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frankenkyle19 · 1 year ago

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Kinktober Day 3: Toy Experimenting With Kyle Spencer

posting this before I head to bed because I have a very busy day tomorrow. Enjoy! :)

word count: 4.3k

warnings/description: Smut, porn with very little plot, anal stuff, unprotected sex, sex shops, dildos, vibrators, handjobs, whiny Kyle, cuteness. Very briefly proofread. Definitely at least a few errors.

Kyle was a bit different. Of course everyone was different in their own way, but he was…. A bit more than most. Maybe it was just his personality, but it also could easily be the fact that he had been quite literally pieced back together and reanimated by two witches that really had no idea what they were doing.

If you had to guess, you’d figure it was almost no doubt the second option.

Still, you loved him no matter how hard he was to take care of sometimes. He so badly wanted to take care of himself and do things by himself, but he was clumsy and sometimes (most times) he needed help, despite how much he hated asking for it. You tried to respect that and only intervened when he really really needed the help.

Well maybe, just maybe this was one of those times…

You had gone out with the rest of the girls to do some much needed shopping and decided it’d be best to leave Kyle behind. He had high anxiety in crowded places with lots of people, and you didn’t want to drag him around town while he was scared. Not when he could become a danger to himself and others in the blink of an eye. It just seemed cruel. You decided to come back to the academy a bit earlier than the rest of the girls, slightly worried about leaving Kyle alone for so long. You didn’t want him to get into something dangerous that could potentially hurt him or cause one of the other witches to be upset with him.

What you had not expected was opening the door to the bedroom you shared with Kyle to see him completely naked on your bed, hair a mess, body covered in a sheen of sweat as he tried pathetically to press a pretty pink dildo into his ass.

Your dildo-

You and Kyle had messed around before. You’d helped him find his release and let him stay deep inside you. He slept the best when his cock was buried deep in your warmth. It was comforting in a way to him, beyond anything sexual, a way he showed his love.

What you had never done was use your toys with Kyle, or even showed them to him. So he must have been snooping around the room while you were gone.. Jesus Christ. This is exactly why you shouldn’t have left him alone.

Kyle looked up quickly when he heard you walk in. His eyes were filled with a desperation that immediately made you melt. He was squirming on the silicone cock and whining pathetically.

“H-hurt. H-help pleaseee?” He asked, pulling the cock from his hole, wincing a bit. It was obvious he had done no prep and hadn’t even lubed up the toy. Poor boy…

He obviously had a very clear idea of what he wanted, but wasn’t quite sure how to achieve it.

You made your way towards him, stopping to grab your small bottle of lube from your bedside drawer. You sat on the bed and rubbed Kyle’s back gently, trying to calm him. He seemed so riled up and you needed him calm before you tried anything with him.

“I’ll help you baby, but next time you gotta be careful okay? You could have hurt yourself and we don’t want that, right?” You wondered how he even knew how to do this and realized at some point in his life, while he was still alive, he’d done something like this to be able to remember it even now.

Your presence immediately calmed him as he leaned against you, holding the dildo out for you to take.

“H-help please?” He said gently, his words more clear and thought through. You were always worried that maybe he didn’t exactly understand this, and could he really consent in such a state? But it was moments like this where he initiated it, that you realized he understood just fine.

You pressed a kiss to his temple and he chased your lips with his own before he kissed you. He was a bit sloppy and the kiss was definitely a bit wetter than you enjoyed, but because it was Kyle, it wasn’t as horrible as it could be. He leaned practically his whole body weight on you as he moaned against your lips, his clumsy hands coming to grasp onto your shoulders and squeeze gently. Well… as gently as he could. It was still a bit rough.

You pulled away, much to Kyle’s dismay until he heard the pop of the cap on the bottle, seeing you squirt some of the clear substance onto your hand and rubbing it around with your fingers.

Kyle, as curious as ever, and now having some idea what to do, reached out and coated his own fingers in the lube, watching as his fingers glistened.

You smiled softly, watching as he seemed to remember what this was and what it did. Many people thought Kyle knew nothing, but it was more like he needed to be re-taught, because when he was faced with something familiar, it was obvious that his brain started to remember what he’d used it for when he was still alive.

Once his fingers were coated he brought them back to his sore hole, rubbing across it gently as he let out a quiet whine, watching you the whole time. He wasn’t the least bit embarrassed to have been walked in on doing something so private. He just loved you and always wanted you close.

One of his fingers breached his tight ring of muscles and he arched into it, letting it slip in fully as he moaned rather loudly. You were glad you were the only two in the academy at the moment, otherwise he would definitely be heard by the others.

“Mmm- g-good.” He groaned out, slipping a second finger easily into his hole, curling them a bit. It was hard for him to reach at the angle he was in, and soon he looked back at you, reaching with his free hand for the dildo still in your hand.

You placed it in Kyle’s hand and he slipped his fingers out of himself, holding the silicone with both hands. He leaned back to once again try to insert it into himself before you paused him.

“Wait, remember we have to make it nice and wet so it feels good.” You reminded gently, pouring a generous amount of lube onto the cock and rubbing it around before nodding at Kyle.

“Okay. Go ahead baby.”

It was obvious he enjoyed your help but wanted to do this himself. Maybe it was some way of getting control of himself back? Maybe he wanted to feel accomplished for something? You weren’t sure. All you knew was he was a sweaty, sticky mess in front of you and it was absolutely beautiful.

You watched as he slowly inserted the pink cock into his tight hole, his whole body arching into the feeling. God, this was beyond anything you’d ever fantasized about and you almost wanted to walk out and leave him to pleasure himself, but the second you stood up and walked to the door, Kyle let out a worried sound, eyes wide as he watched you helplessly.

“Nooo! Stay! T-touch K-Kyle-“ he spoke, gesturing to his hard, leaking cock. It was obvious he wanted to fuck himseld on the dildo, but it seemed he wanted your help in jerking off.

You were all too happy to oblige. You made your way back to the bed where Kyle was arched like a cat, thrusting the dildo in and out of himself, his free hand clenching the bed sheets so tightly his knuckles turned white.

You carefully wrapped your hand around his cock, still covered in lube which made it easier for you to jerk him, letting his heavy cock slide between your fingers.

Kyle was so overwhelmed. He was unsure if he should push back against the toy or arch into your touch to his cock. So he did both, rocking back and forth he moaned the loudest he had yet, eyes closed tightly as he threw his head back, his dirty blonde hair a mess.

You slid your thumb across the tip of his cock and he mewled, arching into the feeling as his breath shuddered. With the way he was breathing and the way his stomach tensed, you knew he was close.

With a few more strokes over his cock he came hard, a lot all over your hand. He seemed to cum a lot more than a normal human, and you didn’t really have an explanation for that other then he just… did.

He collapsed onto you, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he panted hard, his hot breath and drool smearing against your shirt and through it onto your skin as he came down from his high.

You gently reached behind him and helped him pull the toy out, causing a small cry to leave his lips at the loss of fullness. You set the toy down on the bed to be cleaned off later and just held your boy for several moments as he calmed down.

“T-thank you.” He spoke, voice still trembling a bit. He hadn’t came that hard since he’d been brought back to life, maybe even before that, but he couldn’t remember.

—————————————————————————

It was a few days after that that you had decided to take Kyle to go get his very own dildo. One just for him. Once you told him, he was all too excited, nearly bouncing off the walls as the two of you got your shoes and coats on.

You got a taxi that delivered you into town before taking Kyle’s hand and walking around for a while. You looked through some shop windows before finally arriving at your intended destination. A small, inconspicuous sex shop right on the edge of town.

Kyle squeezed your hand tighter as he pulled you towards the door, urging you to walk in with him.

A little bell above the door dinged announcing your arrival to anyone in the store. There was a young lady behind the counter who gave you a friendly smile before going back to flipping through a magazine.

The store was dimly lit but filled with all sorts of things. Vibrators, lube, dildos, literally any sex toy that ever existed. Several huge dildo’s lined the wall that had you questioning if they’d even feel good inside. We’re talking like 10+ inches. Ouch.

Kyle's dark eyes widened as he looked around the store, taking in every detail before a certain wall of dildo’s caught his eye. He looked back at you before making his way there, clumsy hands reaching out to grab the first one that caught his eye. It was pale and not super girthy or long, but he knew it was perfect and he wanted that one. He was so proud and happy that he was finally getting his very own special toy.

You chuckled softly at seeing he found what he wanted so quickly. He held it up triumphantly to you, showing it off as he grinned, dimples popping. Why was he so adorable even in times like these?

“T-try-“ he said, looking at you with a sort of desperation that told you you should pay quickly and get out of there before he ended up trying to take his pants off right in the damn store. You really never knew what would happen when Kyle was around.

You nodded and waved him over, grabbing a few things that caught your eye. A small vibrator and a new bottle of lube for the two of you to share.

You brought the items to the front and set them on the counter, the girl once again looking up from her magazine for a split second before closing it entirely and beginning to scan the items you set down.

“Find everything alright?” She asked, not looking up from what she was scanning as Kyle set the dildo down on the counter along with the things you had grabbed.

“Yup! Thanks.” You gave a gentle smile, though she didn’t see it nor return it because her head was still bowed low. Good, the last thing you needed was for her to somehow recognize Kyle. He had been all over the news when he passed and surely she’d seen it.

The total showed on the screen and you pulled out your cash from your wallet, handing it over to the woman as Kyle began to wander off in the store again, no doubt curious about everything there.

She bagged up your items and gave you your change, still never once looking up before she just went right back to her magazine. Odd, but you couldn’t really be bothered to care much. You were set on getting Kyle back home and settled.

He was waiting for you by the door, hand outstretched for the bag as he smiled. He was in a very good mood and no doubt excited to try his new toy the second you got home.

You handed the bag to him before opening the door, taking Kyle’s free hand in your own as you called for another Taxi that soon drove you back to the academy.

The drive back was almost completely silent, with Kyle looking out the window and seeing the passing places and people.

Thanking the cab driver, you paid and got out, Kyle following at your heels, bag still gripped in his hands as he hummed excitedly, fidgeting a bit as he followed after you. As luck would have it, you two were alone at the academy again, which meant that Kyle could be as loud as he wanted, which he would no doubt take full advantage of.

He set the bag down on the bed before beginning to undo his belt and the button on his jeans, trying to wriggle them off.

“Woah- eager are we?” You chuckled, looking at him as he stuck his tongue out in concentration before sliding the pants off his body, quickly followed by his boxers.

To no one’s surprise, Kyle was already hard, cock jumping out from the confines of his boxers as he took it in his large hand and began to stroke over it as carefully as he could.

His other hand reached for the bag and dumped out the contents onto the bed. He furrowed his brows and looked curiously at the small bullet vibrator you’d gotten. He hadn’t been paying much attention to what you’d grabbed in the store.

Taking it in your hand, you took it out of the packaging and turned it on, a faint buzzing sound emanating from it as it shook lightly in your hand.

Kyle tilted his head curiously as he watched it buzz in your hand. He didn’t seem very familiar with it.

Moving slowly, you carefully placed the buzzing vibrator against his thigh first to show him how it worked and how it felt. He jumped in surprise, glancing down at his lap curiously before looking back up at you.

“T-touch. Hereee” he said, pulling your hand along with the vibrator onto the head of his leaking cock. The feeling was instant and Kyle bucked his hips, yelping in surprise as he watched it buzz against his cock.

“Mmm- good- l-likeee.” He groaned softly, arching into the feeling to get more pressure on his cock. You grinned, pressing it down a bit more against him.

He gripped onto your shoulder tightly, hard enough to leave bruises as he leaned on you for support, the feeling making his whole body shiver. Why hadn’t he tried this sooner was all he could think in the moment besides how good it felt.

He laid his head against your shoulder and watched as you dragged the vibrator across his cock, down to his balls. He giggled softly, the feeling pleasurable but ticklish, before you went back up. It went on like that for a while, up and down, up and down. The only sounds in the room were the faint buzzing sounds of the vibrator and Kyle’s pathetic whines of pleasure.

