#Magic Morning Meteora | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

debbiechanclub · 1 year

Text

Part 1: The Man in the Blindfold

A House of Black magic AU

Pairing: PAC x OFC x Malakai Black Word Count: 3,357 Warnings: Alcohol use and the teeniest tiniest bit of smut so 18+ only

Strange things start to happen in her dreams one night. But she finds that reality might be even stranger.

Masterlist | Read it on AO3

A/N: This is a repost/re-write. I've changed the tense from a second-person "you" to a third-person nameless "she," and included Buddy Matthews from the get-go (when I first started writing this fic, he was not yet in HOB). Thank you to everyone who read the previous version, and I hope you enjoy this one just as much :)

tag squad: @aussiearrow @cowboyslariat @knifepervert @sldghmmr @rusevday @missbrownstone @meteora-fc @bec0m @thatgirlforever5 @rocca09 @adriii-omega

It started in her dreams one night.

It had been an entirely ordinary night. She’d come home from work and spent the evening alone with a carton of Chinese takeout and the television, a typically uneventful Thursday in the dead of winter. But when she finally shut off the TV and crawled into bed just before midnight, her entirely ordinary night turned… strange.

It wasn’t often that she dreamed. At least, not that she could remember, and the only dreams she ever did seem to remember were the ones not worth remembering at all. But that night, she dreamed a dream so vivid that it was permanently seared into her mind’s eye.

At first, she’d thought she’d woken up. Being a rather light sleeper, she had the unfortunate tendency to wake up more than once throughout the night. But as she turned over in hopes of drifting back to sleep, she noticed a light. A warm, otherworldly glow that danced and flickered against her bedroom walls like so many candle flames. But her blackout curtains were drawn closed, and there was no source for the light that she could see. It just… was. And as she tried to figure out how it was, she saw him. A man, standing motionless next to her dresser.

She would have thought it was a bout of sleep paralysis if she hadn’t jolted upright with a startled gasp. But then she was paralyzed by shock, pupils dilated, heart in her throat. And all she could do was watch him.

He looked, for the most part, like a normal man. Shorter than average, but more muscular, too, with a rather unkempt dark beard and long dark hair that was pulled into a knot at the back of his head. But what stood out as peculiar was a dirtied, white cloth blindfold tied around his head.

“Who are you?” she managed to ask, and she was proud that her voice didn’t waver. But the man didn’t answer. Instead, he moved toward her. Slowly, deliberately. And she didn’t shrink away or cower under her covers. She sat transfixed, captivated, filled with an inexplicable sense that he wasn’t there to hurt her.

And then he was right in front of her. He reached out. Her breath hitched in throat as calloused fingers brushed her cheek—

And then she woke up.

It was as if his touch had sent her back to consciousness. One second, she’d been sitting up in bed with him in front of her—solid, whole, clear as day—and the next she was curled up underneath her comforter, alone. The otherworldly light gone, her bedroom dark.

But her heart was still pounding just as hard as it had been in the dream.

It was a fitful, restless night after that. The next morning, she sucked down a venti cold brew to make it through the workday and tried not to think about the man in the blindfold. But it was an impossible effort. Because she’d realized: that hadn’t been just a dream.

It couldn’t have been. It had been too vivid, too real, she’d felt him touch her. She tingled at the memory of it now, how rough his fingers had felt against her skin. He’d appeared in her bedroom, in her subconsciousness, for a reason—a purpose. And she was determined to find out what that purpose was.

On most Fridays she met up with friends for happy hour after work, but that Friday she made up some excuse to go straight home. Part of her wanted to turn in early, eager to fall asleep, to enter that strange dream realm again and ask the man in the blindfold what it was he wanted. But that same inexplicable instinct told her that it couldn’t—shouldn’t—be forced; it just had to happen. So, she went about her evening as routinely as possible and went to bed around the same time she always did.

But she couldn’t fall asleep.

She was too keyed up, too anxious, and she tossed and turned in frustration, tangling the flat sheet under her comforter. Forty-five minutes ticked by, and she was on the verge of getting up to pop a couple melatonin gummies when she felt something. A presence in the room. She closed her eyes—and when she reopened them, she was in the dream realm.

The strange, warm light filled her bedroom again, illuminating the dark. But the man in the blindfold wasn’t standing in the corner. He was sitting on the edge of her bed, right beside her.

She sat up, but not quick or startled like the night before. Curious. He seemed to look right at her despite the blindfold, as if he could see in some way other than with his eyes. She knew that was the case when he reached out and tucked her hair behind her ear. But his touch didn’t send her back to the waking world that time; it exhilarated her. She leaned into it, heart racing. Her body seemed to move of its own accord as she traced her fingertips up his forearm to gently wrap her hand around his wrist. She wanted to see his eyes. But something told her it wasn’t yet time.

“Why are you here?” she asked.

Ever so slight, almost imperceptibly, the man in the blindfold shook his head. “Not yet.”

His accent caught her off-guard, rough and some type of British. But then he brushed his thumb over her bottom lip just so, and she re-awoke in her dark bedroom. The presence she’d felt before she’d fallen asleep was gone now. But her lip still tingled with the ghost of his touch.

The next few days passed by in a blur. Saturday and Sunday night each came and went without a visit from the man in the blindfold, and by Monday she’d checked out entirely from the real world. She spent time on the clock at work researching things like lucid dreaming and astral projection, hoping to dig up an answer to what was happening, how it was happening. But nothing quite fit or made sense. Frustratingly, it seemed that only the man in the blindfold would be able to enlighten her.

And, thankfully, on Monday night he visited again.

He appeared at her bedside just as he had three nights before. She studied him, interested, something electric and palpable pulsing between them, and it wasn’t long before he found the curve of her thigh underneath the blankets. He ran his hand slowly up, higher, higher, until he stopped just shy of where he wasn’t sure he had consent to go. Her body flushed hot with sudden desire. She wanted to feel him.

She ripped the blankets aside and climbed onto his lap, straddling him. His fingers gripped her thighs, and she brought her hands to either side of his face and kissed him. Lustful, rough. His beard scratched her skin, and she moaned into his mouth when he squeezed her backside. He felt as good as real—his lips, his skin, the muscle underneath. And as she threaded her fingers into his hair, she felt the knot of the blindfold at the back of his head.

She pulled back and looked down at him. She wanted to undo the knot and remove the blindfold. She wanted to see his eyes. And when he didn’t pull her fingers away, she knew it was time.

The knot was tight, and it took a few seconds for her to work it loose. But even though her fingers trembled, she wasn’t afraid of what she might find underneath. And when the knot came free and she pulled the dirty, worn cloth from his face, her heart sank.

His eyes were white. Entirely white, other than a faint, milky outline of what should have been his irises. But she didn’t get the sense he was blind; not really. She knew he could see her. And she also knew that whatever had happened to his sight wasn’t natural.

