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crumbledcastle28 · 1 year

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Din Djarin: Bright and Shiny

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!reader (she/her)

Excerpt: “Do you like It?” he whispered, and you swore you were dreaming. You had pictured him like this so many times—so many times—but it was real. This was fucking real and you were fucking on fire.”

“Yes,” you said, breathily. “I do.”

You were locked on his helmet so badly that you didn’t see his right hand creeping up to frame your face with it. Holding your cheeks between his thumb and the rest of his fingers, forcing you to focus on his face.

“What do you like about it?”

Warnings: smut smut smut and more smut (me writing a dom man?), with softness at the end. The Crest is aliveee. Grogu isn’t here yet.

A/N: Happy Dincember everyone, aka my absolute favorite tumblr tradition. To all the authors updating prompts every day…are you Gods?

If you’d like to leave a like, comment, ask, or reblog, it would be very appreciated <3

Pedro Masterlist

There was no bigger hypocrite in the galaxy than the infamous Mandalorian.

Blood-crusted beskar coated the majority of his body every time he placed his feet on solid ground—every time— in addition to the metaphorical armor that was his demeanor. Solid, unbreakable, stern, terrifying.

It was not until you had spent a few months as his “partner” at the Guild, thus living together on his quickly crumbling Razor Crest, that you were met with his true doctrine of hypocrisy.

It was as if every time he elected to remove a piece of his armor for you, he knocked down one of his walls. First was the night he removed the small shoulder and shin pieces, the same night he elected to crack his first joke. Next was the dark-browned chest, sharing with you that he was a foundling in his Covert. Then the belt, covered in more weapons and weight than you had ever seen, and he told the story of his first kill. Then the wrists, along with the story of his toughest kill. The one that haunted him as he attempted to fall asleep at night. Then his gloves, with the story of the first woman he had ever fell in love with.

“You remind me of her,” he had said to you, “except you have actually stayed.” He had said the last part quickly before immediately exiting the pit to hide in his “room” for a few hours.

You remained in your copilot seat, staring off into the stars of hyperspace, unable to think at all.

Slowly—very slowly— the Mandalorian had revealed more and more of his true self to you. The one who would sneakily hum around the Crest, make sure to turn your heated blanket on early on cold nights, and always—always—avoid spiced food like the plague.

“It upsets my stomach,” he had defended, and you scoffed in return.

After such long travel-times on jobs, you would get so used to the softness of his true personality that when he would have to put his armor back on—literally and figuratively— you almost felt like you were looking and speaking to a different person.

The heat in your lower stomach felt that way too.

It flared when he was soft, but the switch from the man you knew to the Mandalorian always reminded you both of when you first met him and what he was truly capable of.

Plus, seeing the width of his shoulders accentuated by the most expensive and impenetrable metal known to man was not bad either.

You had been sitting at the usual meeting spot with Greef, ready to discuss the dozen pucks already sitting in front of you. You were still due for a new job after the boat-load of beskar given to you for the little green baby— which definitely was not still on your conscious— and Mando was running a bit late due to the crafting of his new armor. You waited anxiously to see the results.

“I have never held this much in my own hands before,” he had said to you, and you beamed up at him as he spoke. “This will likely be enough for an entirely new set.”

You had no idea how right he was.

You sat at the booth with Greef, making pleasant enough conversation, but mostly daydreaming of what Mando was seeing, feeling, touching. The pleasure to watch his own armor be crafted by hand, you could not even imagine what that would be like.

You took a sip of your drink—one that Greef had been so gracious to buy for you—and let it burn as you set it down on the sticky wooden table. As soon as the glass touched the wood, the entire cantina silenced, and all eyes went to the entrance. Your eyes followed the crowd’s, unable to see for certain what everyone was looking at.

It only took a few seconds for you to realize that the “what” was actually a “who,” and that “who” was the kindest man you had ever known wrapped in wealth, power, and impenetrability.

It was a good thing you had set your drink down, because it would have dropped to the floor, shattering into millions of pieces, because he was the sexist thing you had ever laid your eyes on.

This was the Mandalorian.

You thought his previous armor was intimidating—small shoulder pieces, a wide chest piece, and even wider thigh pieces. He was both a distraction to you and a threat to everyone else in that armor.

But now, now he fully covered, head to toe, in shimmering silver. His waist the tiniest you had seen it, with his shoulders as wide as they had ever looked. Almost the entirety of his legs were covered now, and even his helmet gleamed and glistened in the light. He walked straighter, stood taller, and stepped slower. Like he was enjoying this.

He had never looked more lethal, and with all of the eyes on him, his own were on you.

You stared back at him as he made his way, mouth slightly parted, and legs squeezing tighter and tighter together with each step he took. The typical slight steam in your stomach at the sight of him was now boiling hot, running through the blood in your body faster than you could process. The lack of blood flow to your brain caused it to wipe itself clean and focus solely on the warrior in front of you. Your hands began to shake and your mouth parched.

You were speechless. A deadly bounty hunter stunned speechless.

He said nothing as he scooched his way into the booth, and you remained looking at him even when his body was turned towards Greef.

“I want my next job,” he said.

Greef said something, something witty, but you didn’t hear it. Couldn’t hear it.

“I want my next job,” Mando repeated. Amban rifle in his lap, leaning slightly forward.

Holy fuck the heat in you.

He grabbed a puck and began walking out, turning back to signal you to follow. You stood slowly, thanked Greef, and exited the Cantina, eyes locked on the expanse of his back the entire walk to the Crest.

~*~

It wasn’t two seconds after Mando put the security lock on the Crest that he had you cornered with his words.

“Is something the matter?” he asked, taking a step closer to you. You were both in the cock pit, ready to take off, and you were standing in front of the controls.

“No,” you said, meeting his gaze as fiercely as you could. Your hands were glued to your sides and your fists squeezed so hard they stung.

“Okay,” he said, so fucking softly it hurt you. He was still making his way closer to you, forcing you to look up.

“Okay,” you responded, and you thought that was it. He would back off.

But your fucking eyes betrayed you, darting down to the expanse of his body, and he laughed.

“Do you like It?” he whispered, and you swore you were dreaming. You had pictured him like this so many times—so many times—but it was real. This was fucking real and you were fucking on fire.

“Yes,” you said, breathily. “I do.”

“What do you like about it?”

You could barely breathe enough to respond. Your throat instantly dried, and every word of any language was lifted from you.

“I—I like—” you started, swallowing “—I like the chest.”

“The chest,” he said, bringing your hand up to the cold metal. “What about it?”

You traced your fingers down it, still forced to look up at him by his leather glove. “I like how wide it makes you. How powerful.”

He stood there in silence before asking, “what else?”

“The legs,” you whispered. “I really like the legs.”

He nearly growled. “Why Y/N? Tell me.”

Your name on his lips at this stage of the game was too much.

“It makes them look big. Strong,” you said, heart in your throat. “I like that.”

He softened his grip on your face and moved his hand to the back of your neck. “I know you do.” He then tapped twice on his helmet. “Heat signature.”

Your face fell and paled.

How long had he—

“I’ve known since the first day I met you,” he said, massaging your neck. “Just never knew how to bring it up.”

“Why now?” you whispered, voice deep from the pleasure of his fingers.

“Because this is the strongest it’s ever been for you,” he replied. “And for me. Seeing you watching me like that…”

He brought his hand back to frame your face.

“…I’ve never wanted anything more in my life than you in that moment.”

He started pulling you forward by your face.

“And now i have you, don’t I?”

Yes he did, so much of you, parts of you you didn’t even know about before him.

“Yes.”

He let go of you and sat in the pilot’s seat, spreading his legs.

“So ruin me, Y/N. Ruin this bright and shiny armor.”

You practically jumped on him.

You immediately mounted him, wrapping your hands around his shoulders, and felt all around the metal. Your breaths fogged up his helmet as you did, practically moaning at the chance to finally feel the expanse of his body. He kept his hands firmly on your hips, watching your face as you panted and whined in his.

After a few moments he picked you up and sat you on his right thigh.

“Go on.”

You immediately rolled your hips, fully moaning at the feeling, and rolled them faster and faster and deeper and deeper.

Your head began tipping back as the metal ground against your clit perfectly, but Mando pulled your face forward to rest your forehead on his.

“Mando—”

“It’s Din,” he said firmly, squeezing your hips enough to bruise. “Say it.”

You rolled your hips over and over, desperation dripping off your voice. “Din.”

It was then that he released a moan, ripped your pants and underwear off of you, and took control of your hips on his thigh. He placed you down just right and tears coated your eyes, sweat poured from your pours, and with one inch of incline from his leg, you shattered.

Your forehead fell against his, panting and whining “Din” over and over again as he kept you moving on him through your orgasm. You felt yourself drip down onto the floor and run down his legs, and your eyes rolled at the thought.

You held onto the fabric around his neck for dear life, gathering as much breath as you could, and Din just let you.

It was then that he started to feel you up.

He moved from your hips to your bare thighs, back up to your clothed breasts, then to your face to brush back your hair, and finally back down to your thighs. He gathered your drip from his thigh onto his leather glove. He brought it underneath his helmet, and your mouth dropped open.

He sucked it slowly, not making any noise except a slight groan. “I knew I was right.”

You swallowed, still panting in both exhaustion and shock. “Right?”

“I knew every part of you was perfect.”

Your eyes fluttered closed, and you smiled nice and wide. You had a feeling he was smiling too.

It was this sense of elation and euphoria that gave you the freedom not to think before sliding your hand over his hardened bulge and raising your eyebrows in question.

He chuckled, which somehow melted you more than anything he had done previously.

“Not right now,” he said sweetly, and pulled you into his chest. You cozied up into him before he slowly lifted you, allowing you to wrap your legs around his waist. “I don’t think I’d last two seconds.”

You smiled, humming. “Okay Din.”

His body tensed a bit when you said that, and you wondered if you crossed some sort of boundary, but he continued on his way to his bed. He set you in It, wrapping you in his sheets, and grabbing a towel to clean you off. You got a good show of yourself stained and running all over his thigh and nearly jumped on him again.

“Like I said,” he countered, likely picking up on the change in your temperature, “I wouldn’t last two seconds.”

You nodded with a smile and he took the towel to the laundry room before returning to you, sitting on the side of the bed.

“Get some rest,” he said. “We have a job to do in the morning.”

He stood, making his way back to the cockpit, but you called out to him.

“Mando, wait,” you said, and he froze before slowly turning back around. “Are we okay? Was that…okay?”

He paused, leaning himself into the doorway, sighing as always, and said, “Y/N, I wouldn’t trade the world for the last hour I’ve had with you.”

You enjoyed this forward, talkative Din much more than you anticipated to.

“And call me Din,” he said. “Please.”

He then left you, starting up the Crest to make its way to hyperspace, and you drifted slowly into sleep, still on a high. You finally fell asleep to the feeling of a warm body wrapping itself around you, and a deep voice whispering in your ear, “We’re okay, Y/N. We’re okay.”

Tag list: (I apologize if your tag is not present/not working. Let me know if you’d like to be added!)

@leahkenobi @cityofidek @burned-dorito @tiredbuthappy @punkiwiki @lovesbiggerthanpride @darth-voder @samanthacookieone @torchbearerkyle @stardust-galaxies @c4psicles-blog @joelsflannel @mysun-n-stars @tateelii @kirsteng42 @leithatnight @arson-tm @l0calgoth @thesmutslut @alastorhazbin @grincheveryday @martinsmomo @letaliabane @cathenan @big-ol-boat @niiight-dreamerr @jezebel1945 @call-me-doll-face @yelyahcardella @letskeepthislo-ki @misspearly1 @petals-opento-the-moon @just-a-sewer-goblin @em---r @kirsteng42 @leithatnight @arson-tm @l0calgoth @thesmutslut @alastorhazbin @grincheveryday @reader8679

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vampuplove · 2 months

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my tmnt iteration 🐢

yoshi aka splinter found the 4 turtles inside a crashed TCRI truck. the mutagen from broken canisters covered both him and the turtles mutating them. it is implied that when struck by the truck the blow killed yoshi but the mutagen restarted his heart and mended any injuries, reviving him. the turtles aren’t biologically sister as they are of different species and therefore from different clutches. as turtles they had anywhere between months and a day age difference but when mutated it translated into human years explaining the 2 year gap between mikey and leo/raph but the age is estimated and instead of birthday the turtles celebrate their mutation day. splinter eventually discovered an abandoned metro station that was never opened and decided to stay in there as their home. the station had a small cafe area and public restroom and thankfully hasn’t been cut from the city’s power and water grids. april met the turtles when they were 7 and she was 16, splinter left them in an alleyway while looking for food and supplies and april stumbled upon them. at first splinter was really freaked out when he saw april but when he realised she was friendly and didn’t mean no harm they got to know each other and sometimes april would come down to the lair to babysit the turtles while splinter was out. she eventually introduced the turtles to pizza when she brought a box with her and they fell in love with it.

the designs are mid show of sorts that are after the barn arc

leonardo: a bellinger turtle with leatherback sea turtle genes. the eldest and the most aquatic out of all the turtles. likes spending her time swimming in the flooded metro tunnel situated in the centre of their lair. she got a similar virus to what regular bellinger turtles have making her slowly lose her vision as she aged. that did not stop her as she learned to rely on her other sense and acquired a 6th sense of sorts to help her get around. her blindness doesn’t hinder her in combat and actually makes her more capable of moving around in the dark than her sisters but still she cannot see faces so instead she maps them out in her mind by touching them with her hands to memorise them. she has shell cell just like everyone else except it is modified to show in braille. in her free time she enjoys listening to music or audio books and if her sisters are around listening to tv while one of them describes the action on the screen. she has physical hatsune miku memorabilia like figures and plushies that she can touch. leo can still see in blurs of colour but no matter what donnie tried she couldnt help her vision. she is self conscious of the scars given to her by shredder and tries to cover them with a hood. while still agile and strong she has issues with her right knee and wears a knee brace. her element is the ocean waves

raphael: a red crowned turtle with cherryhead tortoise genes. she is the second eldest. she is the worst swimmer but makes up for it in physical strength. the piece of her plastron was cracked during an accident while they were small and the lore for the gold tooth is yet to be decided. the flame carving on her plastron was made by mikey. she is extremely protective of her sister and although gets jealous by assuming that leo is splinter’s favourite still loves her very much. has a tortoise named spike a small brine shrimp tank. she was the first to meet casey and thought back against her drunk father. her element is flame

donatello: a painted turtle with softshell turtle genes. she is the middle child and spends most of her time in her lab. she built the heat lamp above the sitting area where her and her sisters like to bask and relax after a long day. her shell was crushed by rocksteady and bebop but fortunately with leatherheads helped bring her back with a new metal carapace to replace her old on. sarcastic and cool headed, her personality resembling 87 raph. her love language is random niche gadgets. she is the next most aquatic after leo and sometimes joins leo for a swim. her element is lightning

michelangelo: the most creative out of all of them and has a lot of hobbies ranging between art and crafts to cooking and skateboarding. is the glue of the family with a spunky attitude and quick thinking. although the worst fighter out of her family she still can handle herself in a fight. has an orange tabby cat she named klunk that she found while looking for scraps at a junkyard. she can be a little absent minded but she is definitely not unintelligent and takes great offence to anyone babying her. her element is constellations

#tmnt #tmnt fandom #tmnt iteration #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt au #tmnt raphael #tmnt leonardo #tmnt michelangelo #tmnt donatello #vampuplove’s tmnt #tmnt art #tmnt design

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m1ssunderstanding · 5 months

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Get Back Rewatch 55 Years On: Day Four

"Lennon's late again" says Paul, as he walks in late. And sweet Ringo just gently, "between ten and eleven is the time" Which means: "Chill babe. He'll be here."