Before you knew it, he was pushing the vibrator away with an almost panicked cry, pushing away from you as he settled himself. He was close, and it was obvious that he didn’t want the fun to end just yet.

You switched the vibrator off and set it down on the bed, reaching instead for the dildo that he’d bought, opening it and showing it to him.

Much to your surprise he took the tip of it into his mouth, suckling gently as he arched his hips up into nothing, and part of you wondered how many times he’d done this in life to be so familiar with it even now.

Kyle pressed a few sloppy kisses to the tip before pulling away, looking back at you. “Y-you nowww.” He said, pushing the dildo away from his face. You found it a bit odd but thought he meant he wanted you to suck on it now, so you brought it up to your lips and was about to take the tip into your mouth before he stopped you.

“Nooooo! T-to Kyleeee” he huffed, glancing down at his hard cock. Oh. That made more sense.

You hadn’t actually blown him before. You’d given him a handful of handjobs and he’d fucked you maybe twice, so this was all still new territory for the two of you, and you wanted to go slow as to not trigger Kyle in any way.

You brought your hand down to give him a few firm strokes before pressing a kiss to the tip of his cock. This drove Kyle wild by the way he groaned out, head falling back as he panted, hard.

You continued on, seeing this as a good sign as you suckled just the tip into your mouth, letting your tongue glide along the slit, ever so slightly dipping into it to collect the pre-cum forming.

Kyle whimpered this time, a much more pathetic sound then the ones he’d previously made as he arched his hips into the touch, urging you to take him deeper.

So, you did. It was obvious Kyle needed this and you wanted so badly to make him feel good. And also, you’d be lying if you said this didn’t turn you on just the tiniest bit. Maybe more than that…

Your lips slid down his cock, stretching as you went, the whole time Kyle’s moans urged you on as he gripped onto the bed, watching you as you swallowed him down before pulling off to take a breath.

Kyle watched you for a while, making quiet noises of pleasure that let you know you were doing it right, before his moans began to get increasingly louder and more desperate in tone. You popped off of him and wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, checking to make sure he was still doing okay.

He pulled you into a kiss without any warning, his large hands pawing at your clothes in what appeared to be a desperate attempt to get them off.

“M-moreeee” he whined, actually ripping your shirt on accident (probably not so much of an accident) before he continued to rip at the fabric, sliding it off of you and leaving your bra exposed to him.

You took the hint and began to remove the rest of your clothing, slipping off your now nearly soaked panties as well as your bra.

Kyle let out a near animalistic groan at seeing your bare body, his hands coming up to rip his shirt off his body as well, tossing it onto the floor. He really needed to stop ripping all his clothing or he wouldn’t have anything to wear soon.

He pulled you into a sloppy kiss, the two of you now fully nude. He ground against you a bit, moaning as his cock brushed between your thighs. He was beginning to grow impatient and wanted to try out his new toy, but also wanted to play around with you.

He grabbed the dildo and the bottle of lube and with your help, he lubed it up. He groaned impatiently as you took it away from him, lubing up your own fingers to help stretch him out. He was always so impatient that he just wanted to fuck himself on it immediately, even though he knew it’d be uncomfortable.

He stopped his protests the second your finger circled his hole before breaching it, the stretch a welcome pleasure to Kyle as he moaned out, arching into the feeling.

When you were three fingers deep in him he began to wriggle around impatiently before he pinned you to the bed, kissing and nipping at your shoulder as he positioned himself at your entrance.

“Oh we wanna do that now baby? Okay we can do that.”

Kyle’s hands blindly reached around the bed, obviously looking for something before he found it, holding the dildo up for you to see as he urged you to take it.

“B-bothhh” he said, gesturing to the silicone cock before his own. You weren’t exactly sure what he meant, but you figured you had a pretty good idea.

Kyle positioned himself back over you as he clumsily placed his tip at your entrance before pushing in, burying his face in the crook of your neck as your warm, tight walls enveloped his cock completely, like a snug blanket.

You looked at the dildo in your hands, arching your back a bit as he began to thrust into you with no warning.

Making sure it was still decently lubed up, you reached behind him until it was positioned as his hole, causing him to freeze and arch back into the feeling.

“Is this what you want, Kyle?” You asked, teasing him with the dildo, not pushing it into him just yet.

“Yessss- p-pleaseee” he groaned out, back arching further to try and get it inside his needy hole.

You slowly slowly slipped it inside him. Well, as slowly as you could with the way that his hole sucked it in, wanting more more more until it was fully inside him.

He stayed still for several moments, the overwhelming feeling of his cock being buried deep inside your warmth and the dildo being buried inside him was almost too much.

Slowly but surely he began to rock back and forth, thrusting his cock into you before pulling back and leaning into the silicone cock.

This was heaven for him, he’d never felt anything better and never wanted it to end, although he already felt close so it would unfortunately come to an end sooner rather than later for the boy.

His thrusts were rough and bordering on painful, but the slap of his pelvis against your clit was just enough to make the experience pleasurable. He was using you for his own pleasure and it was honestly one of the hottest things you’d seen. He was definitely coming into his body more as time went on, and in times like this it was very obvious.

“MmmGahH… Good.” He groaned out, dirty blonde hairs falling in front of his cute eyes as he rocked back and forth against you.

You tried your best to thrust the dildo in and out of his hole, but with the way he was pounding into you, it made it a bit difficult. No matter for Kyle though, he was finding his pleasure just fine by rocking back against it.

His body began to shake subtly and you knew he was close by the way his hands held your shoulders tight enough to leave bruises. No matter, you enjoyed it too much to tell him to stop.

His thrusts became more erratic as he lost his rhythm, chasing his pleasure in an attempt to feel the sweet release his body so badly craved.

You weren’t far behind. The rough stimulation to your clit causing surges of pleasure to rush through your body and you would no doubt fall over the edge the second he did, if not sooner.

“C-closeee” Kyle groaned out, words barely intelligible as he lost himself to the pleasure. He gave a few more weak thrusts before stilling inside you. You felt the warmth of his release coat your walls thickly and you came as well, your own body arching up against his.

It took the both of you a few moments to gain back your composure but when you did you slid the toy out of his hole, gently setting it down to be cleaned and put away later. Kyle stayed inside you, putting almost all his body weight on you as he caught his breath. You let out a soft laugh, all the air in your lungs getting squeezed out the more weight Kyle put on you.

“Kyle- you’re squishing me-“ you choked out, and Kyle, despite how tired he was, slipped out of you and collapsed next to you on the bed before wrapping you in his arms.

He peppered kisses to the top of your head and clumsily played with your hair, smiling like the big dope he was as his eyelids began to flutter slowly.

“S-sleep nowww” he spoke, closing his eyes and pulling you impossibly closer as a yawn escaped his mouth. He felt asleep not a minute later, his soft snores music to your ears. Once you were sure he was really asleep you slipped out of his grip to get up and use the bathroom as well as clean yourself up. You looked at the boy sleeping on your bed. Sweaty, naked, hair all in his face and smiling in his sleep. He was so precious and as time went on you were sure he’d get even better at communicating his needs and wants but for now, this was a good start.

#evan peters #evan peters icons #american horror story #ahs fandom #ahs kyle spencer #kyle spencer #ahs coven #kyle spencer x reader #kyle spencer imagine #kyle spencer smut #Ahs season 3 #evan peters characters #evan peters x reader #evan peters smut #evan peters fanfic

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pearlescent-poppies · 6 months ago

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I’m sick and tired of the Flower Husbands discourse. Like really truly it is just making me so upset now. They are my comfort ship. They are. My first tattoo is a poppy with the ESMP1 quote. I want to hold them in my hands and give them all of the good things in the world. When I see people calling them toxic and abusive, it really hurts me. And there’s not a tag to filter out all of it, not all of them tag “toxic flower husbands”. I get it, okay? I do. I get why you might see them like that. But if anything? If we’re going to see Flower Husbands as the most toxic duo, take a look at every other relationship Jimmy has in the Life Series (with the exception of Tango) and you’ll find the same thing. He’s the butt of the joke. He’s the canary they all poke fun of in his cage. He doesn’t care. But Scott does care. If Desert Duo never left the desert, Scott never stopped crying at Jimmy’s grave. Did you watch his series all the way through? Did you see his ideal afterlife? That Jimmy welcomed him home because that is what they had together? Did you hear the way Scott’s voice got sad talking about how quiet and weird it was not to have Jimmy with him? Have you not watched as Scott uses every single opportunity possible to bring up Flower Husbands? He misses Jimmy with every fiber of his being. Jimmy misses Scott too. Did you watch Last Life? Do you know what Martyn did to make Jimmy give him back the life? He promised a life together, Martyn says it himself! That it was all romantic promising to run away just the two of them. How Jimmy was so hopeful. So naive because this was the beginning, he’s not got all of the hope anymore. Jimmy has had to move on. Jimmy made himself move on. 30 seconds. Do you not imagine him turning away from that interaction resigned to his choice a single tear rolling down his face before he rejoins his boys in their shenanigans? Cause I do. That was a man he had devoted his life to. And yeah, maybe it was because of a joke and a silly a poppy. But do you know what a poppy means? Remembrance, dreams, death, and hope for a peaceful future. Do you know what the white daisy, blue cornflower, and red tulip meant at Jimmy’s grave? Purity, life, reanimation, hope, and true feelings. Do you think a character who conveys a message like that capable of the abuse you accuse him of? Scott’s general air of cattiness is just his character. Hard edges that once you’ve chipped away at, reveal someone who is extremely dedicated and fiercely loyal even and especially to his own detriment. Scott will make jokes about finally being free once his husband dies to the war, but I really think that’s just him preparing for the inevitable. Jimmy was going to die. Canary or not. They all were. So why not make a joke out of being lambs in a slaughterhouse. Isn’t that one of the main ways people cope? Scott loved his husband. Still does and will continue too. Jimmy is the same. But he let go. Had to. He would never have forgiven himself for dragging Scott down with him. How many times do you think that man apologised to Tango for dying first. How many times do you think that man apologised to Tango for dying first before they even lost their third life in the first place? I honestly think Scott himself sums this up best: “I don’t always put myself first and sure I’ve made plenty of mistakes and I’ve hurt people. But I’ve always done my best.”

So next time you wanna call them toxic, rewatch the series and think about this post.

#in defense of flower husbands #history hates lovers fr #LET THEM BE HAPPY!#I hope you enjoyed my word vomit about these two #I have so many feelings!#anyways #thank you for coming to my ted talk #Briar’s Rambles #until next time #(this was 660 words in case you were curious)

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therealslimshakespeare · 10 months ago

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Dear John || Pt.1

Masters of the Air Fanfiction

Requested: ☑️ My sweet Bri begged for a love-letter-centric Egan fic and with her wonderfully infectious ideas this was produced, the first part of many.

Summary: Major John Egan wasn’t the pen-pal sort but a couple of hours into a dark night full of writing condolence letters, he finds himself wondering why he never tried his hand at the nicer forms of correspondence. Who better to reanimate his numb inspiration than the glamorous Miss Lana Tierney? -the army’s girl next door, the pinup so prolific she was practically a wall paper print and Bucky’s long-standing cinematic crush. It’s not like she’ll read it anyways, tucked up in luxury in Beverly Hills with carts of tedious fanmail burned in her back yard each day, his letter will get lost in the mix. It’s harmless. That thought -and the booze- may loosen his pen a little too much but it’s alright, it’s not like she’ll read it. Right? Right.

It was specified in the request to use or create some of those old WWII dirty acronyms, so in here you have Bucky making up his own for his starlet crush (acorn). I’m ripping off a few ladies here, Lana Turner, Betty Grable, Hedy Lamarr to name a few -the moodbaord is for general aesthetics, I try to keep my fem!readers and oc’s as ambiguous physically as possible. (Besides the fact Johnny Egan finds you mouthwatering, which -be honest with yourself here sweet thing!!- he would.

