, and it’s quiet now as they all wait. A few people had given some nice speeches earlier, a decent eulogy capped off by the beautiful singing voice of the daughter that The Man has left behind: Rose.

Curtis watches her adjust the sheet over The Man’s body. He’s already been washed and stripped in preparation, wrapped in the old grey sheet that will be returned to them within a matter of hours. Nothing is wasted on Snowpiercer. The few pieces of clothing that The Man had owned now sit folded on the floor, ready to be given to their next occupants. The sight of his trademark checked shirt, unworn and available, is a point of mourning all in itself, Curtis finds.

New clothing always means death.

The Man had been a good person, a leader in his own right. Back when they’d first boarded, he’d been one of the first to volunteer his own flesh—though only once his wife had been killed and the mob was coming for his young daughter, too.

Curtis looks back up towards the front of the car when the heavy groans of unlatching metal come from the next section up. Rose’s face, covered in tears, also shoots up at the sound. Her eyes widen and her lip begins to quiver again. Her fingerless-gloved hand reaches for the body, clutching The Man’s shoulder one last time as the door slides open.

The jackboots bark for everyone to move back, since the funeral group isn’t sitting behind the usual yellow line of demarcation that’s taped to the floor, but then they look down and see the body. The lead guard sighs. ��Oh, great,” he mutters. “Just what I wanted to do today.”

Curtis’ eyes narrow and his muscles tense, anticipating disrespect to the body—that he can handle, is used to, but if they lay a hand on her as the scene plays out, he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to restrain himself. Rose is a sweet girl despite her circumstances, with an innocence and a naivety that usually only the train babies have, and Curtis has always done what he can to look out for her.

“Right,” the one guard says to the other. “Okay. Protein blocks first, then you can load ‘im on the cart.”

Rose stays sitting by the body as everyone lines up to receive their daily portions. Curtis makes eye contact as he steps up to the lead guard and takes his portion. “Be nice,” he says. “It’s her dad.”

Luckily, the jackboots don’t seem to be in any kind of foul mood today. They let Rose sniffle over the body for a few extra seconds before hefting the corpse onto the empty protein block cart. And then they’re gone. No muss, no fuss, no fanfare. Just like it always happens when a Tailie dies.

“What do you think they do with them?” Curtis overhears Ned and Peter saying, talking with each other as they nibble off their protein blocks not too far from Rose. “Throw ‘em out?”

“How?” Peter says doubtfully. “S’not exactly an escape hatch in this thing.”

“Course there is,” Ned argues. “Where d’you think your shit goes when you flush the—”

“Hey,” Curtis hisses, glaring at them and tipping his head discreetly in Rose’s direction. “Show a little respect.”

Ned and Peter mumble an apology and move off, and when Curtis looks back to Rose, she’s blinking up at him with red rimmed eyes. “You didn’t have to do that,” she says, her voice deeper than usual as it emanates from a throat scraped raw by grief.

“I did.” Curtis walks over and slides down the wall to sit next to her. “He was a good man, your dad.”

“Thanks,” she says quietly.

Her nose sounds all stuffed up, so Curtis fishes in his pocket for his handkerchief. “Haven’t spoken to you in a hot minute,” he says, handing it over for her to blow her nose.

“Yeah well I hear you’re always planning the next revolution, so …”

Curtis scoffs. “Yeah, maybe.” He looks her over, taking in the worn knit of her sweater, the colorless felt of her coat that’d once been blue and belonged to her mother. So many of the Tailies are worn down to nothing but dull, grey husks now, just like the clothes they’ve recycled for over a decade. But Rose is different.

For whatever reason, her skin is still clear, her hair still thick. The malnutrition hasn’t affected her the way it has most others. Her soul still comes through her eyes. That inner luminance makes her pretty, maybe even the prettiest girl in the tail section. Even though she’s still very young. Probably too young for Curtis to be eyeing her up the way he has been, these past few months.

But she’s about that age now, even though it feels like only yesterday he was scrounging up materials to make her a little doll she could play with. People grow up fast in the tail whether they want to or not, and Curtis has been on high alert for a while now because he’s caught other men looking more than once. He’s even heard some bits of hushed conversation, whispered from nearby bunks where the occupants didn’t realize he was there to listen. Everything is a commodity in the tail. Everything. And there’s no one else who looks like Rose. She’s only made it this far because of her father.

And now her father’s dead.

Curtis realizes he’s been staring a little too long when Rose’s eyes slide over to him in curiosity. He coughs and looks away, shaking his head when she tries to hand him back the handkerchief. “Naw. You hold onto it for me, Hon.” She tucks it shyly away in her coat, and Curtis is pleased. “So …” he hedges, not knowing what to say to her. There’s nothing he can say. All they have in the tail is each other, their people, and she’s just lost hers. “So … you still going by ‘Rosebud’?”

That gets a tiny smile from her, which warms Curtis’ chest in the same way that he can remember whiskey doing, a lifetime ago. “Nobody calls me that anymore,” she says. “Nobody but him. And you.”

“Yeah?” Curtis thinks on it some. “Well maybe you should retire it. It’s a girl’s name anyway.”

“Aren’t I a girl?”

He raises an eyebrow without looking at her. “You still have that doll I made for you?” He hears her scoff and knows the answer. Rosie helps look after the young children in the tail. Curtis has seen that shabby little doll floating around in various tiny hands for years now. “You’re a good person,” he says quietly. “Like your dad. He was good. I’ll miss him." He’s looking straight ahead across the assembly car when he says it, but he still catches her slight movement out of the corner of his eye.

“He didn’t act any different,” she says, voice tiny. “I didn’t know. He didn’t say anything, didn’t do anything that made it seem like he was going to …” She cuts herself off, swallows thickly and shakes her head. “I just didn’t know.”

Curtis holds out his hand in offer for her to hold, and she takes it. Even with the fingerless glove on, her hand still feels tiny in his. “How about Petal?” he suggests.

“Petal?”

“Yeah,” he decides. “Yeah that’s what I’ll call you. Petal. My rose petal.”

“Oh, god.” She groans. “No. Curtis.”

“No?” He turns his head to look at her, and this time he waits until she looks at him too. Her expression sobers as their eyes meet. Curtis reaches to gently tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s a beautiful word,” he murmurs. “Couldn’t I call you that?” His eyes skip over her face, soaking up the way her breath stutters, how a slow blush starts to fill the apples of her cheeks. “I promise I won’t tell anybody else,” he whispers.

She ducks her chin with a bashful smile. “Well, I guess so.”

In her lap, her other arm curls protectively around the small pile of belongings she’s been holding onto, drawing Curtis’ attention. Her father had been a large man, imposing, and yet the pile is so tiny. A whole entire life, compressed into less than one square foot in the end.

(Curtis does wonder, sometimes, what they do with the bodies.)

“He was one of our best,” he tells her. “Even in the Desperation. I remember how he was, how he volunteered. He was a leader. Brave.” His eyes slide over to the excuse for an artificial limb that's been cobbled together from an umbrella and a few old wire coat hangers, of all things. Now it sits, sad and unused, on the floor next to Rose’s leg. “You know who you’re gonna give it to?”

“What?”

He nods at the limb. “His arm. It’s the best one in the tail.”

“Oh.” She glances away from it, looking pained. “No,” she says. “I figured I’d just give it to you.”

“Me?” Curtis isn’t one of the few who’d volunteered in the Desperation—obviously, as he’s still got all four limbs intact. He wasn’t the same person back then that he is now. Back then he’d been a taker, not a giver. He looks away with a frown. “Give it to Phil,” he suggests. “He needs one, since his broke.”

Rose agrees that the arm should go to Coulson. She carefully sets the pile of clothing aside on the floor and returns to place her hand back in Curtis’ waiting one, this time pulling their joined hands into her lap. They sit there together like that for a long while, not speaking, just existing side by side. Some things have so much more value now than they did Before, including silent company and a comforting hand.

“Do you remember it much?” Curtis eventually says.

“Before?”

“No.” He never talks about Before, since it only breeds despair. “Boarding,” he says. “Do you remember?”

“Of course.”

He winces. “Oh. I didn’t know if you did. You were so young. I thought maybe … maybe you’d forgotten. A lot of the kids did, even some of the older ones.”

“Yeah. MJ was eight and she says she can’t remember at all.”

Curtis nods. “Sometimes it feels like a dream even to me, it was so long ago.” He’d been twenty-two when the world froze and people were reduced to animals all around him. Twelve years couldn’t erase that pain, but it could muddle it a lot. “I’m sorry you didn’t. Block it out.”