One thing that always gob smacks me is how bored George and Ringo are watching Paul pull Get Back out of the ether. They literally see him do this shit all the time which is insane to me.

His voice is so so so pretty!!! And he's just so completely in his own world. The hunched shoulders. The twitching. The gibberish. The tapping. The twisting.

Obviously this is a song with the original central feeling being let's go back to before everything went wrong but he wants to make it into a meaningless song with both story bits and almost walrus-esque bits. But why is the first lyric he comes up with about gender? Thinking of @scurators posts on Paul and gender.

Ringo's customary quiet really does add significance to his voice, so him singing along with this so quickly says something I think about his support for the song and for Paul in general.

When John walks in he's greeted with a little cocky nod and smile like "look what I've just done while you were late." And then Paul sings "get back to where you once belonged" directly at him before breaking the eye contact. It's one of those heartbreaking Lennon/McCartney miscommunications because Paul is doing this to get John back, but actually it's scaring him away, you know? Paul thinks he has to prove to John how good he is, but John's exhausted with how good Paul is.

STFU Michael Lindsay Hogg

Paul really does love the idea of being forced out of parliament by cops and honestly so do I. Would've been iconic and might've kept them together.

John's so quiet today and also Yoko is not here. Correlation or causation I wonder.

"They say don't they say charity begins at home?" I love you forever, George. His humor is always so well-placed and so dry (even though he's clearly cracking himself up here). And it steers the conversation away from a direction he was not happy with without poking any bears. In fact, everyone's laughing. Clever boy.

"I've decided that the whole point of it is communication. And to be on TV is communication and we've got a chance to smile at people like all you need is love or something so that's me incentive for doing it." Wise, egalitarian John making a lovely appearance.

And then there's Paul. "I'm here cause I wanna do a show." Lol I love them.

Why do they say "Mr Epstein?" Is it because they're on camera and they want people to know who they're talking about? Does it have something to do with the maharishi telling them certain ways to talk about Brian? Does anyone have any thoughts about that?

Okay so you know how I just said last time how emotionally mature George was? I still think it's generally more true of him than the others, but this right here? This is not it. "I don't want to do any of my songs in the show because they'll all just turn out shitty." Man has issues.

I think it's important to recognize that George and Paul have both said the literal word "divorce" and it's NBD. But when John does it, Paul takes it as "the groups really over and I have to go into hiding and not get out of bed and maybe od who knows." Why? There's another puzzle piece here that we're missing.

"Should we leave you for a while?" "YES!"

On the one hand I'm like "working on Maxwell is the last thing you guys should be doing with this time alone." But on the other thing maybe it's the only thing they can do at this point.

"Mal? You should get a hammer. And an anvil." As he's walking away. Main character in a contrived mad genius biopic. Except it's real.

"Joan" sounding suspiciously like "John" ... And then he goes "fool, Maxwell fool." Aka one of their ~special words~ New theory. John hates Maxwell because he dies in it. And Paul's the killer.

"Take it away Johnny." Even though it was George and John whistling before wasn't it? Did George get cut from the whistle chorus? Another straw on the camel's back.

I LOVE that John just does not know any of his own songs. Across the Universe my beloved!

On the glyn/Paul moment featured below, I have three thoughts. 1. Whore. 2. John Lennon villain origin story. 3. The fact that glyn didn't just tell John is striking.

"I wish it fucking would". "Cause I'm down." This lyric going from a self-soothing reassurance that his people aren't going to leave him that he'll always have this beautiful dream he's created with them. To this? I hate it here.

So there is a big emotional and energy difference between their Beatlemania selves singing "Rock and Roll Music" and their current selves. And part of it is due to the fact that they're just not as happy as they were then. But I think most of it is really just that they thrive when they're performing for an audience.

#Sorry for the scarcity of shitty pics to break up the block of text in this one.#Hopefully the next one will be better #paul mccartney #the beatles #john lennon #mclennon #ringo starr #george harrison #Get back

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w2soneshots · 3 months

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Friends? -W2S

Words: 1.3k+

Warnings: angst with a happy ending, mention of a break up, friends with benefits. (I think that’s it?)

In which you and Harry start a new relationship but he breaks your heart.

y/username

Liked by wrotoshaw and 461,093 others

y/username: my weekend❤️ @wrotoshaw @miniminter

-comments-

taliamar: stunning😍😍

-> y/username: me or @miniminter ??

miniminter: I look like a neek

y/nfanpage21: the shoes🔥🤍

user85358013: Is she on a date with Harry!??🫢

-> user91245750: no you can see other people there.

I've been best friends with Simon for as long as I can remember. We hit it off during school, I supported him when he first started YouTube, I introduced him and Talia and have always been the one person he actually talks to about things. Simon is a surprisingly closed off person, so when he cried into my arms because him and Talia were struggling I knew I'd finally broken down that wall.

When he began the Sidemen channel and moved into the house he shared with Vik, Josh and JJ we grew apart slightly. He was so busy: constantly streaming, making videos, editing those videos and his sleep schedule was royally fucked up. He had no time to hang out or even give me a call. But once he met Talia it began to change and I quickly found myself back in his life like nothing had happened.

I soon became good friends with the rest of the boys as I came around to the house more. I especially enjoyed Harry's company, he's funny, slightly awkward until you get to know him and he's very fit (which helps). As the years went by our friendships became stronger even as people began building their own lives with girlfriends, pets and even kids.

Almost 2 months ago while on a night out me and Harry got a little closer than friends should be... aka we fucked. The next morning I woke up next to him in my bed and slightly freaked out. But after that night it happened again and again until one morning as we sat lying next to each other, my head resting on his sheet covered chest we decided we were labelled as friends with benefits. I wasn't exactly thrilled about the idea but what else could I do? Tell him I was sorta starting to catch feelings... no way.

Another 2 months later... we have now been fucking, whenever one of us needed a release after a long day or just someone to hold them while they drifted off to sleep, for around four months. One day I woke up to a phone call from Simon. Me and Simon tell each other everything, we always try and find the time for a phone call at the end of the day or whenever anything big happens the other person is always one of the first to know. So it was no surprise he was very aware of mine and Harry's... situation. I answered the call "hello?" I said groggily through the phone. "Hey y/n... Harry-" he said hesitantly. "What about Harry?" I asked slightly pissed off that I was woken up from my deep sleep.

"His ex... she's back." he said. I was quiet for a second. Harry's ex abruptly up and left him almost a year and a half ago. She didn't give him a proper reason and he was left broken. "What do you mean she's back? Does Harry know?" I asked rapidly. "Woah woah, yes he knows... he told me he's getting back with her." he said the last part with pity in his voice. I felt as though all of the air in my lungs disappeared along with the oxygen in my bedroom. I blinked and a single tear rolled down my cheek. "y/n?" Simon said softly. I glanced down to my phone and clicked the red decline button.

As soon as I put the phone down I burst into tears. In that moment I knew I'd fallen hard for Harry Lewis. I was so confused on how he could completely disregard the past few months with me and get back together with the person who left him broken for everyone else to pick up the pieces. Almost an hour later there was a knock on my door. I signed and stood from my bed. Once I got to my front door I cracked it open to see Simon and Talia stood there. Talia also knew about me and Harry since she caught us making out in the back of a club so I told her the rest.

Simon opened his arms and I fell into them and began sobbing again. I broke away a minute later once I calmed down. Talia gently rubbed circles with her hands on my back as we sat on the couch. "How could he get back with her after what she did to him?" I said quietly. Simon spoke up "he told Behz that she just got scared of how serious they were getting so left, but I'm not one hundred percent sure about that." I looked up "he could have at least told me before I had to find out from you." I said fiddling with my hands. "I'm sure he just didn't want to hurt you." Talia said trying to think of any positive. "I would have found out ether way." I said.

They left soon after and I sat holding myself on my couch while I watched a movie. Then when 5 o'clock hit I ordered myself a Nando's, ate it and fell asleep on the couch. The next morning I woke up and took a long hot shower, got dressed into a sweat set and left my apartment.

I got the lift down into the car garage below my building and found my car. I hopped in and drove to Boots to pick up my click and collect package. After I picked that up I decided to go to Asda to pick up some stuff since I was in need of a food shop. I was wondering down the isles when I got a phone call from Faith... "hello." I said once I answered the call. "Hey, you ok?" She asked. "Uh ye, I'm just in Asda." I replied. "Oh ok, just because I heard about- um Harry's ex and I knew you too sorta had something." she said. "Wait what? You knew?" I said slightly flustered. "y/n. Everyone knew it was obvious." she said. "Shit."

After my phone call with Faith I paid for my food, packed my car and drove home. As I walked towards my apartment, three bags full of groceries in hand, I spotted someone sat next to my door. "Harry?" I said as he stood. "Hey." he said. I stared at him wide eyed "what are you doing here?" "I just- I- I need to talk to you." he said nervously. I sighed "come in."

Harry sheepishly walked into my apartment and we stood in the kitchen. I put the bags down and began unpacking them into the fridge and cupboards. Harry stayed silent until I was finished. I sighed and placed my hands on the counter that Harry stood on the other side of. "Listen, if you're coming here for a quick fuck then-" I started. "What- no- I- I just came um- to apologise." he said and I furrowed my brows. "What?" I said confused. "I broke it off completely with my ex... I just couldn't believe she was back- I was so stupid, I took her back immediately but last night I realised that she wrecked me and I'd already moved on and also that I loved someone else," he said and finally looked up at me properly... "you, I love you."

"You do?" I asked stunned. He nodded "it's okay if you don't feel the same but I just needed to tell you." I walked around the counter and stood in front of him "I love you too Harry."

#fanfic #image #oneshot #sidemen #harry lewis #harry w2s #w2s #w2s imagine #w2s x reader #w2s fic #wrotoshaw #angst #instagram #talia mar #miniminter #simon minter #faith kelly

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cassandralie · 10 months

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Muriel, the Dimmest Little Morningstar

Maybe the question isn't "was Crowley Lucifer?" but who else was also Lucifer? After all, there was more than one Morningstar

or, as Crowley put it more casually,

he doesn't remember them, of course, probably due to Book of Life fuckery, just like he doesn't remember Fufur and Saraquel, who were also probably in the Morningstar Legion (that or the rebels called themselves Morningstars).

Which is why he also doesn't remember Muriel and Muriel also doesn't remember him. Both of them had their memories altered by the Book of Life*

*Sub Theory: the Book of Life erases who you were, makes it so you never existed... but you don't disappear or die. You become someone new. Hopefully this theory doesn't implode later--yeah, that's right, I made that sub joke instead of the other kind involving um...sandwiches.

But, just like Pepperidge Farms, the Metatron remembers.

he didn't say the "dumb" one, or the "stupid" one. Maybe to be polite. But "dim" isn't very polite either. It's just slightly less on the nose than the "not very bright one", aka the Dimmest Morningstar

But what happened to Muriel and their original memories? The same thing that was going to happen to Gabriel, obviously!

Muriel is basically a junior reporting angel. Sorry, scrivener. A no one and they know it.

Ranked so low they didn't know there was a rank under (which there probably wasn't until the Metatron wanted to punish Gabriel)

whatever Muriel did Before the Fall, whatever their name used to be, the Metatron didn't get rid of them because:

that's right, Neil Gaiman the Metatron will need Muriel for his evil plans, probably involving thee Second Coming and another apocalypse.

maybe to keep them out of the way, or maybe because they have power he's waiting for the right moment to unlock.

But he does make sure it's still locked.

Other people have explained that the book is about pieceing together fragments of the past* Maybe Muriel will remember who they are? Remember who Crowley is? Remember what really happened to cause the War in Heaven, the Fall, all that?

Maybe they will remember just in time to stop the Second Coming and the Second Armageddon--with help from our divorced dads, of course.

(*also a missing uncle - Crowley? A fellow Morningstar.

*also an estranged father with a belief in a higher power - Aziraphale? the Metatron?

*and also an exploded Grandmother - God? Muriel's previous identity?)

For further evidence, please note the star and crown on their helmet and recall "everything is meant" TM

This looks like a former Prince of Heaven, Morningstar Legion to me

And that is my theory :)

(if anyone said this first, sorry! All credit to you!)

Now, I'm no published author and barely anyone reads my fics (but the ones who do are Real Ones-- I love ya'll), so I have zero street cred here, and am probably so off the mark my dart hit the wall instead of the dart board, but I wanted to share my thoughts anyway and see what everyone thinks. Please let me know!

(Bonus Crack Theory: Muriel's original name was Lucy/Luci/Luciel. Combine with Fufur, that would make a Lucifer with bad demon spelling Lucyfur.)