“Who did this to you?” she breathed.

But like all her other questions, it went unanswered. And the next thing she knew, she was awake and alone in her bed again, back underneath the covers, the cloth blindfold still gripped in her hand.

* * * *

One… two… three… four nights passed without another visit. She grew impatient, and then frustrated, and then worried. Was this a test? Was the man in the blindfold discerning if she could be trusted with the answers she sought? Or had she pushed too far too soon? Whatever the case, she sensed there was another party in this, another person, another entity she had yet to encounter—the one who had turned his eyes that eerie, milky white. And based on how quickly he’d disappeared after she’d asked who, she wondered if it maybe was for the best that she didn’t find out.

But her need to know was stronger than her fear. Curiosity killed the cat, and all that.

When the weekend arrived, her best friend insisted that she get out and unwind; she hadn’t been herself the last week. Admittedly, her friend wasn’t wrong—she desperately needed a distraction. So, she agreed to go for drinks at their usual spot, a cozy Irish pub downtown. They sat at a table for two near the bar, but even after two drinks she still bounced her foot anxiously against the floor. She wanted to confide in her friend about what she’d been experiencing, but she neither knew how nor if she even should. She didn’t want to fail if this was a test from the man in the blindfold. She didn’t want her friend to think she was insane.

“Okay, what’s going on with you?” her friend charged. “You’re completely in your head about something, I can tell.”

She flicked her eyes up at her friend and bit the inside of her lip, bouncing her foot faster. How could she possibly begin to explain what was going on? I’ve been having strange dreams. But they weren’t just dreams. The blindfold tucked into the nightstand drawer back in her apartment was proof of that.

“Well?” her friend pressed.

“I…” she started; but a draft of cold air suddenly invaded the warmth of the pub, and the most imposing man she’d ever seen walked through the door.

He had to be six-foot-five and close to three hundred pounds, with dark hair slicked back with grease and a long, unkempt beard. He was followed by a young, pretty blonde who looked comically small and out-of-place beside him, and then an auburn-haired man who obviously spent a lot of time in the gym, the black hoodie he wore stretched by the muscle underneath.

But if those three had captivated her attention, it was nothing compared to the fourth person who walked through the door.

He was dressed in all black just like the others, tall and athletic with a stern, commanding brow and a tiny crescent moon tattooed above his cheekbone. She could tell by the way he carried himself that he was the one in charge—of what, thought, she wasn’t sure. But when he turned and met her gaze, every thought left her head.

And then the man in the blindfold walked in.

Every muscle in her body tensed at once. It was him. He looked nothing like how he’d appeared to her in her bedroom—he was normal, completely normal, with a black beanie on his head and square glasses on his face—but she knew it was him. She could sense it. And when his eyes scanned the room and found hers, she knew he recognized her, too.

“Hello?” Her friend snapped her fingers in front of her face and redrew her attention. “Seriously, are you alright? You’re starting to freak me out.”

“Yeah,” she answered. But she glanced back at the group that had just walked in. “I just think I know that guy.”

Her friend’s brow furrowed, and she discreetly looked toward where the four had settled at a table on the other side of the room. “Which one?”

“Glasses.”

Her friend looked a beat longer, clearly confused still. “From where?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she picked up her glass and drained the last of her drink. “I need another,” she said, and she stood up and started for the bar before her friend could argue. She actually did need another drink now. But she also hoped that, if she went to the bar, the man in the blindfold would, too.

She set her empty glass on the bar top and asked for another of the same, and it wasn’t long before she got the distinct feeling that someone was watching. She fidgeted, tempted to turn around and look; but she leaned on her elbows and tried to distract herself with the extensive collection of liquor lined up in rows underneath the large, decorative mirror behind the bar. And then she saw movement—his reflection in the mirror. He was coming up to the bar, just like she’d hoped. Their eyes met in the mirror, and then he was right next to her.

He ordered a beer, and a tingle crawled up her spine at the sound of his voice, here, out in the real world. It was the same voice, the same accent that she’d heard just over a week ago, unmistakable. They found each other in the mirror again. His eyes weren’t inhumanely white now. They were a shade of greenish blue with a black pupil in the middle, entirely normal.

“It’s you, isn’t it?” she quietly asked. She wanted verbal confirmation, a nod, a grin, something. She turned her head and looked directly at him. He smirked.

“Don’t ask unnecessary questions.”

Her stomach flipped. That was confirmation enough.

The bartender set both their drinks in front of them. He picked up his and glanced at her. “Don’t drink too much tonight,” he said, and as he walked back to his table, she knew it wasn’t just an unsolicited suggestion. It was an order. Because that night, he’d visit.

* * * *

She left the pub as soon as she finished that drink. Thankfully, her friend stopped prying after the second time she told her she was fine, she didn’t want to talk about it, she just needed to go home and sleep it off.

Her friend didn’t need to know what she really meant by that.

No sooner had she walked through her door than she stripped down to her underwear, pulled on an old, comfortable, oversized t-shirt and crawled into bed. She had a buzz from the alcohol, drinking on a largely empty stomach, too anxious to eat; and as her bare legs slipped between the sheets, she thought of his last visit. The feel of his hands on her body, his lips on hers, the way he’d grabbed her ass as they’d kissed. She slipped her hand under the covers, down her stomach—

And then she was in the dream realm. She opened her eyes. He was with her, overtop of her; and instead of her fingers slipping into her panties, it was his. He pushed them inside her and she let out a moan. He bent his head and nipped at her neck as he worked; she clung to his shoulders, digging her fingernails into his skin. His arousal pressed against her thigh, and she ached to feel it, to feel him inside her—but then he bit her skin hard enough to bruise, and it pushed her over the edge. A cry of pleasure tore from her mouth as her back arched, and then bliss as all her muscles relaxed. He looked down at her; she reached up and pushed his hair out of his face so she could see his eyes. They were white.

“Sleep,” he told her. “We’ll see each other again soon.”

That time, she didn’t awake in the physical version of her bedroom. She slept. More soundly than she’d slept in months, maybe years. When she awoke the next morning, there was a note on her nightstand. It didn’t say much—just an address, date, and time scrawled in black ink. Directions to see him again in just over a week. Not in her dreams, but in reality.

* * * *

Time passed more slowly than she would have liked before the date written on the note finally arrived. She was nervous in the way she might have been if a friend had set her up on a blind date. Butterflies teemed in her gut; she didn’t know what to wear because she had no idea what the evening would entail. So, she just put on a nice top with her favorite pair of jeans and white high-top Converse. It would have to do.

Upping her nervousness—and admittedly, her intrigue—was the fact that the address on the note was that of a private residence in the pricier, historic part of town. She’d recognized the house as soon as she’d pulled it up on Google Street View; she’d admired it many a time before on the way to her favorite ice cream shop. She’d wondered about who lived there many a time, too.

