#i shrimply do not think it is the end of the world to say i like the idea of the kid who got groomed as a child to you know. not be

[shopcat]

it was essentially i will recreate it for us all. us talking normally in the middle of an hour long convo at this point -> me: yeah i like those au's where shigaraki becomes a hero student i think it's cute it's pretty interesting how he was only 19 in season 1 and UA seniors are 18 and all ^_^ -> This user does not accept DMs.

[infinite-orangepeel]

more eaglescout!steve/perv!eddie bc i’m obsessed

CW: eddie being possessive, steve’s toxic parents (food issues, ED, physical abuse)

steve’s parents have always been overbearing and not in a loving way. they’re controlling, demeaning, and downright cruel.

steve’s mom is most critical about his weight.

she makes him weigh himself regularly and puts him on a diet whenever she thinks he’s gained too much. he has no say over his own meals and she packs his lunch every single day.

steve’s dad is abusive in other ways.

he wants steve to be a real man’s man. he beats hits him with his belt whenever he thinks he’s being too soft or ‘feminine’ in any way (which essentially translates to being kind or gentle).

he leaves steve bruised beneath his clothes and scarred over his heart.

they fuck with his head.

they close him off from so much of the world.

they don’t let him travel, date outside of the church, choose his own friends, etc.

he knows so little about anything outside of the claustrophobic bubble they’ve raised him in.

needless to say, eddie munson is the antithesis to everything they’ve ever taught him.

eddie munson breaks rules, pushes boundaries, throws up his middle finger at tradition—curiously drawn to darkness and oddities.

and as he gets to know steve, he notices something that he just can’t get out of his head.

all of his clothes—scouts uniforms, casual wear, briefs—have his family name written in sharpie on the label. it’s absurd. he’s an adult.

“what’s this about?” eddie asks pointedly one day, flashing one such label at a half-naked steve who’s hurrying to get dressed.

“mom does it to all my clothes. always has,” he shrugs and frowns, “i’ve asked her to stop.”

and maybe in another family dynamic it might be endearing. sign of a mother who just loves her son too much and can’t let go.

but steve’s family is fucked up. steve’s family is deranged. and eddie, coming from his own fucked up family, can only read the little labels as another way to suffocate him and hold him back.

“do you want me to do something about it?” eddie cocks an eyebrow at him, “because i will. just say the word.”

steve looks uncertain. whenever eddie gives him the opportunity to choose for himself, steve tenses up.

“it’s sharpie. it doesn’t wash out.”

eddie chuckles, smirks at him in that way that spells ‘trouble.’

“lucky for you i have scissors and i know how to sew. just lay back and relax, baby. let me take care of it.”

which is how steve ends up bringing eddie his entire closet so he can repeat what he’s done to the clothes steve was wearing the previous day.

methodically and with a joint between his teeth, steve watches as eddie cuts out each ‘harrington’ label, puts them all in a pile, and tosses steve a lighter.

“go on,” he says as they stand in his backyard, “light ‘em up.”

it’s symbolic. it’s ceremonial. it feels good. it feels freeing to watch all those little labels char and turn to ash.

eddie spends the rest of the evening with steve in his lap, sewing ‘property of E.M.’ into every last piece.

taglist (message me to be added or removed at any time <3): @estrellami-1, @disastardly, @ilovecupcakesandtea, @the-redthread, @asbealthgn @bestofbucky, @vampireinthesun @carlyv @shrimply-a-menace @lordrrascal @jjoesjonas @malachitedevil @anxiouseds @feraleddiekinninghours @gay-little-bitch @jhrc666 @pinkdaisies1998 @mcneen @perseus-notjackson @eiddets @corroded-coffin-groupie @three-possums-playing-human @stevesbipanic @plutoshelm @arkenstoned @indiearr @they-reap-what-we-sow @gleek4twd @bunnyweasley23

[shmothman]

(This is just curiosity btw)

I'm interested in knowing your opinion on the rest of the cast 🎤

Vash is clearly your fave and brainrot material for everyone at this point (me included), but I wanna know your opinion on other characters of the series if you don't mind! (If you wanna talk about your love for Vash that's welcome too, I love seeing different takes and opinions on this gramps)

My personal fave is Livio. Dunno if you read the manga or know anything about him yet (he's showed up briefly on Stampede but it's a very different version. Still like him tho, I'm excited to see how his character will play on second season)

Sorry if my English is bad, hope my little rambling made sense 🦐 love your writing btw!!

(Your English is great, no worries!!)