Rating: 18+ this is the letter writing, vintage form of sexting. i kid you not, this man swings wildly from sweet as pie to downright filthy and vintage slang for anatomical parts is used freely. This would make a better shameful diary entry than a letter but he’s a rogue and he’s in a war, cut him some slack.

Fun game: how many times can Major Egan manage to mention Buck in a horny fan letter to his crush?

Dear A.C.O.R.N.

It is highly unlikely that you remember me, but, all the same, we have met. Now, hear me out, I’m sure fellas say that to you all the time but my point still stands and to match them I’ll do you one better, seeing as how I am not buttering you up for something in return -I have met you, yes, but I have also sung to you.

There. Said it.

Not that you’d recall that either, but then again maybe you would, but either way it doesn’t matter as the entire reason I am writing to you is because it is entirely unlikely you will ever open this god-awful endeavor made of pen and ink.

I am quite drunk, you see.

A necessary medicine. And they do make good whiskey here, one of the few joys they haven’t rationed yet. It’s got me wondering what’s your poison of choice. Something fruity? Or are you an olive sucker? Like that salt on the rim? Or maybe you go for somethin’ silky and warm goin’ down your throat? Which-ever it is, I bet you’d be a surprise, sweet ACORN, I just know it. You were a surprise at the canteen. Back in Jersey? Before shipping out? I know you were on a whole tour and kisses were goin’ for dollars but still, you were a surprise.

A lovely one, really. And that’s the point of this letter. To tell you that you're lovely and while I’m not the pen-pal sort, I’ve written home 80 letters tonight to families whose boys I was supposed to bring home. It got me thinking: Bucky, why the hell don’t you write nice letters? Whyd you only write ‘em now that you gotta? And it occurred to me then that the one silver lining in this whole Air Exec job is the desk, the lamp and the office.

I could write anybody from here. I could write you.

And you wouldn't read it so I could write anything. And it could be a nice letter. ‘Cause I don’t know anybody of yours to tell you anythin’ sad about them and you don’t know me except that I’m alive and drunk. Which is better than those poor eighty two bastards. Which reminds me, I’ve still got two more but maybe Buck will take those, he took seventeen off to his bunk to write from there. Buck doesn't have a desk because he’s not as important as me and he has all the luck.

You’ve met Buck, too, Acorn. He was the appalled pretty one with the straw colored hair pulling me off you after we had our duet. He objects to your nickname, see, even though you didn’t seem to mind. You were lovely, A.C.O.R.N. And I’d not wanna ruin this letter by telling you what it means, not now that I’m actually writing to you and determined to be nice but Buck knows and while he agrees with me as much as any man in the nation that you’ve got the most robust rack on the silver screen -he has objections, you see. So it wasn’t the song or the canoodling he didn’t like, and I still say, he broke up a little love affair that night. Bastard. So I’m writing to you now because as the acronym suggests, I’ve got a goal in my mind in regards to you. I tell myself -Bucky, there’s reasons to make it back.

Reasons, Bucky, reasons. Like Acorn and her halo of gorgeous hair that smelled like coconuts and the way she thought my new lyrics were pretty clever. That’s what you said, acorn, you said they were pretty clever. Now I may have been a little drunk then, too, but I think you might’ve been tipsy, that coke smelled too strong to be straight. I still have the straw you gave me, it’s bent to hell but I’ve taken it up each mission. I’m not counting on it for luck so much as a reminder of the aforementioned reasons. To come back. Your lipstick has mostly worn off but I figure it’s still the same.

You had your precious lips around it. That’s what matters.

And that’s the sorta sentence that makes Buck think I shouldn’t write letters.

But what he can’t accuse me of is being dishonest or vague. I’m being straight with you. You deserve that much, you were lovely and very straight shootin’ yourself, dear little girl. I could pinch your cheeks right now, you’re so sweet. And don’t think me a coward for sayin’ all this under assumption that you won’t read it. I hope you don’t since it’s not worth your time and if you do I wish I’d written less about me and more about you but I need you to know if we were face to face I’d say the same:

You were lovely, you ARE lovely!!!! and I think all your work for us boys is swell and you’ve got the bestest set of knockers any of us have ever seen and I’m stayin’ alive in hopes to see ‘em again some day and while the girls here are swell and sweet they aren’t zippy like you. At least not the ones who’ve put out so far. And if I had you face to face, I’d find a way to make you laugh again and I’d tell you to your face you’re lovely and if I’d been David Nivin in Love Trap with you, I’d have stayed in that little kitchen with you and ate all your burnt flapjacks and watched you in your apron and made babies with you till we were old.

Anyway. It needed saying. And maybe I’ll say it to your face given the chance again. I was working my way up to a proposition for burgers and milkshakes when Buck ruined it. But maybe you’ll tour? Here!! Over here. In England or maybe in Europe once we kick the Nazis bastards out.

Now that’s motivation. That’s a reason! -clear out a nice little swath of land through fortress europe so Miss Lana Tierney can sing in the city of lights surrounded by nothin’ but wine and good food and a buncha boys who love and appreciate her.

Because we do, ma’am. We do.

And make no mistake, I do this to keep the country safe and try to bring as many boys home as I can but every second I also think - it’s where you are too, and so I must continue keeping it safe.

If you, by some godawful chance, do read this letter, please don’t feel pressed to respond or pull out a restraining order. Think of it this way, it’d just be one more “Dear John” letter and the system is clogged as it is. You just deserve a nice letter and my wrist is past sore, one more doesn't matter. And being unable to deliver nice, I’ve written this.

~ I am ever your respectful (and hammered) admirer, Maj. John Egan

P.S. if you do happen to read this I’m sorry. Buck told me not to do this but I just had to Acorn. You’re just too swell and I really have got to get myself to a theater before long, I miss your Angel face.

Masterlist

Thank you for reading! This was entirely out of my usual comfort zone but I’ve had fun writing it and I’m trying to tune my ear to pick up his voice, that’s been stretching. This series will have many letters in it but there will also be fic, so fear not. I’ve got some plans already figured out for this series but I do love a suggestion or ten so have at the inbox with what you’d like to see play out.

Hope you enjoyed, if you’d like to be tagged in future MOTA fics, drop a note below.

#masters of the air #callum turner #john egan #Major John Egan #Bucky Egan x reader #callum turner x reader #masters of the air fanfiction #mota fanfic #hbo war fanfic #Bucky Egan #mine #archive

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jessicafangirl · 1 month ago

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The Goore The Merrier

It's a different world where the dead have returned but humanity is always the same. One night your friend begs you to come with her to a concert at a local club to see a band you've never heard of. And it's there you find out things aren't always what they seem.

Hey Kids! This is a stand alone one-shot to see how this plays out and dip my toes into the Goore. If you like this, please comment so I know that creating a far longer story in this world would be welcome. Also avail on AO3 here

You got used to the smell. Somehow you did. When the world realized the dead were coming back to life it wasn’t pretty. And neither was the smell, at least when it came to some of the really damaged ones. There was only so much you could do when half your brain was exposed or say your ribcage looked like it had gone a few rounds with a weed wacker.

It was chaos for five or six months until a combination of the military and corporations came together to figure out a way to make the living and the undead work. And in the case of some people, actually make the undead work. And that’s how two years after everyone discovered reanimates were real, the dead were an everyday part of the lives of the living. There were other terms for them not nearly as kind. Shamblers, zombies of course, and the very touching corpses.

Needless to say there was outrage among many living workers when companies and business owners realized they could get the cheapest labor ever when it came to the dead. Most of them just needed a place to stay and a supply of blood or meat…the source not really important. When you were a reanimate, you didn’t need to worry about heat or cold. Some of them were always going to be confused or near catatonic, which was sad to see.

The dead didn’t need human brains specifically or human body parts. The virus that was running through them and making them come back to life just needed fuel to keep it going. Of course human was better it was discovered, maybe because it was pure for the system.

You found this all interesting as it played out, after the horror faded and the danger was culled of course. You’d seen enough Romero movies and zombie flicks to know this could have become a world ending event. But leave it to the rich people to figure a way to profit from something like this…even when a person is dead they can’t get away from the need to work for a living…if that was the right phrase.

Of course the workers who lost jobs to the reanimates weren’t happy. Which made things worse somehow for the already dead. Hatred of them spread, even families who should have been happy that their loved one was returned instead ostracized them, hated them. Not everyone came back of course…you had to be infected before you died. But still…you wouldn’t have been sad to see your grandfather again.

The virus was an interesting thing. It seemed to heal its hosts after being activated by death. But some reanimates were just too far gone depending on how they died to be completely fixed or even verbal. Then there were the ones who could pass as normal, still completely human. No one knew they were undead until something tipped them off. Boy did the haters really not like them. Many of these poor reanimates who tried to pass as human and were discovered found a way to final death. Yes, you could kill a reanimate. The tried-and-true method of cutting the head off did it. The brain was needed to keep going and if you took that away, final and total death was the result. The hate mobs would disappear them and no one was the wiser…or if they were they didn’t care. They had already been dead once, right?

Again, you were only shocked at the hatred humanity could have only for a brief time. Then the reality of how even in the face of something awe inspiring as this the dickheads could figure out a new way to be dicks. People never let you down when it came to letting you down.

Your small town was like a microcosm of the world as a whole. Reanimates were a part of the everyday, so were the hate crimes against them. Lucky for you the job you had was one that required people skills and talking. Or more to the point talking and the ability to bullshit your way through dealing with people and their cell phone issues. Call center work wasn’t what you had gone to college for, the couple of years you’d attended. But life happened and so it was a dead-end job, in a dead-in town, with quite a few of the dead that made up your existence.

That day had been a long one. It was a Friday and cell service had gone down for a section of the country. Somehow the callers expected you to singlehandedly restore it. There was a lot of screaming, a lot of cursing, and you had nearly bit your lip in half keeping yourself from screaming back at them. By the end of the day you had a headache and just wanted to crawl into bed.

“Hey girlie!” Your co-worker Patricia called as you grabbed your bag and slung it over your shoulder. “What are your plans for the evening?”

Patricia was one of the few people you liked. She was younger than you but had nearly the same amount of sarcasm as you did, which was a feat. She hid this behind a shock of light blue hair and multiple piercings. She was like a bubbly version of Tank Girl.

“My bed and a TV with as much 70s schlock as I can stand.” You replied. “And a large dose of Excedrin.”

“What if I gave you another option?” Pats sauntered over and blocked your exit from your cubicle. She grabbed up your Funko Pop of Godzilla and started turning it over in her hands.

“I would say I would highly doubt you had the ability to convince me to do anything other than what I just said.” You held out your hand for the pop which she dutifully placed into your palm.

“Look, I need a wingman, and my usual let me down.” She gave you big, dark anime eyes as you placed the king of the monsters back in his spot. “There’s a gig tonight at the Corpse Grinder and I’ve got a date but….you know….I just want back up.”

The Corpse Grinder was the local metal bar known for loudness and some very unusual performances. The name had been in play before the dead returned…you’d think they would have changed it but heck, edgy was in.

“Pats…my head feels like it’s going to explode, and you want me to go to a concert where I may go full Scanners?” You give her a look of disbelief.

“I’ll owe you. Come on…it’ll be fun!” Somehow, she made her eyes bigger.

You sighed heavily. “Fine…but I’m only going because I don’t want you to be taken advantage of…and also you’re taking my shift next Friday.”

Patricia pouted for a half second and then grinned broadly. “Fine, deal.” She hugged you and you patted her back for a moment.

“Who’s playing?” You asked as you both headed out of the building.

“Oh this new group…at least they’ve never played here before. One of those fake undead ones. The Unearthed.” She said excited.

It was a thing these days that musicians, especially the metal and punk scene ones, would play act like they were reanimates. It was edgy of course and was a big fuck you to the establishment which was the way punk had been for decades. You’d not heard of these guys before, not that I could remember. That didn’t mean much though, you didn’t do the live band/bar scene often.

