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bby-deerling · 4 days

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Not sure if you are taking requests and/or suggestions, but I would die for a "Who did this to you?" or a "Who hurt you?" HC for female reader with, at least, Sanji, Law, Kid, Zoro and Ace. You can add more if you'd like! 🤩🤩🤩

I loooooove your writting! 👏🏻🙌🏻🫶🏻 And, obviously, you don't need to write this if you don't want to! 💯🥰

R.J.

this is a little bit of a monkey's paw because i decided to subvert this trope for these scenarios >:)

who did this to you?

ft. sanji, zoro, ace, kid, and law

masterlist || commissions

tagging: @willowbelle @eelnoise @fanaticsnail @indydonuts @sanjisprincesswifey

sanji

"dearest, who did this to you?" he asks with wide eyes full of concern as he rakes his fingers through the choppy tresses of your hastily cut hair. you usually entrusted sanji with giving your locks a quick trim, but with him being wrapped up in the whole arranged marriage gone wrong thing, you had to turn to one of your other crewmates to get rid of the pesky strands that were flying in your face. based on the haphazard way the layers were cut, the cook assumes that you, for some unknown reason, had entrusted luffy or chopper with the task; however, he finds himself being proven dead wrong as nami pipes up and raises her hand.

"i did!" she exclaims proudly, eyes sparkling as she stands tall, making sanji switch up his attitude completely about your new style, spinning around and singing out a string of over the top praises for her. rolling your eyes, you grab his arm and yank on it, taking him somewhere more private to talk.

"tell me what you really think, sanji." you hiss as you drag him into the kitchen, glaring at him as you cross your arms. he pauses for a moment, not wanting to hurt your feelings; however, he knows that in the moment, what you need from him is honesty, so he tells you that hair grows back, before reassuring to you that you're just as beautiful in his eyes, even with a bad haircut.

zoro

slumping down at the breakfast table with little to no sleep, you and zoro are too tired to even think about hiding any of the marks he left across your neck last night, until your friends start commenting on them.

"geez, you look like you got attacked by a wild animal!" nami exclaims, bewildered as she stares at the darkening purple bruise along your throat.

smug as he downs his mug of coffee, zoro smirks as he leans back in his chair. "huh. i wonder who did that." he says, his grin getting wider as he watches the cook start angrily stabbing at the sausage on his plate. nami and usopp yell out a "gross!" and stick their thumbs down at him as they continue to stuff their faces with food.

"there's a wild animal that snuck on the ship?" luffy exclaims, already mentally making a plan to hunt it down and have sanji cook it up.

"no, just an uncivilized mosshead." sanji spits out, sparking an argument with the swordsman that ends up having to be broken up by robin, who spawns hands to grab both of them by the scruffs of their neck and plop them back into their chairs to continue eating.

ace

"who did this to you, huh? was it me?" ace teases as he pokes at the warm flush on your cheeks; he had been relentlessly flirting with you all day, but you were left tongue-tied unsure of whether he was serious or just teasing you to pass the time. "y'know, you're so cute when you're flustered." he continues with a grin, gently squeezing your waist.

"t-thanks!" you sputter out, struggling to look him in the eyes as his other hand finds your waist and your line of vision gets shadowed by the brim of his hat. "ace, do you like me? like, actually like me?" you squeak out, so uncharacteristically meek as your nerves make you worry about misinterpreting a bit of playful fun.

"'course i do. you're so silly sometimes, worrying about stuff like that." he says with a grin as he leans in and presses his lips to yours, melting the swirling storm in your head away with his warm, heated lips.

kid

"who the fuck did this to you?" kid growls as his hands trail along a few small bruises on the side of your hips one morning. you look at him with knitted brows, unsure if he was serious or not.

"you did, you fucking idiot! don't you remember?" you snap at him; even if kid hadn't noticed how rough he had been with you last night, there was no way you could forget the way his fingers indented into the plush skin of your hips as he pounded you into the mattress.

his expression screws up for a moment as he tries to recall what he did, until he realizes that maybe his grip had been just a bit too tight; nevertheless, he decides to continue to play dumb to try to swing the situation in his favor. "still not coming to me. you're gonna have to walk me through it 'til i remember." he says with a wolfish grin; however, you simply roll your eyes and sigh.

"i'm still too sore. ask me later." you scoff as you roll out of bed and stumble to the bathroom to run a brush through your hair.

worth a try, he thinks to himself as he gets up with a grunt, joins you in the bathroom, and starts to do the same.

law

"tch—who did all of this to you?" law says with a low chuckle as he loops an arm around your waist and pulls you close; the rest of the crew were in their boiler suits, but you were done up so pretty that his heart nearly stopped when he caught a glimpse of you for.

bepo jumps up in the air raising his hand and eagerly taking the credit; when law had called from the sunny telling the crew he'd be back to zou in a few days, he'd asked for a second alone with you—that the rest of the crew eavesdropped on—where he told you to wear something nice for him. the navigator had taken this task very seriously and convinced some of the other minks to turn you into a creature somewhere between a princess and a goddess.

"well, you look gorgeous." he murmurs, unable to keep himself from planting a chaste kiss on your lips, though the rest of the crew clapping and cheering makes you both pull apart and shoot them red-hot glares.

"quit making it weird!" you both snap simultaneously, faces burning red as your friends let out a sea of laughter.

#one piece x reader #law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #law x you #trafalgar law x you #roronoa zoro x reader #zoro x reader #sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji x reader #black leg sanji x reader #eustass kid x reader #eustass kidd x reader #ace x reader #portgas d ace x reader #one piece headcanons #one piece scenario #one piece fanfiction

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monkey-wrench-zeurel · 4 months

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How would you feel if the Gorillas paw curled a finger and made Monkey wrench extremely popular, but you had a tadc fans situation? Like how would you mentally handle that

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kindlespark · 8 days

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sam i didnt even watch fhjy but can you tell me more of ur thoughts abt kipperlilly? any thoughts even stream of consciousness, she seems so teenager rage gone wrong im so fascinated by her

HJBFESJBFEKSFS THIS IS SO FUNNY OFC ok this is going to be a range of thoughts about the reactions i've seen from both ends of the rat grinder Discourse™

i think it's fine to be like, yeah, what kipperlilly's anger stems from is like deeply unsympathetic and comes from a very privileged status. i think being like "no that's normal for a teen girl" is silly. she is very much not normal she's a little upper-middle class brat and i love her. i love that she's so deeply distasteful and unappealing to people LOL. hate when female characters have to be smoothed down to be liked! like we don't have to downplay her negative traits when people are obsessed with male serial killers all the time etc etc

BUT i also think people forget that like... the bad kids were reading private thoughts she shared with her therapist (which is a massive invasion of privacy)! like of course it was fucked up. that's why she was going to a therapist lmao!!! it stresses me out that people are this vitriolic about a teen character who is pretty explicitly mentally ill and trying to get better about it but is being manipulated by a deity of rage and possibly her adult vice principal like. you don't have to LIKE her but calling for her to be violently murdered is wild to me. the bad kids had never even HEARD of her before this season and you can metagame about brennan not having invented her character yet all you want but in canon u gotta assume she was successfully keeping that rage down until she got got and is now being actively corrupted by a powerful rage deity lmaoooo

and like! she got her narrative punishment!! the monkey's paw curled and she lost her best friend she's got her traumatic backstory now!!! she's already suffering and at her lowest i don't need her to die (again!)

i think brennan is past the point of making teen characters irredeemable so i can only hope that the cast follows through on that bc i feel like redemption and healing from trauma is one of the strongest themes in fantasy high like i bawled my eyes out in every aelwyn and adaine scene. which is why it's really funny to me that siobhan is kipperlilly's biggest hater because i feel like she's a great mirror to adaine's spite and aelwyn's redemption..... like siobhan's characters are all very appealing to me because of their rage. god im hoping and praying they don't kill the rat grinders in the finale god bless

oh final petty thing i think saying kipperlilly's name wrong was only funny the first 200 times <3 love u all mwa

#the rat grinders #kipperlilly copperkettle #d20 #fantasy high

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kianaisspiraling · 4 months

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Immortal GIGS Crew Phasmophobia AU

GIGS phasmo AU where they're basically just a group of retired immortals having fun :D

Impulse and Skizz started working for this ghost hunting company, and since they can't die, instead of reading the manual they decided to just fuck around and find out.

In truth, they kinda just showed up and started taking jobs. The company was gonna find these intruders and punish them at first, but when the spectacular results started coming in, the higher-ups hesitantly decided to let it go, since none of their actual employees were brave enough to take the cases Impulse and Skizz did.

Eventually, their results from one investigation were left with a letter requesting payment, since they didn't wanna keep using the cheap starter equipment in the van they "borrowed." So if the company slips an envelope full of cash into their own mailbox every time they receive a report for the mystery workers to take, and sometimes equipment disappears from storage with cash in its place, they simply would look the other way.

Later they drag Grian, Scar, and Gem into their shenanigans and they also fuck around and find out.

To the company, the GIGS Crew is their best team, even if they don't know much about them. They always take their hardest, most fatal jobs, and walk out completely fine.