“I remember ... shouting,” Rose says, her voice teasing the memory out. “It was dark. And I remember getting shoved around, hiding against my mom's legs, being hungry ... how cold it was.” It’s been cold ever since, but never as cold as that night—the last night before the wind and snow and ice got shut out forever. She heaves a sigh. “It’s all a jumble in my mind, anyway. I couldn’t see past anyone’s coat.”

“You were little,” Curtis mumbles. “Short.”

“Well I was six."

He smirks and bumps her shoulder with his. “You’re still short,” he teases, while privately he thinks that it’s better that she was so young when it happened. It means her earliest memories are of cold and chaos, and that’s better than the alternative of having had more time in the World. It means less things to mourn. “What are you going to do now?” he asks, shaking his head like he can knock the past out of it. "Plans for today?"

Rose shrugs. “Same old, same old. Kids, stories. It’s my night to shower.”

Curtis turns his head towards her, brow furrowed. “You … but you’re not going back to you guys' spot, right?”

"'Course. Where else would I go?"

He doesn’t know what he was expecting, what he thought the alternative was supposed to be. Every square centimeter of the tail section is already portioned and claimed. New space doesn’t just appear. Nothing new ever appears, except babies, bodies, and the rats that Wanda breeds to supplement their diet.

“Rosie,” Curtis scolds. “No. You can’t go back there. Not where he—”

“It’s not a big deal,” she says stubbornly, pretending it doesn’t bother her. But she’s a horrible liar and that’s just another thing that's always made her so endearing ... and so vulnerable.

“Hon,” Curtis mourns,

“It’s just a bunk," she insists. "He slept there, he died there. I’ll probably die there too, one day.”

Curtis growls unhappily. “Don’t say that. Don’t you ever say that. Hey, things won’t always be like this.” He catches her throwing him side eye and he glares at her. “They won’t.”

“Right,” she says, mouth quirking sadly at one corner before her gloved hand gives his a final squeeze and then lets him go. “Well. Not everybody has the big plans that you do, Curtis. Sometimes it's better to know what the future holds, even if it's this.”

“Don’t lose hope, Petal,” he pleads, but he can see that she’s dismissive of it. People lose hope all the time in the Tail. That’s what’d killed her father.

He sighs and looks back to the opposite side of the car. Now that the jackboots are gone it’s thinned out some, with some people gone back to their bunks and others remaining behind to munch on their protein blocks in the fresher air of the assembly car. Curtis spots a man several yards away who’s been openly staring at Rose. When the man sees Curtis looking, however, he hurriedly turns away.

Curtis scowls. “Hey,” he says, intending to take Rose's hand again and offer to have her spend the night with him. But her hand isn't there when he reaches over. She’s getting up, gathering her dead father’s pile of folded clothing items in her arms. Curtis frowns and gets up with her. He hurries to pick up the artificial limb. “Wait. Where’re you going?”

“Gonna give these to Gilliam,” she says, already on the move. “I want him to have first dibs." As if her father’s clothing would even come close to fitting Gilliam's shrunken and weathered old frame.

But Curtis gets up anyway and follows after her, not wanting to let her go just yet. He hurries along as she walks surprisingly fast for having such short legs. “Hey,” he says, talking to her back as they navigate through the communal living cars and the showers, and then into the cramped passageways of the market. “Hey, you know … you could come over tonight, if you wanted. My spot’s a pretty good size.”

“So is ours—” she says, faltering when she realizes her mistake. “I mean, so is mine.”

Curtis sighs and grabs her shoulder, pulling her to a stop. “Don’t go back there,” he pleads, cornering her into a cramped spot to face him. “Hey. I mean it, Hon. Don’t. You shouldn’t go back there tonight. Not alone, not where he …” She squares her jaw and looks up at him, expression stubborn as ever, and Curtis is struck by the sudden, overwhelming urge to kiss her. “It’s too soon,” he insists, because she’d been the one to find The Man sitting up in the bed: straight backed and purple faced and all out of hope, a cord wrapped thrice around his neck. “Too soon,” Curtis repeats sadly.

“I’ll be okay,” she insists, nodding when he makes a face to show how much he doesn’t agree with that. “It’s fine, Curtis. Really. I appreciate the offer. And I get it, I do. But that's our spot, ya know? I’ve lived there for twelve years, and I—” her eyes cut away, glossy with the threat of fresh tears. She swallows thickly and won’t look at him again. “I’m not ready to leave it,” she whispers. “I’d rather stay where it still smells like him.”

Curtis isn’t sure what love feels like, but he thinks maybe it’s partly made up of the horrible feeling he gets in his guts when he sees Rose in pain like this. “... Okay,” he says quietly, taking a small step back so that she can continue on down the passage. The tail is made up of twenty cars, and they’re only several down from the forwardmost car at this point. “Gilliam’s probably at the back,” he tells her. He can see that she wants to be alone in her grief, though he hates the idea of letting her go. “Hey,” he says softly, cupping her face. “I’m right here if you need me, Hon. You know that, right?”

She smiles and nods with watery eyes, worsening the tug in Curtis’ guts. He thinks seriously about leaning in and kissing her, but winds up holding himself back like he’s done so many times already. Instead he just strokes his thumb over her cheek, finger ruddy against the clear skin of her face. “Okay,” he says again. He gently places the artificial limb on top of the stack of clothing she holds, then takes another step back. “I’ll see you at dinner?” he asks, not bothering to hide the hope in his voice. He wants to see her again, as much as possible. The more he can keep her in his sights, the better.

“Yeah,” she agrees, leaning up to plant a quick peck to his cheek. “Thanks, Curtis. For looking out for me. He'd feel better, knowing that."

He watches her go with a sense of trepidation, uttering a quiet, "Not doin' it for him," once she’s halfway down the car.

Masterlist

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violetfaust · 2 years

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For my own sanity

I'm trying to put together a list of the various versions of Goncharov (1973) screened throughout the last fifty years.

The four-and-a-half-hour film festival cut that even Scorsese felt was a rough draft

The US theatrical release in 1973

The 1973 European theatrical release with its extra half hour of footage

The 1973 Latin American dub with its extra half hour of different footage

The so-called Secret Reels that producer Domenico Procacci the Elder (not to be confused with the unrelated Italian filmmaker Domenic Procacci the Younger, who has only been active since the late 80s) used to screen at his fantastic, legendary drug-fueled parties in the 70s--these seem to be (at least one of) the source(s) of the deleted Goronchov/Andrey sex scene

The 1980 director's cut

The 1980s Soviet bootleg (which became so popular that it led to the 1993 re-envisioning)

Matteo's own controversial "Writer's Cut" (particularly complicated because apparently he never stopped editing and re-editing to fully achieve his personal vision--every time he screened the movie after 1975, privately or publicly, it had at least some minor differences and often incredibly large ones, with entire character arcs added or lost). At least one of these, my own personal favorite with the deleted second epilogue, was copied and got into general circulation on college campuses and whatnot

Also probably based on one of Matteo's cuts, the "Underground" cuts that were the basis of the Queer improv parties dating back at least to 1982

The first VHS release

The rare Betamax release with the extra Patchka scene

The post-Soviet edit 1993 "modernization" re-envisioning Gonchorov/Katya's backstory that was most Millennials' introduction to the movie

The butchered 90s broadcast TV airings (both of which cut vital plot points--such as Ice Pick Joe's lobotomy backstory--and were likely the reason an entire generation lost interest in the film)

The 1998 25th-anniversary director's cut (the one that The New Yorker famously panned with "It seems that Scorsese has forgotten his own movie")

The 40th-anniversary DVD release with six hours of additional footage

The recent gorgeously digitized Blu-ray release that included the nine-hour supercut and "Making Of" documentary (and probably inspired the Gonchorov renaissance)

The eagerly awaited upcoming 50th-anniversary Criterion edition that's rumored to incorporate the "Lost Reels" that Matteo, Scorsese, Al Pacino, and second assistant editor Mariana Lyudmila Manuali had kept private, as well as the distinct four hours of Patchka footage that the cinematographer filmed whenever he got bored.

And, of course, the crowdsourced Internet project to recover the "definitive" Gonchorov, incorporating most of the known footage as well as new home-filmed snippets from the private collections of minor players like Lynda Carter (in her first screen role as Dancer #2) and Henry Winkler (the busboy)--currently running twelve hours

Am I missing anything?