“This is a death metal one isn’t it?” You asked as you emptied out into the parking lot, the sky already turning dark.

Pats nodded happily. “Yeppers, and one of the best. Seriously, you’ll have fun.”

You sighed, pushing your glasses up your nose, the twinge of the headache still dancing behind your eyes. “What time do I meet you there?”

She flashed all of her fingers at you. “Ten is when the shindig starts. So be there like at 930. I’ll get us a close table.”

“Okay…I’ll see you in a few.” You headed to your car and drove home.

After taking four large pink pills and shooting them down with Mountain Dew your headache started going away. Excedrin Tension Headache was a gift from god. The hot shower you took managed to get rid of the rest of it. Now came the fun part…what the hell did you wear to this?

After rummaging around in your small apartment closet you chose a pair of acid wash jeans you’d had managed to keep since your 20s. They were artfully ripped on the knees. You paired it with an Alice Cooper concert shirt you’d also had since your 20s. The shirt was faded to hell, but Alice’s wide eyes were as vivid as ever. Make up was dark eyeshadow and a purple lipstick so deep a shade it coul. ave been black. Silver hoops and your black leather jacket covered in pins was the last piece.

You looked in the mirror and pushed your glasses up your nose, giving your hair one last fluff. This was as good as it got. You fed your beta fish Poe and headed out the door.

You had figured there would be a line just to get in and was betting on Pats to keep her word on the table. Sure enough the line was out the door and part way down the building. You’d actually got there 20 mins earlier than she’d said to. You got behind a group of 20 somethings that had what appeared to be every part that could be pierced pierced animatedly talking about the band that would be playing.

“Dude…Mary’s gonna kill.” The guy with both sides of his head shaved started bouncing up and down in excitement.

“I can’t believe we’re finally seeing them.” The girl with a chain linking her nose ring to her ear said while taking a long draw off her vape pen.

You pull your phone out of your bag while thinking how, if ever there was a chance she’d wind up in a fight, the jewelry choice she’d made was a bad one. One yank and it would be blood, tears, and screaming. Your brain had a habit of going to the dark side often.

You decided to look up the band while waiting. Eventually you found a fan page for them. They had a decent following for being relatively new. They had released a record a few months ago that was getting play on the independent scenes. As you shuffled along, seeing the pierce posse moving forward, you popped in your Airpod and started listening. It was death metal alright, but where a lot of that style didn’t do much for you, Unearthed had something more artistic going on. You could actually understand the lyrics and the lead vocals had a style to them that made the growling demonic tone stand out.

After hearing one song, a ditty about cursed souls burning in hells fire forever for their love that was forbidden, you decided you liked them. You’d moved to the halfway point of getting in when you pulled up a group photo, one of those staged ones for promotions.

The band consisted of four guys, all in tight black jeans. They were all wearing leather jackets that had seen some things, mostly illegal things if you had to guess. Two were blondes, one was bald, and one had dark hair that was styled in a stylish version of a devilock. All of them had various splatters of blood on them, but devilock had it running down his face. His big, green eyes stared out from the picture in a way that was unnerving, even without the blood if it hadn’t been there. All four of them were pale, nearly alabaster white. The skin tone made that blood on his face stand out even more. If this guy wasn’t the lead singer you’d eat your own jacket.

Sure enough and strangely enough you saw on the description that this was the Mary the group in front of you were talking about. Mary Goore. Well that was a choice name. “Huh.” You said aloud. Mary of the demonic growls that somehow were as smooth as dark chocolate. Well Mary, you thought, I hope you are worth the wait here and it’s not all studio magic.

After another few minutes you showed your ID to the guy at the door and paid your cover charge. You were still like three minutes early and you quickly looked around for Pats. You saw her notice you and sure enough she had a small table right near the edge of the stage. This may or may not have been a good idea. You’d seen how the crowds could go at these things before…that table was probably not going to be upright by the end of the concert. Well, it would be an adventure…at least her date was there. Brown hair, piercings too, and a ratty hoodie with a King Diamond t-shirt that had seen better days. Yeah, that tracked with Pats previous dates she’d shown you pics of.

You pointed to the bar and made a drinking motion with your hand, hoping it didn’t look pornographic. Pats returned a thumbs up and pointed to the table where their drinks were sitting. You shot her an OK sign and headed over to get a beer because you had earned it this week. The club itself had a relatively unsticky floor which was a welcome surprise. The air did smell of booze, a little bit of weed, and a little stale smoke. All in all though, it wasn’t bad. The bartender and his team seemed to have a good flow too and the line was moving okay.

You were still going to have a little of a wait, so you went back to your phone glancing up every so often. Eventually you figured this was a sure-fire way to drop your phone and cause an accident as the crowd was growing. You pocketed your phone and took a breath, looking around at the various concert posters and neon signs that covered nearly every inch of wall space in the joint. The band would be going on in fifteen minutes so you hoped the line would get faster.

All of a sudden you heard a loud voice, very obviously drunk, coming your way. “Let’s get this show on the road mother fuckers….wooohooo!” You’d turned towards the sound just in time to be slammed into by said drunken voice’s owner. He looked to be 350 pounds and covered in tattoos, a few of which you didn’t notice were a mix of Aryan brotherhood symbols and sayings.

He’d knocked you off your feet and not in the romantic way, one of his waving hands even hitting your face with enough force to skew your glasses. You didn’t notice that though as you were realizing you were falling to the floor, which while not sticky was probably not the cleanest place to faceplant.

Before you hit the wooden beams something or someone caught you. You let out a humph of air as your arms were gripped by strong hands and your face landed against a leather clad shoulder. The hands stood you back up, holding onto you a moment longer as you steadied yourself. “Thank you…” You started to say, “I’m so sorry…he…” and when you looked up into the face of your rescuer you paused.

Large green eyes with a thin line of black rimming them looked down at you, a dark lock of hair falling over one of them. The blood was missing but his skin was as pale as the picture promised it would be. His cheekbones were just as sharp. He looked at you strangely, one dark brow raised.

“You’re with the band.” You said lamely, still a little shook. Mary Goore was still holding you up, his chilly fingers cold even through the material of your jacket. He gave a barely perceptible nod.

“Uh…thank you again…he sort of barreled into me and I didn’t mean to fall onto you.” You were rambling, part of your brain still trying to figure out the best adjectives to describe the green of his eyes.

You saw those eyes look over to where the large, loud drunk had headed. He was now in a corner with a couple other smaller versions of him, all of them equally inebriated and excited and just as obnoxious. Mary’s gaze was not kind and for a moment you thought you saw the thin, red veins of his eyes flash black. It was only a half a second and you shrugged it off as the lighting and also the fact your glasses were about to fall off your face. You were probably legally blind without them, but yeah, your eyesight sucked so it shouldn’t surprise you.

Mary Goore turned back to you, the glare changing to a look of perusal. His full lips thinned and while one hand stayed grasping your arm, the other raised up and straightened your glasses on your face. His fingertips grazed your cheek, and you nearly shivered at how cold they were. They must have just come in from outside. The faint scent of cigarettes still clung to their skin and the leather of their own jacket.

“Yo, Goore…you want something before you go on?” The voice of the bartender called behind you.

The musician nodded and after one more look at you, released your arm. He then held up two, long thin fingers towards the bartender who nodded. He grabbed two bottles of imported beer and popped the tops off them and placed them on the counter. The tall, thin figure moved through the people like a specter in front of the busy bar. You just stood there in the same spot watching in awe at the graceful movements born of hours in places like this.

You shook your head and turned to just head back to Pats and her date, your drink forgotten. Before you had taken two steps you felt a hand on your shoulder. You turned and Mary held out one of the beers to you with another slight nod. You took the condensation covered bottle, not familiar with the name but not caring at this point. “Thank you again…you didn’t have to.” You sounded like an idiot to yourself but something about this entire interaction felt…surreal.

Mary’s lips pulled up just a bit into the faintest hint of a smile. And something in that look made you smile too. You raised your beer in a toast and lightly touched the glass of Mary’s with a barely perceptible plink. “Here’s to knights in shining leather.” You said. His smile grew enough you saw just a little flash of teeth, seemingly sharp incisors glinting in the neon. Mary then gave of all things, a courtly bow to you.

You laughed. “Have a good show.” You told them and you swore Mary winked at you and then headed off towards the backstage door, taking a long swallow of beer.

You shook your head, taking your own drink of beer. It was good, a bit richer and stronger than the normal Budweiser you would get. You headed back to Patsy, noticing her date was missing. She grinned up at you. “Hey! The shows going to start soon.” She beamed and you noticed she looked a little more glossy eyed than normal.

Sitting down you turned to her, “What happened to your date?” you asked, taking another drink.

She took a drink of her own, something that looked like a green martini. “He actually works with the band, actually for their manager. He’s doing some stuff real quick and then he’ll be back.”

Your eyebrows raised. “So, is this Mr. Right?”

Patsy giggled. “Oh…I don’t know…we’ll have to see how the night winds up won’t we?” She nearly slurred the words.

You didn’t know what to make of how tipsy she already was. Maybe she’d pregamed before the show. You decided to keep an eye on her. “Well I sort of met one of the guys in the band.”

She turned to you, glossy eyes wide. “Really?”

“Yeah, some asshat came in and knocked me over. Mary Goore caught me before I could land in someone’s beer spill.” You were still a little shook by the encounter, not only because of the idiot who knocked you flying and the fact your cheek probably would have a bruise but just those green eyes of Mary Goore’s were…haunting.

Patsy let out a little oooh sound. “Oh honey, are you okay? I’m sorry I didn’t…didn’t see it. Want me to kill the shit for you?”

You doubted Patsy could stand for a length of time, let alone go into battle for your honor. “It’s all good. Let’s just enjoy the show from the safety of this very unrickety table.” You placed a finger on the edge watching it tilt up at the barest pressure.

“Hey, don’t…don’t knock it.” Patsy grabbed her glass and took another swig of the green stuff in it.

It was another couple of minutes before Patsy’s date came back to the table, a little sweaty and out of breath. “Sorry baby…had to make sure some things were set.” He put his arm around Patsy’s shoulders. Then he noticed you. “Uh..hey.”

Patsy quickly introduced you to “Chuck.” You reached over and regretted immediately shaking his clammy hand. You noticed he was jittery and there was an odd colored stain on his King Diamond shirt now…which probably wasn’t the first King Diamond shirt to be covered in something gross but…it looked weirdly like blood in what little light you could see.

The lights in the bar blinked on and off twice and a man in a tattered and patch covered denim vest with a long beard went to stand behind the microphone. His garbled voice spoke to years of smoking and drinking the cheapest whiskey around. “Alright you misfits and monsters….I want you to get up off your asses for the dregs that we dug up just for you. Behold, The Unearthed!”

The lights then dropped off completely and you felt your heart jump for a moment. There was an eerie blue light shining on the stage as four men wheeled out four sperate coffins. Over the speakers there was a haunting organ playing, something straight out of Phantom of the Opera. Once the coffins were placed, the men dressed in all black hurried off the stage…and then the lights cut to black and there was a scream rattling the speakers which suddenly stopped.

Then the sound of a guitar cut through the darkness and the red and green lights lit up the stage where suddenly the band were just…there. At the center was Mary, standing behind a microphone, on his face glinting in the red light was the blood that had been missing before.

He looked like a supernatural creature alright. His cheeks hollow, bones sharp. His skin was as white as chalk and his eyes were now darkened more around the lids and below. His lips were black, the blood dark and dripping over his eye, down his cheek and chin. That shouldn’t have been attractive, it shouldn’t have made you wonder if they used corn syrup in the mix and would it be sweet if you licked it from his jaw. As they started playing the instruments in earnest Mary’s voice blasted over the sound system, a melodious growl straight from a fallen angel in hell.