Little do they know these eldritch entities die repeatedly and they scream like little girls. What is considered an almost certainly fatal job for any regular person, is just a game to the GIGS.

For example, all manuals say to snap pictures of cursed items, and safely return them to HQ to be disposed of in a contained area. GIGS crew though? None of them have the self control to not use those. Every single one of them would pull every tarot card for fun and you know it. Manual says to under no circumstances touch a summoning circle. GIGS does not read the manual.

They even set some rules early on, afterall this is a game to them, and what fun is a game if you can't die? So essentially they declared that if a ghost was to hit you with what would be a killing blow, you have to go into spectral form, in which you detach from your body and hover about like a spectator. Think Dr. Strange. The only thing they're allowed to do in this form is pick stray items up, and if everyone "dies" they have to jump ship and come back again later.

They can be 'revived' by the monkey paw or something too. Thing is, despite the fact that they don't need to, they still say, "I wish for Life," before the 'dead' person returns to their body. If this causes some recently dead guy a block away to suddenly wake up fine, sue them. They're causing miracles over here, be grateful!

Now imagine something happens one day that causes a human mortal that also works for the company in some regard to bare witness to GIGS' unhinged method of investigation. They're playing with cursed objects like toys, purposefully triggering hunts, and—

Unnamed is sitting in the van watching the camera closely when it happens. They've been tasked as a fifth, no wait, sixth member of the legendary GIGS crew for the day, since there's apparently a girl named Gem that subs in for Scar half the time. They're thinking that, sure, this team's been a bit reckless so far, but who are they to judge? These guys are THE professionals, after all. However, this viewpoint quickly gets decimated.

"HahAHA Scar's dead!" Unnamed's head snaps up at Grian's outburst. They, being the normal person they are, respond reasonably, "Wait, agent Scar is dead-?!" A pause followed by a realization, "Why the hell are you laughing-?!"

Grian, who came back into the van for candles since they were going to do an Onryo test before it started hunting, suddenly remembers that humans don't think death is funny. Right. Need to fix that slip up.

"Uhm... out of shock, I think?" Wow, A+ excuse, he mentally berates himself. Think Grian, think! Humans have that thing called grief, right? And isn't the first stage of that denial? Bingo! "I.. I'm sorry, I think I'm just.. in denial?" Grian wants to slap himself. Great idea, horrible execution. Unnamed clearly didn't buy it.

Thankfully, that mess was interrupted, "Hey guys, I found the monkey paw. Should I use it to bring Scar back?" Impulse says over the radio. Skizz and Grian are quick to agree, the latter also using the distraction to rush out of the van and that conversation with the candles.

It takes a moment to click, but Unnamed suddenly realizes, "Wait, are you guys gonna use a cursed item to bring Agent Scar back-?! Look, I know you all are mourning, but that is under all circumstances forbidden!" They take a breath in disbelief, "That could have unforeseen consequences!"

Skizz pipes up, not even trying to be subtle, "Well, duh. The consequences are what makes it fun!" Unnamed is interrupted by Impulse before they can rant about how bad of an idea this is—, "Yeah you say that until you're the one that has to deal with them," he chuckles.

Skizz, in blind yet playful rage, bites the bait, "Fine then! Give me the monkey paw, and I'll wish Scar back to life myself!"

Skizz does this and dies, and they can practically hear him complaining from beyond the grave. Impulse snaps a picture of his corpse as they make fun of the position he's in, his back bent backward. Unnamed is frozen in shock in the van as they listen to Skizz's friends, including a newly revived Scar, laugh at their own friend's demise. Oh god, they're surrounded by psychopaths. These guys take all the hardest jobs, of course they've gone crazy—

Unnamed, after spiraling for an unknown amount of time, looks over to the activity chart to see that there is a hunt going on. This gives them some time to collect their thoughts, only for that little composure to immediately be shattered when as soon as the hunt ends, Grian barks out a laugh, "Oh Scar! He's died AGAIN!", "Oh nooo!" Impulse follows along with a chuckle. Unnamed is on the verge of hyperventilating.

The two remaining GIGS return to the van and ignore Unnamed's impending panic attack. Grian tells Impulse that the hunt started right after the third candle blew out, so he thinks it's an Onryo. "I mean we do already have orbs, but I wasn't getting freezing temps and that ghost just wasn't answering spirit box." Impulse counters.

"Listen, I know I was spirit boxin' it pretty good,"—Unnamed shudders at that. The second-hand cringe they felt listening to Grian's "WHERE ARE YOUUU-?!" was indescribable—"but my gut is really telling me it's an Onryo! Besides, we've had ghosts that just refused to talk before."

"Your gut is usually right," Impulse mutters. "Look, we've got one of two evidence and a successful Onryo test, so I say we gag since Scar and Skizz are dead." Grian says. Impulse still looks unsure, "I just feel like it's too soon. One evidence is hardly enough, and that Onryo test could be a fluke."

They have completely forgotten Unnamed is there at this point, and they don't exactly feel like attracting attention to themself as they wilt like a flower in the corner, pondering their life choices.

Grian relents a bit, "Okay how about this, we ask Scar and Skizz if we should gag or continue investigating, fair?" Impulse nods, "Fair."

Unnamed looks up a little, concerned on how exactly they plan to consult their dead friends. They're beginning to think there's a high likelihood they'll quit tonight, and they're definitely going to need a therapist after all this.

Impulse speaks up over the radio despite them all being in the truck, "Alright guys, come get your clipboards!" Unnamed stares on in something akin to horror as two of the clipboards up on the wall start hovering. Impulse's voice is somehow too loud and too quiet at the same time, "Alright, throw your clipboards on the keyboard if we should continue, and throw them on the floor if we should gag."

Both clipboards are now being repeatedly picked up and tossed on the floor of the van by an invisible force. 'Forces,' they correct themself mentally, as it slowly dawns on them that these ghosts are actually Scar and Skizz, and isn't THAT a mind-twister?

Impulse looks slightly disappointed but smiles good-naturedly anyway, "You guys wanna gag? Alrighty then, check off Onryo and let's go!"

This is the moment that Impulse suddenly remembers Unnamed's existence, looking slightly worried at their lack of input, "You okay?" He turns his head, "Grian don't go yet, Unnamed hasn't given their opinion." Grian grumbles out a 'fine', and Impulse looks back at them, "You wanna gag, or should we contin–" Unnamed interrupts, "Just get me outta here please," they near-whisper.

Impulse looks them over and remembers that humans aren't meant to be that pale and hesitantly asks, "You uh... feeling sick?" He looks over to Grian for help, and Unnamed could swear they heard Grian sassily mumble, "Don't look at me, I dunno how humans work either," but they had to be hearing things, because that just doesn't make sense, surely.

"Impulse, lets just go and pass Unnamed onto someone who actually knows what they're doing," Grian grumbles, clearly frustrated. Impulse still looks concerned (at least he's trying), but concedes since, yeah, they really don't know what they're doing, do they?

As Grian starts the truck, Unnamed notices that Scar and Skizz's bodies are suddenly in the truck. Did– did Grian leave while Impulse looked them over? That had only lasted for a few seconds though, Grian couldn't possibly have dragged them in in that time, could he? It's like they were just teleported in here. Unnamed is really going to need that therapist, and maybe some kind of hallucination medication too...

While staring into space and down at the keyboard in misery, Unnamed distantly hears the sounds of someone cracking their joints and grunting noises to accompany it. They fully snap to attention, however, when they hear the people's voices.

Scar makes a sound of discomfort as he snaps his neck back into place, "Oh void, gonna feel that in the mornin'," he mutters to himself. Skizz on the other hand lets out a whoop at the satisfying crack in his back, before immediately thrusting into bickering with Impulse.

"Dipple-Dop, you killed me!" Skizz exclaims, and Unnamed gets the feeling that they should cover their ears, like a child does when their parents fight. "ME-?! You're the one who used the monkey paw!" Impulse retorts. Skizz, "Well, you shouldn't have given it to me!" Impulse, "But you literally asked me for it!" Skizz, "Well, I wouldn't have if you didn't instigate me!" Impulse, "Oh, come on! You..."

Unnamed tunes them out and focuses on Scar and Grian, all thoughts having left their head out of pure shock, believing this must be some twisted fever dream. It makes sense, they think, they have been tasked with reviewing GIGS' reports for the past month after all.

In truth, the only reason Unnamed is here in the first place is because Skizz didn't read a form before signing it. With their previous check, GIGS received a form that was asking about sending someone to monitor and review their methods and see if they're fit to formally become employees. It was really just an effort to get to know something about these mysterious volunteers, though.

Skizz, however, just skimmed the part gushing about how much the company appreciates their hard work and the benefits of becoming real hires, not actually reading the part about the employee evaluation, assuming they were just going to get the rewards. He signed it and wrote down the GIGS Crew email address he created a minute ago, hence why Unnamed is now here. Yippie.

They tune into Grian and Scar's conversation as they vaguely register Impulse and Skizz's continued, albeit quieter, bickering in the background. Scar is griping about the crick in his neck, "Why do you guys always have to leave a guy in the most uncomfortable positions, huh?" Grian responds blunty with zero hesitation, "Because it's funny," he snorts.