She’d find out tonight.

The note had instructed her to arrive at 9 p.m. sharp, and so she left her apartment with time to spare. She’d considered taking an Uber but had decided it would be best to drive herself; she didn’t want to rely on someone else if she needed to make a speedy getaway. She also hadn’t told anyone where she’d be. It was irresponsible, she knew, but something told her it was information that shouldn’t be disclosed. Besides, she trusted the man in the blindfold; she genuinely felt that he didn’t mean her any harm. And truthfully, she hoped that this cryptic invitation meant he finally trusted her, too.

She found a street parking spot at the end of the block. It was quiet and cold on the walk to the house, and her breath came out in puffs of translucent white from her mouth. She hesitated when she reached the wrought iron gate. It was wide open and there were cars—expensive cars—parked all along the U-shaped driveway, but even though she’d been invited it felt like an intrusion to walk in from the street. But she swallowed down her nervousness and made her way to the front door.

The house was built of brick, stately and old, but well-kept and updated with modern curb appeal. Flames flickered in wrought iron gas lamps mounted on either side of the door, and she thought of that otherworldly light that always danced on her bedroom walls with the appearance of the man in the blindfold. And then a little voice in the back of her head warned: something dark and terrible could be behind that door. But her intrigue, her deep-seeded need to understand, to discover the purpose, drowned it out and drove her forward.

She walked up the steps, treading lightly so as not to disturb the atmosphere of the place—but she had a feeling he already knew she was there. She reached out and pressed the doorbell with her index finger before she could lose the nerve. And then she stuck clammy hands into her coat pockets and waited.

But not for long.

The door opened; her breath caught in her throat. It wasn’t the man in the blindfold who had answered, but the man with the crescent moon tattoo. He was dressed again in an all-black, this time a suit. He smiled down at her; disarming, strikingly handsome.

“Welcome. We’ve been expecting you.”

He pulled the door open further and stepped aside, gesturing with his free arm for her to come in. And for a second, she hesitated. But then she felt a pull, something beckoning her from inside the house, urging her. There was power and knowledge beyond understanding of what she thought was possible, if only she’d cross the threshold. And so, she swallowed the lump in her throat, and entered the house.

#pac fanfiction #bastard pac fanfiction #malakai black fanfiction #house of black fanfiction #magic au

10 notes · View notes

magi-kathryn · 2 years

Text

Greetings!

Greetings, Citizens of the Universe! 💖

Kathryn "Magi-Kat" Barnes (she/her) here, graphic artist and music blogger.

My artwork is influenced by: Cartoons/comics, anime/manga, video games, music and fashion; culture and imagination.

If you enjoy cute, vibrant works with whimsy and charm, then look no further. May they brighten your life, even if only for a moment.

In addition to following this Tumblr (thank you), you can also follow me via:

My art Tumblr, @magi-kat-creates

My main site. It is the best method of keeping up with future work and activities, algorithms be damned to the deepest circle of Hell. (You can subscribe here!)

Various other places and spaces on the Internet

If you're into J-pop idols (especially Hello! Project), I also run a blog called Magic Morning Meteora where I gab about that stuff. (You can even follow it on Tumblr at @magicmorningmeteora!)

I sometimes post art there too as well. There's even a gallery for blog-related pieces.

If you wish to contact me via email you can do so through these addresses:

Personal Inquiries: asukki-chan(at)hotmail(dot)com

Business Inquiries: kbarnes77713(at)outlook(dot)com

If you don't mind stuff about current events and J-pop (mostly idols; though I'll probably talk about other idols from Asia when the need arises) alongside the whimsical art, happy to have you here!

Regardless of what’s around the bend, I wish you the best and hope the future is bright.

Here's to the future! 💖

Stay a 🌟!

—Magi-Kat

#greetings #hello #welcome post

4 notes · View notes

thecatfarm · 7 months

Text

"Are you afraid of falling asleep?" I ask.

It's a lie -as far as questions can be lies. It's a lie, because it's misattributed.

I'm the one who is terrified.

You're already pulling away from me, your hand becoming awkward between my fingers, your motions unsure, your energy pouring into every available diretion but inside. Your mind is entraped -enchanted, by the constructs we created that night, flying about the room.

I sigh in delight, as one of them passes through me. I can see you notice it, bewildered, but you no longer seem to understand what it means, and why.

I can already see you folding the memory's edges away, ready to tuck it into the corners of your mind, where it can safely dissapear without aknowledgement.

I can see the delighted creature, that couldn't pull away from me, extatic with bliss, drop the joy, and dissolve into meteora -suspended, but comfortable, cuddled in the grey of being unsure

I can see the child, terrified that I'd abandon them, as a cruel joke, trying desperately to lock eyes with me as a door closes, ever so slowly, between us

And the steward of your soul lowers their gaze and locks it up in front of me

You pull your hand away from mine, slowly, as if in an apology. I wonder if me trying to hold you again would help, or if it would be a violation. I wonder if you're aware it's happening at all.

I don't remember if I tried to grab your hand again.

I'm too tired, too stressed, too afraid to suggest we be alone. And I'm too weak, too soft, too anxious to make you face it.

You smile an exhausted smile, haunted by the remnants of a memory, almost completely devoured.

The construct in your hand flutters.

Manifestation magic pulses at your fingertips -and the mist swallows you again.

By the morning, you don't remember ever being my wife.

The air is heavy.

The storm from last night wasn't enough to lift the pressure from my shoulders. I cycle the castle, collecting our trinkets, swearing like a sailor, locking myself in corners to cry for a few seconds before I head out again.

The kitchen is a mess. I sigh, and, mentally, tie up my dress.

Time to do the dishes again.

#petrichor on concrete #spanish pine

1 note · View note

everyhowlmarksthedead · 3 years

Text

mom told me to do it.

ANGEL REYES. (and a little of Felipe and EZ)

MAYANS MC ┃ USEFUL LINKS

❝ request by anon: hiya darling! hope you're doing good ❤ i love love your writing and was wondering if you'd be up to write prompt 20 with angel? with or without smut, it's up to you!

❝ prompt: “Stop putting your head down in my house. You know my rule. It’s all love and all pride in this house”.

❝ words: about 600.

❝ a / n: as always, don’t forget to comment and reblog if you liked it!

As every morning, the first thing you do after waking up is going to greet your mom's ashes. Despite the men of your family, you place a kiss on the top of the urn. Angel hasn't noticed your presence, his eyes are glued to the inside of his mug as if his coffee is the most interesting thing he has ever seen. He seems lost in his thoughts, going through some shit with the clubhouse that has him down and gloomy.

“What 'you say, mom…? Uh, sure”. Pretending you're talking to her, you walk straight to your older brother to slap the back of his neck.