#gos2 spoilers #gos2spoilers #gos3 speculation #good omens meta #muriel theory #the Metatron #Crowley #Aziraphale #not coffee theory or crowley is lucifer theory but a third even weirder theory #cassandratruths

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theunderestimator-2 · 1 year

Photo

Simone Thomas, one the few black girls involved in the early London punk scene, as well as an early member of the Bromley Contingent, most notably known for appearing along with the rest of the Sex Pistols posse in the infamous Bill Grundy interview, here captured during a 1979 photo shoot by Martin Christopher-Martin.

Stunningly photogenic Simone was befriended by a Bromley Contingent founding member and a mate of Siouxsie, Bertie Marshall aka Berlin Bromley, some time ca. 1976 after he spotted her and followed her in a department store, having been struck by her looks. She was in her teens and supposedly Simon Barker was her boyfriend.

“...a black girl with platinum blonde hair, wearing a plastic mac and smoking multi coloured Russian cigarettes....She looked so original, all black and gold, a huge painted red smile that cracked her face...Simone and I had several things in common, love of David Bowie being one of them and dressing up.

Bertie Marshall, Three Piece Suite (2006)

My life revolved around David Bowie and Roxy Music and dressing up and going to gigs. I’d met Siouxsie at a Roxy concert and dressing up and going to gigs. She was from the same part of London as me and she started going out with Steve Severin who was part of the same scene. Berlin was also a very good friend of mine who used to have really good parties. We all went to the 100 Club together to watch Siouxsie. We also used to go to Louise's, a lesbian club in Soho...we used to talk a lot because we were all speeding at the time - everyone was...we became known as the Bromley contingent after the Pistols played Orpington College and they came to one of Berlin's parties. We were the first fans - in fact. I wasn't really a fan but I just went along with it...”

Simone Thomas, ‘Punk: The Illustrated History Of A Music Revolution’ by Adrian Boot & Chris Salewicz

According to her, she felt like she was in a movie, just wearing the clothes to fit the image, yet she didn’t actually didn't feel the part -nor did she think much of the Sex Pistols as people. She remembers hoping that her dad wasn't watching when she appeared with the band and others on the Bill Grundy ITV interview and recalls McLaren paying them to go to the airport when the Pistols went to Holland to look like they had a lot of fans.

Given what she said above, it's no surprise she she soon disappeared off the scene some time in the late-’70s. Over the years she would work as a model, an actor and a jazz singer & songwriter, gigging with several groups in London and abroad.

(via, via, via & via)

#simone thomas #bromley contingent #london #punk #punk rock #punk fashion #bill grundy #1979 #people

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bump1nthen1ght · 11 months

Text

Out of The Woods (Epilogue: Part 2)

Pairing: M! Werewolf x Fem!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Domestic Life, Established Relationship

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1797 words

Summary: Nothing says love better then an impromptu living room dance party

(AKA a fun snippet of you and Heath's life)

A/N: The fluffy piece won second in the poll and I already has this in the works so I hope y'all enjoy!!

ALSO

Recommended listening: Bet On It from High School Musical 2

(which if you haven't seen this scene, do yourself a favor and watch it lol)

In a weird way, Heath being a werewolf didn’t come up too often in your house.

It was probably because many of his wolf traits had become normal to your everyday routine. His long hair, his shaggy tail, and even his wolf form assimilated into your isolated farm-life with very little issue.

(And with the hunters off your back and most townsfolk none the wiser, it could stay that way)

It was only when he’d ask you a pop culture question everyone should know, or ate the steaks you had bought raw as a midnight snack, or forgot how your air conditioning work, that you were reminded of it. How long had Heath lived as an “other”, detached from society and other people? You very rarely broached the subject, knowing how he would get quiet and bristle at the thought of the past. Of living on his own, on the edge.

So you’d answer his simple questions, let him gnaw on some bones, and let him tell you when he needed to. It was better that way.

You’re watching a movie one night, not a terribly good one, where the main character gets dragged to a club by her friends. They’re convincing her she needs to ‘live a little’, forcing her out of her comfort zone and onto the crowded, sweaty dance floor. The scene is dark and not very well lit, the background music not properly mixed and drowing out most of the audio. Though you guess thats pretty accurate to the club experience.

“Do people actually do that?”

Heath asks, head laid in your lap as you play with his hair.

“Do what?”

“Go to…that.” He points at the scene, eyes scrunched up at the jarring lights and mass amounts of people. “Go to a crowded place in the dark and dance? Why not go somewhere with some room? This place looks like a fucking nightmare.”

You laugh, watching as the clumsy main character dives and dances between egregiously grinding couples.

“It definitely can be, but people seem to love it.” You twirl a finger through Heath’s hair, only paying half-attention to the clunky dialogue. “And it can be nice once in a while, especially if you’ve got a good group of friends.” You chuckle. “Me and my college buddies would sometimes get wasted before hand, go and dance for an hour or two, then come back and get in our pj’s and watch a movie. I prefer clubs in short bursts; they can be kind of exhilarating, but exhausting.”

Heath hums, pressing his head into your palm when you scratch behind his ear. It makes you smile, but not before seeing the slightly melancholy look on his eye.

You look up at the screen. Now the main character is thoroughly drunk, holed up in the bathroom with her friends and laughing her ass off. They all dance terribly, cracking jokes and hugging each other the way drunk people do. They’ve all got big smiles on their face, even in the grimy bathroom.

Heath has gone quiet, your hands still running through his hair. He sighs.

You weren’t a big club person anymore, but you do remember loving that time of your life. Sure, you’re shitty knees and early bedtime weren’t great for it now and you’re sure you left those clubs wondering why anybody does that on the regular, but you had still been able to do it. To knock it off the checklist, even just to say it wasn’t for you.

You don’t think Heath ever did. Never was able to be that careless, joyful, and deliriously young.

“This movie sucks ass.”

Now that’s more like Heath.

—

The look on Heath’s face lingers with you for the rest of the night and into the morning, enough to remind you when you both sit down to watch something again the next night.

“How about we don’t watch a movie tonight?”

Heath turns his head up from his tub of popcorn, quirking his brow.

“Oh, did you wanna play some video games?”

“No…” You look at the dimmer switch not too far from the couch. Its right next to your back porch door, adorned with some fairy lights you hung up and proceeded to never use. That, combined with the never used bluetooth speaker above your fireplace, gives you an idea.

You hop up from the couch, queing up a certain song in your phone before flicking the dimmer and the fairy lights. The low light makes Heath’s wolf eyes shine, his ears flicking as he readjusts to his surroundings. With a little beep from the speaker, you set down your phone and jog in front of Heath, letting the song start. His ears swivel again, looking up at you like the adorable puppy he can be.

“Isn't this that song from that movie a couple nights ago?”

“Yeah!” You bop to the beat, shimmying your shoulders to the heavy drum beat intro. “Don’t pretend you didn’t like it. I heard you humming it in the shower yesterday morning. Now come on!” You grab and pull at Heath’s hand, even knowing he’s far too big for you to make him budge. “Come dance with me! Everybody’s always talking at me-”

Heath rolls his eyes, but you can tell he enjoys your discordant singing.

“Everybody’s trying to get in my head. I wanna listen to my own heart talkin’. I wanna listen to my own heart talking. I need to count on myself instead. Did you ever-”

With a dramatic pout om his face, Heath chuckles and sits up, grabbing your hand as you sing into a pretend microphone. But you’re still doing most of the dancing, shaking your hips back and forth. You wiggle your eyebrows and try to encourage him to move.

“What exactly should I do?”

“Just…” you wiggle your fingers, “let your body roll with the music. Let it consume you.” Hands still interlocked, you begin to sway Heath’s arms back and forth. He gets some of the idea, bobbing his head. Your shoulder movements become exaggerated, trying to look as ridiculous as possibke to encourage Heath to loosen up.

“I’m not gonna stop, that’s who I am. I’ll give it all I got, that is my plan.” Heath laughs at your flailing arms, beginning to shimmy his shoulders like you are. You mime the dramatic facial expressions of Zac Efron, gesturing to Heath to join you in singing. He rolls his eyes, but starts mutter-singing anyway. You didn’t expect him to know all the lyrics, but he’s actually hitting all the words with you.

I knew he liked High School Musical 2.

You pull Heath out to the middle of the living room, giving you more space to add some footwork as the chorus hits. You yank Heath’s arms back and forth and shake your hips, which only makes Heath laugh more.

“-you know you can bet on it, bet on it, bet on it, bet on me!”

You let loose one hand and stretch out to the side on the long note, when Heath pulls you back toward him for a spin. You giggle uncontrollably, singing louder and louder, squealing when Heath dips you. He nuzzles your nose and gets a peck to the lips in return.

You hop up, throwing your hand to your forehead when the dramatic slow part begins. He rolls his eye again, but you can see him nodding along.

“It’s no good at all, to see yourself and not recognize your face-” Heath hops in with the backing “oohs”. You point an exaggerated finger. “Out on my own, it’s such a scary place.” You’re cut off when Heath pulls you into his chest, wrapping his arms around your waist. But you’re even more gobsmacked when he sings the next part, in earnest.

“The answers are all inside of me. All I gotta do-” His voice is surprisingly melodic, deep but not flat or even off-pitch. “-is believe.”

The natural pause in the music would be the perfect time to sneak in a romantic kiss, but you’re both caught up in the performance now. You both turn to look at an inaginary camera when the music drops, arms now locked as if dancing ballroom.

“I’m not gonna stop, not gonna stop till I get my shot.” Moving across the living room with messy footwork, you two belt the chorus. Heath draws you down for another dip when the long note of “-bet on meee” hits. It’s silly, but you do feel like a pop star.

From the outside you’re sure you look absolutely insane. Just two adults flailing and dancing around their living room as speakers blast. If you had neighbors, they’d definitely complain or be calling the cops by now.

But right now, its just you and Heath. Dancing together, hearts pounding, with big smiles and stupid amounts of giggling. Just a pocket of your life, all sweet and your own.

The song slowly fades out, leaving to lean over and shamefully realize how out of breath you are.

God, I need to start hiking or something. This is embarassing

Heath, with his wolf stamina, is not even breathing heavy and catches you in a hug, peppering your cheek with kisses. He bounces on his heels and practically throws you down on the couch, his tail wagging behind him. He snuggles into your neck, blowing raspberries into your skin and making you laugh.

Still letting your heart slow down, you exhale and look at Heath.

“So….how’d you like you’re first dance party?”

“I liked it!” Heath pants, a big stupid smile one his face. “More than I thought I would. You being so terrible at dancing really helped.” You gasp, playfully smacking his shoulder. He blows another rapsberry into your neck, the pleqsant rumble in his chest. After a coupe more play hits and giggles, Heath relaxes into your arms. “I’ve…never really done anything like that before. It was nice.”

“Well, I’m happy to be your first.” You run a couple fingers through Heath's hair, stopping to scratch at the base of his wolf ears. He nuzzles even deeper. “And if you ever feel the need to dance party again, just let me know.”

The two of you sit like that awhile, as you often do. Just basking in each other's warmth, soaking in the skin contact.

You can’t wait to spend more firsts with him.

#my writing #reader insert #monster x reader #fluff #female reader insert #werewolf #werewolf x reader

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itsladykit · 1 month

Text

Ship: Edge/Burgerpants (aka Edgepants)

Summary: BP isn't a sweet-piece. He's a janitor. Papyrus picks him anyway.

Explicit version linked above--please read the tags for kinks, etc. Clean version under the cut.

Relevant tags: crack taken seriously, sex work, power imbalance, bad boss MTT, dubcon themes but main pairing is consensual, anti-work BP.

Enjoy.

BP grumbled under his breath, scrubbing at a sticky black stain. “Did someone fuck a squid monster?” he groused, “They could have at least put down a towel—hrk!”

Mettaton swept into the room, stepping directly on BP’s back and forcing his face into the stain. Fur bristling and ears folded back, BP sat up to glare at his boss’ back. Mettaton didn’t even notice—he just clapped his hands together to get the gathered ‘pieces’ attention. “Are all my lovelies here? Yes? Marvelous! We have two very important guests on their way over, and I expect everyone to be especially solicitous.” He smirked, chin lifted. “It’s not every day the Captain visits, and this time, she’s bringing her Lieutenant with her. We’ll be sure to show them a good time, won’t we?”

The gathered sweet-pieces nodded. Technically, they weren’t open yet, but they’d make an exception for the Captain. BP ignored the announcement. He wasn’t a sweet-piece—he was just a janitor, and as soon as this stain was gone, he would be too.

A shadow eclipsed the black stain. He looked up to see Mettaton looming over him, hands on his hips and smile frozen. “And what, exactly, are you doing here?”

His tail curled closer to his thigh as he sat up, ears folded against his scalp. He gestured to the stain. “I’m cleaning. You want the place clean, don’t you?”

Mettaton’s head twitched slightly to the side, and he said through gritted denta, “Finish up. We have customers.”

BP’s fur bristled, and he gestured to the stain. “I’m trying! This is oil or something—it’s not coming out!”

“Then cover it up! I don’t want to see it—or you—in here when our guests arrive.”

With that, he spun around and returned his attention to the gathered ‘pieces, fluffing their hair, adjusting their clothes, or dabbing at their make-up. Not that they needed his fussing. Each and every one of them was coiffed and styled to perfection. Make-up and paint highlighted their best features. Chrome was polished, skin was painted, fur was brushed until it shone, and hair was elegantly styled. They dressed in soothing pastels, each like a perfect flower in Mettaton’s garden.

BP stood up and brushed at his dirty apron, trying not to feel self-conscious of his scruffy fur or his well-worn clothing. If they were the flowers, he was certainly a weed. He desperately wanted to go outside and take a smoke break, but Mettaton would throw a fit—and possibly BP himself—if he did that. So, he just grumbled under his breath as he swept out of the room, determined to find a rug or something to cover the stain.

Once he dug a spare rug out of the closet, he hauled it back to the main room, still grumbling and still itching for a smoke. The ‘pieces were busy arranging themselves for selection. They weren’t so crass as to line up; instead, they seated themselves on settees and couches, gathered as if they spent their days having tea and sharing gossip, rather than trying to quell and calm high-LV monsters. It was a pretty illusion they painted, and he couldn’t help but stop and stare.