Unnamed tunes them out too as their brain starts to reboot enough to process that they are supposed to be dead. Why are they not dead-?!

Grian notices Unnamed staring in the corner and clears his throat above everyone else's chatter, making a gesture towards them once he has their attention. Unnamed can feel their heart sink straight through the floor, and a metaphorical noose tighten around their neck.

He looks over at Scar and Skizz, "You two really couldn't wait to get back up, could you? Remember, we. have. COMPANY!" Grian punctuates each word in that statement with a clap.

The two sheepishly look over at Unnamed while Impulse looks mildly panicked. Scar and Impulse were cooking up some half-baked excuses, and Skizz is malfunctioning when Grian sighs and relents a bit, "Okay, we're really not being that subtle anyway, are we?"

Scar is spewing a ridiculous explanation in the background, "They uh, shocked us back to life while you weren't looking, yeah!" A whisper from Skizz shuts him up, "I'm no expert, but I don't think that's how that works, buddy." Scar deflates a bit, "But that's all I've got..." Skizz rubs a comforting hand on his back, "I know, dude, at least ya' tried."

Before Unnamed can get enough of a grip on themself and ask what in the hell is happening, the ride ends, simultaneously having taken an eternity and also been way too short.

Grian slips out of the driver seat and ushers them outside quickly, them now standing in front of the company's main building looking lost. "Wait!" Impulse stops Grian from driving off, "You forgot your employee evaluation sheet. It looks oddly blank..." Impulse trails off before snapping out of his stupor, "Sorry! Didn't mean to pry. I'm probably not meant to read that, huh?" He slips the report into Unnamed's hand when they don't take it on their own.

"Oh, and would you mind taking in our report for this job too?" Despite the lack of a response, Impulse slips the report into their hands anyway, "Thanks, pleasure working with you! Sorry for any disturbances we many of caused." Impulse calls out as he steps back into the vehicle, Grian driving away as soon as the door closes, as if driving away will solve all their problems.

Unnamed starts to mindlessly wander inside the building, robotically turning in the report and submitting their evaluation sheet for review, one to the standard job review department and one to HQ. 'It really is a bit blank, huh?' They think passively. They're not really there, still feeling like they're floating in nothingness, but it's the first coherent thought they've had regarding reality in a while, so they'll take anything at this point.

Before they know it, they've found their way into the overnight stay room. Most investigations occur at night, so they have two rooms with sectioned off areas, each area containing a twin bed and a nightstand. It would look uncannily like a hospital if the nightstands were metal instead of wood.

They look up at the clock in the room and distantly note that its 2:17 am. Barely acknowledging that, they ungracefully flop onto the nearest available bed and pass out unceremoniously, not even taking off their shoes. The last thing to cross their mind before drifting off into a dreamless sleep is absolute certainty that this must just be a really strange nightmare induced by lack of proper sleep, and with that, they are at peace.

Unnamed hazily blinks their eyes open the next morning to see a silhouette sitting on their bedside, vaguely recognizing them as their friend, Unidentified. They can't focus on that though, only signing in relief now that that disturbing dream was over, writing it off as nerves for the upcoming job with GIGS. They're probably completely normal people, if a bit unorthodox.

This illusion is quickly shattered, though, because as soon as Unnamed is conscious enough to listen, their friend speaks, "So, how was it?" Unidentified stares at them with clear excitement, bouncing up and down a bit where they sat.

Unnamed, still pitifully oblivious, tilts their head in confusion, "How was what?" It's Unidentified's turn to be confused, "What do you mean, 'How was what?' The job with GIGS, obviously!" Unidentified exclaims incredulously.

Unnamed's face slowly morphs into one of unbridled horror as they realize that that wasn't a dream.

The next thing they know, they've sat up, fully awake, getting up and brushing themself off. Unidentified quickly switches from excited to worried, "Unnamed, are you okay?"

Unnamed can barely recall how to string together the sounds they call language to reply, "Yeah, I uh... I just need to go report something to HQ." Before Unidentified can respond, Unnamed has rushed out the door, straightening out their attire so that they look at least somewhat presentable in front of the company's head.

They file a request for an immediate meeting with the higher-ups, stressing the importance of it. They add that it has to do with Team GIGS as an afterthought, hoping it'll peak their curiosity.

And so Unnamed sits there, standing in the lobby with pumping adrenaline as they come to terms with a stark truth:

The GIGS crew is not human.

~•~

Bonuses!

POV GIGS Before:

"Look, Grian, I know you don't wanna leave the van, but this time you have to!" Impulse tries to reason, though he knows he's fighting a losing battle.

Grian refuses to relent, gaze boring into Impulse with several Eyes, "But whyyyy?!"

Impulse lets out an exhausted sigh, he's been at this for a while, "You know why, an inspector is going to be hunting with us this time, and they're human! We have to give them van duty or else they could die in the house. Like actually die."

Grian let's out an indignant whine, his wings puffing out in defiance, "And? There's gonna be five of us, can't we both just be in the van or something?"

"Grian, you and I both know that out of everyone here, except for maybe Gem, you get along with humans the least. You don't even try to be friendly!" Impulse counters. He can see Grian's resolve beginning to falter as he continues, "You don't wanna be stuck in the van with a 'strange mortal' the whole time, do you?" He uses air quotes, trying to speak Grian's language, and it's working.

Grian visibly deflates a little bit, crossing his arms and looking away as he bites out a bitter, "no." He's staring with only two eyes now, so that's progress Impulse thinks.

Skizz finally cuts in, not having wanted to get involved when Grian was still yelling, but will now that he's somewhat calm, "Listen buddy, it's not like you've never left the van before! You do it whenever Gemstone joins us, and sometimes when a bunch of us are dead!" Skizz chuckles a bit, "It's nothin' you haven't done before, G-Sharp."

Grian fully deflates this time, tension releasing from his body as looks at his feet and heaves a sigh of his own, "Fiiiine. The stupid human can have the vaaaan." He pouts, but it's the best they're going to get so they take it.

Impulse finally lets out a breath of relief, glad that he's avoided the possible murder of their inspector. Void, he really feels like a single mom sometimes.

~•~

POV GIGS After:

Grian is most definitely driving faster than the speed limit allows, not that he particularly cares. That went horribly, the human saw Scar and Skizz revive themselves for Void's sake!

In truth, they were never really dead. They really just couldn't bend their death-related rules they set for a day, huh? He has the urge to bury his face in the steering wheel as he drives. "This is why I avoid mortals," he grumbles to himself.

When they arrive at their designated "ghost hunting lobby," as they call it, they all devolve into various states of stress.

Grian face-plants into sofa and screams into a throw pillow, Eyes forming and popping around his head like lava. Impulse is pacing around the room like a maniac, pointed tail swishing back and forth in distress. Scar sits on the armchair, fiddling with his cane and pushing a hand through his hair, his eyes practically stapled open, gazing into space. Skizz just kind of stands there, his tail also swishing in anxiety as he dreads the inevitable.

Scar finally shatters the silence, "Now, I don't wanna point fingers, but," he points at Skizz, "kinda your fault, Skizz." There it is, there's what Skizz was dreading.

He tries to defend himself anyways, "Alright listen, I know that most of this is my fault for signing that dumb form, but you can't deny that we all messed up at least a little bit."

Impulse stops pacing at that. Grian doesn't move from his misery on the sofa, not reacting at all.

"I- yeah, Skizz is right. We all kind of screwed up. I think our main problem was how casually we acknowledged death. It's surprisingly easy to forget that humans don't view life as a game..." Impulse rubs the back of his neck, guilty.

Skizz still looks apologetic though, "Yeah, just know I'm really sorry about that. Maybe don't put me on mail duty anymore."

Scar stands up, his skin having taken on a blue blue sheen, his edges a little sharper, and small translucent wings behind him. "It's okay man, I probably would have done the same thing," he picks up a Jellie that's winding in between his legs, "plus we both kinda revived while Unnamed was right there, so you can't take all the blame for that."

"Thanks dude, that means a lot." Skizz slings an arm over Scar's shoulder.

Grian finally sits up, "So what happens now?" All heads turn to him, their stares questioning.

Eyes have never bothered Grian, since he has more of them, so he stands up fully and elaborates, "Well, within the next few days, the company is gonna know we're not human. What exactly do we do now?" A contemplating pause followed by a sad voice, "Do we... have to quit ghost hunting?"

The room goes deathly quiet. They... didn't think about that. Even Skizz and Scar look crestfallen. It's Impulse who pipes up, "No, we don't." he says surprisingly self-assured, all eyes now on him.

Impulse continues on, "I mean, Skizz and I just kinda showed up one day and they couldn't get rid of us, them knowing what we are isn't gonna change that. How exactly would they stop us?" The crew looks a little less depressed at that.

"Plus," Impulse looks hesitant for a moment, "Unnamed's reaction to death reminded me of how fragile human life really is, so even if we're only doing this for fun," he looks to each of them, "it makes me feel like we're protecting them, even if just by taking the lethal jobs."