“The fuck?” He grunts frowning at you.

“Stop putting your head down in my house. You know my rule. It’s all love and all pride in this house”.

Angel growls in a low tone, watching you kneel close to him to pinch his cheeks and bother him a little more until making him draw a grin.

“What happens, bad boy? Someone said your tattoos look fake?”

“Ha, ha. Very funny”. He replies by slapping your forehead and making you drop on your ass.

Squinting at him, forgetting you are near your twenties and he has passed his thirties, his eyes widen figuring out your intentions. But before you can scream calling your father, he jumps on top of you covering your mouth with a hand. You stir under his grip, between laughs and complaints, trying to set yourself free.

“You've started”. He chuckles lacing his legs around you to make you stop. “Don' be a snitch. What are you? Five?”

You like the palm of his hand, regretting after because who knows where this hand has been before, but being enough to release you. “POOOOOOOP! POP, ANGEL HAS PUSHED ME TO THE FLOOR!!!! POOOOP!”

“Shut the fuck up, you little rat”. He growls trying to keep your mouth covered, fighting and rolling around the kitchen.

“Man, you kidding me? I close the fuckin' club at six”.

You suddenly stop moving, raising your gazes to meet the middle Reyes who has just woken up because of all the noise coming from you. You pout at EZ, standing up and looking for a big body to protect you.

“He pushed me”.

“She slapped my head”.

“Mom told me to do it”.

“I should have given you up for adoption when I had the fucking chance”. Felipe whispers walking in.

“Thank you. I get that from you”. Angel and you say in unison, as the older stand on his boots putting his kutte in a better place over his shoulders.

“Say sorry to your sister”.

“She slapp—”.

“Now, son. Or I'll slap you for all the family”.

You stick out your head from behind EZ, still having your hands on his shoulder blades with a triumphant smile across your lips.

“I'm sorry… for the poor idiot who has to bear you all your damn life, mami”.

“Well, at least someone will love me, pendejo”.

Oh, no. Wrong words. EZ makes his way to your father, leaving you along for the ride. You have just one second to run away before your older brother chases you down all around the house until tackling you to your parent's bed. Angel tickles your side, not seeming he's going to stop soon until you say the magic words.

“STOP, YOU SHITHEAD!”

“MEC, WRONG ANSWER”.

“ANG— ANGEL, I CAN'T… BRE— BREATHE”.

“THEN YOU'LL DIE”.

“OKAY, OKAY! FI— FINE! I LOVE YOU”.

“See? Easy, little rat”. As he stops, he slaps your forehead again. “Don' make me do it twice. I won't show any mercy next time. Now, kiss”.

He only has to point at his cheek once to make you kiss it.

“See? I make you laugh”. You reply slapping back his head. “You're dumb like a rock”.

GENERAL TAG LIST: @mayans-sauce @peoniarose @destynelseclipsa @band-psycho @myakai13 @petlaufeyson @-im-fantastic- @horsesandwolvesaremyanimals @rocketqueen @rosieposie0624 @ellyseveronica @Jessprins13 @diaryofkali @ravenmoore14 @starrynite7114 @kenbechillin @miahelen @monkeyluver4546 @sheeshgivemeabreak @jadesamhart @rawrlittlepanda-95 @megapeacelovemusic-blog @katsav17 @skits90s @wildsould1221 @littlekittymeow @tenderclio @badame1240

MAYANS MC: @multiyfandomgirl40 @countryash345 @skyofficialxx @lovebennycolonmiguelgalindo @bellisperennis0 @chibsytelford @trulysuccubus @purrrrfect @witching-hour @leathercladmenfics @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @queenbeered @sesamepancakes @gemini0410 @pinguinstudiert @oscars-wifeyyy @meteora-fc @lozaa94 @arveeee @joupym @hanster1998 @missswritings @arana-alpha @lucillewinchester @theocatkov @telfordlowmans @fanofalltheficsx

#mayans mc x reader #mayans mc imagine #mayans x reader #mayans mc #angel reyes x reader #angel reyes fanfiction #angel reyes imagine #angel reyes #angel reyes fluff

353 notes · View notes

footballerimaginess · 3 years

Text

Hungover.

Birthday Prompt List 4. Birthday Hungover In Bed Pierre Emile Hojbjerg Word Count: 384 Requested by @thegameisaboutglory TAGLIST: @footballffbarbiex @lawsandother @emwritesfootball @evie-pr @sanchos-dream @meteora-fc @kkim120 @glam-khal @kingkepaff @farmers-league @eatsleepbreathefutbol @spursondele @footballxixstars @lxndonorris

Your birthday morning, you were laying in bed feeling rougher than ever. You had a heavy night out with the girls celebrating your birthday. You were drinking one too many cocktails. As you heard footsteps into the room, you covered your head with the pillow as Pierre was making far too much noise for your delicate head of yours. “Someone feeling a little worse for wear?” he smirked as he sat down beside you on the bed. “Shh Pierre. Stop talking” you grunted as you pulled the pillow back over your head. “It is your own fault babe, you did this to yourself. So this is actually your own problem here babe” you rolled your eyes and just ignored him. “Come on, move the pillow. I will get you some water I guess” Pierre suggested as he headed downstairs to go and get a glass of water. You sat up in the bed and scrolled through your phone, looking at all the embarrassing posts you had sent to Pierre. “Shit” you moaned as Pierre walked back in with your drink. “Thanks” you smiled. “What are you moaning at?” he asked as he sat beside you. “Nothing, just how I embarrassed myself. Look at these photos I sent you. I am so cringe sorry” you laughed as you winced, clutching your head. “Aww don’t be sorry. It is cute” you laughed. “Hmm I guess so, but god my head is banging. I am so hungry. I really shouldn’t have drunk a whole bottle of prosecco. Fuck” you sighed as you sipped your water. “If you laugh at me Mr Pierre, you will be sleeping on the sofa if you are not fucking careful. I feel you are somewhat enjoying this a little bit too much” you rolled your eyes. “You are so sassy when you are hungover, I like it” Pierre winked. “Hmm alright, can you go get me food?” you pouted. “What is the magic word?” he asked. “Pretty pleaseeeee, Mcdonalds” you pouted again. “Sure thing, see you in a bit” he kisses you on the head gently as he rubs your cheek. “Love you” he shouted. “I love you” you shouted back at him. “You better love me, I am making you a food run” you laughed. “Always” you blew him a kiss.