Even when the crowd, as you knew it would, started creating a pit in front of the stage you couldn’t take your eyes off of Mary. You noticed he didn’t really blink as he was performing. At some points, during solos, he would stare across the crowd, not even looking at them, his long pale fingers massaging music from his guitar that would sound apt for Satan’s throne room…or bordello.

You eventually looked around at the rest of the band, but it was as if you had to physically yank your head away from Mary. They all looked a little strange, but that was the point you supposed. The gimmick. The dead band…it was edgy alright. The blood on Mary’s face was replicated on the other guitarist and bassist…apparently the drummer ate his victims a little cleaner.

You felt Patsy tap your arm. It was too loud to talk but she made a gesture toward Chuck and a very loopy, very suggestive grin. Something made you want to tell her to not leave with the guy…you don’t know why but you really didn’t like him. But then he was pulling her along with him and she was barely standing on her own, leaning on him heavily as he led her away toward the backstage door.

You watched with wary eyes, nibbling your lower lip and gripping your long empty beer bottle.

A new song was starting, and the tone of the music was changing. This was slower, not nearly as hard as the previous music. And while the lyrics were still on brand, dark and gothic, it was like the song you’d listened to waiting to get in, having a touch of the romantic. Mary’s voice went from growling snarl, to a velvet purr that you could feel in your chest. He was gazing down at the ground while he sung, fingers moving with skilled practice along his guitar, the red lights highlighting the demon tattoo that graced his forearm. At some point he looked up and turned right in your direction.

It was surprising and you felt yourself freeze as those green eyes locked with yours. You don’t think he’d looked at anyone directly the whole night but now you felt the weight of that gaze trapping you in your seat as his voice reached right through your ribcage. He didn’t blink once…you know because you felt the fact you weren’t either. As the chorus broke through the speakers about serving his heart on a platter to the one that would give him forever you nearly fell out of the chair as he turned away, letting you free of his stare and then starting a solo on his guitar.

You had to shake your head clear, finally blinking and grasping onto the rickety table for something solid. The show was over after another two songs, one of which was the encore. Patsy had still not returned from the back stage and there was no sign of her date. The Unearthed disappeared nearly as quickly as they had appeared, and two techs were breaking down the stage set up.

You didn’t know what to do but you had a feeling that something was very wrong. After a few more minutes of waiting you wandered outside the bar, looking around in case you had missed your friend walking outside. There was no sign, just some smokers. You recognized Patsy’s car in the lot, the deathtrap she called it, an old Fiero painted neon green. You couldn’t miss it. Unless she had left in Chuck’s car she was still there.

You chewed on your thumb nail, nerves roiling along with your stomach. The bar was going to close soon. Taking a deep breath you headed towards the alley that ran along the side of the building. The scent of garbage and old booze hit you hard along with smells you didn’t want to put a name to. There was a large truck the size of a small UHaul parked next to what looked like a side entrance. You quickly moved to the side door and hoped it was unlocked. Luckily, some lazy bum had decided to plant a piece of cardboard in the door so it couldn’t close completely.

You peered inside and didn’t see anyone walking around, so you carefully slipped in and placed the block back where it had been. The backstage area was dimly lit. The scent of tobacco and weed was strong back here along with a slight tang of booze. It was better than the alley you thought. You just needed to find Patsy and get the hell out of here, or at least find out where she was and if she was okay.

Moving cautiously through the backstage you realized the place was bigger than you originally thought. It was almost TARDIS like, it just kept going, bigger on the inside. This was no doubt due to the amazing amount of anxiety pumping through your system but still…

Hearing voices you ducked into a doorway while two men walked by you in the hall. One of them was the guy who had announced the band, the other you didn’t recognize. He was rail thin with thinning hair and a suit that had seen its glory days in the 80s no doubt. You caught a bit of their conversation, something about payment and maybe extending the run. It faded away as you watched them walk further down the hallway, swallowed up by the shadows. You took a couple deep breaths to calm your heart down and then headed in the direction they had come.

You found a door marked green room, with the green marked out and a crudely drawn PARTYY written in. It was closed. You pressed your ear to the door and, oddly, didn’t hear anything. You would have expected some sort of drinking or said partying. But maybe Patsy was inside or someone who knew where she was was in there. There was also the possibility of Mary Goore, a traitorous voice said in your head. You shook that away. You were here on a mission to find your friend, not the pale rock god you’d just watched.

The door was stuck but you pushed harder and it popped open for you. You glanced around and then walked in, surprised again that no one made a sound at the door opening. The room was dimly lit. Again, it was bigger than expected. Maybe it could hold a party actually, but as you stepped in the few couches inside were shoved up against one wall, and running along the other were leaning the coffins from the start of the show.

Your eyes narrowed to the contraption that sat on the coffee table in front of the coffins. It was plugged into the wall, a strange humming coming from it. There were tubes, four of them, running from the machine into each of the coffins through a small hole in the left sides. What the fuck was this?

Cautiously you stepped closer and looked at the clear container that made up the center of the machine. Your lips parted in surprise. That…that was blood. The thick, ruby red liquid was unmistakable. This couldn’t be happening…this couldn’t be real. But the dead lived, you’d seen them. But what was this?? There was no way…

You turned to the coffins and peered at them closer. Each had an engraved letter on the front in a small silver plaque with a very intricate skull design surrounding it. You saw the one with the M in gothic script. Another voice in your head told you not to do what you were about to do. It really yelled at you that this was stupid, and you needed to leave. But morbid curiosity and the desire for answers were winning out. You needed to find Patsy.

Steeling your shoulders, you wrapped your trembling fingers around the caskets lid and pulled it open, slowly. When it was opened you peered around and gasped. There, eyes closed and as still as a corpse would be, was Mary Goore. The tube ended in a needle that was going into his pale arm. His dark lashes lay against his pale cheeks, the right side of his face still wearing the blood he’d had on stage. He wasn’t moving at all.

Your lips were parted in shock. What the fuck was going on? Was the blood…going in or coming out? You glanced down at his arm then back at his face. You turned and looked at the machine then back at the singer. The shaking in your fingers grew worse but you had to know. So you lifted your right hand and pressed it against the thin, faded material of the Corroded Coffin shirt he was wearing, right where his heart should be. There was no beat, or if there was, it was so faint you couldn’t even feel it. His skin was cold through the worn cotton, nearly like ice.

You pulled your hand away and felt tears pricking your eyes. My god, had someone killed them? Jesus Christ…where was Patsy? Everything was hitting you like a freight train. You turned around, trying to calm your breathing, trying to get your mind to wrap around this surreal nightmare taking place in a time filled with nightmares. “Fuck Patsy…what…what have you got me stuck in…where the fuck are you?” you whispered to no one. Then you heard the voices outside the door and coming closer. You were trapped and there was nowhere here to hide. You froze hearing them stop right outside the door. Shit, shit, shit…

A hand wrapped around your mouth and an arm grabbed hold around your waist. You were pulled backwards with a speed and strength that didn’t even give you time to scream or struggle. Your wide eyes looked around as the sides of the coffin surrounded you. A doc marten clad foot kicked backward, and the coffin lid closed with a jerk, surrounding you in darkness and the scent of cigarettes, leather, and a metallic tang that you now knew was blood.

The fingers over your mouth were like icicles. When you felt the lips near your ear they caused a shiver to run down every nerve you had left. “Be quiet and don’t struggle.” Mary Goore whispered softly into your ear. “Nod if you heard me.” His voice was barely a breath in the confines of the casket. He was holding you so close the zipper and pins that covered his leather jacket were cutting into your back. You nodded as well as you could, trying hard not to have a break down.

Mary’s hand moved slowly from your mouth, his arm coming to rest below chin, just under your neck, his fingers gripping lightly to your upper arm. You were trying to breathe normally but the situation and the fact you were in a coffin was making that very difficult. “You need to slow down…they’ll hear you. Slow your breaths, calm down.” His voice was so low you nearly thought you imagined it. His fingers splayed out against your diaphragm. “Slow down. I don’t have to breathe…they hear you they’ll know it’s not me.”

That bit of information did nothing to really help calm you down but when you heard the muffled sticking of the door popping open, announcing they were coming into the room you shuddered. Mary’s arms tightened around you. You closed your eyes and focused on slowing down the breaths coming from your lungs. “Good girl.” His lips brushed your ear, the words barely there.

You could hear the voices of the two men, muffled but still you could make out what they were saying. “So Chuck the Fuck came through?” The guy with the beard was asking.

“Yep, he always does.” The other man, the even more creepy one it must have been replied. You heard him walking by the coffin and you couldn’t help pressing closer to Mary. You felt their fingers move up and down your arm a very soft “shhh” coming from his lips.

“Where’s the girl at?” The bearded man asked.

You bit your lip and strained to hear what the reply would be, your stomach roiling.

“He’s taking her back to her place. Standard story, “Baby you were so drunk, you better take it easy.” The boys may be a little loopy after this feeding, I think he gave her a bit too much.” The creepy guy replied.

You nearly started crying, you felt tears forming but you held on. She was still alive. They’d taken Patsy’s blood and were pumping it into what you now knew were a group of very real reanimates posing as a fake zombie metal band. The situation was surreal…and the fact you were wrapped in the arms of one of the undead while hiding in a coffin with him was the cherry on top.

“Looks like it’s still pumping them full of unleaded. Let’s go get some dinner, it should be done by then. I’ll get you your take.” Beardy said and you listened to their footsteps walking out of the room, the now familiar sound of the stuck door opening and then it being shut.

“Wait.” Mary’s voice was still barely a whisper. You waited, it felt like a long time but was probably less than a minute.

Mary kept one arm around your waist to keep you from bolting and with the other lifted the lid of the coffin slowly, his green eyes peering around the lid. When he was sure there was no one else in the room he released your waist, transferring his grip to your wrist, both of you stepping out of the casket onto the cheap carpet. You pulled at his hand, trying to get him to let go but he wouldn’t. He wasn’t hurting you, but his grip wasn’t letting go, an icy vice wrapped around your bones.

“Stop it.” He said, his normal voice surprisingly soft with just a trace of an accent you couldn’t place. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Tell…that…to my friend whose blood you were…” He wasn’t sucking it like a vampire you supposed. “Being pumped full of.” There…that was accurate.

His eyes narrowed. “I just hid you in my coffin from being caught…” His full lips thinned. “Or was that someone else I was packed in there with?”

Okay, he had a point. In fact he’d been your knight in shining leather a couple of times that evening. Once from faceplanting due to a drunk and just now…and whatever would have happened if you’d been discovered. But this night had spiraled into something crazy. You let out a frustrated half growl, but stopped pulling away, head falling in defeat. “UGH…I’m sorry for being completely fucking freaked out after my friend was drugged and drained of her blood to…feed you and I had to find out this way. I think I’m allowed to be freaked out.”

Mary Goore’s eyes glanced away for a moment, a look of almost embarrassment crossing his bloodied face. “You do have a right to be freaked out.” They replied and released your wrist. “I’m sorry…you…this shouldn’t be happening.”

You were once again surprised by how soft his voice was in comparison to the demonic growling he could summon at will on stage. You watched as he took a step away, pulling the needle still in his arm out with a jerk that made you wince. The wound didn’t bleed, and you could have sworn the pale skin around the puncture healed in front of you. You glanced back up at his face, watching as Mary ran his long fingers through his dark hair. His green eyes were large and stood out in the dark of the room.

“What…are you?” You asked in a hushed whisper, not even realizing the question was leaving your lips.

Mary turned to you, face haunted, a mix of bone white and blood red. “I’m the monster darling.” He said in a bitter tone, mocking smile on his mouth. “Haven’t you figured that out yet? I’m the real deal. The walking dead.”

“But…you’re…well…I…” You couldn’t form the sentence.

“I’m able to fool you? Me and the boys fooled you all into thinking we’re still human?” He grinned then but it wasn’t a happy smile. His teeth were white, incisors sharp and glinting in what light there was. The black make up on his lips made them gleam even more. “That’s the whole thing sweetheart, we’re supposed to fool you. That’s what the boss wants. We have to be that good.”

