#Vans Apparel | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

in-daddy-price-we-trust · 1 year

Text

All I Wanted - Part 1

summary: when you are kidnapped discovered by TF141 they can't help but fall in love.

pairing: 141 x fem!teen!reader (platonic)

warnings: mentions of child abuse, drugs, canon typical violence

Part 2

A/N: this is like my first fanfic in a while, and first on tumblr (yay!) any tips and tricks would be so helpful!

this also plans to be a series but posting might and will be inconsistent, thank you in advance!

You always had a difficult life. Being abused by your parents up until you ran away at 13. After you ran away, you got in with the wrong type of people, promises of hope and money, food and validation was all they needed to say to get you hooked in their business of organised crime. Some good came out of it however, they gave you a home and how to defend yourself. They taught you how to shoot a gun and the best place to make someone bleed. They taught you nothing else mattered except them, they became your new family.

You were 15 when you were tasked with transporting a couple crates of weaponry and drugs. The organisation you joined knew you well enough and practically raised you to be the strongest you were. So one cargo ship to Amsterdam later, you find yourself in a rotting, metal warehouse, wearing pink apparel, pink puffy skirt and a white hello-kitty shirt. A baby pink cardigan is draped over your shoulders and over-the-knee white knitted socks. A chrome covered knife strapped to your thigh.

“Zus, how much for it all?” he stood across from you, a cigarette lit between his lips taking a long drag as you assessed his question. His black, slicked back hair elongated his face and the three piece suit almost made this deal professional.

“How much are you offering?” was all you said as a small smile graced your lips, ‘the higher the offer, the better’ you remember being told before you left. They weren’t the best weapons but they were definitely worth at least a couple K.

“25”

a grimace, “80”

a growl, “40”

a hum, “55”

“65. Final offer,” his teeth were bared, almost like he was sweating already.

A sinister, sweet smile stretched across your face, “Wonderful, and how are you wanting to transfer that?” out of seemingly nowhere you pulled out a notepad and pen, writing down the bank details before you gave him a pointed look, “You have one week to transfer the money, or I will have your head.”

His face paled, almost embarrassingly so. For how innocent you appeared to be, you knew how to handle yourself in these situations. You turned to walk away, the sound of baby pink mary janes clacking against the concrete as you bounced towards the rusted metal doors, sliding them open as you looked back at the man one final time, “It was a pleasure doing business with you,” and leaving.

You were good at your job. It was easy, for the most part. Gather intel, pass forward that intel. Transfer somewhat illegal items from one holder to another. So it comes to you as a bit of a surprise when you exit through the dusty doors when a bullet wizzes past your face, luckily just missing you. Swiftly pulling out the hand-gun out your waistband and shooting in their direction. You wish you had your sniper, but it was left in the hotel room you managed to stay at.

As you shot in the direction of the fire, you failed to notice someone sneaking out behind you, kicking your knees in. Dirt caked your socks as the grip on your gun became loose. Acting as quick as possible, you flipped onto your back, retching the knife from its holster. Before you could act, black invaded your vision as you felt pain shoot from your head. Shit.

White light invaded your vision, a grumbled swear leaving your dry lips at the pounding in your head. "Jesus Christ," your wrists hurt, rubbed raw by the shitty metal handcuffs they strapped you in, "Whose bedroom did you get these out of? Couldn't even afford good quality cuffs?" fell out of your mouth before you could think to stop it. No one reacted.

It was a van, you could tell that much. The interior white with small wooden benches lining it. Two men sat on either side of you whilst the other two sat across. From what you could make out, another pair sat at the front, driving to this unknown destination.

Maybe you should have been more scared. More begging for them not to hurt you. Four big, burly military men could definitely kill you much easier than you kill them.

They studied you like you studied them. The one on your left was most likely the oldest, a fisherman's hat upon his head and mutton chops-moustache combo was the dead give away. He had his eyes closed and arms crossed across his chest, legs spread wide.

You couldn't make out the one on your right quite as well. A black balaclava with painted white skeletal teeth paired well with the upper half of the skull mask he wore. He seemed to be in a similar position as grandpa, although he had an ankle resting on his knee instead, head tilted back against the cool metal of the van.

The two across from you seemed younger. One had a darker complexion, his eyebrows furrowed in a thoughtful expression. He was smaller than the rest but no doubtfully as strong.

Lastly was the man with a mohawk. His eyes bore into you the most, not so angry and more trying to figure out who you were. Breaking you apart and putting you back together with his eyes. Childishly, you stuck your tongue out at him. His face morphed into one of slight surprise before rolling his eyes and looking towards the front.

It was quiet. The hum from the light ticking like a clock in your ear. Trying to gauge where you were and how much time had passed, your foot started tapping on the floor.