He knew that life as a sweet-piece was not nearly as soft and sweet as they pretended—he’d seen terrible things in this line of work, seen their pretty faces smashed and broken, seen Mettaton sigh over a pile of dust and haggle with the killer about the price of replacement—but the fantasy was still compelling. After all, at his low LV he was little more than free EXP anyway, and no one would even bother to sigh over his dust or demand compensation when he died. What would it be like to be one of them? To be considered such a compelling beauty that even the most LV laden monster must hesitate to harm you? To be considered worthy of kindness?

“What are you doing here?” Mettaton squawked, “They’re going to be here any moment—and what is that?!”

Ears flat, BP looked down at the rug. “It’s—the stain won’t come out, so I got this to cover it.”

“Are you insane?” he demanded, arms raised, “It clashes!”

BP looked from the rug to the rest of the room. “It’s green, isn’t it? It figured it would match the wallpaper.”

“This is mint green! The wallpaper is clearly seafoam!” BP stared at him blankly, and Mettaton stared back, eyes wide and mouth stretched into a broad, manic grin. “Are you trying to ruin this? Is that what you want? To upset the Captain and thereby upset my patron? Is that what you’re doing?”

BP cringed away as he approached, eyes on Mettaton’s hands. “No! No, I thought—they’re the same, aren’t they? The colors? They look the same to—”

“Are you blind?!”

Sweat dampened his forehead as he looked from the rug to the wall. “I—maybe?”

Fury lit Mettaton’s eyes from within, LED bulbs lighting up one by one. Before he could take hold of BP, though, the little bell rang as the door opened. “—relax, gutter-rat!”

The fury turned to panic, and a metal arm clamped over his shoulders and hugged him to Mettaton’s side. In his ear, he hissed, “Say nothing and pretend you belong here.” Then he turned on his megawatt-smile and spun them both to face the door, steely arm still tight around BP’s shoulder. “Ah, hello! Captain Undyne, Lieutenant Papyrus—such a pleasure to have you both with us today!”

Undyne was a familiar sight, and her good eye swept the room appraisingly. Her grin was sharp as ever, but the twitch of her fingers and the dust on her hands made it plain the LV was riding her hard. Her companion was not nearly so familiar. He held himself preternaturally still beside her, eyelights burning. “Is it?” he asked. The caustic edge in his tone earned him a sharp elbow from his superior.

“Heya, Metts,” Undyne said, and BP felt the hand on his shoulder tighten upon hearing the nickname. “I need to blow off a little steam—” Given the way she drummed her fingers against her thigh, BP thought that might be an understatement. “—and I think my Lieutenant needs some help getting the stick out of his ass.” Her grin was sharkish as she clapped him on the back. “Preferences, gutter-rat?”

He glared, swatting her hand away. “I said I’d escort you here; I didn’t agree to anything else. I’ll wait for you outside.”

Her hand closed over the back of his neck, and BP’s fur raised in sympathy, noting how he stiffened in her hold, eyelights flaring. “You need this just as badly as I do,” she hissed, pulling him close. Her voice was a rough rasp, and his hand curled into a tight fist in response.

“Fuck you,” he snapped, still glaring, “I don’t—”

She shook him a little, holding him so she could look into his eyelights. “Pick someone or I’ll pick for you.”

“Fine!” He slapped her hand away and cast his eyelights around the room. Then he pointed—straight at BP. “Him.”

BP blinked. “I’m not—”

Mettaton’s hand clamped hard on his shoulder. “He’s not on shift.” He gave BP a brittle smile. “He’s not even dressed! Surely you’d prefer…” He cast his eyes on the gathered ‘pieces, who were watching with carefully concealed amusement. “Harriet, perhaps?”

The Lieutenant eyed the rabbit monster. “Harrie,” he said, and she offered a sardonic smile and a respectful nod. “How are your kits?”

“Just fine, Lieutenant. Your brother’s well?”

He scowled. “I believe you’d have more cause to know than I would.”

She giggled. “Send him my love.”

He huffed, arms crossed as he turned his attention back to Mettaton. “The cat will suit. Let him change, if it matters so much. Or—” He noticed that Undyne’s attention had shifted to one of the sweet-pieces, no longer focused on him. “—I can simply go. I have no need of—”

“Absolutely not! I wouldn’t dream of sending you away unsated, darling. Though...” He stepped forward, sweeping his gaze over the young Lieutenant and circling him slowly. “…if it’s a rougher touch you’re after, I’d be happy to provide. I know sweetness doesn’t suit all tastes.” He reached out, and the Lieutenant caught his servo at the wrist, glaring up at him.

“The cat, then. If you insist.” He released his wrist, and Mettaton stood frozen for a moment, unused to rejection.

He turned his head to glance back at BP, and he tried not to cower; Mettaton could not express his aggravation on a customer, but he could certainly vent it on his beleaguered janitor. “Oh, I do. We’ll get him prepared, and I assure you—he’ll be more than satisfactory.” BP’s ears drooped, and he glanced at the guardsmen, only to find himself locking gazes with him. His eyelights burned in his skull like embers in a void.

BP swallowed hard, wishing he’d called in sick today.

While their guests were shown to their rooms, a strong hand clamped over the nape of BP’s neck, and he was force-marched to the staff showers. Before he could protest or even think to respond, he was shoved—still clothed—under the spray of cold water, face pressed to the tile.

The hand tightened, and he couldn’t hold back a whimper. “Listen here,” Mettaton hissed, “you are going to do whatever he asks of you, and you are going to do it with a smile—and without any of your back talk, do you understand?”

“I wouldn’t—”

He was shoved more forcibly into the tile. “Do. You. Understand,” Mettaton bit out. He nodded frantically, not daring to speak. “Good,” he purred, and the hand loosened. “Get cleaned up. I don’t need you servicing a customer smelling like that.”

BP nearly asked what he meant by that, but feared Mettaton would take that as license to strip and scrub him down himself. So, he just nodded, Mettaton turned away, still frowning, but BP had to ask, “Uh, what am I supposed to wear?” His now wet coveralls and utility apron didn’t seem suitable. Unless the Lieutenant was into a very specific sort of role-play.

“I’ll find something for you,” Mettaton said dismissively. “Though where I can’t imagine—orange clashes with everything.”

On that note, he left, and BP looked down at the striped orange fur on his arm. “It doesn’t clash with everything,” he mumbled. He began his desultory scrubbing, ears drooping and the tip of his tail twitching. He barely managed to rinse the soap out of his fur before he was being rushed out of the shower and into the dressing room.

He flushed under Mettaton’s scrutiny, yelping when one of the older ‘pieces pulled the towel out of his hands and started vigorously drying him off. “Hey—!”

“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” they said, looking up at him with disinterest. Their features were heavily scarred—they’d been retired from work in the front of house after an incident a few years back. They still had a stable of loyal clients willing to overlook their scars, though, so Mettaton kept them sweet. “The Lieutenant picked you?”

BP glanced at Mettaton, not sure if he was going to be yelled at for talking back, but he was busy picking out a robe. “Uh, yeah. I guess.”

The older ‘piece nodded to themself. “Hmm.” They glanced at BP again, and the fur along his spine lifted when he detected a hint of pity in their gaze. “Mind yourself with that one. He’s going to be a difficult client. His LV’s riding him, and he didn’t come here willingly. Worse, he’s got a reputation for being uptight. Monsters like him….” They shook their head. “They don’t relax; they snap. Don’t provoke him. Do what he says. And remember—” They glanced at Mettaton, then lowered their voice. “—no one is looking out for you but you.”

BP stared at him. “Thanks for the pep talk.”

They tossed the towel over his head and ran it over his scalp and cheeks. “And for stars’ sake, keep your tongue in your head.”

Mettaton made a pleased exclamation and rushed over at that moment, dove-grey robe in hand. Blue, yellow, and black flowers and accents swirled over its surface. “Perfect!” he said, rushing BP into it.

At the end of their fussing, BP caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. If he’d hoped, for a moment, that he’d look different—better, sweeter—after their makeover, then he was doomed to disappointment. He looked the same as ever, just less comfortable and maybe a little cleaner.

Mettaton picked an orange strand of fur off the front of his robe with a loud sigh. “This will need cleaning after. But it will work! He’s clearly nearsighted in any case, if he thought you were a sweet-piece.”

The scarred ‘piece gently pushed a tray into BP’s hands. “Good luck,” they said, steering him toward the stairwell. “First door on the left.”

“And don’t forget, darling,” Mettaton said. “If he seems at all dissatisfied, then I’ll fashion a robe from your skin. Am I clear?”

BP nodded numbly. The delicate cups rattled against their saucers as he climbed up the steps. He fumbled at the door, trying not to spill the tea as he opened it. He nearly tripped over himself as he entered the room, fur lifting when the Lieutenant looked up at him. He froze and forced an awkward smile, tail curling close to his thigh.

How did the real sweet-pieces manage to do this silently? Gracefully, even.

He cleared his throat and set the tray on the table, causing more rattling. The guardsman ignored him, looking back to the book he’d been reading.

Who brings a book to a sweet-piece parlor?

BP stood awkwardly in front of the table, tugging at the front of his robe. The guardsman ignored him, still lounging on the chaise and…reading. “Um.” His fingers twitched over the robe’s edge. Stars, he wanted a cigarette. “So….”

The Lieutenant sighed, sticking a thumb in his book to mark his place. He looked up at BP, leaning back in the chaise and surveying him. His brow-bone lifted, and he snorted softly. “I’m impressed. In only fifteen minutes, Mettaton managed to turn a janitor into…something that looks almost like a sweet-piece. He should incorporate that into one of his gameshows.” He turned back to his book. “I hope you have some way to entertain yourself for however long we’re stuck here.”

BP stared. “You…you knew?”

The brow-bone crept higher. “Of course I knew. I’m not blind.” He looked back to his book. “If I wanted a sweet-piece, I’d have asked for a sweet-piece. I picked you so Undyne and the android would leave me alone.”

The insult was too much. “So you dragged me into this because you were—what? Annoyed? You’re having a bad day, so I have to be stripped naked, insulted, humiliated, and-and threatened? Is that what’s happening here? Do I have that right?” His breathing was unsteady after the tirade, and for a few blissful moments, he had the satisfaction of glaring down at the guardsman, who stared back with wide sockets.

Then, like a rubberband snapping back after being stretched too far, his righteous indignation crumbled into panic. The Lieutenant’s shock was quickly hidden behind an indifferent mask, and he closed the book, setting it aside. BP’s heart started to race and his mouth went dry. Oh, stars. “Wait,” he said, forcing a smile even as his tail bristled, “I didn’t mean….” His voice was tight. It sounded like he’d breathed in a lungful of helium.

The Lieutenant stood, stepping around the table to stand in front of BP. Stars he was tall. BP swallowed, looking up at him. “Just-just a joke,” he tried, voice still strained, “Haha? Just…” He swallowed, glancing back at the door. If he ran, how long would he have before Mettaton went searching for him? And how long would he have to hide before he lost interest in finding him?

“My apologies.”

BP blinked, sure he’d misheard. “I’m—what?”

“I chose you because I didn’t want a sweet-piece,” he reiterated. There seemed to be a weight in his words, as if there was more behind them, but he didn’t elaborate. Instead, he huffed and looked away. “I didn’t mean to insult you, only to reassure you that I don’t expect anything from you.” He gestured to the door. “You can go. Tell your boss I changed my mind—”

“No!” BP’s eyes went wide, and his fur puffed. He glanced back at the door, sure Mettaton was going to come through it and skin him on the spot. Then he saw the Lieutenant’s brow-bone lift again, and he forced a smile, trying to smooth down his fur. “I mean….” He swallowed. “Do you want tea? They had me bring tea.”

The guard stared at him for a long moment, then he cocked his head slightly. He gave a subtle nod and gestured to the tray. “Tea would be fine.”

“Great!” He sat in front of the table, on the cushion provided. For a moment, the Lieutenant just watched him, looming at his back. BP’s fingers shook as he poured the tea, causing the cups to rattle in their saucers once more.

The guard walked around the table, sitting on the chaise again. He didn’t pick up his book. “What would you have done,” he asked, leaning forward, “if I really thought you were a sweet-piece?”

BP froze, looking down at the murky green liquid swirling in his cup. “Uh. You know. Sweet-piece stuff.”

Again, he lifted a brow. “I imagine you’re relieved that I don’t expect that of you.”

BP shrugged. “Sure.”

The guard tilted his head. “’Sure’?” he echoed.

“Well—I mean. You’re not exactly hard to look at,” he said, “and sweet-pieces….” He stopped.

“What about them?”

He shrugged. “People’re usually nice to ‘em. That’s all. It’s the point, isn’t it? They’re so sweet, you gotta be sweet back. I mean—I know that’s not how it always works out. Believe me, I’ve seen some shit.” The guardsman nodded, and BP had to imagine he’d seen just as bad, if not worse. “But…the Captain wouldn’t bring you here, if you were like that.”

BP rubbed the back of his neck, realizing he’d said too much. “So, yeah. Wouldn’t have minded being your sweet-piece for a day.” He laughed, wishing again for a cigarette. “Beats trying to get oil stains outta the carpet!”

“Baking soda.”

BP blinked. “Uh…huh?”

“Baking soda. Use a toothbrush to work it into the carpet, let it sit for fifteen minutes, then vacuum it up. So long as the stain hasn’t set, it should help.” BP stared at him for a beat, unsure how to react to that. “Maybe you should be a sweet-piece; janitorial work doesn’t seem to be your forte.”

BP snorted. “It’s a good gig, if you can get it. Too bad I don’t qualify anymore.” Any amount of LV was too much for a sweet-piece, even his low level.

The guardsman leaned forward, hands cupped around his tea. “I never really considered that some monsters would seek out this line of work,” he said softly, eyelights down. “I’ve mostly seen the less savory side of the trade. Not everyone comes to it willingly.”

BP understood all at once why he’d been so resistant before. “Hey, uh, I got my problems with the boss, but everyone here came here willingly. I mean—as willing as anyone can be. Cleaning the floors isn’t exactly how I’d choose to spend my free time, you know?” He laughed, but the Lieutenant looked away, brow-bones furrowed. His job entailed a good deal worse than cleaning floors, and he probably didn’t need the reminder.

BP cleared his throat, searching for a change of subject. “So. What would you have wanted from me, if I were a sweet-piece?”