(Note: This list intentionally excludes the probably apocryphal student project that reframed the entire film from Valery's point of view--even if it actually exists and uses original footage, it can only be considered an homage to the full film and not an actual variant.)

#goncharov (1973)#goncharov 1973 #katya goncharova #andrey daddano #mario ambrosini #ice pick joe #valery michailov #sofia #patchka #unreality #op #martin scorsese #gonchposting

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emilieautumnarchives · 6 months

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Emilie Autumn for Bubblegum Sl-t Zine

Original Link (Archive Post from Author) Last access 3/31/24 Originally Posted: Summer 2010

...I interviewed Emilie Autumn a few times in the mid-00s, although only once for Bubblegum Sl💛t. I think the photo of Emilie and me (seen on the left of the first slide) was taken after an interview for Alternative Magazine. Every time I saw Emilie, her gigs grew a bit grander and more bonkers. Consider that her entry point to the era’s music scene was a violin-and-vocal concept album - which concerned Shakespeare and mental ill health, and arrived accompanied by a semi-autobiographical novel, fusing psych ward memoirs with a Victorian fantasy world – and you get some sense of just how bonkers things got. By the time this was printed in 2010, her shows were bringing cabaret vibes and musical theatre production values to rock venues. Accompanied by the ‘Bloody Crumpets’ (a troupe of burlesque belles posing as asylum inmates), and an elaborate array of handcrafted props and costumes, she was greeted at every show by hordes of adoring ‘plague rats’ in bloomers and stripey stockings. Something I always found both inspiring and a little intimidating was just how hands-on Emilie was with every aspect of her ambitious shows. Right down to handmaking merch, she oversaw every last damn detail of her immersive fantasy world, putting in frighteningly long hours to make it happen. This was a big a theme of this very wordy interview.

Interview and scans below the cut.

Transcription note: this interview is long and EA's comments are interspersed throughout, so I've put her words in bold.

Wayward Woman

Released from her old record contract, our favourite asylum inmate Emilie Autumn has lately let her creativity run. And run. And run.

18 hour day corporate workaholics would be put to shame by the drive that Emilie Autumn exhibits in her many artistic endeavors. With each successive, increasingly grand tour I've witnessed (for which Emilie handles the design and production of lavish stage sets and costumes, the creation handmade merch and the choreography of dance routines and comedy set-pieces with her sidekicks 'The Bloody Crumpets', not to mention violin, harpsichord and vocal duties) I've felt, with crowing certainty, that superhuman powers are the only explanation for her quite extraordinary ability to maintain both the quality and vast quantity of her output. Speaking to the insomniac artist herself shortly after her Spring 2010 tour of Europe and Australia however, I've forced to entertain the more improbable, and frankly frightening notion, that her stamina is actually that of a mere mortal, as she recounts woefully how a throat infection forced her to cancel two shows on this most recent outing. The singer can't claim she wasn't warned; management -- characterized in popular music mythology as the business bods cracking the whip on the backs of their poor, cash-cow artist -- apparently made efforts to talk her out of undertaking such a lengthy tour before she had embarked up it, but inevitably such a suggestion was never given any serious consideration by a women who describes the experience of taking a few days off as "torturous".

"I wasn't allowed to speak," she elaborated on the horrors of her enforced spell of rest and relaxation. "I wasn't even allowed to whisper, so I had to write things down to communicate. As somebody who talks a lot--as you can tell--it was definitely torturous!"

Yes, I can definitely tell you that, amongst a great deal of many other talents, Emilie Autumn can really talk. Figuring out that much in the four previous interview I've got to admit that, while the kind of intense and frank debate and confessions she offers in volumes are a refreshing pleasure over any media-trained soundbite, I approach this latest encounter with as much dread as anticipation; dread that is for the figure that will appear on my phone bill when the receiver eventually goes down and Emilie and Chicago. And on this occasion there's more to talk about than ever before.

See, even within the biography of an artist who is prolific by nature the past few months can be considered a fully of activity. The tour aside, there's been the double dis re-release of Emilie's breath-through album 'Opheliac', while the publication of her long-awaited book 'The Asylum of Wayward Victorian Girls' requires epic discourse by itself. So more -- much more -- of the book later. Firstly, Emilie explains, the starting point for seeing this succession of projects come to fruition was opting to break away from former German-based label Trisol.

"Once all the house clearing went down I found, to my surprise, when the door opened I had a good amount of options," she recalls, swiftly skipping to the part where, having weight these up, she found and offer from New York's The End records the most attractive.

By signing on the dotted line she joined an oddball, distinctly arty roster, which also includes Mindless Self Indulgence, Dir En Gray and Dirty Little Rabbits, and celebrated seeing her music gain a release in her native Unite States at long last. Although "frustrated" by the prior limbo period, when her work languished on record stores' prices import shelves, she has to conceded that there's little evidence to suggest hefty taxes impeded the spread of the 'plague' (as she is wont to refer to the rise of her so-described 'violindustrial', with fans readily wearing the label 'plague rats').

"I was amazed to see the fanbase I have [here] when I first toured the US," she says. "The Plague rats are here, they're everywhere, and it's insane that this thing has spread almost without radio, without videos and without a label until now."

The fresh pressing of 'Opheliac' has also been granted a second release in Europe, where by contrast Emilie has enjoyed strong support from the alternative music media ever since the album was initially issued in 2006. Critics might assume a second coming so soon a little premature but, even without the addition of a wealth of bonus material, a record that can honestly by called a 'grower' -- rewarding revisits by revealing new depths to it's complex sonics and storyline -- makes a good case for being deserving of a second look. For Emilie herself "the 'Opheliac' record is still the most important thing" - the silver lining to the breakdown which followed her separation from musical collaborator turned lover Billy Corgan, traced to the eureka moment at which she began charting comparisons between her own increasingly troubled life and the misadventures of Shakespeare's archetypal 'difficult woman.'

"I think a couple times in your life, if you're lucky, you just get it right," Emilie reflects of the work now. "It's like creating the perfect quote that people will say 500 years later, because it still rings true. When I sing those songs onstage, or listen to that record it still strikes me that there's not a single thing I would change."

Such a definitive statement from the artist herself does rather invite the suggestion that the bonus disc can do little to enhance the piece; only encourage plague rats to pick up the second copy.

"The first disc is completely a concept album, where every sound is a puzzle piece within a big plan and everything relies on everything else around it," Emilie affirms. "So that second disc is like 'here's the mixbox' -- it's a complete jumble of things, like the inside of my head. But it is all very relevant to the suicidal theme of the album."

Specifically, she cites her unlikely rendition of an age-old song Billie Holiday mad her own, declaring "'Gloomy Sunday', - that's like the original suicide song, it couldn't be more relevant." With her version sitting alongside a cover of The Smiths' 'Asleep,' a solo violin rendering of Bach, several original acoustic recordings and samples of the spoken word, performances Emilie has lately been giving in support of her book release, she's not wrong in her assertion that the second disc is a 'mixbox' either. Set in contrast to the main album's heavy, literary study of her own human condition this new component is also reflective of the trademark scatter-brained and impatient intellect she overwhelms with when she chatters mile a minute.

By far the greatest justification for revisiting 'Opheliac' now Emilie excitably gabs is the long-awaited arrival of its companion and sequel, the Asylum book, viewed by it's author as a sort of key to decoding the shorthand hints embedded in the other releases in her catalogue.

A back-burner project in the Trisol offices for more than 2 years, the book looked so sure to be lost to the world for a time that Emilie's reaction when it eventually when into production under guidance of The End was to "go into shock - I've almost been in denial that i was ever actually happening.," she gasps. "I'd got so into saying 'wait for it, it's going to be great!' and not having it materialize that it was a shock when the new printing company put it together. It was torture to keep touring a keep releasing knowing that, even if I have a great fanbase who like what I'm doing, they really had no idea of what they liked was about at the time, They didn't know the full extent of how serious it actually was, how much i actually means and real it is."

Referring to the titular 'Asylum' -- most basically defined as a location in [Emilie's] imagination and art, but nonetheless deeply rooted in historical documentation of the treatment of Victorian madwomen, and the harsh realities of Emilie's own experience of the modern mental health care system -- she tells "there's this thing of assuming it's a fantasy world when, actually, it's for real. That was very difficult," she sighs, "to go on touring, knowing that there were so many things I couldn't do onstage that I actually might have wanted to, but because they were references to things in the book they would never make sense without it."