You should be terrified and running for the door, but he’d done nothing himself to make you feel unsafe with him. You glanced away, not sure what to do, wanting to know what was going on. After another moment you asked. “Why? Why pretend?”

A strange look crossed his face. With a heavy sigh he fell into the couch against the wall, long legs stretched out before him. You hesitated, then carefully stepped over to set a little bit away from him on the plush cushions.

Mary glanced over at you. “Survival. That’s why.” They said at last. Mary leaned over to a small refrigerator that sat humming next to the couch. You heard the door open and shut and then he was handing you a can of unopened beer, keeping one for himself.

He popped the top and took a large swallow, resting the can over the exposed knee of his jeans. “You have to feed in this…life…unlife…whatever you want to call it. People hate you without giving it a second thought. Roy, the manager, he offered us a chance to fake it. Perfect cover, pretending to be what we actually are.”

You opened your own beer and drank down some of it. “Why does he do it?” You asked, voice unsteady.

Mary took a breath he didn’t need…it was out of habit. “We’re cheap. We’re desperate. We work for nearly no money and for blood.” He took another swig of beer, finishing the can and crushing it in his fingers. Mary tossed it with perfect aim at the trash can across the room. They turned to you with a wary gaze. “We can live on blood alone, we don’t need…meat. Only the really damaged ones do. The rest of the guys and I, we can pass for normal. We’re lucky. But something will always give us away. Roy, he keeps us fed with this routine. He and Chuck, they’ve got it down.”

“So…he keeps you fed and safe. Like pets?” You asked and immediately regretted it. You blamed the adrenaline and beer.

They weren’t offended, letting out a rueful laugh. “Yeah, like pets.” Those forest-colored eyes caught your gaze. “I’m sorry about your friend.” His gaze narrowed for a moment. “He won’t hurt the…donors. We’ve made it very clear to Chuck if that happens, he’s going to be the next one on the menu.”

Your eyes widened at that. You still couldn’t figure out why you weren’t screaming and running. But you still weren’t afraid of Mary. Maybe you were nuts. He apparently realized that wasn’t a comforting thing to say. Mary glanced down and twisted a skull shaped ring on his finger, then looked back at you. “You can’t…you can’t tell anyone about us.” His voice was lower, hesitant.

You swallowed a sudden dryness in your throat. Was this the threat now? “I won’t…I promise.” You drank down the rest of your beer, keeping your hands around the empty can to keep them from shaking.

You had seen how the “zombie haters” could react to something like this. Any reanimates that had managed to hide themselves in regular society got the worst treatment. Final deaths and all. And the only ones to get worse treatment were the living who helped them or were in love with them. Godless necrophiliacs, corpse fuckers, the descriptions were many. Even if it was a couple who had been together when the now reanimate of the duo had been alive. It didn’t matter to the hordes. You knew of at least two or three couples in the state that had met a fiery and mysterious end after it had come out. Those were just the ones you knew of, you assumed there were more.

So Mary or the rest of The Unearthed didn’t have to really explain much to you. You’d seen enough hate and what that hate could do. “I’ve seen what can happen.” You said finally.

Mary nodded, the devilock falling over his eye. “So have I.” he sounded weary.

You cocked an eyebrow up behind your glasses. “How did you…”

He gave a laugh and shook his head. “I know what your gonna ask. We don’t have time for that story.” Mary stood and held out a hand, gesturing at your beer. You handed it over and he repeated his actions of before, crushing it and tossing it perfectly into the trash. He turned back to you and held out his hand again. You placed your own in it and he helped you to stand.

“You need to go before he comes back.” Mary held onto your hand, his pale fingers cold against your own. “If he finds out you know about us, he’ll…” His emerald eyes looked away for a moment and you saw clearly now the veins change from red to black in his gaze as he stared at the door the two men had left through earlier. He turned back to you, the color fading to normal, but his expression was strained. “That can’t happen. You have to stay quiet. I’m probably an idiot but I think I can trust you.”

You shook your head and squeezed his icy fingers. “You can trust me. I’m probably an idiot too but I trust you.”

Mary actually laughed again, a genuine smile on his dark lips. “We’re two dumbasses together I guess.” He paused, still not letting go of your hand, the warmth welcome. He seemed to be pondering something and finally turned to the doorway and pulled you along. Mary yanked the door open an inch and peered out into the hall, checking the coast was clear. After he was sure he pushed it open and turned back to you.

“Go right and take the exit, you’ll have to go around the building to get to the parking lot, but you won’t run into anyone at this time of night.” He said, still keeping hold of your fingers.

“Okay, thank you.” You replied. Standing this close to him again, you could see the cracks forming in the fake blood dried on his face, his cheekbones gaunt in the shadows from what little light was there.

He smiled again, showing just the barest hint of what you could only call fangs now. “Don’t thank me…just remember what I said darling.”

You nodded and stepped into the hallway, but he still held your hand. You glanced back and saw the melancholy smile was still there. “We’re here all week.” Mary said, their voice hushed in the doorframe. “Maybe…maybe if you come back I’ll tell you a story.” He lifted your hand to his lips and placed a kiss on your knuckles, then released it.

You gave him a small smile in return, nervous but oddly excited at the thought of seeing the undeath metal singer again. Quickly you headed in the direction you were told and found the exit door. Out in the cold night you headed around the building only one or two stragglers still around. There was now recorded music blaring out of the club which would be closing in an hour.

The events of the night were still running through your head when you finally got to your car. As you unlocked the door you saw Roy, the manager and the owner of the club returning, and you quickly got into your front seat and locked the door. You hit the start button and placed your hands on the steering wheel, fingers shaking from the fact you could have easily been discovered.

In the light of the dash you noticed a bloody lip print on your knuckles, a good night kiss from Mary Goore. Unable to help it, you smiled.

#mary goore #tobias forge #ghost #the band ghost #zombies #mary goore fic #mary goore/you #mary goore & you #mary goore /ofc #zombies are real baby #mary is really dead sexy #as in dead #for real

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oddballwriter · 8 months ago

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Y/N's Monster

Summary: Tired of rude, vulgar, and not-up-to-snuff guys, you decide to make a man of your own. Is it a crime against God? Probably. But you've already stitched him together so there's no going back now. At least he's cute.

Warnings: Straight-up medical malpractice and other such things, it's for the plot. It's a Frankenstein inspired story so there's talk of stitching limbs onto other limbs and methods that do not work in real life. You can not stitch together and bring to life your own boyfriend in real life, I'm sorry ladies :(.

Author’s Snip: Here's that Frankenstein's Monster Marc I promised! I hope you all like it. Onwards to the Lost Boys au I semi-promised! Yippee! I'm feeding the monster fuckers.

I’ll shut up now. Enjoy! And don’t be afraid to request.

Word Count: 702

Tag list: @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @spicydonut25 @steven-grants-world @homuraak3mi (You too can join the tag list! Just ask)

Seeing him now, actually up and moving, you were absolutely amazed. Both because the fact that the abandoned defibrillator and old shock therapy machine you stole got from the hospital you work for that you tinkered together actually worked in bringing a stitched-together corpse to life, and also by the fact that he looks so good.

For being a reanimated corpse made out of various John Does, he looks amazing. He was a good height, his body was proportionate where you had to add better fresher parts, and actually looked pretty alright.

It's not until he starts bumbling around that you stop ogling at him. He looks confused, maybe a bit scared.

"Hey," you say gently to not spook him, "You're okay," you tell him. He looks toward you, having heard you. Okay good, he can hear and see. "It's okay," you whisper trying to comfort him. He still looks slightly scared. He backs up when you try and walk toward him, but it's apparent that his limbs aren't ready for all the moving around so he trips and falls. "Oh no," you mutter to yourself as you rush towards him to try and help him up.

"Hey. I won't hurt you." you explain. But when he looks at you again you are hit with the possibility that he might not understand. After all, in the book, Frankenstein's creation didn't when he was brought to life.

You look to your creation and take a moment to think about what to do. "Understand?" is what you manage to think up. "Do you understand me?" you rephrase your question. He stares at you for a bit. "Do you understand what I'm saying?" you ask again. When he slowly nods you have to repress a scream of happiness to not scare him. You just let a smile cross your face,

"Okay. That's good." you reply. "So how about I help you back up and you have a seat." you suggest, "It seems like your body isn't ready to move around just yet." you point out.

You gently help him up and sit down on the gurney that you also stole got along with grabbing a sheet to wrap around him so that he can have some decency. You give your creation a quick check-up. Nothing seems to be wrong with him say for having slightly bloodshot eyes and he's a bit pale. He has natural reflexes like his knee kicking when it's hit with the little hammer, his pupils contract and dilate, and he can even feel pain.

As an extra precaution, you bandage up the places where his stitches would experience the most stress so they don't pop since stitching him up isn't an option, both because you don't have anything for anesthesia and you have no idea what it will do to him.

"Can you speak?" you ask as you finish up the last stitched area. He seems to think about it and then focus. You can see him trying to form a word with his mouth and managing to say "No...", but it clearly takes a lot to get it all down. You nod, "Okay." you reply. "Alright, how about we just do yes or no questions?".

After a while of asking questions to see where he is mind-wise, you start getting to harder to answer questions.

"Do you remember anything, from before waking up here?" you ask. He shakes his head.

"Do you know who you are?"... he shakes his head again.

"Do you have a name?" ... also no.

You hum. "Well, then I guess I have to give you one." you say. You think for a long time, mentally crossing off names that were too ridiculous or didn't fit his look. Something with an M.

"Marc." you say, "With a C at the end." you clarify. "I like that name. How about you?" you ask your creation. He just nods, but you swear there's a fraction of a smile for a second.

You're not sure how this will go moving forward now that you've got a man who's made from other men who doesn't have any background or identity, but this is a good start if you'd say so yourself.

#moon knight #moonknight #moon knight x reader #moonknight x reader #marc spector #marc spector x reader #monster au

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ting1and2 · 25 days ago

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Some rambling thoughts on the finale!

I actually liked most aspects of the finale but man, I really wish we got even just a tiny bit more backstory for Agatha and Río. Like, I desperately wanted to see more of their situationship from Agatha's perspective outside of this haunting reminder of the worst thing that ever happened to her that Río becomes, outside of this reminder of her own looming mortality that Río constantly is. Because, I mean, Río is clearly down bad, right? This millennia old entity who has probably seen the rise and fall of civilizations is whipped so bad for Agatha that she continously acts against her own interest in service of Agatha even when it clearly won't end well for her and I say this because...

She knows Agatha will hate her for taking her (*their*) son and still, she gives Agatha what so few get; she gives them time together and she takes Nicky gently, in the night, so Agatha does not suffer more than she has to. Even so, even after they become this painful, antagonist gaping wound because her love for Agatha was strong enough for her to try to prolong her suffering, even though Río loses what is most likely the only warmth she has felt for centuries (because who loves Death, right?), when Agatha pleads again, knowing how well that turned out the first time, Río still spares Teen. And it buys her a moment of tenderness, it buys her a moment of warmth in that almost kiss, but Río does not let that last because this fantasy that she sees Agatha falling into does not serve Agatha either. And man, okay, sure, Río doesn't know it at the time but, letting Teen die right then and there? Certainly would have saved her a whole lot of trouble that Billy is most definitely going to cause her in the future, but you know, Agatha said please... And Río clearly has a hard time saying no to that woman. Even in the end, she grants Agatha's last wish. Agatha does not want to see her in the end, she does not want to endeavor into the afterlife with Río... and so she doesn't have to. Río buries her beautifully and walks away. Certainly, Río, who hates ghosts, presumably because she has no dominion over them, knows exactly what becomes of these souls that do not pass over to the afterlife. Certainly, Río, who knows Agatha, who knows when Agatha is scared and when Agatha is sad, who knows when to push and when to back away; certainly Río knows more than anyone that an Agatha not contained by or not beholden to Death will be an absolute menace! She knows that even a powerless Agatha is never powerless for long. And the thing is, she spared Billy, AGAIN, knowing what he is; because while Billy isn't bad (not that Río cares about good or bad); he is "just like his mother" ... And Wanda, even pre-Wandavision!Wanda (I mean, she is the one who kickstarts Civil War and thus the Sokovia Accords) is just so powerful that she causes chaos without even meaning to. And the thing is, Agatha as his mentor? She's going to manipulate her way into getting something out of it. So, maybe he reanimates Tommy, which Río can presumably let go, since she spared him. But what happens if he bring Wanda back? And his robo-daddy? And what happens if Agatha defies death completely and is in fact reanimated as well? What happens then if Agatha, who has tentatively accepted that sometimes boys dies, decides well, actually fuck that, Río has had custody of their son for a few centuries so why not just waltz into the afterlife and pop her son into a brand new body because it's her turn now?