Skizz perks up at the notion, and Scar breaks out into a grin, waltzing over to Impulse and slinging an arm over his shoulder. Jellie wanders off to go paw at Grian, who's sat back down, still squeezing that throw pillow.

Scar has regained his aura of grandeur, as he joins Impulse in cheering them up, "Yeah, I like that! We're helping by dying where they can't!" He looks very excited at the thought.

It's Skizz's turn to join the building huddle, an arm finding it's way on Impulse's other shoulder. "Oh yeah! Good guy Skizzleman, saving mortals from the horrors of death!" He pumps a fist in the air.

Grian gets up, Jellie trailing behind, and reluctantly joins the hug, arms around Scar and Skizz and his wings around all of them. "I don't care what happens to those humans, but whatever," grian mumbles. Impulse just smiles fondly at him, because despite how he pretends not to, Impulse can see just how much Grian truly cares. He doesn't have to understand mortals to care for them.

The soft moment is interrupted by a ding from Skizz's phone. They untangle their arms as Skizz checks what it is.

He perks up excitedly, "Oh, it's our report's review for the job!" He chuckles a bit, "If one good thing came out of signing that form, it's that we now get almost instant results!"

He clicks on the email, eager to see if they guessed right. Spoiler, they did not.

"What-?!" His face contorts to one of disbelief, "A Mare-?! How?" Grian shoots up at Skizz's outburst, clearly upset.

"What-?! Yeah how-?! That thing wasn't turning off any lights!" He squawks indignantly, a few Eyes floating over Skizz's shoulder to read it himself.

Scar looks wholly unaffected, "Eh, I don't really know how we got Onryo in the first place, I was too busy being dead."

Impulse seems to slowly come to a conclusion, "Well, if you think about it, we weren't really turning the lights on to begin with," his voice picks up a bit, "We were putting so many candles out for the Onryo test, that—"

Skizz finishes, "We stopped turning on the breaker 'cause the candlelight was enough!"

None of them have to turn around to see Grian facepalming, the scream of frustration enough for them to paint that picture themselves, "I hate this game!"

Grian isn't done with his rampage, "But wait, doesn't Mare also need spirit box?" He looks to Impulse for confirmation, and continues once he gets a nod, "But I did spirit box so well though! I had great coverage."

Impulse puts up a hand placatingly, "Yeah, I agree, you did spirit box pretty good, but we were on Nightmare, so spirit box probably just probably wasn't one of the two random evidence."

Grian crosses his arms, "Or maybe it's because someone," he casts a glare at Impulse, though he means nothing malicious by it, "just had to prestige, leaving us with shoddy level 1 equipment." He sighs however, "But you're probably right. We didn't really look that hard for Ghost Writing, did we?"

He wanders off to grumble to himself a little longer, and they all laugh at Grian's pity-party. They end up sitting on sofa together for a while, just chatting about things they couldn't talk about while Unnamed was there.

Impulse is telling a story from Hermitcraft earlier that day, but he stops when Gem comes up in it, paling, "Oh Void..."

Impulse's face unravels into one of dread, a realization forming, "Gem's gonna smack us all upside the head for this." Oh. Oh no. They all shudder in unison. They're screwed.

~•~

Thanks for reading my little self-indulgent AU-idea turned into a fic!

This was originally meant to just be an AU idea, but I blinked and I'd written a whole fic, so yeah.

I think I'll edit this a bit and post it on Ao3 too of that interests anyone.

Feel free to use the idea however you want, just tag me, I wanna see what you do :)

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yourlocaltrashpandaa · 1 year

Text

Mango Lemonade 🥭

Lmk one-shot

{macaque x fem!reader}

You heard a ‘tink’ sound hit your apartment window from your kitchen. It didn’t scare you much since you know who the person was at your window.

You sighed as you walked over to window. There you saw him, well mostly his eyes that had purple glow to them as he perched himself on your balcony railing.

Opening the window, you greeted him. “Welcome back, Macaque.” You moved away from the window as Macaque jumped down from the railing and walked over to the opened window.

Enter your home through your window, a smirk was present on his face. “You act like I come here every night.” He said.

“That’s because you do.” You said rolling your eyes at him.

Since the aftermath of Lady Bone Demon’s takeover, Macaque has been visiting you. He seems to think your home is his home and he stays the night yet leaves when the sun rises. Macaque walked passed you and into your kitchen. You followed knowing exactly what he’s here for.

“Here to raid my fridge again?” You asked him folding your arms across your chest.

“Yes, and your pantry.” Macaque chuckled as he searched through your pantry, his tail swishing from side to side.

“Stay away from my peach chips. Those were a gift from Wukong.” You said.

Macaque scoffed, his tail flicked in irritation. “Like I want those things anyway. Besides I’m here to steal your spicy chip supply.” He said.

“Nooo! Those are for my rainy days. You can’t take them, you freeloader!” You exclaimed rushing over to him, trying to stop him from taking your spicy chips by jumping on his back to swat the chip bags that he had in his paws.

Macaque chuckled trying to push you away with his body playfully. “Yet you have complained to me about heartburn when you eat them. That’s why I take them so I can’t hear you complain.” He said.

“I like the burn and you’re just saying that to be greedy!” You exclaimed.

“No. I’m saving you from tears later on.” Macaque said.

“I thought you said you weren’t a hero?” You smirked as you gave up on the chips he took.

His tail flicked around. “Touché..” He said. Macaque walked into the living room and plopped himself on your couch.

‘My mother was right. Never feed wild animals because they always come back.’ You thought as you watched the monkey munch away at your chips.

Pouting at the fact that your chips were being eaten, you just remembered what you had for him in your fridge. You were on a lemonade kick for the last few days and decided to put your skills to the test.

Just the other day, she made a peach lemonade and a certain someone drank it all without you getting so much as a taste of your work. After putting into your mental notes to smack that old monkey upside the head whenever you go to Flower Fruit Mountain next time, you looked for the clear plastic cup with lid and straw that you hid in the back of your fridge.

Macaque’s ears twitched, hearing you rummaging around in your fridge, glass jars clanking around and you cursing underneath your breath when things would jump out of the fridge to attack you and fall to the floor.

“You okay in there, kiddo?” Macaque held back a chuckle as he looked over to watch you.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m good. This reminded me that I need to organize the fridge.” You said.

Macaque smirked as his tail swished in amusement then asked. “What are you looking for in there anyway?”

You didn’t answer until you walked over to him with clear plastic cup in hand. The black furred simian narrowed his eyes at it then looked up at you. He wasn’t sure what you put in that cup so he put his guard up.

“What is that?” He asked.

You noticed the look on his face and you frowned. “Don’t get all suspicious. You’ve known me for while. It’s just lemonade that I made,” You said. “I saved some for you.”

“Why?”

‘Did this b*tch just ask me why?’ You scoffed at him, rolling your eyes.

“Never mind then, I’ll just drink it myself.” You said.

“Wait,” You stopped before you put the straw in your mouth. “Give it here.” Macaque said.

You handed him the cup, he took it from you. He peered at the dark orange liquid in cup, he shook the cup a bit, making the lemonade swirl around.

“You’re acting like it’s poison.” You frowned a bit, smiling amusingly at his actions.

“Knowing you, it might be.” He smirked.

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?! Just take a sip already or I’m taking it from you!”

Macaque laughed then took a sip from the cup. His eyes widened.

“It’s sweet.”

You raised an eyebrow at his comment. “Is that a good or bad thing?” You asked.

“It depends on what you were going for.” Macaque took longer drink from cup.

“Well, I like it sweet more than sour.”

“It’s good. I guess you found my sweet tooth, Y/n.” Macaque said looking over at you.

“I guess I did.” You replied.

“Make it again sometime.”

“Sure.”

———————————————————

Honestly not my best work. But I hope if anyone sees this, enjoy!

#lmk #x female reader #lego monkie kid #x fem!reader #lego monkie kid x reader #lmk macaque #lmk x reader #six eared macaque #oneshot #macaque x reader #lmk fluff #lmk fandom #lmk headcanon #macaque x y/n

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coreofmyfruits · 1 month

Text

HEAD CANNONS !

★ Billy Loomis + Stu Macher

Stu Macher ↓

Physical traits

Pigeon toed

6'4

Has to usually duck down through door ways

Slouchy posture

Has immense upper back pain

Prone to head aches

Left handed

Large hands (Billy calls them monkey paws)

Warm hands

Has a bunch of scars on his knuckles

Has a lot of scars in general but they accumulate in the same general areas

Personality

ADHD

ASD (autism spectrum disorder)

NPD (narcissistic personality disorder)

Stu got diagnosed with ADHD at a young age due to always being an interruption in class and especially silent reading, always having to get up and be doing something. Not too long after he got diagnosed with ASD because of his lack of awareness and his parents concerns about him being behind in class work (he just wasn't doing it). Stu never got properly diagnosed with NPD he never even thought of himself being a narcissist.