#birthday prompts #Pierre Emile Højbjerg imagine #football imagines #football imagine #football one shots #football one shot #futbol imagines #futbol imagine

26 notes · View notes

charmspoint · 3 years

Text

Mamika is a brilliant character

I just adore the fact that Mamika, a main character of a magical girl show aimed at preschoolers, is introduced as an antagonist. It’s something that catches you off guard because cmon she’s a magical girl the most pure hero trope possible if you aren’t doing subversion, but it makes so much sense. Because Mamika isn’t from a subverted magical show, she’s a pure blood kiddy Saturday morning special magical girl, she’s on cereal! And the thing with kid shows is that they have a very simple, black and white morality system. Good guys and bad guys are clearly coded and good guys always defeat bad guys in the end. When Altair approaches her and gives her the rundown of the situation, to Mamika it’s very clear who the bad guys are. The creators create worlds where there is fighting and pain and suffering so obviously they are the bad guys and they must be stopped. Black and white.

This is directly contrasted by Selesia and Meteora who come from much more mature narratives with more developed and nuanced morality systems. They hear what Altair has to say and they go ‘You know what I’m gonna check this out for myself before I make a decision’ because they are much more used to the type of character Altair is, the type that is all good words and bad actions so they don’t take her words at their surface level like Mamika does. For them there is a lot of gray areas and they will explore those gray areas and decide themselves are creators bad unlike Mamika who is just ‘They do this thing that is bad -> they are bad’ because again, that’s how it works in her universe.

But then comes the fight with Selesia.

This doesn’t happen in her world.

In her world, her powers don’t cause pain like this, they don’t make people bleed. They sparkle and they flash and the villain is okay after it, they aren’t hurt seriously, there is no collateral damage. In her world, her powers are cute and relatively harmless. In this world they are bombs. Mamika has JUST been introduced this episode and already she’s getting slapped in the face with the realization: This isn’t like your world, same rules do not apply.

And it’s horrifying to her because she never hurt anyone like this, this simply doesn’t happen in her world, it’s overwhelming and incomprehensible, she doesn’t know what to do or how to react to this situation that literally ripped her understanding of the world to shreds.

She tries to go back to the script, to get Selesia on her side by talking to her, but Selesia sets her straight.

You can’t wave force around and hurt people and then demand they go along with the friendly ‘lets talk it out’ script. You have to make up your mind, you can’t threaten force and expect people to comply. This isn’t how this world works. This is a complicated world with complicated decisions. Your enemies won’t just agree to do as you say when you bonk them on the head with your magical wand. This is a world where people aren’t simple, understanding and ready to commodify you because you are the protagonist. This is a world where people are complex, they will challenge your thoughts and decisions and you need to decide how will you respond to them. Will you continue using force or will you yourself walk down the pacifism path first.

Mamika still doesn’t understand this because her morality is simple. In her show you defeat a villain and then they agree to do better aka they agree to do what you want them to do because you are the protagonist and you are always in the right. She literally isn’t equipped to handle a situation like this, she’s falling apart at the seems, she’s crying, she doesn’t know what to do so she resorts to her usual script and attacks Selesia again.

This is still in the heat of the moment, she’s mostly reacting, overwhelmed by new information that so strongly clashes with everything she knows with no chance to properly process it. This is all her introduction and god what and A+ introduction of such a fascinating character, she has an arc to go through and you can already see where it leads.

#re creators #mamika kirameki #absolutely adore my girl god what a bar raiser #like i watched the first ep n i was like ye this is p hype but its not as heart racing as i remember #n then episode 2 #messages about creating meteoras theories mamikas introduction HOLY SHIT #my heart literally fuckin leaped #i remember why i felt like this show got me so much #its amazing #and mamikas character in particular is amazing #lucy rants

11 notes · View notes

musicnoots · 4 years

Text

Hands

Eugene Roe/Reader

A/N: this is what i meant when i asked who had the nicest hands in easy. it was for science :)

Synopsis: The feeling of his hands in the early hours of the morning.

Tags: @gottapenny @curraheev @floydtab @david-weepster @wexhappyxfew @dustyjjumpwings @evelyn-shelby @medievalfangirl @bandofmarvels @rayleighshughes @dumpofdumblings @not-john-watsons-blog @alienoresimagines @inglourious-imagines @yeahcurrahee @those-dusty-jump-wings @majwinters @meteora-fc @junojelli

His hands are cold when they touch you.

He accidentally left the window open last night, and the cold, morning air slips in and serenades your body with its gentle caresses. You’re barely awake, your mind is floating in and out of sleep, mumbling incoherent words into his chest, but he brings you back with the simple touch of his fingers against your skin.

Eugene’s sound asleep beside you, his chin rests on top of your head while his hands keep you close against his chest. Normally, he’s the first one to wake up, kisses on your cheeks down to your shoulders until you wake up minutes after, taking his hands and planting your lips on the skin before taking them into your own hands and keeping them close to your heart.

There are times where he’ll look down at his hands and be reminded of all the bad things they’ve been through.

They’re scarred and calloused. His fingertips are no longer soft but hardened from the horrors of war. He remembers their screams in the back of his head, their last wishes in the hours before he retires for the day, and their names on the tip of his tongue, but he never knew how bad it was until he had your blood on his hands and you laying in front of him, almost lifeless, looking for a lifeline to cling onto.

Sometimes Eugene will look at his hands and wonder why they aren’t caked in dirt and dry blood, you’ll watch him stare at them in confusion for a quick second before going to wash them clean. He tells you all the time that he doesn’t like his hands, that they’re the ugliest part of him because they’re attached to bad memories he can’t seem to let go, but you take them and kiss every inch of them until he pulls you away and replaces them with his lips.

His hands are almost always attached to a bad memory of sorts. He’ll shove his hands into his pockets and wonder where his supplies are, he’ll shiver from the evening breeze and be reminded of the cold winters in the Jacques Bois, and when he looks at you, he’ll always remember how it felt to have you near-dead in his arms—another life he had saved but couldn’t protect when he needed to.

You trace the apples of his cheeks with the pad of your thumb, studying his features—he sleeps peacefully, his chest rising with every breath he takes, you feel safe in his hands. They’re gentle, tender touches that are as light as a feather, kindhearted and loving just as he is.

You hope that he knows how loved he is.

He stirs awake to the feeling of your touch, just as gentle as his hands that rest on your waist. Home is not a place, but rather, the man you love and the way his hands touch you.

“Sugar…?”

“Shhh,” you shush him, placing a hand on his chest before he can even lift his head off the pillows. His hands automatically go to the wound on your abdomen, looking down to see the blood stain your shirt but it doesn’t. He’s having one of those dreams again. “I’m alright, Gene. I got you.”

It takes him awhile to process everything that’s happened, coming to his senses and realizing where he was.

He looks over your shoulder to see the time. 6:17. “You woke up pretty early, huh?”

“Mm,” you hum, finding his cold hands and enveloping them in yours, “I don’t think I’ve woken up this early since you dragged me down to the bayou to catch catfish.”

Eugene smiles. He remembers that day. It wasn’t him that caught the fish, it was you. He just ended up cooking it with grits for dinner later that night, and receiving a big smooch on the cheek from you.