As much a novel, information manual for those wanting to pick up tips on surviving a mental health ward or swarm of leeches and detailed history lesson as it is an autobiography, the book was a massive undertaking --particularly for an author possessed of the perfectionist tendencies Emilie is. To put in perspective the length of the sentence 'The Asylum..." served in post-production hell, journalists received sample pages from Trisol's PR department, in preparation for an apparently imminent publication, way back in 2008. In the months it took for a released date to pass many other active and breathing public figures saw fit to issue second volumes to their autobiographies. Hence it figures that the finished Asylum on bookstore shelves now is a substantial development of those early previews.

"The story was there but with every day there was another delay and so more painting and ore words would go in just so that the time wasn't completely wasted," confirms Emilie. "If I had to wait I had to make the most of that time and now you have something that wouldn't have been quite as awesome if it had come a day earlier. It's not like the 'Opheliac' record, where I wouldn't add a note or take a note away -- this is the story of my entire life, it goes on -- I could always add another scribble in another corner. 'Opheliac' is a time capsule and this is everything, it goes [from] the beginning to beyond the end... the ultimate ending is still just a massive cliff-hanger because we don't know how it ends!"

Candor and openness being defining traits of the Emilie I've come to know it's surprising to hear that the other "big, open question mark," the book implanted in her head was a wave of self doubt--

"Like, 'okay, you think you know how you're going to react if people read this stuff by do you really ?' And for a couple of days there was this silence, on our sounding board--you know, the internet," she translates. "Everything was really quiet for a couple of days as people were reading it and digesting it and when they came back there was a kind of collective 'holy fuck - we though we knew what was going on by now... maybe not.' There's an increased understanding of me and what I do now - the colours of everything are a bit brighter, because it means more. It's a relief," she announces. " I've said it now, everybody knows all of these things about me now, and if you still like who I am, knowing that this is the life I've lived and things I've done then you like who I really am. It's just a relief to finally tell someone who you really are... like you might have wanted to pretend to be the little queen, or tired to be the good girlfriend, and when you give that up... well, it turns out that pressure is a lot scarier than telling the truth and doing whet comes naturally."

While she's in the mood to share, Emilie reveals the next stage in her grand plan.

"I'll tell you my secret," she relents, after a moments hesitation, reasoning. "I don't know if it's a secret, it's kind of obvious really. My plan, of why the book has to get so very much out there, is because we want to make a movie."

A nanosecond is spared for dramatic effect here before her enthusiasm spurs her on to laying out the blow-by-blow proposal, as though addressing her plague rats en masse.

"Here's what I need you to do," she instructs. "I need you to go buy me these 52 hundred copies of the Asylum book, because then we in the popularity contests--and that's how we get to the top of the bestsellers list. That's very simple, right? Because then, everyone knows, every single book that reaches the top of the bestseller chart is very quickly made into a movie. So if you want to see that movie you've got to help me and purchase that book!"

Emilie is right to think her plan is becoming 'obvious' at this stage. Always theatrical, her stage shows have now grown to a scale that their props are testing the limits of her one-woman workshop, and their stunts are insurance policies of venues only every intended to play host to the humble rock band. A theatre or screen production is the clear next step and, not one to restrict the creative outlets at her disposal, Emilie has not ruled out the former option.

"When we're hitting a new venue every night we have to wonder every night if we're going to be able to do the full show," she sighs. "It's 'are they going to let us to aerials here?', 'are we going to have to leave out the fire-eating because they won't let us do fire here?' It's becoming very clear that, at this level, there are limits to what you can do and the alternative to that is getting a theatre run where you're actually in the same place for 3 months. But there's a part of me that doesn't want tot do that because, however grueling life on the road is, there's that whole thing of the show coming to the people, which I love. SO I think maybe doing both is the ideal. Something I'm quite seriously working on," she impressed, before continuing, "is the possibility of being able to tour with my own venue. Circuses do it, so why can't I? It's a bigger production, and it's expensive, but if you know what you want there's always a way, and I've figured out what we need to do, which is embrace the fact that this isn't a rock show and begin putting it into a setting which reflects that."

Which reminds me, amongst Emilie's many interests is creating music, and between talking books, movies and big tops we've so far neglected to mention an additional iron in the fire, that is 'Opheliac's musical follow-up. Suddenly engaged on another new topic Emilie tells, "I'm about halfway through writing, but nothing has been recorded. It's still being added to because that's the next thing -- making sure that this album accurately represents my life right now. It ties in to the Asylum book, and 'Opheliac', which laid out 'this is the situation you're in,' so this next record is naturally saying 'okay, now what do you do about it?' So that's where it gets a bit more violent and bloody, because now it's about fighting."

Supporting Emilie's often re-iterated line that her seemingly disparate works are, truly, inter-connected and even inter-dependant, recent live shows have started to develop the theme of fighting. Most obviously performances on the Spring tour included a segment in which Emilie and her Bloody Crumpets tool up to become the Asylum Army, marching to a gruffly barked, yet uniquely feminine, drill chant.

"Now there' about 50% guys in the audiences," she notes. "And so when we ask there 'are you ready to fight like a girl?', and every one of them is screaming 'yes'... well, that's amazing. It's about taking that phrase -- that we've heard our whole lives a s derogatory thing, 'you fight like a girl', 'you throw a ball like a girl,' we're taking that and turning it on it's ass completely to make it like the greatest thing possible, knowing that actually, if a girl really has something to defend, there will be no chivalry, no rules, and she will use every tool possible.

For Emilie, these violent developments, as explored more graphically on the next album, represent "part tow of the adventure. It's still completely relevant, it has to be," she says. "When I put [the record] out it has to mean at least as much to me as 'Opheliac' did."

Here the perfectionist standards that her vast ambition demand surface once again, and she tells "I never want to do anything that doesn't have the same impact, on me that is. I want to get it right again. I can't fail, it's just not what I do. I would rather not put anything out. But that's not going to be a problem. I'm already working on the new record and we're gonna be just fine."

#emilie autumn #interviews #zine #2010 #bubblegum slt

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etirabys · 1 year

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I've been absent from tumblr for nine days because I was in Philly for a 800 person twitter con (whose constituents roughly map onto the rationalist tumblr diaspora, culturally). I was tweeting up a storm in conjunction with meeting twitter people irl and barely checked tumblr.

The con itself stretched over a long weekend, but I arrived four days early for preparties and stayed two days for postparties. I am on the plane right now, returning home. I got about twelve weeks of normal socializing in nine days. In the last four days I was taking small amounts of Ritalin to get through the day. That sounds bad, but that's how much I valued talking to weird internet people and having unique interactions that you cannot have outside of festivals.

The last iteration of this con last year had 300 attendees. At the time, I had 180 twitter followers, mostly from the times tumblr melted down and everyone including me advertised where they were elsewhere, as insurance. I munchkinned the hell out of socializing at the first con, got an additional 100 active followers that provided enough attention for a self-sustaining poasting reaction, and am at 2500 now.

I'm approximately the same person on twitter that I am on tumblr, except I don't post my erotica (my twitter followers skew more heavily male, so I'm less willing to be sexual) and I'm more strategic about seeking clout. I like to think I stay away from the clout-chasing things I find really gross (like having takes about politics nonstop, or starting beef), but I currently treat getting twitter followers as an enjoyable game.

It's nice to have a place where I'm explicitly seeking power, as it is nice to have a place (here on tumblr) where I'm explicitly not. My tentative plan is to hit 10-20K and then push the "trying" lever to off. I know a number of "microcelebrities" who get no stalkers or murder threats, but can go to just about any major city and have a place to crash, or people to show them around. That is what I want for myself.

I explain this not very flattering thing as context for what the con was like for me.

Most of the time, I exist socially the way most people do – avoiding risks and being discreet with dissent to keep the peace. I think people go to events like this one or Burning Man to get a freaking break from having to do this – as long as the con is full of reasonably mature and interesting people, the atmosphere becomes wonderful when they coordinate to drop the pretense for a week. I ran into a person who had a bad interaction with my acquaintance a few years ago, and told him I thought poorly of his actions but wanted to hear his side of the story. (The ensuing interaction was illuminating and pleasant.) A guy came up to me and observed that he'd made several conversational bids this year and last year, I had seemed to dislike this every time, and asked if I would prefer he never approach me again. We proceeded to have an extremely autistic debugging conversation, in front of several of his friends, about whether we should speak again in the future. (The solution: yes, he can try again, but pick a question from Askhole – don't inflict small talk on me.) I ran up to Famously Evil-Alien-Vibes-Having Economist Robin Hanson and said, "I have nothing to say to you in particular, but I find you interesting and I want to hang out," and then we argued for an hour about the fertility crisis. After asking for blessing to say something negative, I told a blogger whose blog post that I'd otherwise really liked that there had been one aspect that I found disingenuous. We had a good back and forth after I said this.