Likes and interests

Horror movies (mainly psychological thrillers)

His favorite movie is Eraserhead

Favorite color is black (because when he first met Billy he thought Billy's eyes looked black)

Loves to read

likes to read to Billy in silly voices (especially when it gets to a 'serious scary' part of the book)

Likes Edgar Allan Poe and Oscar Wilde

He likes hip hop and rap but really likes ska punk and surfer punk (queercore is also a must)

Likes low riders

Unironicaly loves the show Pimp my Ride

Actively ghost rides the whip

Wants a jacuzzi in his car because of Pimp my Ride

Likes to compare hand sizes with Billy because it pisses Billy off

Uses Billy's head as an arm rest

Steals Billy's clothes specifically his pants because they're baggy enough to fit but he can wear them as low-rise and he loves when Billy tells him to take off HIS pants because Stu looks 'stupid'

Stu just likes it when Billy turns red and tells him to take off his clothes

Always an opportunity to carry Billy anywhere bridal style never an opportunity not to

The scent of Billy's shampoo and how he naturally smells like pinecones and rain

Antique surgical tools

Dislikes

Bitches, cunts, liars oh my!

Sydney, not because he's jealous of her and Billy but because he used to have a crush on her

Betrayal

Abandonment

Being ignored

Talked over

Fish he fucking hates fish

The beach after it rains

Tooth pain

Unneeded laugh tracks

Sitcoms

YA romance novels

White women audacity

Starbucks

Lines

Victim mentality and complexes

Billy's stubborness

Love languages

Acts of service

Words of affirmation

Physical touch

Sexuality

Bisexual

Billy Loomis ↓

Physical traits

Slightly bow legged

5'9

Overly Straight posture

General neck pain

Tense shoulder muscles

Has Hyperacusis

Prone to migraines

Left handed

Shorter fingers wide palms and strong grip strength

Always has cold as fuck hands

Has a lot of scars mainly on his middle to lower back

Half Mexican

Easily tans

Frizzy hair

(slightly) Allergic to red food dye

Personality

ASD (autism spectrum disorder)

ASPD (anti social personality disorder)

Billy has not been diagnosed with either ASD or ASPD he's not even aware of the possibility of him having one especially not both at once. Billy's father was never around enough to notice Billy's acute behaviors or to even think of getting a specialist to diagnose him also Mr.Loomis is a lawyer it wouldn't look good for his job if his son was 'crazy'.

Likes and interests

Horror movies (slashers)

Favorite movie is before sunrise

Favorite color is teal (he would never admit it but it's because Stu looks good in teal)

Mainly listens to the same three bands (pixies, Radiohead, my bloody Valentine)

Loves the song pink triangle by weezer

Has a guilty pleasure for 40s and 50s love songs

Likes to draw

Favorite artist are Keith Haring, Andy Worhal and Francis Bacon

Draws like Franz Kafka (he doesn't know who Franz Kafka is this is just a reference to what I think his drawings would look like)

Really likes playing in the mud and jumping in puddles

Loves worms

Eats the shit out of some Oreos

Plain hotdogs

Likes how large Stu's hands are

How Stu smells like warm wool and fire

When Stu picks him up

Biting Stu (mainly his shoulders)

Stu in HIS pants

Tea

When Stu reads to him

Blood

Phantom skulls

Dislikes

Sydney, he's never even liked Sydney not before he found out about her mom and his dad and especially not after... He just always had this feeling

Tatum Riley (he looks better on Stu)

Cops pigs and donuts

Healthcare system in America

Abandonment

Betrayal

Being cut off

Being hung up on

Noise in general

Phone bills

Lawyers

Ableist(ism)

Ableist infrastructure

Gender pay gap

Misogynists

Hamburgers

Poppyseed buns

Layering clothes (he would rather freeze than put more than over shirt on)

Socks

Shoes in the house

Hot weather

Sweating

Baths

Coffee

Reading

Love languages

Words of affirmation

Acts of service

Gift giving

Sexuality

Asexual (non sex repulsed) and queer

★

Tags !

@ghostfacemp3

#scream 1996 #scream movies #billy loomis scream #stu macher scream #stu macher x billy loomis #billy loomis x stu matcher #stu x billy #billy x stu #billy loomis #billy loomis headcanon #stu macher #stu macher headcanons #headcanon

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d3nt4l-d4m4g3 · 7 months

Text

The issue is not with people who believe themselves to be transgender. Who are given the choices that they believe will free them from various constant, chronic miseries.

The issue is that some choices should not exist. This has been demonstrated again and again in our history. Once the decision to lobotomize one’s free-spirited daughter was a sensible and accessible one; once it was sensible to dose a colicky baby with whiskey; once it was common to take heroin for a cough, laudanum for a high-strung temperament, cocaine for depression.

At least two patients not long ago, afflicted only by the mighty conviction they should have been born without a limb, were graciously permitted to have these heathy appendages surgically removed.

And let me remind you that these patients were grateful, and may go to their graves grateful for the disabilities they asked for and received.

Such choices summon an ill-humored genie, grab greedy fingers round the monkey’s paw. Such choices disguise the cost of a reckless wish, often forever to the wisher in their lifetime. Such choices come with a binding understanding on the condition that one be willfully opaque to, a fact which if one were to choose to accept and humble oneself before it, would bring the most awful of consequences.

To admit you were wrong would ruin you.

The people who believe they are transgender have every stake in this fight. If they accept that their choices were wrong, immoral, unjust, psychologically and mentally damaging, at cost of truth, genuity, sense, self, health, and life, their proceeding state would naturally be one of great shame and despair. At the harm they have caused and the lies they have told to themselves and others. Of the crushing farce of their lives, now shortened by unnecessary, gruesome, barbaric surgical and chemical altercations. Of the enormous sum of their own poisonous self-hatred, and the hatred of whatever differences they may possess by the world.

Those who perform these altercations: the genies, the sharp-toothed yellow-nailed monkeys, who offer the choices grandly and gluttonously, sleep well at night with bodies strong enough and hands deft enough to ruin all the bodies they touch. The victims smile, believing themselves saved. The monkeys smile, large sums on paper glowing in their rancid heads. Many of these doctors, surgeons, so-called scientists believe themselves to be doing good in the world (Though some certainly only have a taste for power, money, and mutilation. The do-gooder has a secondhand sour unspoken knowledge, which is that if he is wrong he is a modern Mengele. What else do you call someone who meddles with the bodies of children, with the mentally compromised, with the most utterly desperate, who says goodnight to a whole person and good morning to a mutilated one with a smile? With a smile, with a smile.

Victims are annoying. They are. You don't want to look at them. They are self-involved, destructive, unreasonable as a long-caged animal. They are unnattractively pitiable because they cling to their sickness with the grip of someone hanging off a cliff. They are fickle, flaky, flagrantly inconsiderate of the families, friends and lovers they have alienated with the choices they have made. It is all too tempting to kick such a pathetic creature while it’s down, mocking it shivering in a cage of its own creation.

But their choices should not have existed, their self-imposed cage should never have been imposed concretely by simpering false sympathizers. It is cruel and unproductive to blame a person who has been alienated, marked and mutilated by the esteemed healers of this savage society. A victim, victimized, naturally appears gnarled and unattractive, unpersonable because she has not been treated like a person; the perpetrator, clean-handed, immaculately white-coated, appears godlike. But don’t let that distract you from the true enemy. The enemy is not the choice maker, but the choice giver.

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cockslutpadalecki · 2 years

Note

Mean!Steve Rogers! Working at the daycare on the ground floor of Stark Tower is your dream job, though it has often landed you in rather... interesting situations. Least of which, is acting as something of an on call babysitter for Earth's mightiest parents. Luckily though, it's just the littlest Stark that usually requires your attention. And you're glad of it too; it seems like every time you're around, one man in particular has a slick comment waiting for you, a snide remark that makes everyone else laugh while you force an uncomfortable smile.

Who knew Captain America had a little mean streak?

😈

Hot For Teacher

Characters: Dark!Mean!Steve Rogers x F!Reader.

Words: 1.4K.

Warnings: non-con, mean!Steve, workplace bullying, misogyny, sexism, explicit sexual content, 18+.

A/N: Been a hot minute since I posted anything, but here is my (very late) entry to @boxofbonesfic Monkey’s Paw challenge. Thank you so much for allowing me to participate— I so hope you enjoy and congratulations on 7K, you deserve every single one and more! Many thanks to my pre-readers @maladaptivexxdaydreaming and @yarnforbrains, you’re the best. Beta: @princessmisery666 but all the general bullshit is entirely mine. While likes are gold, feedback and reblogs are golden.

Stark Tower is almost in complete darkness when you show up, save for a few sporadic lights coming from the lower floors where you know most of the night staff will still be working.

You reach the front door and swipe your key card, the little green light granting you entry as the door automatically unlocks. It’s eerily quiet as you walk across the main foyer and past reception, pausing to stop at the security station to your left. Mike is already on his feet, a curious look on his face.

“You’re not usually here this late,” he observes with a smile.

You lean onto the desk, noting several coffee cups and a half-eaten pack of donuts as a basketball game plays out on one of the many screens flicking in front of him.

“Duty calls,” you say with a little sigh, nodding towards the front door of the daycare behind you. “Has Ms. Potts dropped Morgan off yet?”