Which brings me way back to my original point of wanting to see more backstory between Río and Agatha because does Agatha love Death? And how does one love Death anyway? I mean, maybe Agatha does or at least did love Río, enough for her to sink into familiarity with her, enough for her to have these moments of vulnerability with her, but Río is DEATH and Death IS the natural order of all things and well, despite Río's assertion that Agatha does love her in that capacity; does she really though? Does Agatha love the natural order of things?

Defying them? Maybe. I mean, honestly, if Agatha had even half the power that Río possesses, then balance and order? Is Agatha prioritizing that over her own interest? Nahh. So, I think she genuinely can't see what Río has done for her and is only thinking about what Río wouldn't (presumably, not couldn't) do for her because, if Agatha does/did love Río then if roles were reversed, Agatha wouldn't hesitate and ultimately, I think that makes Ghost!Agatha with an assist from Billy truly formidable.

Like, I'm not sure Río even realises what she could be unleashing upon the world/herself.

And if she does, then I think Death might be a masochist.

#agatha all along #agatha all along spoilers #agathario #Agatha Harkness #Río Vidal #agatha x rio #vidarkness

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fullmetalbunny16 · 2 months ago

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Ok so I'm going to like rant for a minute here about my latest hyper fixation that's been going on for about a year AKA one of the best obscure 80s horror films of all the time

REANIMATOR 1985 directed by Stewart Gordon

AKA one the most goated if not THE most goated obscure 80`s horror film ever

-I'm not very good at writing essays so this is just a brief analysis of the dynamic between Dan and Herbert and how I think Herbert screwed Dan over narrative wise (it's not as simple as I'm putting it)

(Unrelated but also I wanted to mention how unnecessary SA scenes happen to be a common trope in the movies unfortunately)

Starting with this fucker right here

(that is PEAK pathetic meow meow he's so awesome I hate him I wanna put him in a microwave💖)

-one thing I wanted to note is how Herbert doomed Dan from the get-go, so if you let me explain basically Meg was doomed by the plot because due to her being a female side character in an 80s horror film and being seen as a nuisance by West soon that image being projected on to Dan but not as direct and only seeing it as a difficult situation to where she is being quote unquote "unreasonable" when it comes to the work up until inevitably it's too late for Dan to take it back cuz his fiance is killed Wests very creations,the very thing that he assisted in resurrecting being the very indirect cause of his fiance's death.

-now moving forward we can see a turn of events where the very moment that leads to Daniel Cain's downfall is when he allows Herbert to move in. Megan's off put by him and tries to voice her concerns to Dan but Dan just brushes it off believing that West is just a little strange but nothing to be concerned about, then Meg discovers rufuses dead carcass in wests room.

-any normal person would immediately kick Herbert out and notify the police but of course Dan shockingly gives him the benefit of the doubt AGAIN after Herbert tells him he didn't kill his cat and he found him like that.

(of course Herbert probably didn't kill Rufus but it's still creepy and weird to keep your roommates dead cat in your fridge)

-my point being Daniel is doomed narrative wise, the very moment of his downfall could have been was the day he met West but also whenever he allowed him to live as a roommate with him and his fiance.

-his true Fall from Grace is when West manages to convince him that he can reanimate dead parts and "needs" his assistance (maybe he did but let's not ignore the fact Herbert is openly manipulative to try to keep Dan from leaving the work and it works every single time because Dan is shockingly easy to manipulate)

(also but to be fair if I was in Dan's place I would be easily manipulated too because Herbert's freaking adorable while also being a conniving bastard)

-one funny thing I wanted to note is how Jeffrey Combs accidentally implied Herbert doesn't know what sex is just thought that was funny

-another thing is it's not just Herbert's work that also caused the death of Meg but also caused the death of Meg's father and indirect loss of dans scholarship leaving Dan no choice but to turn to West and assist him, and yes maybe Daniel could leave any moment he wanted to but due to the damage that's already been done he probably felt like he couldn't go back so he felt like he just had to double down on the work.

-also how Herbert convinced Dan saying how they could cure brain death which basically is unheard of and how Dan himself saw how Herbert's serum worked in front of his very eyes and how Dan also happens to be a very caring person who just wants to help people this gave Herbert a pretty solid opportunity, and boy did he take it!

-also quoting what Bruce said on the actors commentary Herbert's work to him is basically what sex is to anyone else, it's borderline erotic especially that one scene in Bride where Dan decides to take control when they're reanimating the bride and Herbert's look of absolute flabbergastation is hilarious.

-also I'm not justifying Dan staying with Herbert knowing openly what they're doing is kind of inhumane but "it's in the name of science of course!!"

-so basically yeah Dad is kind of doomed by The narrative basically since you know Herbert is the main character of reanimator, I mean Lovecraft literally wrote small separate stories dedicated to West so of course he's the main character I'm just saying that due to Herbert's influence it caused Dan to essentially lose everything.

And basically if Dan just slammed the door and Herbert's face none of this would have happened the end!!

(also I'm dog water at making essays and this wasn't even an essay it was just a small analysis of how I thought Herbert doomed Dan from the get-go and how I thought like the chain of events that happened when Herbert entered his life caused us downfall for him and I also have a deep head cannon that in the events of beyond reanimator Dad's life spiraled even further because West wasn't there he had no one to assist he had no one, Herbert was the last person he had left before he turned him in and sent him to prison and I doubt Francesca stayed with him after the incident with the bride so yeah that's basically what I think)

This is how I headcanon how Dan is during the events of beyond because I refuse to believe that man is living in peace

#re animator #bride of reanimator #herbert west #daniel cain #reanimator #beyond reanimator #re-animator #meg halsey

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bee-devilling · 2 months ago

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Oooh, that's so cool! Been a while since I listened to Ride the Cyclone. What's the fic about? And how much angst are we talking about? I am a sucker for angsty fics sometimes, whether or not I'm in the fandom.

The fic is set in an Everyone Lives AU (well, except Karnak and Virgil I guess. They're still very dead) but it goes into some detail as to how everyone is left after the accident. It ranges from temporary disabilities like broken bones, permanent disabilities like amputated limbs, and also not accident-related permanent disabilities, because when your body is under immense stress sometimes you discover shit you didn't realise you struggled with before.

But most of what I've written has been little bits and pieces after these events, some of which include:

All of the choir members learning ASL to communicate better with Ricky (unbeknownst to him, at least for the first while). Some members were fluent already (Specifically Constance. Noel would also sort of be in this category, but the second anyone tries to fingerspell something longer than 3 letters, he gives up.), some knew bits of it, like "please", "thank you", "yes" and "no", etc. and some were complete beginners. But they realised after the accident that Ricky has a lot to say, even if it wasn't verbally, and they wanted to bridge that gap. The first thing Ocean's signs to Ricky is a genuine, heartfelt apology for the way she's treated him.

Everyone is just A Little Off after the accident. Nothing big, no major health risks or nothing, and also I haven't quite decided what's happening to who. But one of them is just incredibly twitchy, and it's entirely uncontrollable. Another has levels of brain fog that is really starting to affect their studies. Another has heart palpitations, which took several incidents for them to realise they're not dying, this is just a thing that happens to them now. Not entirely the "came back wrong" trope, they're all basically the same people, but their bodies just didn't quite catch up to being reanimated.

Talia passing away. I feel a little horrible writing it, but I wanted to give her character a bit more respect than what most of the fandom gives her (which is just removing her in the quickest way possible to make room for Nischa) and I feel like letting Mischa grieve is a kinder way to remove her from the story. Also I haven't written the actual chapter in which this occurs yet, but I've written the 3 page letter (could be more, it's not 100% done) Talia sends Mischa to apologise for not telling him about her illness sooner.

Ocean dealing with hEDS after the accident (cos we love giving characters similar disabilities to me), because why not have her learn to stop spreading herself too thin by making a physical barrier in her way to stop her from pushing herself.

Mother-son bonding between Noel and his mom. Because yes, this is the woman who told her son to "dial it back" on his queerness but at the end of the day, it's 2009 in the middle of Bumfuck Nowhere, and I just feel that she wants her son to be safe above all else. Parents go about things the wrong way, but it doesn't make them inherently evil or abusive. Give her some understanding, some empathy.

Some of them just being a little queer. Or a lot queer. Noel fucking around with his gender expression, wearing dresses and makeup (though maybe not as risqué as the Monique Gibeau outfit), Ricky and Penny using each other to test out new pronouns, also I read a fic (I'll tag the writer if I can find it again) where Penny/Jane uses the name PJ and I wanna steal that idea so bad, I love it. Ocean cutting her hair short and wearing the "boys'" St. Cassian uniform (Butch Ocean is not a want, it's a need)

Anyway this is all I can remember right now, I'm sure there's more I could add. Thanks for the ask :D

#asks #rtc #ride the cyclone #noel gruber #misha bachynskyi #mischa bachinski #penny lamb #jane doe #ocean o'connell rosenberg #constance blackwood #ricky potts

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elkian · 2 years ago

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Oh yeah since it’s Homestuck Day here’s a post I’ve been sitting on for a bit.

Davesprite’s tragedy is even deeper than is immediately obvious.

The scale, time-wise, of the base game - the Alpha Timeline - is something of a joke. It pokes fun, I think, at the concept of Webcomic Time - that an event taking place over dozens of pages over the course of months is, in-canon, only taking place across a day or two.

But Davesprite. Oh, Davesprite.

Dave-the-sprite came from a timeline 4 months (chrono) past Day 1. He’d been hopping enough for it to come out to maybe 1 year for him. He’s very lanky in the animation, and when Rose’s dreamself merges with her Alpha self, the sprites are very slightly different sizes. Future Mutie is visibly older.

But then The Alpha Timeline? The Course Of The Game?

One. Day.

What an absolute whiplash, you guys. He’s been grinding and prepping and mentally readying himself and fucking grieving for his pretty much only friends for nearly a year. Remember how Dragon Ball Z had the Hyper time chamber and it was mentioned that it’s hard to use alone? Because being in there on your lonesome, that’s tough. That’s Dave. He had Rose, who was also grieving and having her own crises that he may or may not have been equipped to help her through at all, and he’s doing all this.

And in like, maybe 12 hours, it’s suddenly all over.

And then he finds out it’s gonna be another three years, but hey, this time he has Jade and John, the people he missed so desperately that he was willing to give up being The Real Dave, a real human, for.

And to them? He’s an extra.

He’s Bonus Dave. He’s Davesprite. He’s Basically Dave, (almost) As Good As The Real Thing!

Like, it’s very hard for me to articulate, but the way that both of them refer to him during the course of their cruise is... dehumanizing, in differing ways.

John calls him Dave, because He’s Basically Dave. (This is after John asked him to let The Real Dave in on their convo, recall). He doesn’t need to be treated any different, because he’s indistinguishable from The Real Dave, Pretty Much!

Jade isn’t as bad - possibly her stint as+fusion with Jadesprite helped - but the way Grimbark Jade loses her temper with Dave post-jump is... telling. She blames a boy she hasn’t spoken with in 3 years for something that a person who is not actually him did.