The Lieutenant choked on his tea. “I—” He shook his head and cleared his throat. “Nothing. I don’t use—I have no need of a sweet-piece and no desire for one either.”

“So you’re going to read and I’m just going to sit here and twiddle my thumbs until the Captain’s done getting her rocks off?”

A faint flush of red magic touched his cheekbones as he glared. “If you don’t think you can carry a conversation, then yes. And I don’t pretend to know what Undyne is doing—nor do I wish to.”

BP shrugged. “Okay, okay. You just seem a little tense—”

“I am not tense!”

BP couldn’t hold back a snort, though when the guard’s expression darkened, he swallowed and reminded himself it was unwise to mock a high LV monster. “Right! Of course not.”

On cue, the teacup shattered in the Lieutenant��s grip. Before BP could react, he swore and stood, bits of porcelain cupped in his dripping phalanges. He dumped them in the trash can, glaring at his hands as if they’d betrayed him. “You, uh, you want a towel or something?” In answer, he held out his hand, open and expectant. BP grabbed a cloth napkin off the tray and scrambled to stand. “Here.”

He wiped the tea from his fingers, watching BP out of the corner of his socket as he did. When he was finished, he held the napkin out for BP—but instead of releasing it when he took it in hand, the Lieutenant used it as leverage to pull him closer and catch his eye.

Staring into his sockets immediately made BP’s hackles rise. He swallowed but held his ground. He didn’t back away, even when a skeletal hand lifted slowly to hover beside his face. He had plenty of time to pull away but held still as a bony thumb stroked over his jawline. His heart beat hard, and he wondered if the guard could hear it. “You know my name?” the Lieutenant asked.

“Papyrus.”

“So you know who I am. What I’ve done.”

He swallowed and nodded. “I—yeah. I know.” Everyone had heard the stories. Papyrus was not as infamous as Undyne, but as he’d risen through the ranks, people started to whisper. And when he successfully took control of the infamously uncontrollable denizens of Snowdin, those whispers grew louder.

“And still you offer yourself to me?”

Fuck. Something in the way he phrased that—his words archaic and weighty—sent a bolt through BP, making his knees feel loose and his breathing go thready. In that moment, it was impossible to separate fear from desire. “I—yes?”

The Lieutenant snorted, drawing his hand away and leaving BP holding the napkin. He returned to the chaise, his back to BP. “Most people would rather not attract my attention. But you….” He glanced over his shoulder, then shook his head again before taking his seat. He swept his gaze up and down BP’s body, and BP stood rigid, breath held. Finally, his gaze rested on BP’s face. “Alright, kitten. It’s your choice. Either sit and pour the tea, keep quiet while I read, or come here and be my sweet-piece for the day.”

BP stood frozen for a few moments. Some part of him was silently screaming at him to sit quietly and just enjoy the break, but the Lieutenant made an arresting sight. He lounged against the chaise, feet planted firmly on the ground. His features were set and stony, his eyelights hard. There was nothing welcoming in his pose. Rather, it looked like he was daring BP to approach, confident he didn’t have the nerve.

Something in him stirred at the perceived challenge.

With a subtle smirk—as if he’d won, somehow—the Lieutenant turned to pick up his book and resume reading. No longer speared by his gaze, BP was free to move. It made sense to just sit down and pour the tea, but nothing about this day was normal or sensible, and BP’s feet carried him past the table, until he stood between the Lieutenant’s spread thighs.

The guardsman looked up from his book, cocking his brow-bone again. Never taking his eyelights off BP, he shut it once more and set it aside. He brought his hand to BP’s waist, just above the hip, and BP’s heart started beating faster.

After, when they’d been drawn from the room and the Captain and her Lieutenant were taking their leave—and BP was curling in on himself as he grew conscious of Mettaton’s eyes on him, of the cruel smile forming on his glossa—Papyrus paused to pass him a few pieces of gold. BP looked up at him. “Um.” He looked to Mettaton, but his smile had frozen and he was staring at the Lieutenant.

“For your service,” he said, closing BP’s hand over the G. “I believe a tip is appropriate?” He glanced at Mettaton. His expression was mild, even as it dared Mettaton to contradict him.

“I…” He didn’t look at his boss. Instead, he kept his eyes on Papyrus. “Yeah. If you think…think I earned it.”

“I do,” he said calmly. Then pulling away, he looked to Mettaton to say, “I trust he’ll he available next time we visit.”

Mettaton’s frozen smile shifted into his megawatt grin, though BP could see the strain around his eyes. “Of course, darling! Anytime! Though if you would prefer someone more experienced—”

“No. Thank you. I rather like his inexperience,” he said, “It’s…refreshing. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He offered them both a nod and departed.

BP tensed as soon as the door closed, but Mettaton just sighed. “It’s a shame,” he said, “You’d think such an attractive monster would have better taste.” He eyed BP, then shook his head in disgust. “Whatever. You’re on call from now on,” he said, “So keep your phone on you when you’re off duty.” He gestured to the carpet. “Now get rid of that.”

He left and BP stood frozen for a moment. It felt, somehow, as if everything and nothing had changed. Then he turned and went to fetch the baking soda and a toothbrush.

It was probably too late to do any good, but it was worth a try.

#burgerpants/papyrus #fell papyrus #fell burgerpants #edgepants #my work #smut in the link #but this version is clean

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luimagines · 1 year

Note

Hiya! Its me again, I submitted the story of Mask (Young adult! Time) pining after his rebellion leader (aka future spouse), and have come with a follow up >:)

Months have passed since Mask's..."confession"...to the group. Since then, most of the boys have been trying to start conversations that might set off Mask into another lovestruck rant (much to Time's dismay). Though this time around Mask is much harder to crack, only giving away small details about you and what type of relationship you two have. What they do learn is that you were a badass! Not only did you lead a rebellion against Ganondorf (as a teenager but they don't know that) but you also wielded some sort of shadow magic. This certainly caught their attention, considering they had no clue you had such abilities!

Mask always sings your praise, he really could go on forever! But the last thing he wanted was someone using that information against you. So he spoke little about his personal relationship with you, but it was easy to see how close the two of you were.

---

It was a peaceful morning for the group, well rested and full bellies was a promising start to the day! They were traveling either Mask's or Time's Hyrule, it was kinda hard to tell considering they were only surrounded by woods with no landmarks that could tell what era it was. Everyone was in high spirits for the day, even Time! The thought of coming back home to you and your welcoming arms was a pleasant thought.

Well- That went to shit quite quickly. They hadn't even walked for two hours before they were ambushed by a hoard of grotesque monsters. Their twisted, gnarly weapons bludgeoned and bruised the ten heroes. Many of them struggled to stand as they were circled, surrounded by all sides.

The group looked to one another, hoping someone had some idea or plan to get them out of this mess. Yet everyone struggled to form a plan while being battered from all sides, all expect Mask. He knew it was a risk, he didn't even know if this was his Hyrule! But one thing Mask knew was that you'd protect him, all he had to do was ask. All he had to do was scream your name. And so, he screamed. His voice ripped through his throat, piecing the sounds of battle. All of the boys faltered for a moment at Mask's sudden outburst, fearing for his safety. But soon they'd realize that they aren't the ones who should be fearful. Suddenly, the early morning turned to dusk -or at least it felt like it did- as the trees loomed over them, their shadows stretching far and wide.

The battle comes to a halt, both Hylian and monster alike not daring to move an inch. Mask -who stood in the middle of this battlefield- let out a shaky breath, a hearty smile stretching from ear to ear. And before the heroes know it, dark tendrils burst from these shadows and lash out! They grip onto the savage beasts, squeezing so tight some poof into purple smoke. For those unlucky to survive the deadly hold, they get dragged from the field and deep into the inky shadows. Most screech and slash at the shadows to break free, but their attempts are futile.

As the last beast is pulled into the endless void the shadows finally retreat. Soon the sun shines down on the bloodied heroes once more, but even the sun's warmth can stop the shiver that went down their spines. One question hangs in the air. What the hells just happened?

Mask couldn't contain his excitement, the grin on his face clear as day! He goes to call out for you once more expecting you to be hiding among your fellow shadows but is met with a cold hand over his mouth. A muffled yelp catches everyone's attention once more and weapons are drawn once more. Yet as they turn towards to face this new threat they are met with a...unusual sight, one none really expected (well, Time did but shh).

Mask and a familiar -but younger- figure face to face, mere inches between each other, looking intensely into the other's eyes. Your hand still rested over his mouth but he made no effort to remove it, to remove you. To an outsider's eye, this would have looked like a hostage situation (and maybe it was) but after a moment of looking over Mask and his injuries, you let your hand trail down the side of his neck and rest on his shoulder.

Finally, you acknowledge the rest of the heroes, who stood awkwardly to the side during this silent conversation. And boy, Mask sure as hell wasn't lying about how stunning you were. You scanned the group with your eyes, like you were analyzing every detail of them and taking notes of their weaponry (you totally were). The boys can't help but sweat under your gaze, even Time feels a little uneasy in this moment but he had to admit it was good to see your face again, younger or not.

You're the first to speak up and introduce yourself to the strange group while Mask does not leave your side. A stupidly obvious grin on his face as he just watches you with so much adoration in his eyes. And suddenly, the nine heroes come to the realization that this is their fate. Having to deal with a lovesick, dramatic Mask and the subject of said love.

Time can't help but groan inwardly, the boys are never going to let him live this down. (I hope you liked this and sorry for any spelling errors! Have a lovely day!)

I thought the first half was on the masterlist! DX I wanted to link it but I don't know where it is. I'm sorry. :(

OOOOOhhhhhhhhh!!!!

Old Man Time is going to have the headache of a life time!

But we also get to explore Reader's reaction to said Older Time!!! :D

The boys are going to be so nosey XD

Mask doesn't know what he's in for... or maybe his rose tinted ten inch thick glass won't let him see anything else. Time has to deal with all of it though. There's no escape for him.

#pinky replies #anon stories #This one *will* be on the masterlist though #I think it's long enough :D

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earthrealsvn · 1 year

Text

candy [m.i]

a small fic based on “Candy” by H.O.T/NCT DREAM | aka in which Midoriya Izuku wants to break up with you

category: angst, fluff

warning(s): Midoriya is a bit ooc, the portrayed relationship is a little toxic

w.c: 1.4k

a/n: ever since my boys covered this song, i’ve wanted to write a piece about it. so out of my cave i crawl to offer this before hiding away again. i’m trying to get back into writing but there’s just some stuff i gotta sort out before i can get fully into it. i hope you all enjoy this though! i recommend listening to the song or looking at the lyrics before/while reading, but you don’t have to in order to understand this piece. also, merry late Christmas! i hope everyone enjoyed their holidays!

groaning, Izuku cracks his back as he sits up from his hunched position, pushing his final piece of paperwork away. after a night of restless sleep, he had come in early, remembering that he hadn’t finished a report of his from the previous day. the work, however, failed to keep him from thinking back to the thought that had kept him awake all night. unfortunately for Izuku, he wasn’t sure why said thought kept him up. it wasn’t like he had anything bothering him or causing any distress. in fact, his life was at a pretty good place at the moment.

rubbing his temples, he glanced tiredly at the clock and realized it was almost sunrise. remembering you saying how much you liked watching the sun peak over the city buildings, he spun in his chair to look out the window. the sky turned golden and he found himself agreeing with you — it really was a pretty sight.

and just like the sun washed over Mustafu, realization washed over Izuku. today was the day he was going to break up with you.

[0][0][0][0][0]

his lunch break had just hit as your nickname finally popped up on his phone screen. he accepted the call and lifted his phone to his ear.

“yeah, just set them over there— oh! ah, Izu, hey! you said you needed to call, what’s up?” your voice floated through the speaker and a small smile found its way onto his lips.

“hey, love,” he held back a sigh, “i was just wondering if you wanted to meet for lunch?”

“oh, uh, yeah, sure but… doesn’t your break start now? i have, like, another hour left to go,” he can hear the confusion in your voice and he curses himself for forgetting that you do, in fact, have your lunch break an hour after he does.

“i’ll just take mine in an hour, too, then,” he murmurs. “it’s, um, something important i need to talk to you about.”

there’s shuffling on your end and he can hear you shut the door to your office — something you only do when on important calls. “what’s going on? is everything okay?”

“yeah… yeah everything’s fine,” that’s a lie, “i just— it can’t really wait until later.”

“well, if you’re sure. uh, yeah, i can meet for lunch. where were you thinking?”

“the usual, if that works for you.”

“sounds good to me. see you around 1:30 then?” he hums in approval. “okay! i love you, Izu!”

“i love you too,” the click signals to him that you’ve hung up and he sets down his phone, dropping his head into his hands. it’s not like he completely lied — he does, in fact, still love you. but somehow a big part of him knows that he can’t be with you anymore.

now that it’s finally dawned on him, Izuku realizes that it’s been a long time coming. for the past few weeks, he’s been comparing you to other girls in text messages with his high school friends. whenever he questioned his brain why, it would always murmur back that it’s to help the heart grow cold. but if that’s the case, then why did he feel like an asshole? though he supposes he is for doing such a thing. all you’ve ever done was give him love and affection, and he’s returning it with taking your insecurities and highlighting them behind your back.

tears spring into his eyes and spill down his cheeks. it’s pathetic of him, really, to sit here crying over the situation, crying over you when he’s the one about to break your heart. he doesn’t deserve to be crying right now. but the crybaby in him can’t help himself and the tears make their way down his cheeks and splash onto the wooden surface of his desk. if only he’d broken it off when the behavior first started — dodging your kisses and walking behind you on outings — but he was selfish and kept you with him.

maybe he’d just say that the two of you should have some space… but even that seemed like a lie. shutting his eyes, Izuku shrank back into his chair with an exhale. how was he supposed to tell you that he couldn’t be with you anymore? after all, he still loves you. although that’s a part of the problem, he thinks. still loving you meant it’d be harder for him to end things.

he swallows dryly and spares a glance at the clock. there’s enough time, maybe about twenty minutes, for him to assemble some form of speech to give. nodding to himself, he stands and stretches his sore limbs before he begins pacing in front of the window.

[0][0][0][0][0]

the restaurant is quieter than usual, Izuku notes as he enters. he counts it as a good thing for today, however, and slips into the usual booth. he fiddles with his menu as he waits for you and nearly jumps when you take your place across from him.