What I found so addictive about this con is that my popularity-seeking drive and my honesty-seeking drive – both of which I somewhat repress most of the time – were not only expressible, but in harmony. It is quite inappropriate to be super open and openly autistic in most social contexts. Here, I could say exactly what I meant, and as long as I delivered it in the right way, people would like me for it. The conversation where the guy started with "You don't seem to like me, should I never talk to you again?" should by most predictive measures have been awkward and unpleasant – but I got the sense, steadily, that he (and his friend who eventually joined in) liked me for how I was responding to him. All I had to do was, literally, just say what I really thought, and it somehow all worked out.

#rambl #meanwhile on twitter #2023vibecamp #about

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mittensmorgul · 9 months

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2023 in Mittens Fic

It's once again time for the annual accounting of things I have written! I think this year's total fic count, at 4, is my lowest ever, but I still managed more words than my two lowest years (peak pandemic, i loathe you still).

For reference, past year end summaries can be found here:

2022 | 2021 | 2020 | 2019 | 2018 | 2017 | 2016 | the closest thing I have to a 2015 wrap up post is the lil bit of text at the bottom of 2016′s post… even though my two most popular fics were from 2015 lololol

So I guess my main writing goal for 2024, since I know I will never surpass my 2015 totals, is to just do better than I did in 2023. Here's to more fic!

I managed a Pinefest fic, a fic I started for DCBB but didn't finish by the draft deadline and posted on my own, an annual destielversary fic, and an annual holiday fic. I think that's the bare minimum of what I try to aim for in a year, so even if I'm personally disappointed I didn't get anything else written in addition to that bare minimum, I'm glad I was at least able to hit that goal. Across this year's four posted fics, there's a total of 110,875 words.

Also, again slightly cheating, but since I've mentioned it for the past two years, I'm still making the @spngeorg podcast! In case the millions of words of meta I've written over the years aren't enough, and you want to hear me yell out loud about the show, you can start from the beginning on Spotify or wherever you enjoy podcasts! Or if that sounds daunting, since I just uploaded Episode 138, 7.12 Time After Time, which makes the backlog a lot to catch up on honestly, you're also welcome to just jump in now. Everyone please come yell with me! I swear, if you do start from the beginning, that I get dramatically better at this whole thing as we go on... at least, I think I have. If nothing else, episodes are far more manageably shorter now that I've developed a system. Only took 2 1/2 years, but here we are... :'D

With that business out of the way, let's break down those numbers! Presented in the order they posted:

Dear Western Red Cedar #2409 (63,433 words rated M) Written for @deancaspinefest with gorgeous art by @alexiescherryslurpy, and inspired by this tumblr post that had been plaguing my imagination for several years. It's a two person love triangle with Forest Ranger and secret bestselling author Dean and small town librarian Cas. Heck I want to go reread it just thinking about it now... this is a happy place fic for me.

one working part (40,051 words, rated E) I started this for DCBB, but failed to make the draft deadline, then finished it before posting began anyway... another canon finale fix-it fic, but this one is heavily It's A Wonderful Life flavored and based on a conversation I had with @greywrenn last year. This story picks up at the beginning of 15.19, and then slowly veers more and more from canon, running alongside canon and making rude hand gestures at canon along the way, because they all deserved to have nicer things than canon gave them.

all the time in the world (1,289 words, rated T) This is my annual Destielversary story, short and sweet. It's set immediately after the events of One Working Part, but you don't have to have read that to enjoy this one. Just know Cas is back with Dean, and they've got the rest of their lives stretched out in front of them.

Christmas, Present (6,102 words, rated T) My annual holiday fluff fic, this time set in an AU, since most of my past holiday fic has been canon universe. A Dean/Cas college AU, with Matchmaker Charlie who just wants her friends to be happy already!

And that's my year in fic (unless I manage to post something else in the next 33 hours or so, and lol no that ain't happening...)! As per usual, I've already written more than half of this year's word total for the 2024 Pinefest, which will post in March... or april... heck when is my posting date even... it's coming soon anyway! But it's all written! :'D

Once again, I've still got so many more stories I want to write. Even the To Be Written list has grown again. My idea list long ago surpassed SABLE status, and yet now there's even more on it...

It's five pages, and two thousand words longer than it was last year. this just gets worse every year :'D

But that means I'll never run out of things to write, and that's always something to celebrate!

Thanks again to everyone who’s read, kudos’ed, commented, reblogged, liked, rec’ed, and enjoyed anything I’ve written in the last year. I love you all. <3 See you in 2024!

#spn fanfic #destiel #things i have written #2023 fic roundup #shameless self promotion

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myboyherodotus · 5 months

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Fyodor's Last Words in Bungou Stray Dogs

Hello! I know I've been saying I was gonna do this for a long time, and I really did try to find my notes quickly, but I'm here now. This post is meant as a Religious Studies Analysis. As such I would like to state that I was a dual major in Religious Studies and History to qualify myself for this discussion.

I am also going to be writing this post for accessibility, that is to say I am going to assume the reader has little to no knowledge about the New Testament so I will be explaining or giving context to a lot of things, even things that may seem obvious.

What Were Fyodor's Words?

Eli, Eli, Lema Sabachtani which as I'm sure you know is the Arameic version of Christ's cry to God as he was on the Cross in the Book of Matthew. The Book of Matthew is one of the four gospels in the New Testament. The Gospels (which translates to Good News) tell the life story of Jesus.

In the King James Version of the Bible these words are said, "And about the ninth hour Jesus cried with a loud voice, saying, Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani? that is to say, My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me? (Matthew 27:46)

A disclaimer, I am using the King James Version of the Bible for its importance to the English Language. If you want to see Matthew 27:46 translated differently please check Bible Gateway.

The Significance of Matthew 27:46

Let's talk about the context of Matthew 27:46. Now, this line comes during the Crucifixion of Jesus. This was the ninth hour of Jesus being on the cross, or around 3 in the afternoon, and is said following a period of darkness from noon to three.

Now many scholars and theologians have tried to understand why Jesus would have said God had forsaken him, and this is the same for Fyodor too.

However, I would like to talk about Matthew 27:46 in the context of prophecy. Now, for many Christian scholars the Hebrew Bible (Old Testament) contain several prophecies which Jesus later fulfills. In Psalms 22:1 "Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani?" is said once again. Therefore, a popular interpretation of Matthew 27:46 is that Jesus is emphasizing how his death and eventual resurrection were all proclaimed long ago and fated to happen.

In short: the quote illustrates the prophetic nature of Jesus and how he is the Messiah.

And How Does Fyodor Connect?

Well, I believe that Fyodor's last words were a warning. A warning to Dazai that Fyodor knew he would "die" and come back, just as Jesus did when he said it on the cross. Maybe he planned this all out or views his life as some sort of prophecy to eliminate all ability users.

If we take the quote and apply the Psalms connection to it, it becomes evident that the "sacrifice" Fyodor took was fated to happen and he knew it. He knew he was going to come back, he possibly knew this was going to happen.

Moreover, this quote may also have something to do with his resurrection. Later in Matthew (Matthew 27:50-53), Jesus calls out and an earthquake happens, "and the graves were opened; and many bodies of the saints which slept arose." (Matthew 27:52). Right after Jesus calls out to God, the saints rise from the dead and go to heaven. The quote is intimately tied with resurrection, and I don't think that's a coincidence that Fyodor said it and then comes back. I think Asagiri took this into consideration too.

Most people would think that "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" would be a plea of a man caught in a trap with no way out. But, this interpretation does not make sense with Fyodor or his "death". Therefore, understanding Matthew 27:46 has both a line connected with the resurrection of saints and prophecy is crucial to understanding why Fyodor said it during the helicopter crash. He knew he was coming back. I think it was a warning and to illustrate how "ordained by God" his mission is. There's probably more context to add, but it's late and I am sleepy now.

I know this all kinda confirms what we already know, but I think it really illustrates the depth of Fyodor's planning and that he might have known how Mersault was going to go the whole time. Which is terrifying if you think about it.

As always feel free to add things, ask questions, etc. If you disagree just keep it civil. There's probably some things manga wise I didn't add so if you have things to add please do.