Mike furrows his brow, looking puzzled. “I don’t follow.”

“I was called-” you start to explain, but think better than to bore him with your strange arrangement with the Starks, “y’know what, don’t worry. I’ll just go and wait inside for her.” You step to walk away before turning back towards Mike. “Can you buzz me when they arrive?”

You can tell he wants to question your request further, but keeps his mouth closed as he nods in understanding. “Of course, will do.”

You can’t remember the day you realised you’d effectively become the Stark’s on-call babysitter— the first time it happened their nanny had been struck down with food poisoning. Pepper called you in a frenzy, asking if you could watch Morgan while they attended a Stark Expo that they couldn’t get out of.

You had said yes without much hesitation or thought, more than happy to help out seeing as Morgan is never any trouble.

The second time, it was a family emergency.

You never questioned what happened to their nanny after the third and fourth occasions, it had seemingly just become the new arrangement overnight. You take care of S.H.I.E.LD agents’ children during the day and watch Morgan at night when Tony and Pepper need you.

You fish in your pocket for your keys as you reach the door and place your hand on the handle, surprised when it pushes down.

Weird. You swear you locked it when you closed up earlier in the evening. Shaking your head, you rebuke yourself for clearly not double-checking it when you left.

You head inside, choosing not to bother putting the lights on as you manoeuvre your way through the myriad of toys and play sets to get to your office. Setting down your overnight bag as you turn on the lamp on your desk, you mentally plan to check the windows to make sure you didn’t forget to lock up anywhere else, when a noise from the playroom startles you.

Whirling round, you’re met with nothing but darkness. Just your imagination. You turn back, suddenly eager to check that nothing is out of place when there’s another sound from behind you. Once more, you spin on your heel and this time, come face to face with Steve Rogers. Even though his features are welcoming— soft and kind, his steely stare is paradoxical, making you feel cold under the muted office light sending twisted shadows up the wall.

“Fuck, you scared me,” you huff, placing a hand to your chest to calm yourself.

He doesn’t apologise. In fact, he almost looks happy that he frightened you as he casually leans against the door frame, blocking you in. “I know it’s all career with you women these days, but it’s a bit late to be here, isn’t it?”

His tone sets you on edge immediately, and you scowl.

“I’m waiting for Morgan, remember? You called me on behalf of Ms. Potts.”

“Oh yeah, that’s right,” he waves you off nonchalantly like the phone call he had made to you at Pepper’s behest only an hour ago is a long-forgotten memory. “Guess they’re caught in traffic coming back into the city,” he adds with a shrug as he pushes himself off the frame.

“I guess so,” you reply tersely, walking towards him. He steps back a little when you squeeze past, but not enough to stop you from having to brush up against him to get through.

Feeling his stare burning a hole into your back, you pick up the pace towards the nap room, eager to create as much space between you as possible. You’ve managed to prevent being in such close proximity to him for the past three years of working here, you’re damn well not ready to start now.

Steve has always been somewhat… hostile towards you for unknown reasons. A little cold. Belligerent even. You’re glad you’ve not had cause to be in his company much, the cruelty of his snide comments always makes you have to swallow down your contempt, even when everyone else around you laughs at your expense.

It all started a few months after the daycare opened— at first, Steve would blank you in the corridor even when he’d happily acknowledge the person you so happened to be with. Pepper often reassured you that he was just shy, probably a little apprehensive about getting to know someone new. You briefly held out the hope that one day you might strike up a friendship with the super soldier, but he just seemed to get nastier and more intimidating as time went by.

Clearly you had done something to upset him considering his behaviour, but you never had the opportunity to find out why.

You hurry to the clusters of beds, straightening out the blankets and fluffing up a pillow ready for Morgan’s arrival when you feel him close behind you.

“Is there something you need from me?” you question brusquely, glancing at him over your shoulder. The way he stares at your bent over form makes your stomach knot in disgust.

He shakes his head. “No,” comes his reply. “Can’t have you waiting here alone; you never know who might be lurking in the dark corners of this place.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Like you were?”

You straighten up and edge past him, desperate to widen the gap between you. Mindlessly, you rummage through a cupboard, not looking for anything in particular but for an excuse to keep yourself from maintaining eye contact with him for too long. As soon as you sense him closing in behind you, you shift from your position and head out into the play area, determined to keep your distance, but Steve easily keeps up.

“Why do you keep running away from me?” he queries with curiosity. Picking up a large stuffy that’s fallen onto the floor, you wish you had the strength to suffocate the man with it as you shove it back amongst the other teddies.

With a deep breath, you turn around to face him. “I’m not.”

“Are you afraid of me?” His eyes almost flash with excitement at the prospect.

“Afraid of America’s Sweetheart?” you scoff. “No.”

You’re certainly afraid of his sharp tongue towards you, but you put that down to the misogyny that was still rampant back in the 1940s. Some men never grow out of that ideology.

His jaw ticks as his smile drops. “I suppose this is as close as you're gonna get to having kids, isn’t it?” Your eyes narrow as he continues, stepping closer and closer until he’s practically towering over you. “Single dame like you, all alone. I bet you haven’t had a decent fuck in years.”

The shock of hearing him curse is outweighed by the sound of the slap resonating around the room just as your hand smarts from the contact. Steve’s cheek blushes claret, and the weight of your action comes crumbling down as he almost tackles you to the floor.

The pile of teddies helps to cushion your fall a little while you punch and slap at his chest, but your struggle seems to spur him on even more, and he’s laughing as he nestles himself between your spread legs. A horrible weight settles in your gut when your hips react to his touch, unconsciously seeking out more as he rips right through the material of your yoga pants, just enough for him to gain access to your cunt.

“It’s okay, I’m here to change all that for you.”

“Stop- Morgan- be here-” you croak, tears thick in your voice.

Steve plunges two fingers into your wet heat, your stomach rolling with nausea as your walls hug and clench around the invasion.

He laughs, the sound chilling you to the bone. “Don’t worry, she’s not coming. She never was.”

***

ALL CE: @buckymydarlingangel @broadwaybabe18 @captain-asguard @chamberofsloths @cevansgurl @dreamlessinparis @deanwinchesterswitch @fandom-princess-forevermore @hurricanerin @jvstjewels @la-cey @ladybug05 @livstilinski @ladydmalfoy @mugi-chwan95 @navybrat817 @otomefromtheheart @oneoftheprettynerds @patzammit @rebel-stardust @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @sammykb1994 @syrenavenger @straywords @saiyanprincessswanie @sunwardsss @selfsun @threeminutesoflife @vicmc624 @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @xoxonotme

4EVS: @amirra88 @andreasworlsboring101 @b3autyfuldisast3r @cheesyclaire @dangertoozmanykids101 @daughterofthenight117 @dandywinchesterbras @deangirl93 @doozywoozy @foxyjwls007 @geekofmanyforms @heyyouwiththeassbutt @i-opened-the-chamber-of-secrets @ilovefanfic86 @kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay @letsby @letsdisneythings @labella420 @mogaruke @maliburenee @notyourtypicalrose @nik2write @obsessivelycapricious @patrick-hockslutter @princessmisery666 @phildunphyisadilf @roxyfan14-blog @sea040561 @sweeterthanthis @slutformarvelmen @simpformarvelmenandwoman @smokeandnailz @stoneyggirl @stoneyggirl2 @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @thegirlnextdoorssister @unfortunate-brat @warriorqueen1991 @xoxabs88xox

#boxofbonesfic #answered #steve rogers #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #dark!steve rogers #dark!steve rogers x you #dark!steve x reader #chris evans fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction

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waffleweirdo · 9 months

Text

I ramble about Nana and her relationship to the auditions, and what I think that says about her character and how it ties into revstar's themes for 680 words (this is just my interpretation):

First and foremost I think one of the most interesting things to look at is the motivation Nana has for participating in the auditions...

Nana's first reason for pursuing the auditions wasn't to become a top star. She wanted to be able to perform on the stage of destiny so that she could begin her reruns. A very different motivation than every other original character. However she still followed the system of the auditions and became the top star. Afterwards she continued winning the auditions, for her same desire to continue the reruns, but also out of a belief that she was protecting everyone else from getting their brilliance stolen (albeit definitely in her own warped way). She becomes trapped in the necessity to win. We don't see the time loops extensively, but I think it's pretty safe to say that she definitely wasn't having the BEST time. Judging by her breakdown after losing, and well, just her general mental state, and, y'know, repeating a single year over 70 times due to your crippling fear of the future and loneliness probably isn't all sunshine and rainbows.

Nana originally didn't even want to be the top star. She loves theatre, but wanted to pursue a stage where she wasn't alone, and she found precious in Seisho leading to a performance that felt so perfect to her it was blinding. She hates Starlight, and is happiest, not when she is performing, but when she is everyone's Banana. She didn't want to be the isolated top star, but through her participation in the auditions she becomes trapped in the top star system.