"Stop," A gruff voice said suddenly making you jump before mumbling a sorry at the skull-faced man. It was quiet again. It numbed your senses, sending shivers down your spine. Gravel sounded under the tires before voices outside sounded, signalling your arrival.

The doors pulled open, sunlight shining in. As mohawk and shorty left, skully pulled your arm to tug you along out with him, a short yelp escaping past your lips at the action.

You tripped over your feet, pins and needles shooting up your legs from sitting for so long. "Can you be gentle?" you spoke as you found your footing, "Please?" it was tacked on at the end for at least the tiniest bit of sympathy.

Skully looked down at you as he continued to drag you towards what you hoped was a five-star hotel with bed and breakfast. At least your death would be a quick one.

The halls blurred together until you were sitting in a leather chair in someone's office, back to the door, although you felt the looming presence of the men behind you. Mutters were heard outside before the door clicked opened, footsteps and a click again.

Gramps stood in front of you, leaning over the dark stained oak table. He had a file in his hand, putting it on the desk before sliding it over to you. "What do you know of El Sin Nombre?" it wasn't as much of a question than you'd like but an order for information.

Your mouth was so dry it felt like you swallowed cotton. As much as you wished to answer him, you look at him with furrowed brows and a confused expression. It took you a couple minutes before words formed in your throat, "Who?".

He didn't enjoy that answer. One of his hands slapping on the desk as he seethed, repeating the question again as if that would change your answer.

"I don't know who that is! I can't help you," you felt that burning sensation under your eyes as you desperately tried to convey your emotions. Tears meant weakness, and that's the one thing you didn't want to show to your captors right now.

Pairs of eyes hammered into your head. You felt like a child again, staring down at your toes being told off for not doing the dishes or not being quick enough to grab a beer. You braced for the hits, the punches to your ribs as you made promises that fell on the deaf ears of your mother and father.

"Price," A voice sounded behind you, soft and comforting. An accent coated the words that flowed through the air you didn't pick up on. The more time passed the more your eyes stung, tears slipping past your defences. Shoulders shaking as you try to curl into yourself, strings of "I don't know" and "I'm sorry" being nothing more than mumbles.

The room grew cold and quiet as you sobbed. Footsteps couldn't be heard over your own cries, so when an arm wrapped around your shoulders, you jolted. Expecting this is where you get hit. Bracing for the impact and sting they usually brought with them.

Instead, the arm pulled you into their chest, hugging you close and stroking your hair, along with shushing you softly. It only made you sob harder. When was the last time someone hugged you like this? Sure, you got the occasional pat on the back for a job well done, but never an embrace like this.

Time passed through your fingers like sand, not knowing how long you sat there for before you calmed down. The arms didn't pull away until you did, cringing at the wet patch you left on the man's shirt. Speaking of, you looked up to see mohawk looking down at you, eyes soft and an equally soft smile. "Y're alright now lass?" his accent leaked into the words, a curt nod allowing him to pull away and stand up again.

A heavy sigh sounded above you as you dragged your eyes up to meet who you presumed was this 'Price' figure. "What’s your name?"

Gears turned over the question in your head, thinking of an answer. Technically, you lost your name when you left home, gaining a couple new names at the gang.

Your silence was taken for an answer. "What are you doing in Amsterdam?" this you could answer.

"A business exchange. I'm just the messenger, I don't know any of the customers - I promise! - I just get the money and dip. I promise I can't help you-" you were hyperventilating at this point.

"It's alright sweetheart, deep breaths, calm down for me, yeah?" Price's voice was gentle now, seemingly not wanting the same thing to happen.

"Can you tell us where you're from? Who you work for?" He asked once he saw you calm down.

"Uhm- I'm from England. And I don't really work for them but I'm a doberman. They're some organisation that took me in," you weren't really interested in going into full depths of your life with these complete strangers.

Although, you felt the gazes lift off you and onto Price, his own eyes looking back at his men, a million silent conversations happening right above your head. Price inhaled sharply before he asked his last question, "How old are?"

"15." The air knocked out of his lungs.

#ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #john price x reader #price x reader #captain john price #gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick #soap x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #john soap mactavish #141 x reader #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #cod #call of duty fanfic #x reader

2K notes · View notes

oeldeservesthenorris · 7 months

Text

Well, another day, another way the National Hockey League has found to disappoint me. At this rate I'm no longer even surprised. Just sad. Very very sad.