Ok so the thing about me is that I’m allergic to angst. even ‘98 was kinda hard for me to watch at points, and Stampede is even sadder. And the manga… is just plain too much for me 🤣 so I have watched all of 98! But only a few episodes of stampede. So although I’m absorbing all the plot and lore of stamp and max secondhand, I’ve still only watched 98. So my take on the characters pretty much only comes from that.

THAT BEING SAID. I LOVE Milly. I love Wolfwood and Meryl too, but Milly is probably my second favorite character. I love a character who’s loyal to her own ideals—and just plain loyal—and I love the fact that she’s as kind and peppy and optimistic as she is despite… well. Despite the world being what it is. She’d do anything for Meryl and for her family (and I do think that includes Vash and Wolfwood), and she protects innocent people fiercely while not being afraid to hit a motherfucker with a giant… whatever it is she shoots from that huge ass gun.

What can I say, I like characters that are just good despite the world around them being awful.

Wolfwood is great for all his contradictions, for how interesting and complicated he is. And because he’s a slutty priest. And I do like Meryl! I just don’t have super strong feelings about her honestly 🤣

Knives is… knives. I can’t find it in my heart to hate him despite the… atrocities,, because vash still loves him. And because I mean. He DID experience some Horrors at the hands of humanity. Cool motive, still murder, etc. i do really love the end of 98, although I know it is NOT how max ends. At all. 😬 this is me casting my vote for knives domestication arc.

My least favorite is legato. Square up you puffy sleeved bitch I will fucking kill you. Leave Vash alone. Get a job.

Number one take: Let Vash Be Fucking Happy For Goddamn ONCE. (if you want something done right you must do it yourself. gestures to my pages and pages of fanfiction in the works.)

(and if you’re wondering why I chose the Angst Anime if I’m allergic to angst. It’s shrimply because I do not choose the hyperfixation. Vash make brain go brrrbrrrrrrr.)

[bgtea]

Cellular Memory - Chapter 4

A million years later, a wild update appears! Here’s Chapter 4. 

AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/6213124/chapters/21167726

FFNET: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11834117/4/Cellular-Memory

XII. Stars

There are things that Stanley will never tell his brother.

Most of them are stupid inconsequential tidbits that he shelves at the back of his head without a second thought, things like how he genuinely enjoys playing Ford’s nerdy dungeon game or how he actually prefers his eggs over-easy and his coffee black.

(Ford tends to make the eggs sunny side up for him and the coffee with milk and sugar. Stanley doesn’t have the heart to tell him what he actually prefers, not with Ford beaming at him as he hands him the plate of food. Besides, food is food, and he’ll cram just about anything down his gullet.)  

(If he gets the occasional flashes of deep, phantom hunger pangs clawing at his stomach, then that’s his cross to bear.)

Then, there are the not-so-little things he avoids telling Ford; things like how every now and then, he’d feel a white, searing pain radiating from his shoulder and with it, the trace scent of cooked meat and singed hair would linger in the air.

Stanley doesn’t tell Ford how he’s gotten used to dropping his gaze whenever he enters the kitchen. If he happens to catch a glimpse of the funny lightbulb over the kitchen table, well, then Stanley definitely doesn’t tell Ford about the inexplicable wave of irritation that would wash over him, or the bitter taste of hollow defeat that would inevitably follow.

Does anyone see this? This is what a hero looks like right here.

Anyway, where were you?

You’re just a dumber sweatier version of him.

Look, there's a saltwater taffy store on the dock. And somebody's gotta get paid to scrape the barnacles off of it.

At least you'll have one son here in New Jersey forever.

Instead, Stanley just keeps breathing and thinks –

Just one more push, Stanley.

Everything’s going to be okay.

And he would shake his head and force away the dark, clinging tendrils of his sombre thoughts as far from his mind as possible.

He’s good at being in denial. Then again, he’s always been an excellent liar.

(Above all else, he wishes he could tell Ford how utterly terrified he is of losing himself to Stan Pines. He’s still not entirely sold that past him was as good of a man as his niece and nephews were saying. Sure, from what he remembers, the other him had his moments of bravery, but more often than not, he only acted that way because he was fixing the problems he himself had created in the first place.)

(Not like he’ll ever say anything to Ford though. Ford is oddly defensive about his brother. Ford would be horribly disappointed if he said anything negative about Stan Pines, and if there is one thing he shares with Stan Pines, it’s that they both hate to disappoint Ford.)

Instead, what Stanley ends up doing is this: every morning, he gets out of bed and shuffles to the kitchen with a gruff “g’morning” to his brother, taking care to tilt his head just right to avoid looking above the kitchen table. He’d then hum a quick thanks as Ford hands him yet another cup of coffee that is too sweet for his tastes. He’d eat the eggs that are a tad too runny to his liking.