(It's a bit of a tangent, but the fact that Nana who hates Starlight and doesn't even want to be the top star is ultimately the person who wins the auditions, combined with factors like her natural height and brilliance as shown by her two weapons just further adds to the show's critiques of the ideal of a top star)

It's almost like a monkey paw kind of wish. I think this is a lot of the reason Nana hates being a stage girl so much. She loves theatre. She loved the 99th Starlight and finding friends at Seisho. But when she became subject to the system of the auditions, being a stage girl meant fighting constantly to desperately claw at her happiness, where a single loss meant her happiness and all of her friend's brilliance would be stolen. That life or death, miserable struggle is what I believe Nana thinks of as being a stage girl. Not only does she believe she is protecting everyone's brilliance, but stopping any of them from being the top star, and is protecting them in doing so. (Hi Arcana Arcadia Nana)

I think we can also see a lot of this ideology in the Revue of Hunting. Nana cares deeply about Junna and sees how she has been struggling. And through her perception of what being a stage girl means thinks the most reasonable solution is 100% to kill the stage girl that is Hoshimi Junna. I think it's also interesting that when Nana is talking about Junna being dazzling she specifically references the time that Junna was overworking herself so much that she literally collapsed and she was miserable with the fear of being a failure... yeah Nana really does not think being a stage girl is a good thing.

I'm so normal about revue starlight and especially about Nana :)) hopefully this wasn't just word vomit and was at least a bit legible.

The moral of the story is Revue Starlight is incredible at conveying its themes, and every time I think about it I realize something and I'm like oh heck! The writing is so good

I also think this is only Nana's perspective before the end of the show, she's still struggling a bit in the movie, but is definitely growing! Plus in Climax she is happy living in London! I think she definitely ends up happy

I have so many more thoughts, and I barely even talked about Junnana and Nanahisa! Nonetheless, I hope you enjoyed my rant

#revue starlight #revstar #nana daiba #daiba nana

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hellfirenacht · 3 months

Text

Reader ==> Hang Out With Eddie One on One

lsekai Chronicles Master List

START HERE <<-- FIRST CHAPTER HERE

Recommended Previous Chapter: ==> N/A

Chapter Summary: It's your first time hanging out with Eddie Munson one on one.

Tags: angst, hurt/little to no comfort, mentions of nausea but Reader does not throw up, Reader has a small panic attack, references to Flight of Icarus events, Oops! All Angst!

@jo-harrington I did warn in my list that I could be a Monkey's Paw Author

Reader ==> Ride Shotgun with Eddie

Your body almost hurt from how stiff you felt, both from the shitty futon you’d been sleeping on at Benny’s on the nights that the different sports teams weren’t trashing the place, and from how tense you felt sitting shotgun in Eddie’s van.

You wished you could relax and not come across as a total weirdo to the guy sitting next to you. Eddie was currently driving you to his place, with the promise of letting you borrow a few cassettes and selling you some weed.

When you thought back to your old life before sliding into this world, you had hazy memories of smoking with friends, but sometimes you remembered differently. Either way, it was a good excuse to spend some one on one time with him.

If you didn’t know anything about Eddie it’d be easier, but so far you couldn’t look at him for longer than a few seconds without thinking about-

Well, you were just going to not think about that. Not yet.

Eddie took a sharp turn and you reached up instinctively to grab the “oh shit” handle and tried not to slam into the door.

“Jesus, Eddie.” you muttered, wondering if his driving would kill you before you had a chance to try and save him. If he could hear you over the sound of Judas Priest blasting through his old rattling speakers, he didn’t show it.

You dared to look at him out of the corner of your eye. Eddie was wearing a band shirt so faded you couldn’t make out what it said from this angle, and ripped jeans. His head was moving to the music and you could see him mouthing the words the the song that was playing, and his hands were banging against the steering wheel occasionally.

This was Eddie’s world and you were just living in it. Literally

“We covered this song once.” Eddie said, looking over at you for a second. Your heart jumped for a second and you wondered if you would ever get used to him acknowledging you. “My band I mean. Corroded Coffin.”

“Oh, yeah?” you responded with a slight pause beforehand. Wish you weren’t so fuckin’ awkward, self. You chastised yourself.

“Yeah, in middle school we were all forced to perform at the talent show.” Eddie laughed, mostly to himself. “It was a nightmare. I thought I was gonna puke, man.”

You stared at him, wrapping your mind around this. Why was it so easy to accept that the other characters had lives before, during, and after what you had seen on tv but with Eddie it was different?

Because he only had ten minutes of screen time before he was wanted for murder. You reminded yourself.

“They forced you to perform?” you asked, trying to imagine him, Gareth, Jeff, and Grant as pre-teens. Had the other kids been forced to perform? Steve? Nancy? You made a mental note to ask about that later.

“Yeah it was a stupid rule.” Eddie took another dangerous turn that made you grip your seat with white knuckles. He at least decided to turn down the music just a bit before continuing with his story. “I avoided it as long as I could but they managed to corner me into signing up. I refused to go down alone though so I roped some friends into joining me and thus, Corroded Coffin was born.”

“So you’ve been friends with the others since middle school?” you asked. If Eddie hadn’t been driving like a maniac you might have been able to relax a little as he led the conversation.

“Oh, no. Gareth joined in on drums in my second senior year.” he explained. “It was originally me, Ronnie, Jeff, and Dougie.”

Well, you knew at least two of those names. Jeff and Gareth had been there the night that Dustin asked for you to sub in for Grant. You didn’t remember much about them other than how they looked at you like fresh meat thrown to a wolf pack.

“A middle school talent show, huh?” you asked, finally looking at him for more than just a few seconds at a time. “Were you any good?”

“Oh, not even a little. We got boo’d off the stage and a ton of parents complained about our choice of song.” he smiled brightly, full teeth. “I’m pretty sure they changed the ‘everyone must perform’ rule after that.”

“Sounds like you failed for the good of all the kids in Hawkins. Bet you’re a hero to some of them.” You bit your tongue wincing at your choice of words. Hero. It was so cheesy and too on the nose. It didn’t mean anything. It meant everything. It meant nothing. Just stop overthinking-

“It’d be the first time someone thought I did any good in school.” Eddie said, pulling into the Happy Hills Trailer Park. He pulled up in front of his trailer and parked, and you hopped out, glad to be on steady ground.

Your watch said that it was around seven thirty. You’d walked all the way to the high school to be picked up by Eddie after Hellfire, he’d offered to pick you up at your place but... well you didn’t need him knowing where you were staying right now.

“Eddie.” An older man was sitting on the porch, cigarette in hand, as he nodded at his nephew.

“Thought you’d be off to work by now, Wayne.” Eddie said, hopping on the steps to the porch.

“Just about to head out.” Wayne’s eyes drifted over to you, taking in a drag and looking you up and down. Had it been any other old man, you would have felt deeply uncomfortable, yet with Eddie’s uncle you felt like- you couldn’t place it. If you had to take a shot in the dark, you assumed that he was trying to decide if he should judge you.

Actually, maybe you were a little uncomfortable now.

Eddie grabbed your shoulder and pushed you up to stand next to him as he introduced you.

You shot your hand out and gave him the best hand shake you could. “Nice to meet you.” you said. Wayne took your hand with his free one and shook it, giving you a nod. Whatever he had been thinking before disappeared and he stood up and flicked his cigarette off the porch.

“Don’t stay up too late.” Wayne said, heading towards his truck, parked on the other side of the trailer. “Granny dropped off a casserole in the fridge if you get hungry.”

The scent of cigarette smoke hung stale in the air of the trailer, and Eddie cracked a window in an attempt to air it out. You looked around, taking in the interesting choice of decore.

“Do you want a drink?” Eddie asked, looking over at you as you stared at the walls.

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.” you said, making eye contact with a Garfield mug by the door.

“Why would that inconvenience me?”

“Well if you get me a drink what would you drink out of?” you asked, scanning the seemingly endless shelves of mugs and hats on the walls.

You heard Eddie laugh from the kitchen. “I’ll make due.” When you turned to look at him again he was holding a beer in his hand. No need for a mug then, you guessed.

“No, really, this is a lot of mugs for two guys.” you said, looking around. The small living room had a couch and an old arm chair, and there were just so many fucking shelves of mugs. “And hats.”

Eddie walked over to you and handed over a beer, which you took without a word. He’d been enough of a gentleman to even open it for you. You took a sip, trying to remember if you even liked beer.

“It’s just something Wayne always collected.” Eddie said. “I never really thought too much about it. Actually I don’t think I ever see him wear hats much either, mostly during the summer.”

“Do you wear hats?” You scanned the line of hats over one of the windows.

“Not since I was a kid. Those caps just make my hair go everywhere.”

“I like your hair.”

Eddie looked at you and you made eye contact with him for the first time since he picked you up, making your stomach twist. He almost looked bashful at the compliment.

“Thanks.” he looked like he might want to say more, but instead he turned around and started walking towards the opposite end of the trailer and you followed him.

Eddie’s room was overwhelmingly Eddie. Your eyes scanned the room, picking out pieces of him as you went. There was a small closet that was a little open, showing a guitar body that didn’t have any strings, a homemade Corroded Coffin banner, posters that were plastered on almost every spare inch of wall, a yoyo on his dresser, his electric guitar hanging on his mirror.