He leans forward and presses his lips on your forehead, you shiver at how cold his lips are. “Cold?”

“S’alright, don’t...” You hold onto his hands before he can get up to close the window. His eyes speak the apologies you won’t let him say, he cares about you so much, you’re convinced that even in another universe, your souls will still find each other and he’ll love you just as much as he does now.

You kiss his knuckles, first. Slow and sincere, his face freezes as if it’s the first time you’ve ever done this but you do it all the time. You’ve always kissed his hands, from his knuckles to his palm and to the tips of his fingers, you kiss them until he stops calling them ugly and hiding them away from you.

He doesn’t call them ugly anymore, though. You wonder if it’s your kisses that have made him realize the magic his hands hold.

“These,” you kiss them, “are,” kiss, “my favorite,” kiss, “I love them,” kiss. “I love them, I love them, I love them.”

“I love you.”

You love his hands, whether or not he likes them, you always find yourself wanting to touch them since the very first time you met him. You long for the day where you can hold his hands and never let go, wedding rings clinking against a glass of sweet iced tea on a hot summer’s day.

Every burden, every pain he endures, it’ll be yours, too.

“You hear the birds chirpin’ outside?” he takes your hands into his own and kisses your knuckles. “Think it’s summer already.”

“You sayin’ you wanna go birdwatching by the lake?”

He chuckles. “No, just wanna stay here...with you.”

You nod and lean into him, resting your head on his shoulder, watching as your chests rise and fall in sync with each other. “Then stay…” He slips his hand out of your grasp and places it snug on your waist, wishing to fall asleep with you safely in his hands for a couple hours more. “Hold me close, and never let go…”

Eugene puts aside his insecurities, knowing that someone this beautiful, this caring, and this perfect loves him and the scars that don his hands. Knowing that he is loved by an angel who knows how to touch his heart in all the right places, who makes him believe that his hands are more than worthy of touching the sweet skin of your lips.

“I love you,” he breathes.

Slowly, he’ll grow to love his hands, too.

#not a request because i've had this idea in my drafts for the LONGEST time and am now just getting around to actually writing it #band of brothers #eugene roe #doc roe #band of brothers fanfiction #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers imagines #easy company #hbo war #eugene roe x reader #baby GENE #also i wrote this for 12 days pls like it

106 notes · View notes

inglourious-imagines · 4 years

Text

I Wish I Could Have Saved You - part 1 (Carwood Lipton)

Summary: Not every story has a happy ending.

Author's Note: I truly don't know why I do this to myself. Hope you enjoy. There's gonna be part 2.

Taglist: @alienoresimagines @radiantcade @meteora-fc @kyra3155 @real-fans @not-john-watsons-blog @tealaquinn @band-of-brothers-cz

It all happened so fast Carwood Lipton barely realised what was truly going on. He couldn't hear a thing even though there were trees being blown off by the german artillery. His mind was black, he didn't know what to do. Lipton froze in the middle of the moment and wasn't able to move for an inch.

•••

"I've got warm food and cigarettes, boys!" her voice filled the air and green military helmets on soldiers' heads immediately perched from the foxholes. "What the hell-?" Liebgott breathed out and with a laugher full of disbelief he approached her to make sure she's not just making fun of them.

"She's fucking right, boys! She got it all. You better come here now or there won't be much left for ya!" Joe informed everybody loudly and put a box of the cigarettes in his pocket. He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek as some kind of a thank you, gratitude, took over the pot with beans, onion and ham and began to fairly give each soldier his part.

Meanwhile, Y/N hopped in her foxhole next to his warm body. "I got you something in Bastogne," she whispered and nugged his side, "wanna see?"

"Of course I want to!" Lipton laughed and pressed a quick kiss on her cheek. Y/N reached in her pocket and pulled out a real Hershey bar. "You better hide that now or Liebgott will come and eat it all. I bet he can smell those things on miles." Lip giggled and pulled her closer to him.

"I'll take that as a thank you, right?" she laughed and Lip suddenly realised it was the most magical and beautiful sound.

"Right, honey. Thanks. It makes me really happy you think of me."

"Of course I think of you, Lip. You're the best thing that ever happened to me and I love you. Never forget that."

"I know, Y/N. I swear when the war's over, I'm gonna fucking marry you."

"I like the sound of that." she whispered and leaned in for a long passionate kiss.

She was genuinely happy.

When the war's over... Those words were repeating in her head probably for the millionth time and her smile grew wider more and more.

Just a few more months and she would buy a house with Lip somewhere in America, have kids and watch them grow. She would wake up every morning next to his side and he would kiss her forehead. She would find herself a job and go to Easy Company reunions.

Y/N would do all of that if she only didn't stand up and go for a smoke with George. Maybe if she decided that earlier or later, she would still be dreaming about her marriage.

Or if the desire for a cigarette wasn't so strong.

Or if she kissed Lipton instead of standing up.

Or if Lip carried on with the conversation.

Soldier is alive thanks to a million of coincidences. On December 27, 1944 it was one of the bad but still little and meaningless ones.

Part 2

65 notes · View notes

magicmorningmeteora · 7 months

Text

H!P M3 Grand Prix '23 ~Weeks of October~

If you oshi anyone seen here, be sure to participate! Details can be found in the link below.

Subscribe to the main blog | Social Media + RSS Links | M3 Grand Prix page | Birthday List + Oshi Poll

#Hello! Project #Jpop #J-Pop #Magic Morning Meteora #Hello Pro M3 Grand Prix #H!P M3 Grand Prix #M3 Grand Prix #Morning Musume #Nonaka Miki #ANGERME #Kamikokuryo Moe #BEYOOOOONDS #Takase Kurumi #Kitagawa Rio #Fukumura Mizuki #Goto Maki #Tanaka Reina #Takahashi Ai #Sato Masaki

29 notes · View notes

magi-kat-creates · 6 years

Photo

Yesterday, I posted some reference material involving May-May on Instagram.

One was a note-tagged sketch I made a few months ago, intended for those want to draw May-May and have SOMETHING that counts as true reference material.

Notes:

Cape attaches to wrist cuffs.

Slanted skirt (No Ee Ka shots!)

Polka dots of alternating size (inspired by Dot Bikini and Yayoi Kusama)

I wanted to include a full color illustration, but you wouldn't be able to make a good comparison.

(I think this was during the #drawthisinyourstyle thing that was going around a few months ago. That said, you're welcome to try to do this, even if it's a dead meme/fad at this point... because true art (and art challenges) never dies.)

The other was a color guide my friend Richie (@toonlegion) made using the pic, made to make up for that fact I couldn’t post the full illustration to Instagram (it was too big for Smash). This should be familiar to followers of my personal Tumblr.

(He even included the highlights and shadows, but use them when the image needs it. We all know how light can after how a piece is illuminated.)