ANYWAYS, for those interested, and looking for some bright spots today, here is a by no means comphrensive list of NHL players who have been actively vocal and demonstrative in their support of the LGBTQA+ community, who have attended Pride parades, or in other ways have proven to at least try to be allies. Some might surpise you. They did me as I looked into this (Brad Marchand? Mark Schiefle? yes!) (I'd rather focus the energy on these guys than those who don't deserve my time, fandom, or money for their apparel):

Quinn Hughes

Oliver Ekman-Larsson

Jon Merrill

JT Miller

Jacob Markstrom

MacKenzie Weegar

Jonathan Huberdeau

Rasmus Andersson

Alexander Wennberg

Roman Josi

Jack Hughes

Timo Meier

Matthew Tkachuck

Aaron Ekblad

Charlie MacAvoy

Morgan Rielly

John Klingberg (literally had a video on learning how to be an ally in the dressing room, if you didnt know)

Josh Morrissey

Mark Schiefle

Dylan Demelo

Mat Barzal

Tyler Seguin

Mitch Marner

Erik Johnson

Nathan MacKinnon

Connor McDavid

Anthony Duclair

Gabriel Landeskog

Auston Matthews

Tyson Barrie

Kurtis Gabriel

Travis Konecny

James Van Riemsdyk

Scott Laughton

Jordan Martinook

Bo Horvat

Luke Prokop

Brad Marchand

Sean Monahan

Johnny Gaudreau

Mark Giordano

Max Domi

Martin Necas

Ethan Bear

Jeff Skinner

Mattias Samuelsson

#nhl #nhl hockey #nhl players #nhlpride pride #quinn hughes #vancouver canucks #short king #captainquinton #captain quinn hughes #thats my captain

98 notes · View notes

antlerqueer · 7 months

Text

If the YJ girlies were high schoolers in the late 00s-10s, this is what their Tumblrs would be like:

Shauna Shipman would run an aesthetic and HP/general YA lit fandom blog, with quotes and stuff photoshopped onto Galaxy images she got off Google and triangles. Original poetry on a side blog.

Misty Quigley runs the team's unofficial blog that no one follows except like Jackie, and Van to send screenshots to Taissa in a mean way. Shauna blocked her the moment she made it.

Mari runs an attempt at a gossip blog. Unfortunately most of her Intel is wrong and no one likes the blog. She's found out pretty quickly because she mostly writes nice things about Jackie but everyone else (especially her teammates) get weird oddly specific posts. She's better on Twitter, with her anonymous Barb fan account.

Jackie Taylor mostly reblogs Shauna's stuff, even though she doesn't understand it. She also reblogs pro ana content and doesn't realize what it is because she thinks the flowers and satin and silk and half naked girls are pretty. Lots of dorm room inspo pics, sorority aspiration stuff.

Taissa Turner is the queen of studyblr. She also reblogs aesthetic stuff and fandom stuff. Plus a gay side blog only Van knows about.

Van Palmer only has a Tumblr to lurk on Misty's blog and reblog vintage gay shit.

Lottie Matthews pretends she doesn't have one but runs an emo girl Tumblr.

Crystal/Kristen runs one dedicated to musicals, obviously.

Natalie Scatorccio runs dark aesthetic cigarette girlie American Apparel emo Tumblr, follows Lottie but doesn't know it's Lottie, and also posts vague diary-esque posts about her drug use. No one knows she has a blog, but Shauna follows her.

#yellowjackets

95 notes · View notes

pagansphinx · 4 months

Text

The Many Faces of Ophelia

John Everett Millais • Ophelia • 1851–52 • Tate Britain, London

Millais's painting depicts Ophelia, a character from William Shakespeare's play Hamlet, singing before she drowns in a river.

Pierre Auguste Cot ( French, 1837-1883) • Ophelia (Pause for Thought) • 1870 • Private collection

Another haunting version of Ophelia belongs to the French portraitist Pierre Auguste Cot, well-known for his portraits and romantic scenes. The painting is not a direct illustration of Hamlet, but rather a glimpse into the dark and terrifying mind of Ophelia after Hamlet refused to marry her and then killed her father Polonius. What might seem to be an innocent look of a young maiden, looks downright creepy and unsettling, hinting at Ophelia’s soon-to-come decision to take her own life out of grief and madness.

Odilon Redon (French, 1840-1916) • Ophelia Among the Flowers • c. 1905-08 • National Gallery, London

Redon’s version of the story is in no way an illustration of the original text written by Shakespeare, but rather a dreamlike impression of it.

Ophelia • Sarah Bernhardt • 1880

Sarah Bernhardt's version, perhaps too idealized to be a direct reference to Shakespeare’s text but nevertheless has one important feature. If we look at the photographs of Bernhardt, we can recognize her own facial features in her depiction of Ophelia. In fact, Bernhardt did play Ophelia on stage in 1886, only six years after making the piece. During the production, she insisted on developing her role further. Instead of the death of Ophelia being indicated by a closed coffin carried out to the stage, Bernhardt was brought to the public, playing a lifeless body herself.