Ford would ask how he’s doing. He’d answer with a nonchalant, “Good, thanks.”

It’s a coward’s way out but Stanley never proclaims himself to be a hero anyway.

----

He does not, however, hesitate to voice his concerns when it’s his brother who’s acting dodgy as fuck.  

“Why is this a good idea again?” Stanley pulls his jacket tighter around his body, shivering as another gust of ice cold wind from the lake whips up the water surface and wraps around him. He squints at the vague, Ford-like blob on the wooden dock a few feet away from him, but hell if he knows what he’s even looking at in the dark. “And why can’t we do this later in the day when it’s not the ass crack of dawn?”

“We’re looking for water sprites, Stanley,” Ford answers, as if that explains anything. He steps closer to Stanley and hands him a coiled rope and a flashlight. “They’re nocturnal creatures who live in the water but rises to the water surface a few hours before dawn. Think of all the things we can learn from them!”

At Stanley’s judging silence, he huffs out, “This won’t be like last week with the carnivorous hippogriffs. Now, help me load the boat.”

Stanley blinks. “We have a boat?”

(He doesn’t know why his heart skips a beat when he sees the words ‘Stan-o-War II’ displayed proudly on the battered hull.)  

(He can’t think of a more perfect name though.)

“Are you sure we’re at the right place?” he murmurs once they reached the center of the lake and lowered the anchor. “I’m not seeing any of those, er, water-things out here.”

In the darkness, Stanley can just make out the white of Ford’s teeth as he flashes him a smile. “Water sprites, Stanley. And by my calculations, we should have another half hour to an hour before they show up. Might as well make ourselves comfortable in the meanwhile.”

A gust of wind blows across the lake, sending icy tendrils up Stanley’s spine. He grimaces and curls into himself. Right. He’ll just make himself real comfortable as a frozen corpse-cicle.

“Here.”

He blinks at the cup of hot chocolate under his nose.

“Thought you could use it.” Ford says with good cheer, clutching on to his own Styrofoam cup. “I know how much you hate the cold. You always have.”

(Stanley’s glad that the cover of darkness is hiding his tells from his brother because he wasn’t sure if he could have adequately disguised his wince just then.)

“Thanks,” he says breezily, cupping the tiny cup into his frozen palms. The warmth seeping into his numb fingers feel like absolute bliss.

“Wish I brought some reading material out here though,” Ford mutters. “We could use something to help pass the time. Never did find out who stole those capers.”

(The butler, a voice chimes in Stanley’s head, clear as bells. He ignores it.)

“Heh, figures you’re going to bring your nerd books with you.” Stanley teases. “Why don’t you let me know if we’re doing this again so that I can bring us something that’s actually fun.”

Ford snorts. “If you’re talking about your joke book, Stanley, then I beg to differ.”

Stanley gives a dramatic gasp as he clutches at his heart. “Lies. Nothing but filthy lies. Some of those jokes are comedy gold!” Besides, the ex-wife ones are great.

As if sensing his thoughts, Ford gives his brother a flat stare. “I heard the ex-wife jokes, Stanley. They’re the furthest thing from comedy gold there is.”

“Yeesh, tough crowd.” Stanley rolls his eyes and takes a slow sip of his drink. “Ah well. I guess I’ll just have to find something in that book that floats your boat?”

It takes Stanley a few seconds to clue into the silent disapproval that’s radiating from Ford. It takes another second for the positively shit-eating grin to slowly spread over his face.  

“Stanley,” his brother warns, mildly fearful and it warms the bottom of Stanley’s cold, dark heart. “Don’t you dare – !”

“What?” he asks with the innocence of a mayoral candidate caught committing voting fraud, “was that knot to your liking? You said we should do something to pass the time!”

“Stanley. No.”

“I’m seas-ing the occasion! You know, carp-e diem and all?”

“I wasn’t expecting you to drown us in puns!” And then, as if realizing the error of his ways, Ford splutters, “Wait, that is not an invitation – ”

“Too late!” Stanley crows, jabbing a finger in Ford’s direction. “You responded. The pun war is on!” He narrows his gaze and crosses his arms over his chest. “Of course, you can always just give up and admit defeat.”

“I’ll have you know I was the champion of puns in Dimension C209-1,” Ford leans forward close enough for Stanley to see his challenging glare and his annoyed scowl. “If I were you, I’d get ready for a real bass kicking!”

Stanley barks out a laugh. Now that’s more like it! “Hey, you don’t need to get crabby with me. At least we have something to occupy our brines with for the next hour.”

“Knowing you, this will inevitably get out of sand.”

“You’re finding this reel fun, don’t lie.”