#bsd #bsd theory #bungou stray dogs #bungou stray dogs fyodor #bsd fyodor #bsd manga #bsd analysis #bsd religious studies analysis

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lastweeksshirttonight · 9 months

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Lee is re-watching Sherlock for some fucking reason - Season One

I'm well aware that the crossover between "currently popular and loved British comedian in the US updates, thirst, and accoutrements" and "BBC show that went so off the rails that people now like to pretend Andrew Scott's breakout role was the Hot Priest in Fleabag" is limited, but weirdly, returning to Sherlock was one of the few things that was keeping my brain somewhat grounded and whirring during Work Hell.

We're in uncharted territory here. You're gonna learn a bit about the things I do when I'm not tracking John Oliver obsessively. I am nervous about this but hey, I'm guessing most of you knew I don't solely live and breathe John Oliver. (I know. I have multitudes. This is a shocking revelation. Please take time to process it.)

Firstly, a content note - there's going to be discussion about queerbaiting and queercoding villains, and the beginning of this goes into some of James Somerton's absolutely disgusting claims about the AIDS crisis. This post will only be focused on Season One, as that's all I've finished at this point.

Let's go.

(above image sourced from Writing Tips and Memes)

My sudden re-emergent hyperfixation started because of the hbomberguy takedown of James Somerton, weirdly. I don't follow many YouTubers - I like Bright Sun Films because he goes urban exploring, something I've always wanted to do but have never managed to make happen, and also Todd in the Shadows, whose Trainwreckords series is very well-done and expertly researched. Seeing that name, you might know where this is going. Todd dropped a video about James Somerton, who I had never fucking heard of and now wish I'd known about before, so I could scream bloody murder about what an absolute fuckwad he is.

(I don't want to get too in the weeds here, but the things James asserted about WWII, Nazis, and the AIDS crisis are so vehemently offensive that I'm still struggling with them. Claiming that only boring gays survived the AIDS crisis in particular is so vile that I have gotten anger flashes thinking about it almost daily since hearing it.)

Todd recommended watching all four hours of the hbomberguy plagiarism video, and I ran that in the background while working about two weeks ago. Eventually I had to stop doing that because the plagiarism revelations were so distracting and shocking. Todd's video was even more of a goddamn mindfuck, and even the smaller, less offensive things have taken up far too much space in my brain. Californians, does anyone at all deify Bob Iger??? Like... what the goddamn fuck??? Bob Iger????

After watching one hbomberguy video, the algorithm did its thing, and gave me a video called "Sherlock is Garbage and Here's Why". Posting it here for posterity:

youtube

Because my brain works in mysterious ways (-cough-ADHD-cough-), watching this... made me want to rewatch Sherlock.

I initially saw Sherlock for the first time thanks to someone I met in my last year of college, 2012. At the time, Michael (a nickname) was my neighbor in the dorms; over the past ten years, she's become one of my closest friends and a true rock in my life. One of the first things we bonded over that I introduced her to was the San Francisco Giants and the ghost I will always be chasing, Tim Lincecum; one of the first things we bonded over that she introduced me to was BBC Sherlock. The show was in the early months of its extended hiatus after Season Two, at the height of its fandom, and we were both completely obsessed. I read all the Doyle stories, took in a truly wild amount of fanfiction, wrote a not-very-popular AU fic, became part of a strange inter-dorm ARG based on Sherlock orchestrated by Michael... it consumed a huge part of our lives.

When Season 3 dropped, I almost stopped watching after "The Empty Hearse". I don't want to get into why it offended me so much before we get to a Season 3 post, but just know my enthusiasm severely dampened there. The rest of Season 3 I think of with blase emotions, especially the ending, which I found just dumb, save one part of it. I recall going to see The Abominable Bride in theatres with my mom (and maybe Michael?), and I think I liked it fine - aside, again, from the ending. But I had no interest in a Season Four, and when it dropped, Michael's long rambling phone calls describing the absolute shitstorm of a plot cemented that I was never going to watch it again.

Until now.

I definitely don't think the hbomberguy video is perfect. His insistence that Doyle canon never had Holmes pull answers to cases out of his ass is... something, lol, as is his opinion that changing the solution to certain puzzles in A Study in Pink disrespects the original canon. (Bro, these stories have been retold a bajillion times, they need to mix it up to keep it interesting.) But he put a finger on something that I'd wrestled with regarding Sherlock for a long time - that the show's writing often teased something big and new and conclusive in the horizon, but almost never delivered. That wasn't an issue in early days when there was less invested in an increasingly convoluted mythic story, or when they weren't fully blowing off the resolutions to cliffhangers, but the flaw in writing a story where you promise something huge on the horizon and never deliver should be obvious.

The first season doesn't trade much in that idea, and going back to it was something I found exceptionally enjoyable!

Before I watched:

I remembered bits and pieces of "A Study in Pink" and the whole plot in summary.

I truly didn't remember anything about "The Blind Banker" except that I found it fairly 'yellow peril'-y when I saw it in 2012.

I mixed up huge chunks of Season Two's "A Scandal in Belgravia" with "The Great Game" in my head and somehow forgot the main plot thrust was Moriarty kidnapping people and strapping bombs to them.

I genuinely forgot Sebastian Moran was a character basically hallucinated into existence by the fandom and didn't appear in the show at all until a brief appearance in Season Three.

In a way, it was like I was watching the show for the first time all over again. My partner also watched the first season with me, and it was interesting to get his thoughts on the show as we watched.

To start, his favorite character is Mycroft. Watching Season One, I had to agree that Mycroft has a depth of character that I'd forgotten about. Mark Gatiss plays him perfectly, aloof and smarter than you but unsure of how to deal with his natural feelings of concern and fear for his oft-spiraling, danger-seeking younger brother - and how those feelings magnify with the influence of extreme danger-seeker (at least in this season) John Watson. The show wants you to believe so badly that he's Moriarty in "A Study in Pink", which I don't think works even if you know he isn't Moriarty - there's a warmth to Gatiss' Mycroft that, even while he's doing incredibly ominous things like shutting off all cameras in a busy intersection, still comes through.

My favorite character is Moriarty. I haven't mentioned this very much here, because why would I, but my favorite character type in media is "theatrical abject shithead". It's why I cosplay Bakugo from My Hero Academia and loved everything about Akechi in Persona 5. Hell when I was a kid, I told teachers that when I grew up, I wanted to join Team Rocket. I love the theatrical shitheads. And boy, is Moriarty some sort of theatrical shithead. I don't DISAGREE with hbomberguy pointing out that, as written, Moriarty is a complete mess of a character, a queer-coded literal terrorist with no motivations besides "I did that because I'M CRAAAAZY!"... but he's my queer-coded literal terrorist, ok? I could write a whole paper on all the harmful stereotypes inhabiting this version of Moriarty... but I can't deny that the flamboyance and violence pulsing just beneath the surface of Andrew Scott's performance was the beating heart of that show for me. Sure, Sherlock and John, at least early on, were a compelling duo, but the show was at its best with Moriarty pulling strings for inexplicable reasons in the background. I love him.

(An aside: watching Sherlock made me remember how hilarious it was to see basically every major actor from the show in one of my favorite movies of all time, 1917, to the point that I actually kinda laughed in the theatre thinking about it.)

The entirety of the first season also is more devoted to actual crime-solving and detective work than I remembered the show being. I think that works strongly in its favor, and as I recall things from later seasons, drifting from that element definitely hampers the show greatly. In particular, while the lazy and uncomfortable Orientalism of "The Blind Banker" is still incredibly glaring, the actual mystery at the core of it is very excitingly tracked and easily followed while watching. The fact that John is treated like an equal (mostly) throughout only enhances my thoughts on that. "The Great Game" is a little more slapdash (and hurt by the fact that the entire Vermeer section would be solvable with a smartphone nowadays), but you can still make connections mentally with most of the cases and deduction/investigation is being shown logically. (hbomberguy cites the Golem as a problematic logical leap akin to some of Season Two's dumbest, and I can't agree. It's a reasonable suspension of disbelief to assume Sherlock knows about assassins and is followed by some more sensible investigation and inspection of the Golem's victim. The sequence of Sherlock fighting the Golem, however, is very, very silly.)

Related to that... the autopsy doctors on this show are fucking AWFUL at their jobs. Like straight-up negligently awful. How in the actual fuck did they not investigate the puncture marks on Connie Price's body? How did they not notice a highly distinctive heel tattoo on three recently-murdered corpses? Is Molly the only vaguely competent person in the mortuary? My partner and I were extremely amused that, while Lestrade and his police force are thankfully shown with much more intelligence than in other Holmes adaptations and BBC!Watson wouldn't think jam is a clue, the writers seem to have shunted the stupidity straight to the invisible autopsy doctors.