Paul Albert Steck ( 1866-1924) • Ophelia • 1895 • Musées de Paris

John William Waterhouse (British) • Ophelia • 1910 • Private collection

"Her clothes, stretched out, carrying her like a nymph; which time she chanted snatches of songs he sang as if knew not troubles or was born in the element of water; so to last could not, and apparel, hard upivshis, unhappy from the sounds of dragged into the quagmire of death." ~William Shakespeare, Hamlet

Paul Delaroche (French, 1797-1856) • La Jeune Martyre (The Young Martyr/Ophelia) • 1855 • Musée du Louvre, Paris

Alexandre Cabanel (1823–1889) • Ophelia • 1883 • Private collection.

Source: Wikimedia Commons.

Eugène Delacroix (1798–1863), The Death of Ophelia (1853) • Musée du Louvre, Paris.

Theodor van der Beek (German, 1838-1921) • Ophelia • 1901 • Private collection

61 notes · View notes

omegalomania · 7 months

Text

i kept forgetting to do this, but i finally remembered we got permission to upload the full pieces done for the SEASONS ZINE! they're not quite as good without @deathchic's gorgeous prose accompanying them, but they were really exciting to put together.

full breakdowns of the symbolism and unobstructed views of each card can be found beneath the cut, fully transcribed. as a warning, they are LONG.

my category was "fall," which encompassed the folie and save rock and roll eras, including the welcome to the new administration mixtape and pax am days ep. seeing as i've a great deal of love for all four of those works and fall out boy has four members, i decided to highlight each work by creating a tarot-inspired card, each featuring a member of the band.

Welcome to the New Administration: Pete Wentz

Pete was the primary organizer behind the viral campaign for CitizensFOB, making him the ideal pick for this card. His card prominently features his bass guitar with the iconic Clandestine logo.

Repeating Number 4: 4 stars above the eagle's head, 4 markings across the cube at the center, 4 members of the band

The tri-colored drapes behind Pete were suspended behind the band on the mixtape cover. The curtains parting over a black background signifies the oncoming hiatus.

The cube-like geometric shape in front of the eagle represents the single promotional art done for "America's Suitehearts," which was one of the tracks demoed in the mixtape and one of the singles that connected most prominently with the themes of the mixtape.

The shield Pete carries and the eagle mounted behind him are both symbols that were used to promote the CitizensFOB viral campaign, featuring the catchphrase: "For Our Betterment, There Is More Mayhem."

Pete's apparel is what he was wearing for the Believers Never Die Part Deux tour, in which there was a lot of direct satirization of Wall Street and American politics. All the band members were wearing suits and looking visibly battered, and Pete had a nosebleed. Patrick also has a nosebleed on his own card; both Pete and Patrick's cards are pre-hiatus projects.

The symbols at the four corners of the card are indicative of the imagery surrounding the campaign. The pointing hand comes from the cover for the mixtape; the airplane is a reference to the "Mailbaick Vaintey and Pidetaerson Firm" videos and accounts that were used in the viral campaign; the wolf head is for the "Alpha Dog" demo, which made its debut on the CitizensFOB mixtape and namedropped "Welcome to the New Administration" title in its demo form; the boomerang is for the "Lake Effect Kid" demo, which also made its debut on the CitizensFOB mixtape.

"The Citizen" is an obvious reference to the "Citizens For Our Betterment" campaign name.

The card features 12 colors, all colorpicked from the Welcome to the New Administration mixtape cover. This represents the 12 artists who contributed the mixtape musically (not merely speaking roles): The Academy Is..., Butch Watcher, The Cab, Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy, Four Year Strong, Gym Class Heroes, Hey Monday, The Hush Sound, Panic! At The Disco, A Rocket to the Moon, and Tyga.

The background elements are indicative of the state of the band prior to the hiatus: the leaves are in tatters and shreds. The sunflower is a native Chicago variant, Helianthus occidentalis, late-blooming sunflower that lasts well into early fall. Sunflowers obviously have a strong association with the sun, but they also stand for adoration, loyalty, good fortune, vitality, longevity, and prosperity. The bright yellow color also associates them with intelligence, happiness, and friendship. Van Gogh had a famous Sunflower series, leading to the obvious connection to Infinity on High, the album preceding the Folie era. This made it a good pick for the pre-hiatus cards, since it was loyalty and friendship that led to the hiatus and ultimately to the band's longevity and vitality. Both Folie à Deux and the Welcome to the New Administration mixtape had more yellow tones than their post-hiatus counterparts as well, thus the pick of a yellow flower.

Folie à Deux: Patrick Stump

Patrick has stated that Folie à Deux is the most "him" out of Fall Out Boy's discography, making him ideal for this card.

Repeating Number 4: 4 electric bursts from the microphone, 4-sided symbol mounted on the microphone, 4 ruffles on Dr. Benzedrine's front

The card features 13 colors to represent the 13 tracks on the album itself (excluding bonus tracks). All colors were colorpicked directly from the album cover.