“hey, Zuku. did i startle you?” a small bout of laughter accompanies your words and he finds himself blushing.

“ah, yeah, you got me.” slowly, he meets your eyes and his breath catches in his throat at the sight of your smile. he can’t deny himself — even if this meeting is so he can break your heart into pieces, your smile will forever be dear to him.

“what did you need to talk about?” ah yes, another thing he loves about you: your ability to get right to the issue without delay. it’s a good quality to have considering you’re both heroes, but in times like these, Izuku has grown to hate that about you.

“oh! um… well… it can wait until we’re done eating!”

your eyebrows quirk at him but he forces a smile onto his face and avoids your gaze. he knows you want to pester him about it, but he’s saved as the waiter approaches. food and drinks are ordered and Izuku doesn’t give the chance for more questions from you as he launches right into small talk. it’s not hard to feel the annoyed look you’re giving him, but you indulge anyway.

while the two of you eat, it feels like a regular lunch to Izuku, and he forgets why he was so nervous to talk to you… until the meal is done and he’s paying. once more his throat tightens up and he feels his mouth go dry. of course… this wasn’t something he could just ignore forever. so he takes your hand and leads you out of the establishment, refusing to meet your eyes as you walk.

his feet carry him to what you’ve claimed to be your favorite bridge in the city. it’s settled in a peaceful park that stems into a Japanese garden. you lean against the railing and stare out at the pond, stance relaxing. exhaling quietly, Izuku slumps against the railing and tries to busy himself with the sights of the park.

“so, again, what did you want to talk about Izuku?” oh shit, the full name. you hardly ever use his full first name, the only exceptions being whenever you’re angry at him.

“um… well…” squeezing his eyes shut briefly, he opens them before turning to face you. he’s mentally preparing for what’s about to happen, but the second your eyes lock… it’s gone. the words that had been carefully crafted suddenly fled his mind and he’s stuck blankly looking at you. as he grasps at straws, tries to find something, anything, to say to you, another realization crashes against the back of his mind. all he’s doing is standing under the same sky as you.

smiling, he takes a breath before speaking, “i just love you, that’s all.”

confusion first settles upon your countenance, then disbelief. “you mean you stressed me out just to say i love you?” an exasperated sigh follows. “i mean, i love you too but… Izu… it’s not that impor—”

“yes it is!”

and before you can say anything else, his hands grasp your waist and he pulls you in for a kiss. your confusion melts away and you return it, arms looping around his neck.

when he finally pulls away, he gives you a sincere smile.

“i’ll always be there for you, Y/N.”

and he knows you believe him.

#izuku midoriya x reader #bnha x reader #bnha fluff #bnha angst #bnha scenarios #midoriya x reader

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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 2 years

Text

What Makes The Person?

Eddie Munson's used to his best friend having a crisis two a month now. If it's not about failing a course that they are going to ace, it's about hating the small town of Hawkins. But nothing prepares Eddie for when the crisis is real.

AKA Eddie supports his best friend as they work through their gender identity with a shopping spree.

CW: Reader is AFAB, mentions of boobs and periods (super brief)

This is a smattering of feelings and self indulgence.

___________________________________

"I am having a crisis."

Eddie pushes up from the floor he's settled on, setting his notebook up on the bed. The vague startings of lyrics resting on the page. "What kind of crisis?" Eddie asks.

He's not shocked that you're in the house, that you biked here, that you're still a little out of breath. Eddie's not shocked that Wayne let you in if he's home or if you had a spare key made to let yourself in. Eddie's also not shocked that you are having a crisis. You have one nearly bi-weekly.

"I hate my closet."

This kind of crisis, Eddie thinks to himself, patting the edge of this bed. You shake your head at the silent office. Starting a short pacing pattern in the length of his room. Eddie leans against his amp, watching you. "Okay, you hate your closet. What's wrong with it? Your clothes always look nice."

You shake your head. It's not that the clothes are bad quality or wrong per se. They are wrong for you. You're starting to feel foreign in them. When your jeans emphasize your hips, you wish you could curl up into yourself and hide. When your mother hands you anything with lace or frills, your stomach churns. There's a line between distaste and pure panic.

"No, no, they're nice. But that's the problem."

Eddie, who had taken to to resting his head up against the flat of his knuckles, pops up, forehead wrinkling. "There's a problem with nice clothes? I, uh, hate to be the bearer of a harsh reality check, but I literally wear shit that I manage to find in thrift stores. I don't think I have a single new piece of clothing."

"No, Eddie," you sigh. You know Eddie's situation. You know that he does all he can to get by. But there's still a difference between you and him in that department. Becoming friends in middle school, watching him learn guitar, inviting him over for birthday parties--it all clued you in on what was going on in Eddie's world. But that never stopped the two of you from becoming friends--and close friends at that.

"Hey, hey. I'm willing to listen. But fill me in, please. I know I DM for a fantasy game but I'm not quite magical in a realistic sense. Not yet anyways."

A soft chuckle escapes you--though you're sure you hadn't wanted to laugh in this moment. Because you are freaking out. Your heart is thumping against your chest. You know--you know in your bones what's really wrong and you're not sure you can actually give weight to it by putting it into words.

It couldn't be that bad could it? Everyone probably went through stages--moments where they were trying to figure themselves out. It is normal. It is all normal. But dread is still lead in your stomach. The tears start to burn. You don't want to be different. You don't want that. Not in this way. Sure, listening to metal and hanging out with Eddie marked you as a social outcast. But you were still normal--you were still normal.

This--this feeling you have while wearing your clothes would make you distinctly not normal.

"No," you croak out. The tears--they're falling now. There's a lump in your throat--hard like a rock that you can't swallow down and it's cutting off any good deep breaths you could get. "No, Eddie, oh," you sigh.

The crack, the way your throat literally trembles on the syllables of his name makes Eddie push up fully from the amp and walk over to you. "Hey, hey, what's--talk to me, please."

"It's the clothes," you huff. "It's these stupid fucking clothes," you pull at the collar of your shirt. Something your mom bought for you, the floral design of the button up still making you feel like a foreigner inside of your skin.

"What's wrong with the clothes?"

"They're not right," you hiss. You're not really thinking anymore. You just want out of these clothes. You like Eddie's clothes. His clothes will make you feel better.

Eddie watches you yanking at the button up. He's hand settle over yours. "Do-do you want something else to wear?"

"Please," you sob. Anything but what you're currently wearing. Anything but the reality, anything but the truth.

Eddie's gentle as he guides you over to his dressers. He fishes out a t-shirt--he doesn't really check for which one it is. He knows it's clean though because he finally got around to the laundry that had been piling for a couple weeks. He goes into a drawer lower down and pulls out a pair of gym issues shorts.

Eddie hands them over with a little curtsey for added flair. "My liege," he teases.

"Than-" you hiccup and it cuts off the word. Eddie wraps his arms around your shoulders for a moment just to pull you into a brief embrace. "Thank you," you get out.

"Of course. I'll be just outside, let me know when you're done."

Eddie's quick to give you another reassuring squeeze and then he steps out of his room, shutting the door softly behind him. He leans into it, exhaling every ounce of air of of his chest. Never, and never, as he seen you quite like this. How could clothes that fit perfectly be so wrong? They were new--he knew that. With another school year dawning, your parents were always the type to take you on a back to school clothes shopping trip. It happened every year. And every year you snuck something for Eddie into the pile.

Sometimes it would be a t-shirt that you though he'd like, or a new flannel, or a new belt. It was usually small in the grand scheme of things but Eddie appreciated the gesture. He know the real people supporting it was your parents and he made sure in his own way to pay for it--offering to fix things around the house. Edging the lawn, raking the leaves. He paid his own weight for the gesture and though it was all love--your parents being happy to help and him being happy to return favors--there was the unspoken rule that you still always did it.

This time you'd gotten Eddie some patches to add to the denim jacket and the silver chain link bracelet. He'd given you strict instructions not to buy anything clothing related, but he wouldn't argue with accessories. So you obeyed. Which he was grateful for. But still--there was nothing wrong with the clothes you had. Nothing that Eddie could see at least.

A soft rapt comes and Eddie pushes up. His spin has more monentum than he anticipated and he nearly smashes his nose into the closed door. He manages to catch himself and twist the knob. You're pacing still, now dressed in Eddie's clothes. Some tension's left your shoulders. It's a little shameful that Eddie happens to glance down and teh gym shorts which fit him fine in the grand scheme of things definitely clung to your thighs just a bit more than his.

"Tell me--is your secret squats?" he asks. You pause and face the door. He regrets the tease when he sees the fear in your eyes. "Shit, sorry. Fucking not cool joke, sorry."

You give a small tuft of laughter. "My secret is that my body hates me so it does what it wants not what I want."

There's something like defeat in your town. Eddie swipes the door closed--or mostly closed--with his foot, walking closer to you. "No, you don't get to say that."

It's clear the tracks the tears took as they've marked your cheeks with a salted stain. Eddie still takes the pads of his thumbs and wipes over them, to clear away what he can.

"I hate my clothes," you reiterate.

"Why do you hate them?" The question falls from his chest softly, like an exhale. "Why aren't they right?"

"They're not right for me," you state. You're praying he catches onto what you're really saying behind them.

"You want to try a new look?" Close, so close, you think. "Like goth? Or freak? Or prep? Are you trying to tell me you wanna go prep?" Eddie feigns offense, a tiny smile on his face for a split second.

So far, so fucking far.

Disappointment. It's clear as your face falls that he's still not getting whatever it is you're actually saying. It feels like a game of charades. There are hints, but no full words. He's filling in gaps on what you are giving.

"Please," Eddie sighs. "You can tell me anything. I won't disown you, I promise. I just-I want to help but I'm a little lost."

No, you can't say it. It makes it real. Now it's just a game of pretend. You can pretend to just say it's nothing. You can say it's all a prank. You can say it's nothing.

"It's-it's like-" You keep stopping and starting your sentence. You sigh after your fourth attempt and pull away from Eddie's embrace. Distance--you need distance. You're eying where you placed your clothes and shoes. Could you get them and bolt fast enough if this went south?

Eddie shuffles behind you and you look over your shoulder to see him settling onto the edge of his bed. Yes, yes you could grab them and bolt if need be.

"The clothes aren't right for me. Because they're not for me. They're wrong. It's like I'm pretending. And I-I'm scared. What if I want to stop pretending?" you ask.

"Then stop pretending," Eddie returns. "You don't have to wear them if you don't like them. Return them--your mom is the return queen. I'm sure she still has the receipts. Get what you like."

"It's not that, Eddie," you huff. "I'm not right for the clothes. The clothes aren't right for me because I am not right for them."

His brow furrows. You not being right for the clothes? "You could wear a brown paper bag and it could be fashion."

You scrub your hands over your face. The tears are welling up. Maybe no one else felt like you did. Maybe you were alone. But Eddie--you'd know him years. You got held behind a year--your first year of high school--due to attendance issues. And now, you are just in your first year of community college. Eddie has supported every decision and step you made. Would he support you on this?

"Eddie--it's not the clothes at the root. The clothes--they're like a symptom. It's me. I don't like the way I feel in those clothes. I don't like the way I look or feel in any girl's clothes. I hate them. I hate being a girl."

"Being a girl does sound shitty--periods. Awful, I've heard," Eddie states.

"You, oh my god," you scream and it turns up into a bit of laughter. "Eddie, listen to me please." You close the distance between the two of you and hold Eddie's face in your hands. "When people call you dude, or guy, or a man, or whatever, how do you feel?"

The squish of your hands makes his lips pucker but Eddie still speaks. "I don't really feel anything. I am a guy, like a dude. It's whatever."

A start. "Okay. When I say Eddie Munson is a boy you don't feel anything?"

"Nope," he returns with a pop of the 'p'.

"Okay. Now imagine if the sound of anyone calling you a boy made your stomach churn. Imagine if your skin felt like it was crawling when anyone said 'he' when they were talking about you. Imagine that you're standing with your parents at the checkout line and the cashier checking you out says you're a 'handsome young man' and ice fills your veins. Because that's not you. It's not you. Everyone is so wrong about you. Everything you've been taught is not true for you. Because you are not what they say you are and you sometimes think about breaking into your dad's gun case because you feel so alone--you feel so isolated and scared because everyone is telling you you are a boy but you don't feel like one."

Eddie swims in your vision. The snot is running down your upper lip and you want to shut up. You want to stop but you can't. Now that you've started it's starting to feel good to get it off your chest. "You don't feel like you need to be the opposite either. Right, like if you're not a boy then you've gotta be a girl right? But that's not right other. Girl feels foreign to you but not in the want to escape out of your meatsuit way but like that's another label that doesn't work for you either. But there's only two options. You've been told that your whole life. What the fuck else is there when you're not a boy and not a girl."

Eddie gives your forearms a squeeze and then he's pulling you from your standing position. Your knees hit the edge of the frame just a little but then you're fallen into Eddie. Head buried in his neck as he pulls you in closer.

For a moment, it's just silence. Eddie's not sure what to say. He'd never noticed anything different. You still smiled the same. You still crashed at his place on the weekends with homework to do and scrambling to get it all done Sunday night. You still listened to all his rants about his campaign. You still showed up on Tuesday nights at The Hideout. You still were you. But underneath that, you were also hurting. You'd been scared, worried, in turmoil and Eddie had never noticed.

"I don't care if you're a girl or not," Eddie whispers "I'm sorry--that I didn't notice before about your pain. That I don't have better words. But I don't care," Eddie hums. "You're still my best friend. I love you--for who you are as a person. Nothing else."

You'd been so ready to bolt. You'd been so ready to spill your guts to Eddie and have him reject you. Shame washes over you. How could you think he wouldn't react any other way? The tears roll down your cheeks faster. Your sobs hurt your chest but you wail anyway into Eddie's chest. Because it feels so good to tell someone. Because it feels so horrible to expect the worse of Eddie. Because goddamn it, you need to get it all out.

Eddie doesn't have the language for what he wants to convey next. He wants to be there--for everything. If you want new clothes, he'd happily let you take whatever you wanted from his closet for the time being and then he'd even take you himself for new stuff. If you want to tell your parents, he'd go with you. He'd let you crash here if it all went belly up. If you wanted to keep it a secret to your family but tell friends, he'd keep it like it was federal controversy that needed to be protected at all cost.