Ford harrumphs. “I shrimply don’t know what you mean. But I suppose that it will take an act of cod to get you to stop at this point.”

“Why would I stop when everything’s going so swimmingly?

“On the contrary, this whole conversation is heading towards shipwreck.”

“It wouldn’t be if you have a great sense of humor like mine, first mate.”

“I’m sardine to think you’re delusional.”

“Well, I’m aboat to think that you’re – ”

A speckle of glowing light lands delicately on Stanley’s nose. He gapes at it, cross-eyed.

“What on Earth?”

Before Stanley or Ford can move, the light flutters away from its perch, and circles above the boat in a slow, lazy arc. It meanders through the air, drifting to and fro seemingly without a care in the world like a dandelion puff caught in the wind.

“Stanley. Look!”

One by one, small flickering orbs break out from beneath the mirrored surface of the lake as if answering their sister’s siren call. Gently, they rise, swaying and swirling the higher they go as if dancing to a silent waltz. Some flit several feet above the boat, looping casually above Stanley and Ford before drifting back down to skim the surface of the lake, trailing tiny ripples along the calm water. Others float away from the boat in wide zig-zags.

“Incredible,” Stanley hears Ford breathes. The soft, flickering glow of the orbs is filling their surroundings with pinpricks of twinkling silver against a backdrop of deep indigo as night sky seamlessly blends with calm water. An endless, glimmering galaxy of stars wraps around them, and Stanley is struck breathless by the vast beauty of it all. If it wasn’t for the feeling of solid wood beneath his feet, Stanley would have thought he was falling through space.

“Yeah, it’s really something,” he agrees.

For once, the voice in his head is silent.  

--

That night, Stanley dreams of a starlit sky over a lonely highway.

He finished off the last of his cigarette and exhaled a plume of white smoke, watching the lazy trail rise above his head to slowly dissipate in the cool mountain air. The sky was clear enough for him to make out the Little Dipper and the Cassiopeia hanging above the horizon of bristly pine trees that carpeted the Oregon landscape.  

Ford would’ve loved this. Those were his favourite constellations when they were children. He wouldn’t shut up about them whenever they went stargazing on the beach.  

Stan shook his head and peeled his gaze away from the stars. When he gets his brother back, he’ll have all the time to make amends. Then, he and Ford can go stargazing out in the water like they always wanted to do.

He quirked his lips in a lopsided smile. Maybe they’ll name the new ship Stan-o-War II for old time’s sake.

But until then, he has work to do. One last loose thread to tie up.

He placed a loving hand on the trunk of his Stanmobile and gave the battered, cool metal below his palm a few soft pats. It was the one thing he managed to keep from his home from Before, the one proof he had that his father loved him once, and it was his home, his escape, his everything for the past decade. He loved her like nothing else, but there was no way for him to keep her if he wanted his plans to work, sentiments be damned.

He couldn’t keep her if he wanted to get Ford back.

And wasn’t that the story of his life? If nothing else, his life had been a massive test of endurance to see how much Stan Pines was willing to sacrifice, how much he was willing to give without shattering.

What’s one more sacrifice in the grand scheme of things?

Stan huffed a humourless smile. “Just one more push, Stanley. Just one more push. You got this.”

Just one more push. And then, it’d be good bye Stan Pines, liar, cheat, grifter extraordinaire. Good bye, Stan Pines, the failure. The lesser twin.

Just one more push.

He closed his eyes, drew in one last shaky breath. Breathed out.

And he pushed.

---

As he watched the remaining proof of Stan Pines crash and burn, a fleeting thought crossed his mind. At least he went out in a blaze of glory. At least he went out for something bigger than himself. ---

Stanley wakes up with tears in his eyes. He lays in bed until his heart stops aching.

---

If Ford realizes that Stanley is more subdued, he doesn’t give it away by saying anything out of the ordinary.

Stanley does, however, notice the freshly brewed pots of chamomile tea readily available whenever he wanders into the kitchen, or the mountains of baked goods piled high on a plate on the counter. He’d have to be blind to miss the new joke book – ‘Even More Yuk ‘Em Ups: Ex-Wife Edition! – sitting conspicuously on the seat of his armchair beside his favourite blanket, neatly folded and warm to the touch.

He brings the blanket to his face and inhales. The scent of fresh laundry detergent mingled with a hit of soothing lavender hits his nose, and he feels some of the tension along his shoulders leave his body in a wave as he breathes out.

He doesn’t need to fake the soft smile on his face when Ford finally bolsters the courage to ask if he’s alright.

(No, he’s not alright, but as he’s slowly getting to know Stan Pines better, he thinks he’ll get there.)

---