The anchor is a reference to the lyrics of "27," with a crown symbol on it in reference to "Headfirst Slide into Cooperstown on a Bad Bet."

There are 9 stripes on the upper side of the background, as a reference to "West Coast Smoker" - the suicidal cats have 9 lives.

The microphone represents Patrick's role as vocalist. It is also a reference to "(Coffee's for Closers)," as the microphone stand is electrified.

Patrick's right half is modeled after his costume in the "America's Suitehearts" video, "Dr. Benzedrine." He has a nosebleed in reference to the lyrics of the song that is his namesake, "20 Dollar Nose Bleed." Both he and Pete represent pre-hiatus projects, and both have bleeding noses.

Patrick's left half is modeled after his costume in the "What A Catch, Donnie" video. He has 20 stripes on his shirt - half black and half white, keeping with themes of duality. The 20 total stripes also references "20 Dollar Nose Bleed."

The background on the bottom half is shattered into 15 visible fragments, indicating the 15 tracks of the full album (when including bonus tracks such as "Pavlove" and "Lullabye"). There are also 27 fragments scattered between the two halves of Patrick, representing "27" and the 27 club.

The symbols at the four corners have dual meanings, in keeping with the theme of duality. The bee is both a lyrical reference to "Lullabye" and a nod to the intro of "Disloyal Order of Water Buffaloes"; the storm cloud is both a nod to the lyrics of "She's My Winona" and a reference to the "Mr. Sandman" character in the "America's Suitehearts" video; the horseshoe crab is both a reference to the lyrics on "The (Shipped) Gold Standard" and to the character of "H. Shoe Crab" in the "America's Suitehearts" video; the sunflower acknowledges the lyrics in "27" about shooting the sunshine into one's veins and nods to the flower on the hat of the "Donnie the Catcher" character in the "America's Suitehearts" video.

"The Mirror" references the theming of duality on the album, as well as the fact that the vinyl required a mirror for one to read the tracklisting since the text was printed backwards.

The card features heavy themes of duality to suit the theme of a "madness shared by two." The image is bisected in several respects: Patrick is fractured in two, both halves wearing different costumes and expressions; the shadow in the center is split down the middle; the broken heart in the upper half is also two faces; the image is divided both horizontally and vertically; and a dichotomy of fire (the electrified microphone stand) and water (the anchor).

Save Rock and Roll: Joe Trohman

Joe took a much more active writing role post-hiatus and on this album in particular, making him a good pick to represent Save Rock and Roll.

Repeating Number 4: 4 symbols, 4-pointed symbol holding up the others

The card features 11 colors, representing 11 tracks on the album. All colors were color-picked directly from the album cover, with an emphasis on reds, to suit the "red palette" imagery surrounding the album.

This card is saturated with imagery from the 11-part video series the band released in conjunction with the album, "The Youngblood Chronicles." Joe is wearing the costume he had for the majority of the video series prior to his death.

The card features heavy fire imagery due to this being a motif on the album and on the associated video series, with smoke rising up in the background. This is indicative of the band "rising from the ashes" post-hiatus, and also symbolizes the resurrection of Joe's character at the end of "The Youngblood Chronicles."

The guitar-axe weapon is from the "Death Valley" video and would have been his weapon if he weren't dead at this point in time. The card prominently features Joe's guitar, albeit turned into a weapon, as befitting the theming.

The four symbols mounted behind Joe are also from "The Youngblood Chronicles" - the symbol representing the "Silence the Noise" group; the symbol associated with the gang of child bikers; the symbol the Prince of Darkness tattoos on Joe's hand; and the crown-and-volcano symbol associated with the band post-hiatus. The symbol upon which these four icons are mounted is found on the floor in Heaven in the "Save Rock and Roll" video.

Joe is the only one who does not face the audience directly, and is turned in profile. Given the fictional nature of the narrative of "The Youngblood Chronicles," he has the most distance from the fourth wall.

The symbols at the four corners of the card also draw from imagery from "The Youngblood Chronicles." The disco ball is from the "Where Did the Party Go" video, in which Joe's character dies. The briefcase is a consistent object throughout the entire series, and serves to incite the entire narrative. Patrick's hook hand, also seen throughout, is significant due to Patrick's unwitting role as Joe's murderer. The snake, seen in "Young Volcanoes" and "Just One Yesterday," is representative of the group's collective trauma.

"The Defender" is a reference to the names of the characters of Fall Out Boy in "The Youngblood Chronicles," as they are referred to as "The Defenders of the Faith" in the longform video's opening credits. This title is in and of itself a reference to the title track on Save Rock and Roll.