Enjoy and don't be afraid to #drawthisinyourstyle!

#art reference #character design #original character #magic morning meteora #artists on tumblr

7 notes · View notes

lilyswritings · 4 years

Text

It’s Cold Outside.

@meteora-fc requested: “Take my jacket. It’s cold outside.” with frank castle, bc you write him so well💖

author’s note: so what if i just wanted to write soft domestic drabble where i wake up in an apartment with my favorite mass murderer. let me live. ( no but really i’ve had this request forever and i only just got around to writing it thank you so so much for the request my love!! ) (( i’ve also realized that all my frank imagines either involve coffee or some form of hurt/comfort in his apartment - am i sorry? absolutely not. ))

wordcount: 1,020

Frank Castle x Reader

It isn’t like you had planned on falling asleep in a supposedly dead vigilante’s apartment – but you’d already been tired by the time you’d gone to his, burnt out from your long shift at the diner, and his unassuming, beat up brown couch (that smelled like him) was just so soft and comfortable.

It also didn’t hurt that he’d fallen asleep curled around you, arms protectively encircled around your torso as your breaths fell in sync and you slowly drifted to sleep.

When you wake up, it’s to the sound of Frank cursing at the toaster and the smell of strong dark coffee (accompanied by hints of burnt toast) wafting through the tiny apartment. You keep your eyes stubbornly closed, relishing in the moment of tranquility and the domestic environment surrounding you that you almost never get to be a part of.

If Frank notices that you’re awake, he doesn’t say anything, or he decides to humor you as he lowers himself slowly onto the arm of the couch, his hand coming down to rest gently on your calf. He mutters your name a few times and you crack your eyes open, smiling at the sight of him.

“I made coffee.”

He always knows what to say to get you up.

Of course, you still make a big show of sitting up and stretching, grumbling about being woken up early, and Frank chuckles - a familiar low rumbling sound - as he leans over to kiss your forehead and place a mug of steaming coffee (just the way you like it) on the table in front of you.

You wrap your fingers around the thick ceramic U.S. Marine Corps mug, letting the warmth seep into you, as you watch Frank sit down next to you on the sofa.

There’s a soft morning glow filtering in through the blinds, casting the run-down apartment and its sleepy inhabitants in bands of pale orange light. His hair is getting longer now, curling at the nape of his neck and over his ears, a stark contrast to his previous military buzzcut. You prefer it vastly, you think, as you reach up and brush the shaggy pieces off his forehead, letting your fingers trail down to trace his growing facial hair.

“I like it when you grow your hair out.” You mutter through a sleepy smile, and he smirks in return as his hand comes up to rest over yours.

“Yeah?”

You hum a confirmation, eyes fluttering closed as you rest your head on his shoulder, relishing in the rare tranquility of the moment. One of Frank’s arms drapes itself around you, pulling you close, and you smile to yourself as he leans down to kiss your forehead, his beard tickling your skin.

You crack your eyes open, looking up into his dark russet eyes as he draws closer to you, peppering tiny kisses down your nose and your cheekbones until he reaches your mouth, finally sealing your lips together.

You absentmindedly find the solid surface of the coffee table and put your mug down as your eyes flutter closed, and you angle your body to face Frank entirely, both hands coming up to cup his face as he shifts on the sofa-

An abrupt ringing sound startles you both out of your reverie, and you huff out an angry laugh as Frank groans. You pull your phone out of your pocket, squinting at the harsh light, and sigh dramatically as you turn off the alarm.

“I have to get to work.” You say, and Frank’s face scrunches into a frown, but his arms retract from where they were wrapped around your torso enough to let you stand up off the sofa.

You kiss his forehead as you go to get your shoes from near the door, where they were discarded haphazardly yesterday, and crouch to pull them on.

“How did you get out from behind me on the couch last night? I didn’t notice you leave.” You ask, the question occurring to you suddenly.

“What can I say? I’m the Punisher.” Frank’s answer comes from your left, and you turn to see him resting on the kitchen counter, facing you.

“Stealth was never the Punisher’s thing. Maybe Daredevil’s, but definitely not yours.” You retort, grabbing your sweater from the back of the couch and pulling it on. “And besides, Punisher who? You’re Pete Castiglione now.” You tease, turning to find Frank standing next to the door.

“Take my coat, it’s cold outside.” He has his long black trench coat in his outstretched hand, and your lips quirk up into an unwitting smile at the giant piece of fabric.

“It’s not that cold.” You say, but he keeps the coat outstretched until you give in and take it from him. “Okay, mom.” You mutter under your breath, and he huffs out a laugh as you shrug the item on, rolling the sleeves so you’re not completely engulfed in the fabric.

Frank leans against the doorframe of the front door, arms folded as you go to leave. He leans down to kiss you, and before you have a chance to pull away and get going, he pulls you into him and deepens the kiss, the scruff of his beard rubbing against your upper lip and chin.

“Careful, Castiglione, we both have jobs to make it to.” You say, breathless, when you finally pull away, and he breaks out into a full smile, a dazzling sight that challenges the beauty of the morning sun, you think.

“Alright, alright. Get goin’.” He opens the door for you, and you press one last (quick) kiss to his lips as you step out into the hall.

“I’ll see you tonight?” He half-states, half-asks, and you smirk.

“Tonight.” You confirm, and force yourself to walk down the stairs and out the front door of the apartment building before you change your mind and get yourself fired from your job for skipping.

As the chilled morning air nips at your exposed skin, you smile as you tug the giant black coat tighter to your body, silently thanking Frank for the extra garment.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

taglists ; everything : @magical-fandoms marvel : @meteora-fc (send me an ask to be added to my tag lists!)

#frank castle imagine #frank castle x reader #the punisher imagine #frank castle oneshot #frank castle #the punisher #marvel imagine #mcu imagine

45 notes · View notes

magi-kathryn · 2 years

Text

There's a bittersweet irony in a piece I made to celebrate @magicmorningmeteora getting 100 followers on Twitter (and on Instagram) having that very platform be in apparent peril not that long after I finish it.