Whatever it is that you want, Eddie wants to give it to you. But right now he feels shell shocked. As you weep into his chest and he can only numbly rub your back. Because he doesn't know what to say, how to get it across. But his heart squeezes in his chest as the sobs calm into sniffles. What sort of hell had you been enduring unbeknownst to him? He feels stupid for not seeing. But above all, Eddie swears as he reclines back your body slack in his hold that he's not going to let you endure the rest of this journey alone.

********

When you wake, it's to the sounds of clattering from the kitchen. Your nose is invaded with the smell of cigarette smoke and eggs. You push up from the bed and it's only you. You're still dressed in Eddie's clothes. From above you it's a hazy orange color. Did you sleep through the whole night?

Just as you sit up fully, feet hitting the ground, the door opens. Eddie peeks around the edge of the door, head looking as if it's floating before he pushes open the door fully. "Hey. Have a good nap?"

"It's still today?"

Eddie laughs at the question. You see more clearly the cigarette betwene his fingers as he ruffles your hair with his free hand. "Still today. Made eggs if you want any."

You nod and follow behind Eddie to the kitchen. Wayne greets you from the counter with a wave of his fork, a plate in his. You wonder if he pulled a double at the factory because you distinctly remember not seeing him before when you barged in to find Eddie.

"Hi Wayne," you say with a wave. He hated Mr. Munson and always made sure to grimace when you said it and addressed you as Miss when you did it--it didn't take long before you quickly cut the act.

"You look like hell kid," Wayne states as you slide in a couple feet from him. "You sleeping alright?"

You shrug. "Some nights are better than others."

"College ain't got you that bad? You tough enough to go the rounds."

You grin at the encouragement. "Yeah, I'm tough enough. I got up this time."

Wayne gives you a pat on the shoulder before announcing his departure and just as Eddie hands over a plate with eggs, you hear the shower start up. Eddie's quiet from next to you, blowing smoke out the open window of the kitchen. You can feel his stare on you as you stare down at the eggs.

As you push the scrambled eggs around with your fork, a bit of worry creeps back up. "I'm still me," you state softly. You need Eddie to know that. You need him to know that you're not anyone different.

"You are," Eddie returns. "Of course you are. I'm just aware in a new light, ya know. I don't want to make you feel like that."

The two of you are whispering but you catch onto what Eddie's saying. "I-I don't know what to tell you to use instead. I-I don't know anything." Another wave of tears are forming. "That-that's the scary thing. I know I'm not a girl, but I don't have anything else. I feel neutral. Like I'm neither but I don't-I don't know. There's no word for this?"

Eddie shakes his head. His thumb brushes over your cheek. "No, I'm not saying you need to have a word. I just want--I want you to know that I'm going to try, okay? I want to be there and do whatever you need. I'm your best friend. And I--I want to be there for you. However you need me to be, okay. I'm going to be there."

You give Eddie another nod. "Thanks. For everything."

"Of course." Eddie takes in the last two drags of the nicotine and puts it out on the ashtray in the window. He rings his hands around and around. "Are they too runny?"

Eggs--those are easy. You shake your head and make a show of getting a good forkful of them into your mouth. "Perfect," you mumbles around the fluffy sustenance.

"Gross, swe-that's just gross."

You catch the way Eddie corrects himself and you don't want to make a big deal. But you caught the way he racked his brain for an alternative. Even if he couldn't come up with anything immediately, he still caught it.

***********

You climb down from the passenger side of the van. The store looms in front of you. But you want this--you want something that feels more you. It's a baby step, standing in front of the Goodwill. It's the babiest of steps to take. You're going to look for shirts. No one would really know at the end of the day. But you feel the churn of your stomach--everyone would know. They'd know. What happens then? Would you be sent to some hospital and forced to conform? Would you be such an outcast more so?

Eddie rounds the front of the fan and takes your head. "We can pretend we're shopping for me. I'll hold everything if it helps."

You nod, hand squeezing his. "Yeah, that-that would be nice."

"Of course," he grins. "I'll give you all my best fashion tips."

The two of you head inside and it's not quite busy, but there's still enough people to make you worried. Eddie gives your head another squeeze. "If you're going to drag me to a family dinner," Eddie starts loudly for the front end of the store to hear, "then at least help me pick out something nice to wear."

You cringe at the volume of his voice and meekly nod. The two of you make a beeline for the men's shirts and when start to check through racks you swat at Eddie's bicep. "Did you have to make it that dramatic?"

Eddie giggles as he dodges the second hit. "C'mon. It was pretty funny. Now," he starts in a whisper, "What's the goal?"

Shit--a goal. You really hadn't thought about that. "Shirts," you hum out. "Not like t-shirts. Maybe a nice flannel or two. Something easy," you conclude.

"Easy," Eddie nods, fingers flicking over items. "It is getting cooler. Maybe a jacket?"

You freeze. Wouldn't a jacket be too obvious? Wouldn't it be making you stick out like a sore thumb?

Eddie pauses when he notices you haven't moved along with him. "Or not. Just flannels," he corrects.

"I'll take a look. Just to see if I see anything?"

"You don't have to get anything right now. Nothing too much, ya know. You can't outshow me at the family dinner," he teases, throwing a soft punch to your bicep.

"Eddie Munson, I don't think anyone could," you laugh. "But I do have a question about size," you start looking at the sea of clothes. They're all organized by size.

Eddie stops for a second--it would be something to consider. T-shirts he could use his size as metric. You could wear his stuff. But if you all got into jackets and fancier gear, the two of you would have to gauge differently. Eddie didn't have breasts--even if sometimes he only vaguely imagined about waking up with them for a one day body swap--he didn't actually have them. You did--an undeniable fact of your reality.

Eddie spins back to face you. "I got you. Don't sweat it. Just follow my lead."

Easy enough. As Eddie leads you away from the short sleeved t-shirts, you think maybe it wasn't smart to do this on a weekend when more and more people would be coming in and out of the store. But Eddie's already set the scene--you're helping him, he's going to carry all the clothes and bags. He's your shield. You can't let him go without backup.

So you follow behind him and he stops in the long sleeved. He holds up a random item--bright orange. "You think orange can be my color?"

You shield your eyes. "It's so bright against your pale skin!"

He holds it out to you. He says nothing verbally. But his eyes are assessing you in something like a calculation. You hold the orange shirt up to your chest, holding onto the sleeves out of nervousness. "Orange could be your color," he teases and then continues on up to the next size.

It clicks--the determination, the gaze. Wanting to measure the shirt against your body but of course, he's the shield. You put the orange shirt back and slide up next to Eddie. You select a brightly assorted patterned sweater with a white base and hold it up to Eddie. He scrunches your face. "It could be cute," you counter. "If you ever let me do your hair, you could surprise yourself."

Eddie sighs and takes the sweater. "If I ever need to win and Ugly Christmas Sweater Competition, I'll have a winning piece."

Eddie holds up a bright red button up. It's short sleeved with white buttons. It's not flashy. "Maybe I should pair it over my hellfire t-shirt," he teases, holding it up to his body. His way of asking if you like it, if you think you can wear it.

"Red suits you, Munson."

"Oh finally we agree on something," he teases. By the end of your excursion, you have one sweater, the red button up, two flannels (one blue and the other yellow), and a denim vest, which you don't mind holding on the tease that you're looking to match his Dio vest that he made. To which he replied, Good luck with that one cutie. That Dio t-shirt is vintage.

You don't think it was meant to be a challenge but it did spark you to storm all the way back down to the t-shirts and spend fifteen minutes scoping out for a cool band t-shirt. But you do live in Hawkins. When you call it quits, Eddie promises to take you to the records shop two towns over. It's where he got his.

The bag sways with Eddie's frolic step. Tiffany, the girl who checked out the items, only seemed to blink as Eddie dumped the selection of clothes into a heap onto her counter. She didn't care at all who the clothes were for or why Eddie was carrying them. She didn't care when you hip checked Eddie to pay for his new wardrobe. She didn't care when Eddie picked the bag up and in his best story teller voice declared you the fairest knight in all the land.

As the doors close, secluding you and Eddie out from the crisp autumn air, Eddie slips the bag down between your feet. "How do you feel?" he asks, a hand on your knee.

"I want to try them on. Make sure they fit," you beam. "Thank you. For taking the bullet on that."

"Anytime, dumplin'," Eddie returns with a bright smile.

"Dumpling?"

"Something more neutral than darling," he returns, like it's obvious. Like it shouldn't be a shock. "I cooked up a whole list, small fry."

"Small fry?" you shriek.

"For sweetheart," Eddie laughs, reversing out of the parking space. "I'd go for my liege again, but I like you squeaking over small fry. Personal new favorite."

"I've sealed my own death," you sigh reclining into e seat.

"Oh, that you have, bug."

You groan. "Bug! Small fry and now bug?" Above the roar of the engine is Eddie's cackle of laughter at your annoyance.

When you get back to Eddie's trailer, you're really glad you went with jeans. It made it easy to sort of slip into the tops without worrying the whole thing would fall apart because you were in something that you felt didn't match with what you wanted to present. As you open the door to Eddie's bedroom, having taken claim to it for the trying on of your clothes, you can hear the starting riff to Live Wire from the radio. You strut to the beat and Eddie whistles when he catches you in the sweater. It's too warm for right now, but in a few weeks you can break it out.

Eddie helps you roll up the sleeves a little, noticing the slip down your arms a bit. "Looking handsome, small fry."

"Think so?"

Eddie knows. "Oh, I know so. Let's see the red one with the vest. Tuck the red shirt into your jeans."

You nod at the instruction and scurry back down the hall, giddy. The buttons are awkward, flipped opposite of what you're used to, but you get it situated and then get the tails stuffed into the band of your jeans. The top of the shirt feels way too big like it's trying to swallow you but it doesn't feel as stuffy as the other shirts.

The song's changed by the time you get back out to show Eddie but he's reclined into the couch, laughing just a little when he notices how poorly the tuck went. "Can I straighten you out just a little?" Eddie asks before he fully ascends from the couch.

You nod, holding your arms out from your body.

Eddie hesitates just a little. "It's--Don't freak out."

"I won't," you promise and when Eddie gets one hand into the waist of your jeans to push some material down in the back, you stifle a laugh. It's awkward for sure. You feel smaller than usual next to Eddie. It's intimate but doesn't feel like it's swelling. The act is full of love, you know, a tenderness like one gives to a child or to a sibling in a rare moment. "I feel like maybe this is what a parent feels like helping their child getting dressed in the mornings. When they just refuse help but don't get it right."

Eddie's laughter is soft in return. "Possibly. But I do feel a bit like Wayne right now. Turn," his hands push against your hips and you face Eddie now. He undoes some of the buttons up top. "You don't have to wear it all the way to your neck. We're not squares here, okay? Even if you look like you walked off the cover of some magazine, we're still cool and mysterious bad asses."

The air is cool against your chest. You're painfully aware of the black of your bra that Eddie's no doubt getting a glimpse of. You weren't happy with wearing it, but knew you still had some appearance to uphold at home.

Eddie gets your collar situated. "If-" he clears his throat. "If you're worried about." He pauses, takes a step back and motions over his chest. "That."

"My boobs," you state. "I have them. Puberty sort of fucked me in that regard. They just happened. You can just say my boobs"

Eddie nods. His shoulders drop for a moment. To feel so alien in your own body--he hated to think that right now there were just some things you had to live with. You had to live with your parents using the wrong words for you. You had to live with a secret. You had to live with some pretty prominent reminders of an idenity that didn't belong to you. He wishes he could take them for you--bear them if he had to, so you wouldn't.

Eddie continues on only a short beat. "Yeah, your boobs. If you're worried you can try an undershirt. I think I have a pack I haven't opened yet. That way you can be most comfortable."

"I have some. Thanks Eddie." Though the clothes are definitely outside of what you normally had to wear, there's something that feels right when you slip into them. Something feels right to have Eddie help you.

"Yeah of course. Now, the vest is a large and the shirt is a medium. Does any of this feel too big? You might be able to get away with a medium across the whole board. I went up a size to make sure you could wear something thicker under it without it being tight."

"The vest feels a little big," you returns, watching where it hits you near your knees. "But I think I can take some of the length up. Borrow my mom's sewing machine one weekend."

"I'll get the patches on it for you," Eddie offers. "Once you get the length right."

"Oh, no, you don't have to. Those are patches I got for you anyway."

Eddie shrugs. "Those, new patches. Whatever really. I just--if you want them, I can sew them up there for you. I've got a little protegee now."

"Dustin's not here you know," you tease.

Eddie's smile is soft as he looks you over. It warms his whole face. "Henderson couldn't come close to you, bug. C'mon. Two more shirts. Let's see what you're working with."

"Can I borrow one of your t-shirts to wear under them? Just for show? I've got an idea."

"Absolutely."

You start back down the hallway, excited to feel like you're coming into your own. Eddie watches you as you go a bit of peep in your steps. That's what's been missing. You smiled, but nothing that reached your eyes like they did today. You laughed, but nothing like you sound as you laugh at yourself right now.

You'd been giving the illusion this whole time.

But Eddie sees it now. He sees the veil you'd put up--because you felt like you had too. He'd be more cognizant now. A few minutes later, you return with the yellow flannel on and opened. Beneath it you wear an old gym t-shirt the gray barely holding the fading green letters. It's tucked into your jeans. But it's a cleaner tuck this time.

You spin a little at the mouth of the hallway. "What do you think?"

"I think I'm going to have to learn how to deal with being your wingman now on Tuesdays," Eddie returns.

"We'll put it to the test come Tuesday," you laugh. "The blue one is just sort of the same deal. Should I still try it on?"

"Absolutely, small fry."

"Are you going to have that etched into my tombstone now?"

Eddie nods. "Pretty much. There's no escaping it now."

You flip him off and go to try on the blue flannel. Eddie nods in approval at the item of clothing, which makes your stomach flutter. You've stepped into something, found something that feels right. But the reality looms behind you. You'd only get to be this in doses. You'd have to go back home to be her.

You start back to change into your other clothes--the one he picked you up in. He grabs your wrist. "You don't have to hide here," Eddie says. "I'm not going to make you be someone you're not. Keep that on."

"Wayne's going to be home soon," you counter.