Pax Am Days: Andy Hurley

The Pax Am Days EP is closest to the band's hardcore roots in terms of sonics and composition, and Andy is the most active in hardcore circles today, which makes him an ideal pick for this card.

Repeating 4: 4 holes in the American flag, 4 supports visible on the toms and bass drum, 4 tears on the left side of the wall

The card features 9 colors, all color-picked from the EP cover, per the 9 tracks on the EP (counting the bonus "New Dreams" Naked Rayguns cover).

There are also 9 tears on the right side of the wall, also befitting the 9 tracks on the EP.

The black-and-white checkered background represents the Pax Am studio where the EP was recorded and after which it was named.

Andy is the only one whose card features him looking directly at the audience, to signify the more intimate recording sessions behind the EP, in which studio chatter and laughter can be heard between every track. Being the drummer of the band, Andy's drumkit is naturally featured very prominently.

The crown-volcano symbol that's become synonymous with the band post-hiatus is (barely) visible mounted on Andy's bass drum. This is a similarity Andy's card shares with Joe's, as they both represent post-hiatus projects.

The American flag was also present in the studio for recording. The flag being torn and shredded on the card relates to tracks on the EP that discuss disillusionment with the American dream ("American Made"). It is also indicative of the eras preceding and following the Pax Am EP (Folie à Deux and the Welcome to the New Administration mixtape, and then American Beauty / American Psycho).

The four symbols at the corners of the card all represent lyrics present on the EP: the crown comes from "We Were Doomed from the Start (The King is Dead)"; the lion comes from "Demigods"; the black widow comes from "Hot to the Touch, Cold on the Inside"; the skull comes from "Love, Sex, Death."

"The Believer" is a reference to the final compilation prior to the band's four-year hiatus, "Believers Never Die." With the band returning seemingly from the dead, it seems that believers truly never die. This is paired with Andy reportedly being the only member of the band who always believed they would get back together, even if none of the others did.

The background elements for the post-hiatus cards feature leaves with much more reddish tones. The color red has a great deal of symbolic meanings, including high energy, vitality, strength, and prosperity. Additionally, the fallen leaves are rich and whole, to contrast the shredded-looking leaves in the background for the pre-hiatus cards. After the hiatus, the band's overall health and mentality was much healthier.

The flower in the background is a Madame Julia Correvon clematis, a wine-red Chicago variant of clematis that blooms in the summer and fall. Clematis flowers are associated with mental acuity, wisdom, travel, aspiration, and mischief. Red clematis in particular is associated with passion, energy, good luck, prosperity, security, physical vitality, and courage. This, along with the red color scheme, made it a good flower to represent the cards for the post-hiatus projects.

#fall out boy #fob #seasons zine #*mine #*art #ids in the alt text #i overthought so much of this symbolism lol #and the flowers arent 100% accurate to what theyre supposed to look like...#alas! it was fun regardless

133 notes · View notes

two-red-lungs · 2 years

Text

Missing You

(Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader NSFW)

Summary: You’ve been away from Hawkins, living with some of your family members out in New York. And sure, you and Eddie called almost every day just to catch up, but long-distance was hard. Harder than you thought: it left you aching and lonely. No warm hugs. No soft smiles. No affectionate kisses.

But you’re back for the summer. And Eddie doesn’t want to waste a second of it.

Contents: Oral (fem receiving), PiV sex, groping, pussydrunk Eddie, oral fixation, lovesickness

Word Count: 2.2k

The sky was a dark blanket of star-studded navy above the van. Branches laced over it, moving like blurs of black as you continued to trundle down the narrow two-lane road. That was something about Hawkins that was different than New York, too: the roads were so small, so empty in comparison.

The speakers hummed out some Journey song. Neither of you were really paying attention. No, you were both far too preoccupied: Eddie with keeping one hand on the wheel and one on your upper thigh, and you trying to not feel like you were on fucking fire where his skin touched yours. It had been so long.

Eight stupid, excruciating months.

You’d never felt more alive than when you’d stepped off that two hour flight into the tiny, dinky airport, walking through the crowd with your duffel on your back. And seeing him. Eddie. His hair slightly longer than it had been last time you spoke. God, he had broken out into brightest grin... a grin that stunned you, that flooded your chest with lovesick warmth. And then you were in his big, broad arms and he smelled like him and you were hugging him back, cackling when he spun you around like a cheesy movie.

Eddie didn’t give a shit that people were staring. Neither did you.

He couldn’t keep his hands off you as you walked back to the parking lot. Fingers playing with yours, or an arm around your waist, your luggage slung over his shoulder. He mussed with your hair, and pecked your forehead, and talked your ear off and you couldn’t get enough of it.

And now you were here, in the van, and his hard grip on your thigh was making you burn a fucking hole through the ratty front passenger seat cushion. Maybe a skirt hadn’t been the best choice of apparel, because the skin-on-skin contact was... doing things to you.