And he just! Fucking gets forgotten! I know Davepeta feels like an asspull to many readers, but honestly, it’s probably the best thing to happen to Davesprite since his John bit it. Like, was he the one from John’s timeline, or did he not die when the rebooted planet blew up or what? I’ve never understood that.

At least as Davepeta they have multiple people who are genuinely glad to be around them. At least Equius cares about one half and AR doesn’t not-care about the other and they’ve basically got a bestie in Arquiusprite! Getting fused with a reanimated alien catgirl in an alternate timeline(????) was probably the best thing to happen to Dave for a long, long time.

And I’m not even done!

Let’s talk Terezi.

Once we get through Act 5 and the trolls connect with the humans, we get a whole Fairy Godtroll situation that’s kinda cute. John gets Karkat and Vriska in his ear, Jade gets Tavros and Feferi and Kanaya and Karkat (Jade gets a lot of new people, doesn’t she?), Rose still has her Kanaya convos.

And Dave.

Gets.

Terezi.

They’re a great duo, very fun to watch - even with Vriska and Terezi’s weird rivalry shenanigans getting tangled up in it from time to time. As far as he knows, she’s just a bit of an internet weirdo who’s fun enough to hang out with.

As far as Alpha Dave knows, that is.

Davesprite came back, remember, to fix the timeline after Terezi got his John killed. Dave comes back, and argues with his John - that’s the first thing he gets to say to his best friend, one of his only friends, after a year of grieving in a dead, lonely session with only Rose for company. If he loses the fight, John dies.

After some effort, he gets his dumbass (beloved) pal to stop doing the stupid thing, then gives up his humanity (his existence as a core player, his role, his autonomy) and jumps into the sprite. Calsprite was a void of dead-eyed laughter and horror, so he wants to give the kids the best shot they can get, and having a non-cagey sprite on their side is a huge boost.

And Dave, Alpha Dave?

He ignores this.

He takes Terezi’s advice, over and over. Davesprite gives him the medallion, and we never see it used (we never see any sprite medallion used, as far as I can recall). Davesprite has to actively contact his player (his luckier, prime, Alpha self) and make him accept help, like guarding his body in his sleep. Meanwhile, Alpha Dave is getting codec support from the person who killed John, precipitating Davesprite’s entire existence in the narrative.

With the way the comic is structured, it’s really easy to blip over this, but this is what’s happening. Davesprite’s POV must be a goddamn horror movie, complete with futile shouting at the protagonists to stop going into the scary tunnels and following the advice of people who are blatantly out to hurt them. No fucking wonder he eventually fucked off the find Bro, who despite being an abusive piece of shit (did Davesprite ever get the chance to work that one out for himself?), is at least a constant. He’s the sole tie to the life this Dave left behind. Damn. And Dave doesn’t even come looking for him after he “dies”! If Davesprite didn’t vandalize that poster, would Alpha Dave have even known he was alive?

....fuck, is that why he keeps pasting orange text onto things? And provoking John into anger? Is he just doing his damnedest to keep from being trivialized and forgotten?

In the story, in the grand scheme of things, Davesprite is key to keep John from getting killed, and past that?

He has no purpose.

There’s no point to his existence.

His player seeks neither his advice nor his protection. His friends consider him part of the game they’re playing, rather than (an iteration of) their friend. The trolls mock him by doing nothing he can stop or really argue against. His rage has nowhere to go, so he has no rage.

No wonder he chases after Bro. No wonder he chills with Jadesprite. No wonder, no wonder. What a mess. What a disaster. He spends three years on the damn ship and as soon as the groups meet up, Jade begins projecting the time he spent with her on a guy she hasn’t seen since she was 13! And Alpha Dave just says “well, he’s bird me” and accepts this, except when he might get blamed for something he didn’t actually do!

God.

#April 13th 2023 #elk text #davesprite #meta #homestuck #13th #April #2023

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nothingenoughao3 · 6 months ago

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We interrupt our regularly-scheduled Reanimator reblogs to address a very important Godfather-related point made in this post by @frodo-of-the-nine-fingers.

Visual storytelling used to be A Thing in films. Some directors still do it (lookin' at you, Ari Aster, in equal parts terror and admiration), so I'm not arguing that it's totally lost to time, but... kind of, maybe. Compared to what I'm about to discuss, it feels like it's gone.

See, there's this thing about hair. It once was that hair in movies could matter a lot! There were not clauses in contracts requiring that the actors always look fuckable, and so actors sometimes were made to look gross or messy! This is where we get tropes about, say, Shaving The Beard or a Meaningful Haircut. You grew the beard/hair because you were overwhelmed with tragedy and immobilized by grief, torment, and anhedonia. When you were ready to shuck that off, even temporarily, you'd cut off the hair/beard, typically while staring at yourself in a mirror.

Double points if the mirror was the door to a medicine cabinet, so there could be a shot of the camera/you looking into the cabinet as you set the scissors away, then a dramatic click of the mirror closing to reveal you with your new, stern, cleaned-up features. But I digress.

Hair was, in other words, chosen for reasons other than "This hairstyle will make the character visually recognizable when they are a tiny CGI doll puppeted around during the hyperdense finale".

Now we could also probably make a post about the hair of the Corleone women, but in this post, it's just dudes. Sorry for being gay.

First let's look at Vito.

In the first second film, we see Vito as a boy. His hair is loose, slightly parted down the middle. This connotes immaturity, boyishness, and innocence. His hair isn't particularly styled or controlled. That last word will be important for this analysis.

By the time he's an adult, we see that Vito's already adopted the style he'll maintain for the rest of his life.

(i cannot with you robert. how dare you.)

Vito's hair is a simple, but powerful visual metaphor for control. Vito was out of control when he was a small boy, and it cost him his entire family and his safety in his homeland. It nearly cost him his life. No matter how gentle he seems, the truly gentle, childish, boyish Vito is gone forever, and he will never return.

He will keep himself and his family safe, even if he has to fucking kill people to do it.

Vito keeps his hair under the same kind of control he keeps the rest of his life under. The only times we see it out of place are when he's out of control--after he's shot and never really recovers.

Even more so, as seen above, after he loses Sonny.

The Corleone boys' hair also reflects how closely they adhere to the family, but more than that, how closely they are adhering to Vito's personal values. So, for example, Sonny does not have this hairstyle. He's got loose, kind of curly/frizzy hair which is never styled like Vito's.

(god he is devastatingly attractive it is untrue)

Clearly, Sonny's hair reflects his character: he's wild. Untamed. He can be the Don, and he serves very well when he's a wartime Don, but he never really adopts Vito's perspective on life/family management/Donship. We see this in how he doesn't pay much attention during the scenes where Vito's giving favors at Connie's wedding, even though he has at least two daughters and will have to do this ritual himself at least twice. He thinks he'll make his own way--beat up a photographer, bang Lucy--and he won't have to worry about all this crap once Pop turns it all over to him.

Then there's Tom.

(hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhggggggh look at him)

Tom has his hair slicked back from the very first time we see him, and he keeps it that way throughout both films. He is loyal to a fault. Not just to the mafia, but to Vito. When Tom tells Sonny he's as much a son to Vito as him or Mike, nobody argues with him. They all know it's true. And we, the audience, can literally see this loyalty in how Tom presents himself.

Notice, though, that Tom didn't say "I'm as much a son to him as you, Mike, or Fredo"? Yyyyeah.

Fredo starts off with the same kind of style as Michael, a more grown-up version of Vito's childhood hairstyle.

And a clearer shot of Michael because why not this is a Pacino appreciation blog

(their faces have transported me to heaven, free of all sin)

These are more controlled versions of the same hair Vito had as a child. This communicates that Michael and Fredo are not part of the family. They're adults, they brush their hair and use product on it, but they don't style it like men. Despite being a soldier (in Mike's case) or casually involved in the family business (in Fredo's), they're both treated kind of like kids. They have the potential to grow into men, men like their father, but they haven't yet.

Both Fredo and Michael do adopt their father's style at specific points in the narrative, and it's relevant to note when this happens.

When Michael is in Sicily, after making his bones, he still parts his hair. He's still maintaining his separation from his family. Despite him being utterly and totally dependent on his family for survival, given he's being hunted by half of the country.

(to be a bruise on that man's cheek)

It's Apollonia's death that changes everything for him.

But first, hats. Hats are another thing with Michael: he wears them when he's uncomfortable in a social situation, as though he's 'hiding', then takes them off to show he's more relaxed and comfortable. Frex, him wearing his uniform hat when he arrives at the wedding, then doffing it after he's been there a while. Likewise, he wears a hat in Sicily to literally show the audience that he is in hiding. He ditches it once he starts courting Apollonia, because now he's not in hiding--he ratted himself out and he's trying to integrate.

So when Michael meets Kay outside the school, and he's wearing a hat and keeps it on the entire interaction... we know, without being told, that he is telling porkie pies. He is lying. He is hiding in plain sight. More than that, it tells us he's not really comfortable or happy being there. He's doing this because he feels like he should, and not because he wants to.

(Notice, for instance, that when Michael is lying out of his asshole to Carlo about his chances of surviving the next ten minutes? Michael's wearing a hat for that entire scene.)

The other purpose of the hat is to disguise what's going on with Mikey's hair. He starts out with the newsboy cap in Sicily, so we can't see whether he has been fundamentally changed by making his bones. Then we see... no, he hasn't, he's not really that bothered by shooting two dudes. Okay. Then he goes to see Kay post-return and the hat disguises how deeply Apollonia's loss has affected him, until the next scene, where we see...

... oh.

It's still parted. But it's far closer to Vito's traditional hairstyle than before. Far closer. We are shown without being told how profoundly Michael was affected by all of his losses in Sicily (we can definitely include Sonny's death, and the general PTSD of that carbomb was meant for me, along with Apollonia's demise). He is transforming. Corroding into Vito.

Now the next major scene lets us compare Michael's new hair directly with Fredo. Fredo's hair has also changed. From the fluffy semi-parted look from before, we now see him like this:

His hair is slicked back--severely, sharply. However, when added to the rest of his outfit, it looks like he's a parody of Vito. He's trying to hit the same notes, but he's failing miserably. He's too tone-deaf to get the song right. But Michael?

Still very slightly parted, but that boyishness is almost gone.

While Fredo's transformation seems fake, it's more that he never really makes it. However, from this point on, he is involved in family business, the way Pop would have wanted him to be--at a distance, where his clowning does the least damage--so his new Vitoesque hair remains for the rest of Parts 1 and 2.

Is there, then, a specific scene where Michael's hair is unambiguously, entirely slicked back in a Pure Vito? Not with the little knocked part left in the front, as though some vestige of his own personality remained?

Well, yes. There is.

There's so much going on during the Baptism Scene that this understandably is left by the wayside, but we almost never see Michael with his hair exactly like this ever again.

Part 2 shows him with hair that's sometimes parted (when he's doing public-facing stuff) and sometimes slicked back (when he's doing Mobster Stuff). We do see him with this perfectly-slicked back look when he meets Hyman Roth. You know, when he's trying his hardest to project a sense of Vito-ness, of Donitude.

Overall, though, nothing really tops Michael's look in the Baptism Scene. He has fully embraced Vito's life, Vito's philosophy, and Vito's plan for the total destruction of all their enemies. He may be a little bit more Michael later on, but in this specific moment, Michael is Vito.

He is exerting total and complete control over dozens of lives, ending or changing them for the worse across the board.

Because, when he was still young and kind of boyish, he lost his family and his homeland and, very nearly, his own life.

And he will keep his family, The Family, and himself safe, even if he has to kill everyone outside The Family to do it.

#we interrupt our scheduled reanimator reblogs #the godfather #the godfather part ii #michael corleone #vito corleone #sonny corleone #fredo corleone #tom hagen #visual storytelling #film analysis #i live for analysis #in which i talk about hair about as much as junji ito #nothingenough speaks #screencaps

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