"If Wayne doesn't accept you, the real you, then that's not someone I want you around nor is it someone I want to be around. I don't want you to pretend when you're with me."

You shift your weight. Wayne's never given you reason to think otherwise. But still you're unsure. Eddie takes your other hand. "I will quite literally run away with you if Wayne flips his shit. I will do whatever is needed, but please, please do not go back into hiding when you don't have to. Wayne's got to deal with me and my shit and I am pretty much a stain on this here great white town."

You scoff. "Eddie, has anyone told you that you don't have the martyr all the time?"

"I like the idea of being a sacrificial lamb, thank you very much. I'm here--for you." Eddie gives you his saddest and biggest puppy eyes. It's a face you can't say no to, so you nod in agreement that you won't change for the time being.

Eddie and you are bent over the local newspaper working on the crossword puzzle when the door creaks open. "Evening fellas," Wayne calls out.

"Hi, Uncle Wayne."

"Hi, Wayne."

Your name tumbles from Wayne's lip as he freezes--his steps halfway to the bathroom. He takes in the attire, blue flannel and jeans and the shirt tucked in. "Quite the new look," Wayne returns, having grown accustomed to your usual attire of blouses, and the occasional pant. "I like it," he offers with a grin.

"Thanks," you return. The words catch in your throat--I'm still me. I'll always be me. I just won't be her. But you can't get them out.

Wayne gives another nod and then continues on to the bathroom. You turn to Eddie. It feels like a good sign. It feels like you shouldn't be this excited. But his smile is just as bright. And you know--it is a good sign. It's Wayne's subtle way of accepting you. You can feel the tears in your eyes and Eddie's laughter is soft as he pulls you into his chest. "Just wait, bug. Just wait until everyone who matters knows and shows you love. It's going to rock your world."

You believe him. Even if it feels farfetched, you believe Eddie.

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munso imagine #eddie munson x gender neutral reader #eddie munson x reader #h writes #stranger things

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fantasyinvader · 10 months

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I think I was wrong about Edelgard’s detatchment. It’s not that she’s willing to cut off everyone, since there’s one person that stands above all others. One that fed into her beliefs and helped direct her to TWSITD’s targets. Ionius, her father.

Attachment and the need to sometimes let go are themes in the Black Eagles route. It’s the poison/flame symbolized by birds, what one needs to purge themselves of in order to achieve Nirvana. As much as it may hurt, it’s better for Byleth to disengage from Edelgard, as their attachment to her can cloud their judgement. That even when the truth of her actions is staring them dead in the eye, they’ll may look away rather than deciding to fight her. We can also see this with Rhea, how if she lets go of Sothis in her supports and sees Byleth for their own person, Rhea will survive the events of Silver Snow. Edelgard herself is willing to cut ties with her beloved teacher and her former classmates in order to achieve her goals, while the Black Eagles do the same to her. In a franchise where bonds are hyped to the max, this is a sad lesson that sometimes a bond isn’t worth keeping and can lead us astray.

But I think with Edelgard, with how she dumps her backstory and how much of her special scenes tie into her father, it’s all about her bond with him. How when she was experimented on, he was upset at what happened. How he told her that the experiments were because of the nobles, who wanted to make a strong emperor, and because of the Church’s manipulations. How Ionius met her mother at Garreg Mach and the secret Imperial history, and the scene that allows you to join Edelgard is you meeting Ionius in person. Edelgard’s character revolves around this guy.

Except, there’s cracks in his story that the player may notice. Some of these are seen before the timeskip, some after, and some are exclusive to joining Edelgard.

Despite Edelgard’s claim that he was made a puppet of Duke Aegir and the nobility, Hubert implies he was really a puppet of Arundel aka Thales and TWSITD. According to Hopes, there’s no evidence that would implicate Duke Aegir in the experiments despite there being a lot concerning his corruption, while Ferdinand’s paralogue that you can’t access in Flower says he wasn’t a monster.

The Insurrection of the Seven wasn’t just nobility betraying him to grab power. Ionius tried to consolidate power on himself, even wiping out Houses that didn’t like what he was doing and tried to defect. This eventually led to a civil war, with Aegir’s faction seeking to limit his power. If Aegir and the Insurrection were upset over him trying to become more powerful, why would they then turn around and try to create a strong Emperor?

Thales, the guy who experimented on her, tells Edelgard to her face that the experiments were to make her into their weapon against the Goddess.

The idea of him being an ex-student at Garreg Mach is complicated by the fact the Church and the Empire had a falling out over a hundred years prior and Edelgard joining the academy is taken as a sign they can fix their relationship.

Likewise, how much control can the Church have over the nobility when the Empire dissolved it’s branch, the Alliance’s branch is toothless, and the Kingdom’s branch has been controlled by TWSITD for some time now to turn people against Rhea?

Various pieces of information state that Nemesis was a tyrant who ushered in an age of bloodshed and chaos. He wasn’t some champion of humanity, and Thales says he was a thief. What Edelgard starts preaching goes against what Wilhelm, the founder of the Empire, fought for yet Edelgard believes he betrayed humanity but her source is a puppet for the Agarthans so…

Shadow Library reveals that TWSITD were the ones behind the Empire splitting up.

So. Many. Points. contradicting the idea that Crests are everything in Fodlan.

Yet despite this, even in moments where the truth is right in from of her, Edelgard will cling to what her father told her. Her attachment to him feeds her ignorance/delusion, poison/flame #2, and she goes after those he told her is responsible for her suffering leading to poison/flame #3, hatred/aversion, against the Church and nobility. Put them all together, and Edelgard embodies the antithesis of Nirvana (Guns ‘n’ Roses?) all because she doesn’t want to question her father.

Edge of Dawn makes it out that Edelgard does not want to go down this path, but feels trapped. She acts as if she has no choice, yet Hopes revealed she could easily kick TWSITD out of the Empire…yet she’ll still go to war trying to reunify Fodlan because, hey, she wants to restore the Empire and go back to how things used to be. She wants the world Nemesis was creating, believing he was a benevolent liberator of mankind because that’s what her father taught her, the other sources come from the people she’s been made to hate. Edelgard’s agency goes into choosing to continue to believe what he told her, her inaction against TWSITD after being talked into working with them by Hubert, inaction in saving her follower Monica in the Houses timeline, or helping TWSITD find a way to turn people into controlable monsters. This is the animal path Japanese Dimitri denounces Flower as, the path that can end up turning Edelgard into the Hegemon supposedly in service to her “ideals” even though there’s a number of examples of her subverting her ideals.

Edelgard is willing to turn herself into a monster because of her father, and that’s the core of her character. She’s been manipulated by TWSITD through him, corrupted into being the successor to Nemesis and the antithesis of what the Empire was supposed to stand for. Ionius is her strings, and according to Hubert she knows he was their puppet but she’ll just keep going forward with it. Even when confronted with the person she currently loves and remembering her old love for Dimitri, she’ll still try and kill them in order to win.

That’s the hold Ionius has on her, the attachment she refuses to let go. Why she can’t be saved bar Azure Gleam erasing her memories (and even then, Dimitri refuses to reach out his hand since he's still suffering from his own poison/flame).

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highliqhts · 4 months

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🎬 just announced, rowan delaney has been cast as rikki chadwick in the upcoming h2o: just add water reboot. the twenty3 year old is trending as people are debating if the scouring the local thrift stores for the cutest knitted tops, giving their manager serious heart palpitations by going on instagram live rants about how big corporations are ruining the planet at 2am, being weirdly good at tiktok dance challenges, trying to cook for people despite being terrible at it and being completely unable to keep a phone screen protected without cracks that they are known for is enough to make them as good as original. a quick google search shows that their fans call them free-spirited, but internet trolls think they’re more brash. i guess their newest interview for variety where they talk about how they almost had an accident trying to swim with a mermaid’s tail as a child will let people to know them better.

hii, besties !! <33 i am daisy and genuinely so excited to be here ?? fair warning that it's been ... probably about a year since i last tumblr group rped, so i might be a bit rusty but this one brought me back from my retirement. this is rowan, who is a brand new muse of mine aka they're definitely still a work in progress but i'd absolutely love to plot with everyone and figure out all the missing pieces !! anyway, hope u enjoy, mwuah !

basics.

name: rowan delaney.

nicknames: ro.

gender: demi woman

pronouns: she/they.

age: 23.

date of birth: january 23rd 2001.

astrological sign: aquarius.

place of birth: brisbane, australia.

nationality: australian.

ethnicity: mauritian, italian.

occupation: actress.

sexual & romantic orientation: pansexual, panromantic.

character.

positive traits: free-spirited, accepting, spontaneous, passionate, independent, loyal.

negative traits: brash, aloof, stubborn, fickle.

likes: the beach, having conversations about things that actually matter, finding that piece while thrifting, traveling, chai latte, pistacchios, surfing.

dislikes: small talk, people who don't care about the environment / animals, authority figures, rules that don't make sense to her, fake niceties.

biography.

if there ever were two people who absolutely should be parents it's rowan's moms. their lovestory is one for the ages, as they had met in the australian wilderness, ciara an italian backpacking tourist and lauren the australian who saved her from some kind of poisonous snake ( or if you believe lauren a totally non-threatening, non-poisonous snake but she would only contest it if ciara isn't around ). what followed is neatly documented in the photo albums rowan grew up looking through, their mothers on their travels through the entire country, lauren having joined ciara for ' protection purposes '. one thing led to another and the two of them fell in love, something that was completely unthinkable, both with the distance and with ciara’s very catholic and conservative family back in italy. there were simply too many obstacles, it couldn’t work out, right ? with heavy hearts they said goodbye after almost an entire year spent constantly by each other’s sides. that is until, due to a sudden storm, ciara’s flight didn’t take off, leading them to have yet another conversation … after all, wasn’t this fate telling them not to part ? in the end ciara never left australia to go back to living in italy, instead taking the leap and staying in australia with the woman she excitedly calls the ‘ love of her life ‘ even to this day.

rowan was the last puzzle piece to their perfect little family, in addition to the two dogs, one cat and the stray duck all living with them as well. nobody really knows how the duck ended up there. they do know how rowan did though, after years of careful consideration she was about the most wished for child you could possibly imagine. and so she grew up, surrounded by love and support. that being said, for a while it wasn’t easy for rowan to cope with the harsher realities of life outside their little house. while at the delaney’s family home it was alright to express yourself and your feelings however you wanted, the outside world was less accepting of that. therefore school wasn't easy for her during the first years. rowan was a bit of an outsider during those years, spending most of their free time at home with the pets and their mothers. it wasn’t until she grew up some more that she found friends who would accept her as she was.

once those years came around however, her life was better than ever before. alongside their friends they spent a lot of time exploring the beaches and city around them. their mothers, being the free-spirited and encouraging women they were, mostly encouraged them in this, paying for their first surfing lessons right alongside the first acting classes. initially they had only signed up for those because a friend of theirs had. surprisingly enough though, rowan soon figured out that acting was something they were not only rather good at but also loved to do. though ciara would later say she never thought it to be all that surprising, with how much rowan had always loved listening to and sharing stories. especially during those younger, more lonely days, where it was mostly books keeping her company. the last years of high school were spent acting in local theater productions, having bonfires at the beach and surfing with their friends.

life was good for rowan during those times as she started considering what to do after school. it was at the beginning of her last year in high school when she saw an open audition for neighbors and decided to simply shoot her shot. never in a million years did they think this would actually lead them anywhere,that was until they got callback after callback, eventually sitting down to do chemistry reads. they were seventeen, a month into their final year when they got the official offer. sitting down with their parents, they debated. how would she finish school, when filming would take place in melbourne ? was it even feasible ? could she move there on her own ? in the end they found a solution that had her living with a friend of the family in melbourne during filming, studying with a tutor when she was there and still attending school whenever she was in brisbane. it was a stressful year and it’s safe to say their final grades were not much to be proud of but they did it, they graduated. afterwards she was lucky enough for her minor role to stay permanent, gaining some importance in the show’s plotline, leading to her being able to continue to stay on the crew and work in melbourne.

they kept their very first television role on neigbors for about 3-4 years, before finally saying their goodbye to the australian soap. due to the relative prominence of the show in australian television, they had earned a decent level of exposure through it. in australia, this would have definitely lent itself to quickly gaining further job opportunities and she definitely debated this with her moms for quite some time. in the end it was them that pushed her to aim higher, to try her luck in the us and move to los angeles at 21. the move was probably the hardest thing ro has done to this day, leaving was tearful not only because they’d miss their family but also because they’d miss their home and they were fully aware they might just be leaving for nothing. for the past two years ro has mostly been getting very small appearances for an episode or three in multiple tv projects ( imagine patient on grey’s or a lost plotline in riverdale or smth, i’ll have to figure the exact projects out ). only recently did she get her first real breakthrough when she was cast as rikki in the reboot of h20: just add water, an australian classic ! they’re about to start filming season 1 and it’s safe to say that ro couldn’t be more excited, having been an avid viewer of the show as a kid.

tl;dr: basically she's born to two very loving lesbians whom i gave an unneccessarily sweet backstory. she grew up in australia, loves the oceans and animals and always had the loving support of her family. she started acting at 17 and moved to the us to further follow that career at 21. h2o is her first lead role.

headcanons.

rowan sometimes refers to the pets that were in the house while they grew up as if they were their siblings, which can be confusing to some people

ro’s style is very much sort of boho inspired, she loves cute knitted pieces and wide flowy pants and dresses or jeans shorts as well as sporting the most pieced together yet somehow strangely working assortment of jewelry

she has a decently active social media presence, which is mostly used for an unpredictable mixture of silly on set tiktok challenges or passionate calls for action, mostly for environmental protection

they’re very much a beach and oceans enthusiast and they WILL shut you down for leaving any kind of trash on the beach but also for supporting environmentally damaging companies

ro has a decent amount of houseplants at home and tries to keep them alive so desperately ? but honestly, they’re really not a natural at it.

she loves doing her nails herself, including cute and intricate nail designs

when they were 19 and at a party they got a tiny tattoo of an octopus done on the left side of her hip

#↪ 𝒓𝒐𝒘𝒂𝒏 𝒅𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒆𝒚 ━ about.#2000s.intro #this got longer than expected ??? sry to anyone reading rip #but pls still love my bby !!

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