You stared at the guitar and tried to calm the pounding of your heart, trying to push down the memories of seeing him play the instrument on the small screen of your computer back at home and what happens after.

Calm down, calm down, calm down. You chanted in your mind and looked away from the dresser to where Eddie was on the other side of the bedroom. He was looking through a basket on the floor and you could hear the slight clacking sound of cassette tapes knocking together as he looked them over.

“You might have to rewind these.” he said, tossing them on the bed. “And one of these isn’t done so when you find that one, give it back.”

You picked up one of the tapes, seeing the label with his handwriting. You had told him that you were interested in getting into more metal music and Eddie had been more than happy to offer up some of his mixtapes for you to borrow.

“So what’s on all of these?” you asked, the labels not giving you any hint of what could be on them. Faerune, Ralishaz the Mad, Stroud’s Castle Caper, Middle Earth. You read each label one by one, realizing that all of these had something to do with D&D or fantasy, the fucking nerd.

“A bit of everything.” He said, taking a seat on his bed, looking at the tapes. “Just whatever I was into at the time that I didn’t want to miss when it came on the radio.”

“And the labels...?” you asked, looking them over, noticing a smudge on one that faded to a fingerprint. You wished that you could ignore the small details that were making Eddie so real, it only made your head spin. The more of him you saw, the harder it became to say you weren’t going to try and change anything.

Even if it means risking your own life?

You missed his explanation of why he named the tapes the way he did and you instead shoved one out at him “Can you put one on?” you asked, sounding a little more frazzled than you had intended.

Eddie took the tape and put it in the smaller boom box that was plugged in on the floor and hit play. You sat next to him, trying so hard not to think about him, which was a stupid endeavor considering you were in Eddie Munson’s world, in Eddie Munson’s trailer, sitting on Eddie Munson’s bed, with Eddie Munson.

You were sitting on Eddie Munson’s bed. You were sitting on his bed right next to him. You felt yourself get stiff again, and you closed your eyes and took a few deep breaths. With any luck he would just think that you’re focusing on the music instead of trying to shove down the sudden wave of dirty thoughts that drowned out your moral dilemma and left you with a completely different problem now.

This is what you get for reading so much fan fiction.

Reader ==> Calm the fuck down

You focused on the sound of the music, the last ten seconds of the song were cut off abruptly with a new song. The sound of the radio DJs announcement of the new song adding to the homemade quality of the tape.

You took another sip of the beer that had been ignored in your hand, letting the burn of the cheap drink distract you and pull you out of your mind for a moment. Eddie had started talking again, telling you about the song and more technical things about the guitar solo.

He’s info dumping. You realized, and opened your eyes again. You looked at him and he wasn’t looking at you, just going on and on about the song, fiddling with one of his rings.

He’s nervous. The retaliation hitting you like a brick. You had been so wrapped up in your own nerves of being alone with him that it never once occurred to you that he might be feeling nervous around you. You couldn’t fathom why. You were just some weirdo who crashed his club once and now were trying to be his friend in an attempt to eventually save his life. He only knew about that first part though.

You were tempted to reach out and rub his back to calm him down, but you didn’t want to be too forward.

“I like the song.” you said when he stopped to take a breath. “I can see why you do, too.”

You noticed his shoulders relaxed a little and he smiled at you and you wished he wouldn’t because you didn’t think your heart could take it.

“I listened to this tape a lot last summer.” he said as another song came on, and the whiplash from metal to what sounded like country.

“This is different.” you said. “I didn’t take you as a country fan with the... everything about you.”

Eddie stood up and walked over to his dresser, digging around through a drawer and pulling out a small bag of weed. Right, that’s the other reason you used to hang out with him tonight.

“Yeah, my mom was from Mempis.” he said, measuring out what you’d asked him for and you started scrambling for your wallet and pulled out the time-appropriate cash you had in there. “So I grew up with this kind of music.”

You two exchanged goods and you shoved the baggie in your backpack. From where you were sitting, you noticed another guitar that you’d missed when you first stepped in his room. It was an acoustic guitar sitting in the corner, out of the way but not so much that it looked completely ignored. Eddie had gone in and painted words on the body of the guitar, squished together as if he hadn’t thought out how he should space out his writing.

This Machine Slays Dragons.

Of all the small bits of Eddie that you had learned in the past few days, this was the thing that punched you in the gut and humanized him completely. The site of this acoustic guitar is what made you feel clammy and the weight of this world suddenly came crashing down on your shoulders.

“Have you ever been to Tennessee?” you asked, your voice sounding foreign to you as you tried desperately to anchor yourself.

Five things you can see. Guitar. Another Guitar, Corroded Coffin banner. Empty beer can. Eddie

That wasn’t going to work.

“No, I’ve never left Hawkins.” Eddie said, putting his stash away, oblivious to the storm that was raging inside your brain. “Mom, uh, used to talk about how her music felt like a plane ticket home even if she was stuck here. I say that my bands music is more like a portal to another dimension-”

“Where’s your bathroom?” you asked, your stomach lurching.

His head snapped up at you, and you tore your eyes away from the guitar as his words echoed in your mind.

Portal to another dimension. Portal. Another dimension.

“Hey, are you okay?” Eddie asked, taking a step close to you, his brows were furrowed under his fringe as he looked you over. When you didn’t immediately answer, he pointed out of his bedroom “Bathroom is right there.”

You gave him a nod and quickly locked yourself in the bathroom and tried not to hurl. He was real, Eddie was real and he was going to die if you didn’t do something. Eddie was real, and he listened to blue grass, and he had an acoustic guitar that he painted himself, and he made mix tapes, and he had a mom, and he owned a yoyo and he just sold you weed and he was going to be killed by monsters trying to save this town and the world.

It took a moment to calm yourself, taking deep breaths. You had been lying to yourself since the day you arrived. You had been telling yourself that this was alright, that you were totally able to handle being transported to another dimension, knowing what was going to happen.You could be a hero and save everyone.

That was a fucking lie. You were still trying to tell yourself that this was a dream, that this wasn’t really happening and that these people didn’t really exist because they couldn’t exist.

But they did. They existed, and you were no hero. Eddie’s voice echoed and layered with yours in your mind and you turned on the sink, splashing water in your face. People were going to die and did you really think you could do this?

You needed to get out of there.

You flushed the toilet and stepped out of the bathroom and walked back into Eddie’s room. He was fidgeting with a guitar pick between his fingers and he looked up at you.

“Everything okay?” he asked, standing up from his bed. “You look kind of...”

You were sure you looked like shit, shaken up and feeling clammy.

“Y-yeah.” you said, trying not to bolt out of the trailer like a mad person. “Sorry, I’m not feeling great. I think I need to head home.”

“Totally, I get it. I’ll drive you home.” Eddie said, and the genuine worry in his voice made you want to cry.

“No...!” The word came out more desperate than intended. You could not let him know where you were staying right now. “I- I think I need the fresh air. I don’t live far from here.”

“You look like you’re about to pass out.” Eddie protested, and your brain scrambled to think of any good excuse for what to do next. “I’m gonna be honest, you look like shit.”

“Can you drop me off at Dustin’s place?” you asked, grabbing onto the first name in your head.

“Dustin... Henderson?” Eddie asked. “Why?”

Why? Because you couldn’t let Eddie know that you were squatting in Benny’s. Because you couldn’t tell him that on Friday and Saturday the old run down diner you were calling home was crawling with basketball players drinking and hungover. You couldn’t say that on those days you jumped between the Party’s homes to hide out and sleep.

There was so much you couldn’t say and you hated every second of it.

“His mom is a friend of my family.” You managed to say, hating the lie on your tongue. “And since my family isn’t around here...”

Eddie’s eyes were staring hard into yours, searching for something. If he found what he was looking for, he didn’t say so and just nodded. “Yeah, I’ll drop you off at Henderson’s.”

You grabbed the cassettes on the bed and shoved them into your backpack, following him to his van. How had you managed to fuck up so bad? You hadn’t been there for a half hour and he was already needing to drop you off somewhere else like a kid getting sick at a sleepover.

The drive to Dustin’s was awkward, Eddie had the music turned on again but at a much lower volume as the two of you drove in silence. You stared out the window, counting street signs and focused on your breathing.

What a mess of tonight you’d made.

Eddie’s driving wasn’t as mad as it had been earlier and when he pulled up to Dustin’s home which you were thankful for.

“You sure you're gonna be okay?” Eddie asked, looking you over. “Need me to, I don't know, walk you to the door?”

You shook your head, not needing him to do anything more than he already has. Besides, you were planning on walking to the back of the house and sitting in the shed to give yourself some alone time.

“I'll be okay.” You said, sounding far more confident than you felt. “Thanks for the ride... And the tapes... And the weed.” You gave him an awkward smile which he managed to return.

“Yeah, any time.” He said and you got out of the car and headed towards the garage to be out of sight, only emerging outside again when you heard the van pull away.

You made your way to the back yard and changed your mind, moving into the basement instead.

It was going to be a long night as you processed the reality you were living.

Tumblr User ==> What next?

#nacht fic #eddie munson x reader

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