The first season also does a good job of making Sherlock seem like an overly intelligent if socially stunted human being, instead of the condescending prickish intellectual Ubermensch he ends up becoming as the show progresses. "A Study in Pink"'s ending being Sherlock throwing aside his deduction of the cabbie's killer when he realizes it's Watson, unconvincingly lying to Lestrade and insisting he's in shock before rejoining the other man and genuinely bonding with him, is remarkably compelling as fulfillment of a promise we get from Lestrade earlier in the episode - "Sherlock Holmes is a great man. One day he may even be a good one." My memory is admittedly faulty, but part of why "The Empty Hearse" turned me off so viscerally was Sherlock's (and to an extent, Mycroft's) insufferable growing smugness, particularly where explaining plans or mysteries to John. We get told often that Watson humanizes Sherlock and that the two have a strong bond throughout the series, but Sherlock gets much more dickish in general as the series progresses. One thing I do remember with stark clarity is that after being utterly chastised at a Christmas party in "A Scandal in Belgravia", Sherlock does visibly treat Molly MUCH better throughout the remainder of the show. So, uh, why did we lose that energy with the show's central pairing?

Speaking of the show's central pairing, the queerbaiting starts SO EARLY on this show. I want to make it clear that obviously the benefit of hindsight and knowledge of how the show ends really colors a lot about the Johnlock relationship now, and as a society, we're more aware of what queerbaiting is and what it looks like, which will obviously alter how I perceive these interactions now. I also want to make it clear that I never really shipped Johnlock outside of just kind of assuming that it would be canon because everyone seemed really convinced of it. (I was an absolute degenerate that shipped John with Moriarty. On top of enjoying theatrical disasters, I enjoy ships with an abundance of chaos and impossibility.) There's some biases at play here.

Even so, we are not far into the episode where John is protesting that obviously he needs a second bed in 221B to Mrs. Hudson, he's not gay! The scene in the restaurant has such an aggressively shippy energy to it (despite Watson's consistent denials) that I actively commented on it to my partner as it was happening, saying "the queerbaiting happens WAY SOONER than I thought!" It's distracting and has aged absolutely terribly. The worst by far is John quipping, after being removed from a bomb vest at a pool in "The Great Game", that people will talk because of Sherlock ripping his clothes off in a darkened swimming pool. Why is Watson's heterosexuality so fragile that he's thinking about gossip rags as he's actively recovering from a near-death experience?!

(Aside: I'm aware that last point is not as effective when you think about the fact that I shipped two characters whose sole canonical interaction was one man kidnapping and forcing the other into a bomb vest. In my defense, a) I love mess and b) John never quips about thinking people will talk because he got kidnapped.)

Moriarty's first appearance in "The Great Game" sees him as Molly's fake boyfriend slipping a phone number to Sherlock, which lead to my partner commenting about how distracting it also was, on top of the queerbaiting, that almost every single person on the show has some sort of deep metaphysical attraction to Sherlock. Those people aren't on the lighting and cinematography team for sure; Benedict Cumberbatch is lit ominously and sometimes demonically throughout the first season, highlighting his antihero and brusque nature effectively. But many, many characters in the show - just in season one, Molly, Moriarty, multiple characters of the day, the Cabbie, and John - are all drawn to Sherlock and his very special brain and his very sharp cheekbones. Signs of a big future problem come through in this way, where the show starts sidelining Watson as our central figure and puts Sherlock squarely at the center of everyone's universe and makes lesbians fall in love with him.

(My partner also laughed pretty hard at how obvious Moriarty's pratfalls were as Molly's boyfriend, noting that the show was pretty bad at hiding who Moriarty was every time it came up.)

Some of the seeds of Sherlock's destruction are sown in this first season, obviously. The big one I haven't touched on is the ending cliffhanger itself. Moriarty has John and Sherlock trapped in the pool, tens of sniper sights trained on them, and says that he can't let them escape. Amazing cliffhanger here! It is not fulfilled on at all, but because Andrew Scott can carry anything on his back (including Spectre, which I cannot start talking about because we'll be here all day), the scene doesn't feel like a total waste and makes you want to hang on to find out what happens later.

But there was so much here that was delightful. All the acting is uniformly excellent, and the overt physical tics that come to define Sherlock's mind palace and mental prowess being showcased are barely evident here. The actual detective work, like I said earlier, is really involving! I don't feel like I figured out the solutions for the mysteries I couldn't recall the answers for too easily and thought Sherlock's deductive reason largely followed and wasn't too obscure. I'm still such a sucker for the show's style - that opening credits sequence is so perfectly put together, the text messages that interact with the scene and at the time made this show feel so fresh and modern to me, filming the character's faces in taxis through panes of glass and obscuring material in "A Study in Pink" to give everything an obfuscating sheen... give me all of it.

The music, too, was something I'd forgotten about and truly ended up adoring. Taskmaster (and The Horne Section's score for it) really owes a debt to Michael Price and David Arnold. So much of Sherlock's score could probably be dropped straight into a Taskmaster episode and I would have to think pretty hard to notice a difference in the show's usual musical palette. I've been eyeballing the vinyl on eBay, to give you an idea of how much I love this score. "The Game is On" is a perfect piece of music, clockwork spinning noises emphasizing the jauntiness of Sherlock as he drags Watson on his latest case before sliding into the more subdued, vaguely ominous thrum of its second movement descending into the madness of the third part, violins shrieking as the action reaches its apex.

youtube

Normally, with such a degree of pleasant surprise, I'd be eager to move forward to Season Two. Unfortunately, I know the first episode of Season Two is... a doozy. To say the least. A doozy that may get its own essay because of how doozy-ish it is.

In any case, I ended up really enjoying going back to Season One of Sherlock! Super down to talk further about the show, future write-ups, and my horrible taste in fictional ships and men - shoot me a message, reply to this post, wherever, I'll be here! <3

#not john oliver #bbc sherlock #sherlock bbc #Youtube #too long didn't read - the lee lastweeksshirttonight story #hbomberguy #todd in the shadows #fuck james somerton #3k words on a hyperfixation

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ssuperficialspacecadett · 1 year

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i kinda wanna see the triple frontier boys and reader do the “lala” or “okok” challenge from the song see you again by tyler the creator and kali uchis. i’d like to see your interpretation on who’s who and their relationship dynamics.

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Melodic Friendships - Through the Scope Drabble

Rating: everyone ?? (im just having a fun time with this hehe)

Word Count: 2.3K

Notes (more at the end as well): i received this ask maybe two weeks ago and have been meaning to tackle it ! i saw this trend on tik tok back when it was really popular and it seemed like such a fun idea to characterize the TF boys and Estrella using it ! i will preface this post by saying that while i was trying to nail down what the exact definitions for what 'lala' and 'okok' were so i could correctly apply them to our boys,,,i found that each person had their own take/idea/meaning for it. so in the case of this little project i will be defining each term like so ...

'lala' characters (to me): people who are more extroverted, cheerful, talkative, carefree for the most part, and easy to get a long with

'okok' characters (to me): people who are more introverted, a listener, a planner, and easy to be around

*this is also going to be an unedited/stream of consciousness/off the top of my head kinda vibe so i'm sure there will be grammatical errors and i apologize for that now*

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Benny Miller - lala

There was once a time where Benny thought that nothing could compare to being out in the field with his brother and two best friends. He loved the feeling of holding a gun in his hands, the feeling of never knowing what was around the next corner, and constantly knowing that his men had his back. There were some draw backs...okay a lot of draw backs. There was always the fear of his finger getting trigger shy, that what was around the corner could be to much to handle, and coming home one man short. Even so, he didn't think he could love anything more. That was until he opened up Brass Knuckles. And then, he found, his love grew even more when you came to work with him.

You kept up with him in everything he did. Honestly, you did more than keep up with him. If he had cleaned three workout benches, you had already cleaned the last four and were on your way to start another task. If he asked if the water was stocked in the mini fridge, you would roll your chair back with a grin and reveal a full fridge and sneak in a comment about how you 'picked up an extra pack from the store yesterday after work'. Everything was a competition, but it was all in fun. It was so refreshing to not be the youngest anymore. Not that he ever let it stop him. He was the youngest in his academy graduating class, but you better believe he snagged that number one spot. Will had told him once he was 'a one in a million talent' and he wanted to prove it every single day.