You shifted slightly, holding your breath when his strong musician’s fingers readjusted their hold on your thigh. Creeping slowly, ever so slowly, upwards. Only inches from the apex of your legs. You bit on the inside of your lip. Beside you, Eddie inhaled perceptibly. When you glanced up at his face, he was focused on the road, tongue trapped between his lips in that sweet, adorable way of his that meant he was trying so hard to be good.

The air was so heavy with hunger that it felt like a tangible force. You didn’t know where to put your hands. Didn’t know how to breathe, or what to ask for. Or if you wanted more or less. All you knew is you wanted. Because all you could think about was that sweet little pink tongue, and how those same fingers on your leg right now had been sunk inside you before, and how warm Eddie probably still was under all those layers, how he probably still hardened up all slow and perfect when you ground down against his lap-

Dammit. Dammit, you were wet. Like, really, obviously wet. Embarrassingly so. Probably sticking your underwear to your lips like a second skin.

Eddie’s fingers dipped low enough to brush the inside edge of your underwear with the tip of his ring finger. You jerked in your seat and he let out a little noise in his throat.

“Eddie...” You whined out softly.

You meant it like a warning, but clearly he took it as encouragement. Those evil, perfectly delicious fingers crept lower, and lower, and oh- they brushed against the wetness of your folds for a second and Eddie made a shocked noise, pulling his hand back. In the low, nearly non-existent light, he brought his fingers to his face.

Wetness glittered.

He glanced at you. You looked up at him. Your eyes met like sparks, fucking flint against steel that made you burn because Christ you’d missed this big doe eyes.

“Shit.” He ground out. Eddie yanked the wheel and suddenly you were tearing off the main road, down a bumpy dirt sideway in the endless sprawl of Indiana’s forest. “Shit, shit, shit.”

Before you could even ask what he was doing he was screeching to a halt on the abandoned roadside, van lights flooding the trees, and threw the vehicle into park before storming out. He rounded the front, all bouncing hair and jingling jacket and a mindless look in his eyes. He threw open your passenger door.

“Baby, can I just- you’re driving me fucking crazy over here, man, couldn’t wait till we got back to my place to-” He was all hands, manic and desperate, leaning into the open doorway to nip kisses at your cheeks, your neck. His broad hands were back on your thighs and they were fucking warm.

“Yeah.” You said breathlessly. Not even really knowing what you were agreeing to, just knowing you wanted it. You fumbled with your seatbelt, undoing it. “Yeah, Eddie, yeah.”

“Fuck, thank you. Thank you, angel.”

He was pulling your hips off the side of the seat and into the night air when you finally remembered something he had told you over the phone a month ago.

“I miss how wet you get, baby. Drives me fuckin’ crazy thinkin’ about it. As soon as you get turned on around me, I swear... I don’t care where we are. I’m doing something about it.”

You had laughed when he said it. But clearly he wasn’t joking.

The van was still running and the ‘passenger door open’ alarm was idly pinging, and Eddie couldn’t hear any of it because right now he was down on his knees on the passenger door foot-guard, running hands up the underside of your skirt and pulling your panties down like they were the barrier between him and all the riches in the world.

He made a noise that sounded like he was dying when he felt the syrupy wetness at the center of them.

“Christ, I missed you.” Was all he said, voice tight and strained. “Missed you so much.”

You didn’t get to reply. You were too busy trying to remember how to think as Eddie thumbed roughly and hungrily at your folds, messing with your wetness, fingers dipping just barely into your pussy. Just enough to pull your slick, warm arousal out, coating his digits.

The sight of him hungrily sticking those fingers into his mouth nearly punched the breath from you. He sucked at them like it was ambrosia.

“Fuck.” He whispered, more to himself than you. “Fuck. So good.” The saliva-wet fingers went back, his free hand holding your shivering thighs open as he stroked you, breaching you with his index. He felt so fucking good, warm and real and a million times better than the fingers you had put inside yourself on that narrow bed in Manhattan when you missed him.

Every time he pumped you, crooking that digit inside your spongey walls, you just got wetter. Eight months of restraint spilling out, slicking up your thighs, sliding down your asscheeks, wetting the cheap seat fabric. Eddie looked positively fucking hypnotized by the wet, lewd squish of his finger disappearing into your quivering pink folds.

His head disappeared between your thighs and a furnace-hot wet mouth sealed itself around your pussy. You cried out, clapping a hand on your mouth, grabbing the loose seatbelt like a fucking lifeline. You could barely sit upright as he worked you, pulling your hips harder off the side of the seat, a tongue wriggling across your labia and flicking manically at your clit.

Because of course Eddie fucking Munson would eat you out in his van in the woods. And of course you’d think it was the hottest thing ever.