Hell, technically speaking, it was in peril in the last stretch of its production! 😅

My other socials and RSS feeds | Mailing List Sign-Up | Magic Morning Meteora

#digital illustration #vampire #vampire girl #idol oc #vampire oc

2 notes · View notes

eleanorose123 · 5 years

Text

even more postfinale stomco headcanons

-when the first stump day of the earthmewni combination comes around, everyone’s pretty nervous cause they weren’t sure if the stump counted as magic or not. so star appointed her boys to help go around everywhere to educate humans on stump day to avoid any unknowing casualties

-when tom got the trio love sentence tickets, it was WILD. they got so excited to have their first concert together of their favorite band, but they got distracted on their way to the event (diffusing a mewman/human confrontation at a store front) and were too late to be allowed into the venue. star was too determined though, and the three managed to climb up the fence to watch the concert from a private (very far away) perch. they had the time of their life regardless, especially since they sung all the songs they could hear echoes of

-river, dave, rafael and globgor go out for father expeditions and often end up crying over how proud they are of their kids (mariposa and meteora apparently make the best crayon drawings)

-paralleling that, moon, wrathmeilor, angie and eclipsa have coffee meetups on friday mornings to chat about various things, particularly how their families are adjusting to the new world and who’s house their kids would spend time next for their hangouts (it’s a lowkey contest since the moms want to make sure the throuple are behaving/are alright)

-by the time senior prom came along, the trio attended as a group (even though marco and tom weren’t attending echo creek high school at that point, they went for star) the evening got a bit chaotic as the trio were dragged away by different people for one reason or another, until tom had to leave the venue due to increased frustration. marco notices and goes out to talk to tom about it, and he finds out tom was really looking forward to sharing a dance with marco since he’s danced with star loads of times but never had a chance to dance with him. marco asks what’s stopping him now as a slow song comes on, and the two dance together in the parking lot hearing the music through a propped open door. when they finished, they regrouped with star and the three share an upbeat dance with one another before heading to an after party at ponyhead’s

-star and marco train tom in regards to hand to hand combat (since tom mainly fought with his demon powers up to that point) tom is an excellent kicker

#svtfoe spoilers #stomco #tomstarco

200 notes · View notes

vanilla107 · 5 years

Text

Headcanons after the finale of SVTFOE.

Okay. So I watched the finale yesterday and I’m happy that I stuck with the show for four years. I loved the bubbly Star Butterfly who would learn to be a leader and take charge of her decisions and Marco Diaz, who was the ‘safe kid’ but ended up risking his life multiple time for his friends. I was happy with the finale but like most fans, I wanted more. Now that Earth and Mewni are cleaved, there’s so many possibilities for a season 5 on how people would live together. Here are a few of my ideas!

1) Moon trying really hard to not act like a queen. She grew into the role very quickly when she was young and I’m pretty sure she would need a lot of time to stat behaving like a normal mom. She’d make pies for family, go out for runs in the morning and maybe get job that includes running how Earth and Mewni works between humans, mewmans and monsters because she’s a good leader. Star would worry about her mom at first but relax once she she sees how her mom adjusts.

2) River, on the other hand, would have no problem settling in and would have his lessons on how to survive in the wild. His lessons are an instant success and Globgor sometimes tags along.

3) Globgor and River meet up once a week to talk fondly about their daughters and wives.

4) Eclipsa and Moon become better friends. It is a little difficult for Eclipsa at first because Moon did betray her with Mina but Moon really goes all out to let Eclipsa know that she’s sorry.

5) Eclipsa, Moon and Angie take walks in the park and discuss their daily lives while Star and Marco babysit Meteora and Mariposa. Star and Marco didn’t forget their promise to them and make sure the girls grow up together.

6) Even though Marco recognizes that Hekapoo and Quirky are gone, he visits a grave that he made for them and visits it every so often to thank them for what he did for him. Tom, Kelly and Talon Raventalon go with him to reminisce of their Kill Devil Pass Riders Club.

7) Tom goes on adventures with Janna and repays her with sneaking her tacos from Britta’s Tacos once it’s been rebuilt.

8) Marco and Star have a few arguments but they resolve them pretty quickly. They still go to school but the new curriculum includes Mewman and Monster history as well as training in combat. Monsters and Mewmans are a little uncomfortable at first but Janna, Tom, Kelly, Pony Head, Star and Marco make it work. After a few weeks, everyone is settled in.

9) Star shows Pony Head all the cool things about Earth and even though she insults some of it, she is happy that Star wanted to show her the parts that she loved.

10) Marco makes his nachos whenever Star is sad and they frequently have movie nights.

11) Moon and River have triple dates with Eclipsa and Globgor and Angie and Rafael. More than often the dates end up being interesting with River wanting to go hunting but they always enjoy the outcomes.

12) There is a special defense unit developed now that Earth and Mewni have been cleaved. Someone needs to take care of the giant spiders and creatures that want to cause harm. Alfonzo and Ferguson join the defense unit, much to Marco’s protests but actually do a pretty good job.

13) Pony still runs the Pony Head show despite bad reviews but soon starts to get good views when she covers how Mewmans and Earth people can co-exist and how to deal with Mewni and Earth being mashed together.

14) Pony Head decides to buy the Bounce Lounge and her sisters run it. It becomes a place for humans, Mewmans and monsters to party, meet and mingle.

15) Jackie and Chloe occasionally hang out with Janna and Tom. Jackie and Chloe teach Tom how to skate.

16) Tom does take some time to get over his break up with Star but once he does, he starts hanging out with both of them more often.

17) Marco’s parents still freak out when he fights creatures of Mewni that sometimes attack them. “MARCO PLEASE IT’S A GIANT SPIDER!” “Don’t worry Dad, I did this all the time on Mewni. You should’ve seen it!” “YOU’VE DONE THIS MORE THAN ONCE??”

18) Marco and Star train Mariposa and Meteora in fighting when they’re old enough.

19) Marco eventually tells Meteora why she feels anger towards him, how she attacked Mewni and how she used to run St. Olga’s. At first she’s a little overwhelmed because her own mother had to fight her and she caused harm to Mewni but Marco tells her that she was just really angry and that he understood why she hated him. She takes time to absorb it but starts to like Marco more after that.

20) King and Queen Spiderbite feel bad for badmouthing Globgor after realizing he’s a changed monster and is vegetarian. They send him a gift basket of salad and make amends.

21) Star warns everyone who visits Pie Island to not gamble. Pie Island becomes like a casino for humans and ends up being better than Star thought. (People still lose a lot of money though).

22) Star does get a little annoyed that she can’t use magic anymore especially when she’s lazy. Moon and Eclipsa feel the same way but adapt.

23) Eclipsa is still a fan of Snookers but frequently goes to Britta’s tacos for lunch with Globgor and Meteora.

24) Britta’s tacos and the Goblin Dog food truck become rivals and it becomes extreme until Star and Marco step in to handle the conflict.

25) Overall it takes quite a bit of adjusting for everyone after Earth and Mewni have been cleaved. There are protests and people are angry but this is when Moon, Eclipsa and Star intervene and explain the situation. There is no way that fighting will solve the problem and they’ve lived through too many wars for the same thing to happen again. They promise to make the transition as easy as possible and even though there are some people who are skeptical and angry, there is an agreement. There are the normal problems but those are dealt with by Eclipsa and Moon.

#svtfoe spoilers #star butterfly #cleaved #marco diaz #eclipsa #globgor #moon butterfly #river butterfly #season 4 finale #svtfoe #star vs the forces of evil #headcanons #my headcanons

160 notes · View notes