The two of you could talk for hours about absolutely nothing and never get bored. He wasn't even sure if either of you ever took a breath the entire time too. It was always go go go with yall. He could always count on you to act as a spring board for new ideas he was concocting for the gym. If his own ideas fell flat, you were there to air them back up with imaginative creations of your own. The pair of yall were a fucking powerhouse. It extended far past the gym too.

Whenever he managed to bully you into having a night with the guys down at The Barrel, neither one of you were quiet the entire time. It was like you were feeding off of each other like batteries that never lost their charge. The other guys would look around try to get a word in, but both of you had already moved onto greener topics. The others could only laugh and look at yall with intense amazement because who knew there was another person alive who could go toe to toe with Benny's mind. As cheesy as it sounds, you made him feel like he got his spark back. He didn't even realize he had lost it to being so wrapped up in life until you showed up either. You were his platonic other half.

***

Will Miller: okok

Will liked to be around people. However, he was picky about who he was around. He guessed that's why he didn't have many, if any, friends outside his group. They were all that he needed. He knew he would never be pestered for being on the quiet side or mocked because he was a little particular about the way he liked things. He was happy for Benny when he hired you. Lord only knows how much help his brother needed running that place. Of course he helped out whenever and however he could, but he had a job of his own.

He was wary about meeting you, he wasn't going to lie. Sure he would treat you with respect regardless, but for all he knew, you were just another employee. Nothing more and nothing less. However, he was taken aback at how naturally you bantered with Pope. When it came time for him to introduce himself to you, you didn't let him down either. You had a bright smile and a firm handshake. Not that he would call himself old fashioned, but he regarded people who had a solid handshake quite high. If he only knew that your grip would capture his heart as well.

You had been convinced to join all them out at The Barrel one Tuesday evening. He was already waiting with Pope at their usual table when you and Benny arrived after closing duties. Frankie would be running late due to his NA meeting, but that wasn't his truth to deliver to you. He watched you walk towards them with that beaming grin on your face. Unfortunately, he wasn't the only one in the bar that noticed. Men turned their heads and stared at you as you plopped yourself down to his right. He felt his chest swell with pride as you reached over and hugged him so lovingly. He wasn't much of a physical touch enthusiast, but you somehow made it seem bearable. For you, he was more than willing to make an exception.

When you realized you had left your wallet at the gym, you were insistent that you went back to get it. You said 'just because I'm a lady doesn't mean yall have to buy me drinks all the time. Maybe I want to buy yall drinks sometimes and I can't do that if I don't have my card'. He pushed away from the table just as you did and gave you a look that meant 'you are more than welcome to go, but you're crazy if you think you're going alone'. He listened peacefully as you pointed out constellations to him in the sky. You looked so pleased with yourself that he didn't have the heart to tell you that he already knew where each one was and how to navigate by using them. He just liked hearing you talk.

On the way back he found himself on the opposite end of the conversation. You had managed to get him to tell you about his job and what it entails. It felt so natural to talk with you by his side. Usually he is the one with a quippy one liner or words of caution, but with you, someone who used to be a stranger, he is comfortable enough to really talk. You pull him out of his shell and make him want to shed the armor he had built up around himself. It felt safe to do that with you.

***

Santiago Garcia: lala

He was smooth. Santi knew he was smooth. He had the body count to prove it and everyone around him knew it. He had never felt so challenged by a woman in his life. Usually they all turned to putty in his hands when he spoke, but you held tough. You were Fish's girl (even if he hadn't officially asked you yet) and he was so excited to see where it went. Yet, that didn't stop him from loving to push your buttons. He knew you could take it. The first moment he met you he knew. What did you say to him exactly? 'Kissing and telling wouldn’t be a good way to end my first day, don't ‘cha think?' God, that was a good line and he would have to put it in his back pocket to use for later. From that day on, the two of you were constantly trying to out wit the other.

Yall were once in the middle of a particularly devious match while grocery shopping together. He had lost at a five way game of rock, paper, scissors to see who had to buy the beer for a hangout. He was pretty pissed about it and it didn't get any better when he heard you volunteer to go with him just to rub in your victory the whole time. He was moping around the beer isle when he saw her. A beautiful woman maybe 10 years younger than him. Unfortunately, you saw her too. 'You couldn't keep up with her if you tried, old man' , 'funny, that's the same thing I told Fish when he said he liked you'. He had to pretend to look at the contents on the shelf to keep himself from laughing at your shocked face. Sure he could joke around with the other guys and they would always joke back, but there was something about your spirit that just matched his so well. Benny was a close second.

However, the one thing he loved more than ganging up on you was when the two of you would gang up on everyone else. 'The entry fee for the table is one shot' you told Fish one night when he showed up late one Tuesday evening. He saw the twinkle in your eye and knew exactly what to do. 'We all did it, man. Now it's your turn'. Will looked like he was about to object, but stopped when he noticed you placing your hand over his. You just had a way with all of them.

He found himself anxiously awaiting each time the two of you would meet so he could pick on you. He felt younger when you were around him. He felt just as spry as he did before his knee and neck surgeries. The weight of his years in the service had started to get unbearably heavy on his shoulders. Little did he know, all he needed was to see you throw back your head in laughter because of something he said to ease his pain.

***

Frankie Morales: okok

Frankie loved watching you. He knew that probably sounded creepy to say out loud, so he kept it to himself. He thought that there was a lot that you could learn about the inner workings of a person just by watching them in their day to day lives. When you called him that your car broke down he went through so many emotions and happiness may or may not have been one of them. After everything was squared away at the shop, he realized he didn't want to let you go. So he bucked up the courage and asked you to breakfast.

You allowed him to chose the spot since he was a local and he settled on a hole-in-the-wall diner. He peaked over his own menu to see you smiling and looking over each and every item the restaurant served. He couldn't help but smile when he would catch you mouthing the description of the food to yourself. Frankie didn't even mind that it took you forever to order either. That just meant that he gets to spend more time in your presence. When yalls plates were brought out he saw you sneaking glances at what was in front of him. He wanted to ask you if you wanted a bite, but did that seem to relationshipy?? After you excused yourself to go to the restroom, he cut a piece of his meal off and set it on your plate. He would have given you his entire breakfast if he knew how bright you were going to light up when you came back and saw what he did.

When breakfast was finished, it was you that suggested that the two of yall do something else. He willingly let you drag him into a bath and body works store. At first he was a bit apprehensive, but you guided him over to the mens section. 'I'll break you just like I broke Benny' , "You'll break me? That sounds like a threat' , 'Just smell the candle, Frankie'. He lost track of how many candles he smelled by the time you were checking out. At this point he wasn't sure if it was the perfumes or you that were clouding his brain and making him feel all warm and fuzzy. 'I noticed you liked this one a lot' you told him producing a three wicked candle 'I wanted to get it for you as a thank you gift for helping me today'. He wondered if you saw his heart jump into his throat.

Although his favorite time to watch you was when you were asleep. He never dreamed in a million years that he would be luck enough to have someone as beautiful and kind as you lay in bed next to him. Your body was huddled up as close as could be to his. Your face was smooshed up against his bicep and he could feel your gentle breathing tickling his skin. He brushed a hair that falls in your face away and cursed at it for threatening to wake you up.

Frankie felt differently in the way that he carries himself since he has met you. Honestly, he had seen a change in each and every one of the guys. He felt like he was coming back to life again.

***

Reader/Estrella- lala

I feel like it is fairly obvious that Estrella is 'lala'. I didn't want to write a specific one for her as she is featured in each of the boy's character descriptions and can be seen displaying 'lala' characteristics. I will say, what I love about her is her ability to so easily adapt to the people around her. Her overall personality doesn't change, but she is able to understand what Frankie, Santi, Will, and Benny all need from her. Estrella can bring Will and Frankie (okok) out of the prisons of their minds and mess around on the same caliber as Santi and Benny (lala). She is talker while also being quite the listener. She knows when one is needed and can let the other take a back seat. Estrella loves these boys more than she ever thought she would and I can't wait to see how she spends the rest of her time in Florida with them.

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Notes: Hello to noonie and everyone else who made it to the end of my little brain dump ! I loved this ask so so much and again im sorry it took me so long to complete ! I hope this sufficiently answers your ask ((: thank you again for submitting it to me <3

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#through the scope #through the scope drabble #through the scope headcanon #frankie morales fanfiction #benny miller fanfiction #william miller fanfiction #santiago garcia fanfiction #i love asks #literally please blow up my asks

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