His tongue pushed into you, and your eyes nearly rolled back when you realized he was scooping: gathering up as much of your sweet, sticky arousal as he could and swallowing it, fucking ravenous for it. The dexterous muscle writhed between your gummy, hot walls.

Oh god, not even a few minutes in and your first orgasm was already going to hit you like a fucking truck.

You grabbed handfuls of his wild, curly hair, and rode it out without even a warning, clenching thighs around that beautiful head, throwing yourself back against the center consol. His tongue continued to writhe inside your channel like he was trying to pull the soul out of you, riding out every single one of your pulsing aftershocks.

When you finally let go he pulled his head back, and oh. He looked good like that. Pupils blown wide in the night’s darkness, chin and cheeks shiny and wet. Breathing hard, an incredulous look on his face like he didn’t know how he got so lucky.

Even as you recovered he couldn’t help himself, his fingers trailing through your mess and going straight to his mouth, again and again. Those lips, that tongue. Pure evil. The devil’s work. You knew your inner thighs were going to have rugburn tomorrow.

Eddie thumped a fist against the van as you caught your breath, huffing. He stood, wiping his mouth with the back of hand, returning to his senses that said ‘it's stupid to be parked on the side of the road’.

“We should, um. We should go. We can finish this, uh. At home.” He blathered, bobbing his head. Cheeks still flushed and pants painfully tight.

Before he could leave you hooked a leg around his back and pulled. He practically fell over you, catching himself on the doorframe. Gasping when the cock trapped under his jeans was pressed flush to your naked, soaked pussy.

“You're not going anywhere, Munson.” You said dizzily. Determined as hell, because there was no chance he was just gonna get away with sticking his tongue into you so hard you saw stars without giving you the main course.

He grinned: slow and ditzy and disbelieving. “Sorry.” He apologized, wasting no time fumbling with his zipper, shuffling his jeans down around his hips. Ripping a condom open with his teeth and rolling it down over himself. “Sorry, baby. The audacity of me, right?”

“It’s incredible. Sometimes I don’t know how I put up with youuu-fuck.” Your sentence was derailed when he ran the silky, blunt head of his hard cock up and down your sopping slit. Teasing you by nudging in just a centimeter before pulling back out again.

You looked up at him, ready to chastise, to beg if you needed to, but Eddie’s eyes were screwed shut. His face upturned to the night. He was enjoying this: hedonistically feeling the wetness of your arousal, how it glided smoothly across his cock head.

When he finally, finally put it in you, it was excruciatingly slow. Like he was savoring every inch. You mouth fell open: he was just as warm, just as perfect as you remembered. Your eyes met. He looked so in love it was like he was drunk.

Every thrust was magic. Maybe because it had been so long since you’d had the real thing, maybe because it was so sloppy and desperate and you were literally being fucked halfway out of a door right off a road. But you liked to think it was because you loved him so much. You grabbed at Eddie’s hand braced on the plush of the seat’s backrest, and he released his grip to tangle his sweaty fingers with yours.

His brows were drawn down in focus, in pleasure. Plush mouth hanging softly open. You met his thrusts as best you could, boxed in the seat, helplessly canting your hips up into that molten fucking immaculate pleasure he was stirring up in you, spreading up your chest and down your legs.

“Missed you too, baby.” You gasped out. He was rocking the van every time he bottomed out, hips slapping against your ass. “Thought about this. Thought about you. Every fucking night.”

He groaned helplessly at your words, changing his angle, hitting something inside you that was like electricity: mind-bending, almost overloading pleasure.

You said his name like a prayer. Like a chant. You could feel him tightening up inside you, thrusts becoming more erratic.

“Please, Eddie-bear, please. Need it. Lemme feel it.” You begged, snaking one hand between your legs to furiously rub at your clit while he slammed you rhythmically against the center consol.

Your second orgasm sent you into darkness. Eddie followed you over, buckling, folding and rooted inside of you. All you could feel was him. Him, and the night air, and love you’d reconnected with after so, so long.

You came to with a mild leg cramp and Eddie carefully brushing hair out of your eyes. Even in the semidarkness, you could see the softness on his face. The way his big eyes were crinkled, the fond upturn of his lips. Something about him was just incredibly gentle. Incredibly in love.

He was leaning far enough into the interior of the van that his long hair hung low, tickling you. You grabbed the neck of his shirt and used it to haul him the rest of the way in, leaning him over your body. Pulling him in for a kiss.

He hummed against your lips.

“I love you, Munson. Love you all the way.”

“There and back again, right?” He breathed against your lips.

“There and back again.”

#Eddie Munson x reader #Eddie Munson smut #stranger things imagine #stranger things s4 #minors dont look #my writing

887 notes · View notes